The Associate

by Rachel Sinclair

  “So, why is this guy going to lie about you?”

  “Because he wants my job. Plain and simple. I get sent down, and he becomes the boss. It’s really as simple as that.”

  I sighed. “Okay. Well, his testimony has to be tight. If he veers into topics other than what he’s going to say about you and Shelly having words, I’ll object on the basis of relevance. That means that I won’t let Nick ask Ara about what he does for the organization. I think that we should keep you off the stand. I think that’s the best trial strategy. That way, there’s the possibility that your job duties of overseeing slavery and drug dealing and hacking won’t come in. You get on the stand, however, and all bets are off. The prosecutor will ask you about all of that, and you’ll have to answer for it.”

  Harper nodded her head. “I agree. If you can limit Ara’s testimony, then there’s no need to put Erik on the stand.”

  So, that was our decision. Erik was not going to testify. There wasn’t a reason for him to testify, as long as I limited Ara’s testimony and made sure that Nick stayed within the boundaries of what the judge deemed relevant.

  We got to the Jackson County Courthouse and Erik was there, waiting on the steps, smoking a cigarette. His hair was trimmed and his suit was pressed. He still looked like he wanted to be anywhere but where he was at that moment.

  “Hey,” he said when I approached him on the steps. “I hope that you and Harper are ready for this.”

  “We are. We’re as ready as we can be, really.”

  I always kind of felt that that was a lie. There was always something else that could be done. Always another witness that I could have uncovered. I did the best I could, but I wasn’t perfect. Nobody was, of course.

  We took the elevator to the sixth floor, and there were hundreds of people standing around the hallway. I knew that they were the potential jurors, and I felt sorry for all of them. I would never want to serve as a juror. Trials were boring. They were held inside a stuffy courtroom that was old and musty – the Jackson County courthouse was built in the 1920s, and although it was grand, as Art Deco courthouses of that era usually are, it was still old. They had to sit in uncomfortable chairs and try not to fall asleep as people were speaking. That was probably the hardest thing, I thought – staying awake, especially in the afternoon after they had their heavy lunch. I remembered going to depositions and having to sit there while the lead counsel conducted them, and I had a hard time staying awake for that.

  It didn’t help that the temperature in the courthouse wasn’t all that well-regulated. It was inevitably so cold in summertime, because they always had the air conditioner up too high, that you needed a sweater when you were in the courtroom. In the wintertime, the heat was always blasting, so woe to the jurors who showed up wearing a sweater. I, myself, hated trying cases in the dead of winter for just that reason – I couldn’t take off my suit jacket and tie, so I ended up sweltering. And, since the heat was up high, that probably contributed to the juror’s sleepiness.

  On top of all that, the jurors got a pittance for their service. Six dollars a day + seven cents a mile. That was a criminally low amount of money to pay the jurors, if you ask me. They have to take off of work and come down to the courthouse every day and sit there and die of boredom, all for six bucks a day plus seven cents a mile. I felt really sorry for the people who were hourly workers and were selected for jury duty – they didn’t get paid time off, so they just had to suffer. I tried not to choose them for that reason alone, even though the poor hourly workers were more likely to sympathize with my clients than people who were well-off. They often got chosen anyhow, and I felt badly for them.

  I walked through the throng of people in the hallway, thinking about how each of them were probably plotting and planning about how to get out of serving, and I had to smile. It was really so easy to get off of jury duty – you just had to say that you couldn’t judge the case without prejudice. You would be struck for cause in that case.

  Harper, Erik and I took a seat at one of the counsel’s tables, and I saw that Nick Wright and his second chair, Ally Hughes, were already there. Ally was actually one of my favorite prosecutors. She was starting out in the DA’s office when I was a baby lawyer with the Public Defender’s Office. I started off doing the grunt work of covering initial appearances – basically, when the accused criminals are arrested, they have to appear before a judge within 24 hours. That first court appearance was called an “Initial Appearance.” Some circuits called that first appearance an arraignment, but in Jackson County, the arraignments came after the case already went through the Grand Jury or the Preliminary Hearing stage.

  I was assigned the initial appearance dockets, in which 30-40 defendants appear to have their charges read to them and are given an preliminary hearing date. I didn’t do much during these appearances except meet with the clients, explain the process to the clients and negotiate with the prosecutor about sentencing. Most of the clients ended up pleading out, and it was up to me to try to get the prosecutor to give the best deal possible.

  Ally Hughes was the prosecutor that I worked with the most during that period of time, and she and I became pretty good friends. We even got drinks after work a time or two. In another life, I would have asked her out, because she was pretty cool. She and Colleen Sutton, my co-worker at the PD’s Office, were the women that I most fantasized about whenever Sarah and I were on the outs.

  Ally saw me, smiled and walked over to our table. “Damien,” she said. “I was wondering what had happened to you. I saw that you were on the other side of this case and I got pretty excited. How the hell are you?”

  I nodded my head. “Good, good,” I said, thinking about Amelia. She had had her bone marrow transplant and so far, so good. I had been taking her in for her monthly checkups, and, thus far, her body hadn’t yet rejected the new bone marrow and her body was doing what it was supposed to be doing as far as fighting the cancer. We were hopeful that she was going to go into remission soon. Of course, Sarah was still not in the picture. She had never even apologized for giving up on our daughter. She had moved in with John Gibson, the slimy worm with the slicked-back hair, and rarely saw our children. That was okay, however. Good riddance, as far as I was concerned. “And you?”

  “Can’t complain. By the way, I heard about your medical malpractice case. Congratulations. Guess you drew a pretty good hand there, what with that crazy doctor deliberately killing people and all.”

  “Yeah, I definitely got lucky.” It felt weird to say that I had gotten lucky, because Austin was still dead. Nothing was going to change that fact. And my client was still sleazy. She was a mother who arranged for the murder of her own son. I still couldn’t get over my feeling that that award was tainted.

  Yet it wasn’t tainted enough that I wouldn’t want to spend it. I did spend it – I bought a new house in Harper’s neighborhood, a fixer-upper. I wanted a house that needed work because I wanted to work on it in my spare time. Working on the house took my mind off of Sarah’s leaving and Amelia’s sickness, and it was something that I needed. My house needed a lot of work, too – every weekend, I worked on replacing the floors and repairing the plumbing and electrical. I tore off the roof and replaced it in full. I knocked out walls and rebuilt the staircase and tore up carpet and replaced it with hardwood. I loved working with my hands that way, even though Nate and Amelia always complained about the noise.

  Ally was still smiling and nodding her head. “And Sarah? How is she?”

  “I wouldn’t know,” I said, feeling uncomfortable. “She moved out a few months ago. But it is what it is.”

  Ally cocked her head, and I swore that she looked halfway excited when I told her that my wife had moved out. “Oh, well, I’m sorry to hear that,” she said. “But, hey, maybe when this trial is over, we can go and grab a drink. I know some awesome places in Midtown.”

  I chuckled. “Are you asking me for a date?”

  “Maybe,” she said. “It depends.”
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  “On what?”

  “On whether or not you want it to be a date.”

  I took a deep breath, thinking that Ally was cute and cool and fun. I probably would hit that. “Let’s do it.”

  She smiled again. “Loser buys.” And then she went back to her counselor’s table and sat down.

  I turned to Harper, who was watching Ally and me with evident amusement. “If only it was always that easy to get a date,” she said. “But don’t let Ally distract you.”

  “I won’t.”

  In the afternoon, the jury was picked and seated, and we were ready to get going. I had my opening statement prepared and I was anxious to get in front of the jury and plead our case. I had a feeling that I knew where our case was going to go, and I hoped that it would go right where I wanted it to.

  Nick was the first to address the jury with his opening statement. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, first of all, I would like to thank each and every one of you for your service. I know that it can’t be said enough how much you are appreciated. I understand that it’s not easy to leave your family and your jobs to come down here and sit in a stuffy courtroom, listening to us lawyers make our case, all while trying to stay awake.”

  The jury laughed lightly and a couple of people nodded their heads.

  “The reason why you are here, of course, is a very important one. You are here to dispense justice. Justice for Shelly McMason. Shelly was a beautiful young girl who had her entire life ahead of her. Her whole life ahead of her. She was only 23 years old. She was a computer genius and was from a prominent family here in town. Her mother is right over there,” he said, pointing to Emma McMason, who was sitting in the back of the courtroom, Kleenex in her hand. “And her father isn’t in the courtroom, as he is going to be a witness in this case. But if he had the chance to be in this courtroom right now, believe me, he would be.”

  “Shelly was full of life and dreams and goals. All that was cut short on the morning of October 1 of this year.” He paused dramatically. “On October 1 of this year, Shelly was driving to work. She had a job with the Kansas City Star, and she was on a dangerous assignment for them. She was to infiltrate the Armenian Power and write a story about what she had found. That meant that she had to work for the Armenian Power, without them knowing that she was working on a story for the newspaper.”

  “She was driving to work, ladies and gentlemen, when she discovered that her car did not have brakes. They were tampered with, and she was on the highway when she found this out.” He shook his head. “Could you imagine the panic she must have felt when she discovered that she didn’t have a way to slow down and stop her car? The abject fear? She ended up careening over the median of the highway and hitting a semi truck that was barreling down the road at 70 miles per hour. She hit that truck head-on, ladies and gentlemen, and there was very little of her to scrape out of her car at that point. Her casket was closed by necessity.”

  Then Nick pointed dramatically at Erik. “Erik Gregorian was the person who tampered with Shelly’s brakes, ladies and gentlemen. He had two reasons why he wanted Shelly dead. First, and probably most important, was the fact that he had found out that Shelly was working for the Kansas City Star, and that Shelly was ready to publish her expose on him and his organization. Evidence will show this to be true. That would mean that not only would everybody in the city know about his organization and what it does, but also that the authorities would be pressured into shutting it down. If the people of Kansas City knew what Erik’s organization was up to, the local police and the feds would have no choice but to bust Mr. Gregorian’s nefarious operation. Public pressure would demand no less.”

  “So, Erik Gregorian, who was the head of the clan that ran most of the East Side, had to shut Shelly up. And that’s exactly what he did. But he didn’t just have that reason to kill Shelly. It wasn’t just that Shelly was going to shine a light on what his organization was up to.” He shook his head. “No, it wasn’t just that. It was also because Erik and Shelly were having an affair. The problem, ladies and gentlemen, was that Shelly also had a fiancé. His name is Yasin Ahmadi, and Mr. Gregorian knew nothing about Yasin. At least, he knew nothing about Yasin until the afternoon of September 30, which was one day before Shelly was murdered. The evidence will show that Mr. Gregorian and Ms. McMason had heated words about the fact that she was engaged and failed to tell Mr. Gregorian this news. So, there you have it. Mr. Gregorian had two reasons why he wanted Ms. McMason dead. One was professional, the other was personal. Mr. Gregorian tampered with Ms. McMason’s brakes and she was killed as a result. I urge you to send a message to Mr. Gregorian that he might get away with criminal acts in his job, but he won’t get away with this criminal act. Thank you very much.”

  I stood up. “I would like a word with opposing counsel at the bench, please,” I said.

  Judge Clarion nodded and summoned both Nick and me to the bench. “Counselor,” he said, looking at me. “What is this about?”

  “I would like to ask for a mistrial,” I said in a whisper, glaring at Nick. “For slipping into his opening statement that my client has committed criminal acts. My client’s prior bad acts are off-limits in this trial, and, by alluding to them in his opening statement, Mr. Wright has already poisoned the well.”

  Judge Clarion looked over at Nick. “I’m inclined to agree with Mr. Harrington,” he said. “But I would like to hear your side.”

  “Judge Clarion, I think that it can be assumed that, since the defendant is working in organized crime, that he has committed criminal acts. That’s not a spectacular leap of logic for the jury to make. It’s like when you buy a bag of almonds, and the bag has an allergy warning that the bag contains nuts. I think that can be assumed. Likewise, it can be assumed here as well.”

  “That’s not a good enough argument,” I said, trying to keep my voice in a whisper. “Nobody can assume that my client has committed criminal acts, just because he works for an organized criminal organization. Besides, the fact that the Armenian Power is involved in organized crime isn’t going to be spelled out to the jury. I would like for this court to declare a mistrial.”

  Judge Clarion looked at both Nick and me and then shook his head. “Take it up on appeal, counselor,” he said to me. “This is a judgment call, but I will warn Mr. Wright that he is not to go there again. If you so much as breathe a word about anything that this defendant has done in the past, then I will call a mistrial and I’ll do it sua sponte. I hope that I have made myself perfectly clear.”

  “But Judge Clarion, with all due respect, that horse has left the barn. You have no choice but to call a mistrial.”

  He shook his head again. “Take it up with the appellate court. In the meantime, it’s time for your opening statement.”

  Nick took his seat, a smug look on his face. I was infuriated. He knew just exactly what he was doing, the little bastard. I looked over at Judge Clarion one last time. I’ll take it up with the appellate court, alright. I have an open and shut case. This was complete and utter bullshit that I was going to have to continue on, even though the jury was surely tainted.

  Shake it off.

  I walked over to the jury and began. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I also thank you for your service. I know how much time and sacrifice you are giving, and your role in this courtroom is invaluable.”

  I paced up and down, looking each person in the eye. “You heard the opening statement of the prosecutor, and, with all due respect, I believe that his statement shows what a flimsy case he has on his hands. Yes, I agree that Shelly’s brakes on her car were tampered with. I’ll stipulate to that. Somebody killed her. Somebody wanted her dead. I’ll agree to that fact all day long. But that somebody wasn’t my client.” I shook my head. “And nothing that opposing counsel said in his opening statement points to my client. To say that the evidence against him is circumstantial is an understatement.”

  “Now, let’s go through what the prosecutor just said. He said th
at Shelly McMason was infiltrating my client’s organization and that she was about to expose his organization to the world. She was working with the Kansas City Star and she was about to write a story about what my client’s operation was up to. I’m not going to stipulate to this fact. But, even if this is the case, so what? So what?” I shrugged my shoulders and stuck out my hands. “What does that show? My client is the head of the organization that Ms. McMason was allegedly infiltrating. He is not involved in the day-to-day operations of his clan.” I wanted to go further, but I chose not to. This was a strategic choice, as I didn’t want the jury to necessarily hear that Erik’s clan was involved in criminal activities, such as hits.

  “My evidence will show something very different. Namely, that there are no less than four individuals who had the motive to kill Shelly, and none of them are named Erik Gregorian. The evidence will show that Ms. McMason was in love with a Muslim man by the name of Yasin Ahmadi. Mr. Ahmadi had the motive to kill Ms. McMason because Ms. McMason was also romantically involved with an individual by the name of Wells Armstrong.” I nodded my head. “Yes, that Wells Armstrong, the CEO of Armstrong Pharmaceuticals, which was a strong rival for Argyros Pharmaceuticals, which was the company founded by Ms. McMason’s father, Andrew McMason. If Yasin did not kill Ms. McMason, then his father, Abdullah Ahmadi, might have. Abdullah is a very traditional Muslim man, an Iraqi refugee who came to America in the early 1990s, before Yasin was even born. He has traditional views, which meant that he disapproved of Shelly’s relationship with his son. Wells Armstrong himself had reason to kill Shelly. Although Ms. McMason saw her relationship with Wells as being strictly business, Wells thought differently. He was kept in the dark about the fact that she was engaged to Yasin Ahmadi. Finally, there was her father, Andrew McMason. The evidence will show that her father was enraged about Ms. McMason’s relationship with Mr. Ahmadi. In fact, he was so bothered by her relationship with Mr. Ahmadi that he cut Ms. McMason off financially. He was against his daughter dating a Muslim man and he was extremely prejudiced against Mr. Ahmadi. Add to that the fact that his daughter was also seeing the CEO of a rival company, and you have a recipe for disaster. Maybe even murder.”