Directed Verdict (Failed Justice Book 1)

by Rick Santini

  His confidence grew almost as quickly as his frame. He now weighed a solid two thirty. Maybe not quite so solid anymore. He did love his food and beverages. He decided to let his hair grow long. Not quite to his shoulders.

  He too spent a sizable amount on his wardrobe.

  If I’m going to be successful, I have to look successful.

  All Billy’s shirts and suits were custom made. He could well afford it. He was never shy about asking for a retainer. The larger the amount, the more they trusted him. Everyone likes to be associated with success and power.

  My dad’s bigger than yours; my mom’s prettier than yours; my lawyer is smarter than yours.

  My attorney is sneakier than yours. Probably not a good idea.

  Billy Jo just knew one day he would be a great lawyer.

  ***

  “Mr. Gibson, do you accept this juror?”

  Billy Jo’s mind had slipped back to his very first trial. It had been a total disaster.

  He quickly refocused and glanced down at his jury selection board. Bingo. He got his first juror.

  “Yes, Your Honor. I’m sure Miss Wallace will be a fine juror and serve with honor and distinction.”

  Miss Madeline Wallace, a retired school teacher, at least sixty years old, obviously widowed or divorced, dropped her head and smiled at Billy Jo. She had already been accepted by the Black Widow.

  Judge Sugarman glanced down at his watch. It was a quarter to five.

  “I think we have accomplished enough for one day. We will convene at nine thirty sharp. Adjourned.”

  The judge was out of his seat before the court attendant could holler, “All rise.”

  CHAPTER 33

  The next morning Madeline Wallace was wearing her Sunday best, though no one obviously knew it. She sat proudly in Seat #1 and watched as the lawyers continued to fence with each other. From time to time she snuck a peek at Lawyer Gibson. It took close to forty minutes of struggling before he reluctantly agreed on Juror Two.

  José Morales was Hispanic. He was short and wiry. He looked independent, defiant, and someone Billy Jo could relate to. Besides, he was afraid to use a challenge unless it was absolutely necessary.

  Better to have an extra preempt in your pocket at the end of selection than one short.

  In the Sovereign State of New Jersey each side was entitled six preemptory challenges. That meant Billy had a half dozen “I don’t want him or her because they don’t comb their hair in the way I like” freebies. Methods of getting rid of a prospective juror for no cause at all…

  Marta liked José. Her kind of person. Billy Jo felt José did not hurt him. Billy figured he was still one ahead.

  ***

  As to Juror Three, neither had any good reason not to accept him. He was more like Hamburger Helper. He was filling and did not add or subtract from the whole enchilada. He would melt in and go along with the majority. Tom Simmons was a retired electrical engineer. He had worked for a defense contractor his entire career. He dealt with facts, and as far as Billy Jo could see, there were no facts to lead to a conviction. Wally was suckered into the home, he was clobbered over the head, and when he woke up a cop was standing over him. No hard evidence Wally had done anything wrong.

  “We accept Juror Three, Your Honor.”

  Three down, nine to go.

  It was close to the noon break. The judge made it clear; he did not want selection to drag on all week. He was anxious to have the trial begin.

  “Be in your seats by one o’clock sharp.”

  “Yes, Your Honor,” they recited in unison.

  They both had time for a quick sandwich in the “Lawyers Only” room. Wally joined Billy Jo. They both had chicken salad sandwiches with a Coke. Billy Jo knew his client had twenty years watching lawyers pick a jury. He may not have been a paid, professional consultant, but he was sure the next best thing.

  Wally found no problems with the first three seated. He mentioned two names he had spotted from the jury selection pool. On paper, and that could only be an educated guess, they fit the profile Billy Jo was looking for.

  By 12:55 they were back in their seats. So was Marta. She looked like the cat that ate the canary. Billy was worried.

  Wally covered his mouth with his hand and whispered to his counsel.

  “The bitch is up to her old tricks. She has forgotten I was the judge in a dozen of her cases. I know her M.O. She loves to come back from a break and make like a big deal has just happened. Like she just found the one key eye witness. My suggestion is you look worried. It will give her some false confidence and hopefully, she’ll relax and make a big mistake.”

  Billy Jo was impressed. It was like having a second chair without having to pay for one.

  ***

  The clock on the wall struck one p.m.

  “All rise. The Honorable Judge Robert Sugarman now presiding.”

  “Counselors, please approach.”

  Billy looked at Marta. What had one of them done wrong? He was sure it wasn’t him. He had not had enough time to begin his courtroom antics. Yet.

  “It has been two full days and we have only seated three jurors. I suggest we move it along or I will conduct the voir dire myself. You may both submit a list of questions but I will do the questioning. You both have your full complement of challenges. I will make my decision tomorrow morning. Step back.”

  The son-of-a-bitch is serious. Who died and left him king?

  Marta clearly was not pleased.

  Billy was thinking ahead. A possible reversible error by the court. Not very likely, he concluded.

  “Yes, Your Honor.”

  Billy scanned his jury selection board again. He had spent hours and hours narrowing it down. Now he had to make some quick choices. There were two Polish ladies on the panel. They were both over fifty-five. He knew damn well Marta would never go for either one of them. Still, he had nothing to lose. The clock was running for both of them.

  I need only one juror for a hung jury. She needs all twelve for a conviction. She is in more of a hurry than me. Maybe she will make a mistake—or two.

  At times, a hung jury is as good as an acquittal. The DA sees the flaws in their case and wonders if they can be corrected. Is it worth the time and effort and expense to retry? There are so many ADAs and their caseload does not go down.

  Better to try a winner than retry a big if.

  The defense can always change its strategy. Add a new witness, go over certain testimony, have a witness suffer a sudden loss of memory, that sort of thing. Sort of like Bill Belichick, coach of the Patriots. He was known for always coming out with a new game plan for the second half.

  And it usually works. That’s why he won three Super Bowls. That, and having Tom Brady as his once in a lifetime quarterback.

  A hung jury is a moral victory, Billy Jo reasoned. He was sure he had Juror One in his back pocket. Suddenly his demeanor changed. He sat back and relaxed. Let the Black Widow sweat it out. He had his one, now let’s see her find her twelve.

  Marta could not help but notice. Billy’s whole attitude had changed. He was no longer checking his precious chart every five minutes. His body took on a look of confidence. He was sending her a new message, ‘I’m gonna win; and you’re not.’ Now it was her turn to worry.

  She kept one eye on the prospective juror and the other trying to gauge Billy’s reaction. It was disconcerting, to say the very least. It was one-upmanship at its very best.

  By five after five, the judge had granted some slack, two more jurors had been seated. Now there were a total of five.

  Juror Four was a retired commercial fisherman. He sat there just waiting for someone to ask him questions. He had already rehearsed his answers.

  “I know nothing about this case. I rarely read the newspaper and seldom turn on the TV. I have no prejudices one way nor another. I’m retired and have all the time in the world to serve.”

  Phil Marlow just wanted to do his civic duty. He felt it was his time to gi
ve back. If asked, he would swear he believed in God, motherhood, and apple pie.

  Phil failed to mention he was a frustrated and unpublished author. All he needed was one good story to get his name known. He was already dreaming of appearances on Good Morning America and The Tonight Show.

  He would be a star. At last.

  It was close to four p.m. and both sides wanted one more crack at another juror.

  Philip T. Marlow was seated as Juror Four.

  The last prospective juror to be questioned was a Mrs. Theresa Adamski, one of the two Billy Jo was hoping for. He tried to remain calm and undecided if Mrs. Adamski would help or hurt him. Her late husband had been a Newark City Auditor. That was not good as far as Billy was concerned. At least that was what he was trying to portray. The fact she was Polish, at least her husband had been, and by her looks, so was she, was a major advantage. All nationalities tend to stick together. Especially Italians, Poles, and Jews. He would have given his eye teeth to have her seated. He knew better than to overplay his hand.

  “Mrs. Adamski, will the fact the same government that is prosecuting this case is also your late husband’s employer in any way affect your ability to render a true and just verdict?”

  “Of course not. Why would you even ask such a question?”

  “I’m sorry, but at times we all have hidden agendas. At times we are completely unaware of them.”

  “One thing has nothing to do with the other. I am here because I want to be, not because I have to be.”

  “Right. One last question. Are you receiving a pension?”

  “Why yes. My late husband proudly served the City of Newark for more than thirty-three years. He earned it. Now that he’s passed on, it’s mine.”

  Wally loved her answer but refused to show it. He glanced at the judge, who was eyeing his watch. Time to fish or cut bait. Marta was watching his every move.

  Billy had stalled for as long as he could. The judge was just about to reach for his gavel.

  “No objections to Mrs. Adamski, Your Honor.

  Judge Sugarman looked at Miss Clarke, just daring her to ask one single question. She had no time to weigh if Billy really wanted her or not.

  “Mrs. Clarke, its five after five. I have a dinner engagement, even if you don’t. Yes or no? Do you accept Mrs. Adamski?”

  Marta was about to lash out.

  It’s none of your damn business whether I have plans for the evening or not. Judge or no judge, you have one hell of a nerve referring to my social life.

  The fact she didn’t pissed her off even more.

  She glared at the judge. If looks could kill…

  “No objections, Your Honor.”

  “Thank you. Clerk, please swear in Juror Five so we can all go home.”

  “Court adjourned.”

  ***

  A juror was seated in a criminal trial, in a capital case, for no other reason than the trial judge had an important dinner engagement. No better example of American style justice could possibly be found.

  CHAPTER 34

  Few, if any, were aware William Lincoln Johnson was in the gallery the next morning.

  The court attendant, who was also black, recognized him and granted him a special courtesy. He was not sure why. The attendant decided to keep an eye on him; he remembered the outburst of the former foreman.

  He won’t get away with this. He will rue the day he allowed this travesty to happen.

  Now the former judge was being tried for murder in his own courtroom. The irony of the situation and location did not go unnoticed.

  By anyone.

  Bill had a gut feeling, the best kind. As best as he could figure, the judge abhorred violence of any kind. As to most of his ruling in the case, he erred on the side of caution. He could not picture Judge Kolkolski with a weapon in his hand. He could not imagine the judge killing anyone—under any circumstance. Something else was going on.

  His first thought, in fact his only thought, was Alexey Cummings was behind it. It just made sense. He was trying to figure how to connect the dots. He was also concerned this was none of his business. You don’t screw around with the Russian mafia, especially if there is nothing to gain.

  Bill decided to sit back and see how it played out. At least for now.

  ***

  “Will counsel please approach?”

  It was not a request; it was an order framed to sound like a request to the jury—or anyone who later read the official transcript.

  Both sides knew what was coming.

  The judge waved to the court reporter not to take any notes. This was strictly off the record. In a faint whisper he informed both counsel that now it was his turn. They had spent more than two full days and had still not seated a full complement of twelve jurors.

  Robert Sugarman wanted the trial to start ASAP.

  “I’m taking over. Understood? You may use your preempts or challenges for cause, but I’m going to question and seat the last seven jurors myself. Be prepared to give your opening remarks first thing in the morning.” Before either could comment or place an objection on the record, the judge stated, “Counsel has graciously agreed they would prefer if I took over the voir dire so they may concentrate on their opening statements that will take place at nine thirty tomorrow morning.”

  The judge smiled as he thanked both attorneys for their brilliant suggestion.

  Opposing counsel were stone faced. And silent.

  There comes a time in every trial when the court on its own volition attempts to take over. It is at that time an objection is made for the record. Or the moment is lost.

  Billy Jo and Marta had their moment. Either they were too afraid or too stunned to comment. By the time they were back at counsel table, a good three seconds, the moment was forever gone.

  ***

  The last seven jurors were picked in near record time; three before lunch and the other four by ten to four. Neither counsel objected or used challenges. It would not have done a damn bit of good. You would have thought the judge was going on vacation the day after tomorrow, or he just wanted the experience over with as quickly as possible.

  Most likely the latter.

  Billy Jo now studied his completed jury panel board. Seven males, four white, two black, and one Hispanic. Billy was not quite sure how to categorize Roger Rabbitt, he swore it was not his legal name, who was clearly a homosexual. There were five females, three whites, two blacks, and no lesbians. All in all, it was a jury of Wally’s peers. Each side felt they could have done better, but that is the very nature of things.

  With the court making the last seven choices, neither attorney had much of a choice. No one knew Juror Seven, Neil O’Brien, a red-headed twenty-seven-year-old was the fly in the ointment. He was a twin; an identical twin, and told no one.

  Billy Jo was not thrilled and yet he felt it was more than enough to win.

  ***

  The courtroom was packed, not a seat in the house. Pretrial motions had gone more or less as anticipated, each side jockeying for some small advantage. It was more psychological than anything else.

  The first motion, made by the Black Widow, was to exclude TV cameras in the courtroom. Marta did not want to turn this into a circus. She had no idea how vain the judge was, but needed his undivided attention. She did not want sympathy from unsophisticated TV land.

  If it were up to Billy Jo, he would have asked for Cecil B. deMille to produce and direct it. Any publicity is good publicity. It would also limit Marta from her well known bag of tricks. The judge decided to show his authority and saw no reason for briefs or arguments.

  “This trial will be run in a court of law, not through the media. Request for TV cameras denied. What’s next on your laundry list?”

  Marta and Billy Jo stole a quick look at each other. Each was wondering what the other had up their sleeve.

  “Your Honor, we request any reference to the trial of People vs. Ricardo be excluded. It is inflammatory and carries no probative va
lue.”

  Marta jumped out of her seat, just as Billy Jo had anticipated.

  “What are you, crazy? It goes to the very heart of our case. Motive. No way.”

  Marta was so stunned, so excited, she did not think. It was to Billy’s advantage to let in everything regarding the rape case. It would gain tons and tons of sympathy from the jury. The rapist finally got what was coming to him. The judge merely corrected the error he had made in the first place.

  Marta realized too late the mistake she had just made. No way could she now reverse fields and agree with Billy.

  One point for the bad guys. I’ll just have to be more careful next time.

  Billy blew her a soft kiss. Just to rub it in a bit.

  It’s a game of chess. Only now the pieces are human. All I have to do is anticipate his moves and be ready to counter. I may have to sacrifice my pawns and a bishop or two, but the goal is to put the king in check. Let the SOB gloat now. The game has just begun.

  Marta blew a kiss right back.

  “All right, children. Now can we please move on?”

  Bob Sugarman watched the subtle exchange. He didn’t miss a trick. He knew exactly what was going on. It wasn’t as if he had not pulled the same crap on opposing counsel a dozen times or more.

  “Yes, Your Honor.”

  The list of requests took up the balance of the day. There was nothing unexpected. Each side knew they would win a few and lose a few. At the end of the day, the score was just about tied.

  They had been testing each other like two heavyweight boxers, each seeing how the other would react to a mere jab or a haymaker, each seeing how sharp the other really was. Most important, how far could they push the judge?