Roger smiled graciously. “That’s correct, Your Honor. This case, however, fits right into our mission at the Center for the Protection of Human Rights.”
The judge’s eyes narrowed. “We’ll see about that.”
As the two exchanged words, Malik was escorted into the courtroom. He still wore the orange jumpsuit he had on when Janae visited him in detention. His head hung low. The guard placed him in the seat next to Roger’s. Roger patted him on the back, by way of acknowledging his presence. Malik did not respond to his touch.
While Roger continued to address the judge, Malik turned his head slightly, enough to see Janae. He offered up a faint smile, and Janae ate it up. She softly mouthed “I love you.” He smiled and then turned his attention back to the front of the courtroom. No longer slouching, he looked in the direction of the judge, his head held high.
From the time Malik spoke his first words, Janae encouraged him to look everyone directly in the eyes. She would stoop low so that she was eye-to-eye with him and say, “They’re just people, same as you.” She would place her hand under his chin and nudge it up, and, if necessary, press her other hand to his back to straighten it. “Malik, what you have to say is worth listening to.”
The prosecutor rose next and addressed the judge. “Your Honor,” she began, “this case is improperly before you. It should have gone directly to adult court because of the statutory exclusion. We are dealing with a first-degree murder charge. We have every intention of prosecuting this defendant as an adult.”
Roger stood, silently waiting his turn to address the judge. There wasn’t the slightest response in his body or facial expression to what the ADA was saying. He knew that this argument was coming.
Without giving any indication as to where he stood, the judge looked to Roger. “I expect you have an objection?”
“Your Honor, I already gave the prosecution a copy of my petition for a waiver hearing. The original should be in the court’s file. It is our position that the public interest would be best served if this case remained in juvenile court. Moreover, my client does not have a record.” His next words were delivered with special emphasis: “He doesn’t have an adult record, nor a juvenile record for that matter. He is still currently enrolled in school and was actively attending classes up to the time of his arrest. Furthermore, his family is here to support him.” Without turning, Roger pointed toward Janae.
She scooted forward on the cushioned bench. Sitting a little taller, she looked the judge directly in the eyes.
“Your Honor, that’s all very nice, but the law is the law,” the prosecutor retorted. “Section 6303 of the Pennsylvania Code makes clear that murder is an excluded offense. This case should have gone automatically to adult court. Any petition the defense wishes to file needs to be filed there.”
The judge shrugged his shoulders. “That’s my understanding of the Code,” he agreed, directing this comment to Roger.
“Your Honor, I have a copy of the law right here, and there is no language in it forbidding Your Honor from hearing a reverse waiver. Moreover, I submit that because there is nothing substantively different between a transfer waiver and a reverse waiver hearing, Your Honor is in an excellent position to hear this. Indeed, you hear these waivers all the time, they’re just simply called ‘transfer’ instead of ‘reverse.’ All the elements of proof are identical.” Roger offered up his copy of the law to the judge; then he turned, briefly, toward the prosecutor, smiled, and then gave the judge his complete attention. “Your Honor, a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.”
The prosecutor curled her lips. “Your Honor, the defense is clearly trying to benefit from an error in processing.” She sighed. “This case cannot be before you. This is a—”
The judge cut her off. “But it is before me. And the question is whether or not it will stay before me.”
“Your Honor”—now the ADA softened her tone—“if you’ll take a look at section 6322, the language of that section speaks to an adult court judge determining if he or she will transfer a case from adult court to juvenile court. The defense has already conceded that this defendant falls within the purview of this section. If you accept his concession, then the reverse waiver hearing must be presided over by an adult court judge.”
Roger jumped at her words. “There is no concession!”
The judge perked up and adjusted himself in his leather seat. “There is no concession?” he said, revealing his own sincere curiosity.
“Absolutely not, Your Honor. I was merely speaking to the charges that the prosecution has actually brought against my client. The district attorney’s office has charged him with first-degree murder. I agree that a first-degree murder charge would trigger a section 6322 hearing. Yet under that scenario I still believe you could preside over the hearing, since, as I said earlier, the only difference between the two waiver hearings is the name. However, on the facts of this case”—Roger searched through the papers in his file; when he found what he was looking for, he raised it up above his head as though he held the antidote to a previously incurable disease—“if Your Honor would take a look at the probable-cause affidavit that the arrest warrant was based on, it’s clear that the prosecution has overcharged him. Every statement supports a manslaughter charge. Let me be clear, there is no admission of guilt by the defendant. I am merely arguing from the probable-cause affidavit that supported the arrest warrant. Your Honor, the Commonwealth has a tendency to overcharge. This is a well-documented fact, and they have done so in this case. If this defendant had been properly charged we wouldn’t even be having this debate over transfer versus reverse waiver hearing because he would be entitled to a presumptive waiver hearing in front of Your Honor under section 6355 of the statute.”
The assistant district attorney was back to gritting her teeth. “The prosecution has every right to charge the defendant according to the crime committed. A person is dead, Your Honor.”
“Sorry, but you do not have the right to charge him with crimes that are not supported by the warrant, the affidavits, or anything that formed the basis for the arrest in the first place. The judge does, however, have every right to dismiss excessive charges.”
Judge McCormick raised his hand, commanding complete silence in the courtroom. He grabbed his file on the case, leaned heavily back into his seat, and studied it, pensively.
Judge McCormick moved forward slowly. Both attorneys stood. The judge cleared his throat. “Ms. Dembe. Mr. Whitford. I’ve read everything in this”—he fanned the thin file in front of him—“and I believe Ms. Dembe is correct.”
She smiled triumphantly at Roger as her hands loosened their grip on the prosecution table. Roger shifted subtly in his chair. Malik leaned away from him.
The judge continued: “Ms. Dembe, I believe your reading of section 6322 is accurate. First-degree murder is a statutory exclusion, which in this commonwealth requires a juvenile defendant’s case to go straight to adult court. And then, and only then, can the defendant request a reverse waiver back to juvenile court. However,” he said, “I also agree with Mr. Whitford. The charges do appear to be excessive. Based on the affidavit, the bare-bone facts allege that the victim and the defendant argued, a fight ensued, and the victim was found dead a short while later. There is no allegation of lying in wait. No intent—at least not in this affidavit. We are dealing with a street fight that possibly went terribly wrong. And this defendant does not have a record, and the victim, by the way, had a pretty extensive rap sheet, considering his age at the time of his death.” The judge cleared his throat. “This is what I am prepared to do. Either I will hear a reverse waiver”—he paused to eye the displeased prosecution—“or I will dismiss the first-degree murder charge with prejudice.” He paused. “We’ll make this a voluntary manslaughter case and hear a presumptive waiver hearing under section 6355.”
Judge McCormick banged his gavel. “The waiver hearing is set for three weeks. Let’s give it the date of Tuesday, March fourth. Ne
xt case, Tony.”
Janae rose to meet Roger at the wooden bar that separated the well of the courtroom from the gallery.
“Malik,” she said, slightly above a whisper. He turned to her just as the guard entered the courtroom. His smile was broader this time—it touched his eyes—and he seemed like himself again. She reached for him. When she felt his skin at her fingertips, her eyes welled with tears.
“I love you.”
“Me too, Moms.” The guard promptly grabbed him by the elbow and escorted him out of the courtroom.
Janae watched until he was completely gone, and then the tears came stronger.
“Why are you crying, Janae?” Roger questioned. “Today could not have gone any better. We got exactly what we came for.”
“If only that was true,” she muttered.
She didn’t want to seem ungrateful. Any step toward Malik’s freedom was a step in the right direction. But he wasn’t home.
Roger abruptly turned away from Janae and spotted Calvin.
Roger held up his right index finger, requesting him to wait so they could speak outside the courtroom. Calvin nodded.
“Calvin, it’s a surprise to see you here,” Roger said a moment later, swinging his briefcase as he exited the courtroom.
Calvin smiled broadly and took a few steps toward Roger. “What you did in there was amazing.” He gave Roger a pat on the back and a firm handshake.
“Thank you,” Roger said, the tips of his ears turning beet red.
“Really, it was pure genius how you pitted the judge and ADA against each other. Stroking the judge’s ego by telling him that he was all-powerful and qualified to hear the waiver—all the while knowing you didn’t have a legal leg to stand on, but offering him a moral argument that he could not resist. Loved it.”
Janae turned slightly toward Roger and smiled to acknowledge his accomplishment.
Roger shook his head. He put his hand on Janae’s elbow. “Calvin, I want you to meet my client’s mother. Calvin Moore, this is Janae Williams.”
Calvin eyed Janae as she offered her delicate hand for him to shake. He was sure he didn’t know her, but there was something about her that seemed familiar. She reminded him of his past—of Grandma Pearl, and home.
She was gorgeous. Her hair pulled back off her face revealed a soft golden-brown jawline that she held firm. Her teeth shown dazzling white between her full lips.
“Have you changed your mind about being my cocounsel?” Roger asked.
“No,” Calvin said, his eyes slowly drifting from Janae to Roger. “I haven’t changed my mind.”
Calvin noticed a shift in her body. She leaned to her right, in Roger’s direction, putting all her weight on that leg, and her right hip made an exaggerated curve in that purple form-fitting dress.
She touched Roger’s arm as she leaned further toward him. “I think I’ll wait for you outside,” she said in a loud whisper.
“Oh, Janae, that’s not necessary. Just give me a moment with Mr. Moore here. I’m feeling lucky this morning. I think I might just get my way with him, too.”
Janae gave Calvin one of those quick, fake smiles. Her coyness caught Calvin off guard, and he chuckled to himself, charmed.
“No, really, I’d rather wait for you there.”
“Well, if you insist. Here take my keys. There is no point in you standing in the cold. It’s the black Taurus on the second level of the garage. It’s right next to the elevator. You can’t miss it.”
Janae hesitated for a moment before taking the keys. “Thanks.” She walked over to the elevator. She could have sworn she felt Calvin Moore’s eyes on her as she waited for the doors to spring open. Her back to them, she put on one of her gold hoop earrings. The other fell to the floor.
Calvin quickly closed the distance between them and stooped to pick up the earring. He flipped it over a couple of times in his hands before extending it toward her.
“Thanks.”
He smiled. “Would you like me to hold your coat while you put that one in?”
“No. I’m good.” Janae swept her coat over her small, curvaceous frame, then put the second earring on. She pressed the button for the elevator, again.
Roger and Calvin watched as Janae entered the elevator and turned toward them. Before the door closed, Calvin’s eyes met Janae’s again, but this time he held her gaze.
“Isn’t she cute?” Roger said, turning his attention back to Calvin.
“Congratulations on today, you really pulled it off,” Calvin said, ignoring Roger’s comment.
“Well, I thank you, again.” Roger smirked at his much-taller colleague from over his glasses. “Let’s not change the subject.”
Calvin smiled, not giving up anything. “By the way”—he unfastened the snap on his briefcase—“I’m here to return the files you shared with me.” He extended the research to Roger.
“I have my own copy. That’s yours. Is that really why you’re here? To hand-deliver the files?”
“No, not exactly,” Calvin said reluctantly. “Okay . . .” He paused. “I will admit I was curious. I wanted to see.”
“Yes? And?” Roger pressed him.
“I don’t know. I was on my way to work and I ended up here. That’s full disclosure.”
“For someone as smart as you—the whole Yale thing and all—you sure are dense. Do I have to call our alma mater and tell them they need to reconsider that degree of yours?”
Calvin smiled, unoffended.
“You’re here,” Roger said, prepared to school him, “because what’s in that file is an atrocity and it is a damn shame it has been going on as long as it has. So are you in or out? We would love to have you, and I know this case would be all the better for it. But as you can see, I am moving forward regardless.”
“As you should. As you should.” Calvin glimpsed at his watch. It was already after nine and he had a nine-thirty meeting. “I can’t stick around. I want you to know that I think what you are trying to do is amazing—no, more than that, it’s admirable.”
Roger shrugged his shoulders. “Well, you don’t get if you don’t ask. I had to ask. I think you are making a mistake, but it is yours to make. I’m sure that firm of yours is secretly glad about your choice.” Roger patted Calvin’s arm. “Thanks for hearing me out.”
“It was the least I could do. I plan to follow this. The media are going to go wild when they get a whiff of that ESA complaint.”
Roger smiled broadly. “I’m counting on it. Ultimately it’s the public that’s going to drive this sucker. This is not the last you’ve seen of me. If I have my way, you could be anywhere in this country at any given time and be hearing about this one.” He winked at him. “You just wait and see.”
Chapter Twelve
JANAE WAITED FOR ROGER IN HIS CRAMPED CAR. IT WAS PRETTY MUCH A replica of his office, stacks of papers and files covering nearly every available surface, including the dashboard. From the passenger seat she scooped up a thick sloppy file with papers hanging partially out and put it on the only clear spot in the car—the driver’s seat.
Although she was in the car, it felt as if she was still in the courtroom, seated on the fabric-covered bench, just inches away from Malik. She knew that each minute he was locked up threatened to change him. And her.
What dogged her was the fact that she was unprepared for this—the murder, Malik’s arrest and detainment. All the warning signs stared her in the face day after day. She and Malik lived in the midst of an urban war zone. Unless she got him out of there, it was inevitable that he would become a casualty.
Janae had turned a blind eye to certain friends of his she should have said no to. And why was it enough that he just not flunk out of school? Maybe he would have done more if she had expected more from him.
Janae pressed her fingertips against her temples and began to move them in slow circles. She could feel the throb of a headache building. She reached for the radio dial and turned it on. She would have bet money on Roger
being a lover of country music, maybe even bluegrass. Instead, the smooth jazz sound of a soprano sax filled the car. It took her mind off her troubles long enough for her to lean back into the headrest, close her eyes, and just let the sound of the horn wash over her.
Music had always had a calming effect on her. It was her escape from everything. It was more than something she listened to, it was an extension of her. It was also part of the reason she was attracted to David.
As she allowed the melody to consume her attention, she heard a faint knocking on the window. Her eyes fluttered open. Roger was stooped over, peering in the car window. Janae released the car lock.
She smiled bashfully as he angled himself into the car. “Sorry about that. I wasn’t asleep. I was just trying to ease this headache.”
“With music?” Roger said with a crinkled brow as he reached behind him and dropped his files on the backseat.
“Music is my Aleve, my glass of wine—or your shot of whiskey,” she said and winked at him.
He nodded. “I get it. Say no more.” Roger started the car. “Where are we off to?” he asked as he backed out of the parking spot.
Janae looked at him quizzically.
“I figured I might as well drive you home. Kill two birds with one stone. I need to talk to you about this morning, about what to expect over the next several days.”
“Can’t we just go back to your office to discuss this?” She could just see them getting off of the Schuylkill Expressway and heading up the main drag in her neighborhood, house after house in increasing stages of disrepair and neglect.
“We could. But you will still have to go home afterwards. May as well save you some trolley fare. Plus I want to know exactly what I am dealing with.”
“Excuse me?” The words jetted out of her mouth. “I’m poor; I get it. But that doesn’t mean that you have to be an ass.” She’d never had anyone in her home who didn’t live in similar conditions.
Roger looked at her and snickered. “And Margaret thought you couldn’t handle it. You’re a little spitfire, aren’t you?”
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