The Judge Who Stole Christmas

by Randy Singer

  Thomas drew a deep breath and faced the court. “With all due respect, Your Honor, I answer to a higher power.”

  Jasmine shifted in her seat. What would Johnnie Cochran have done in a situation like this? What would Professor Arnold do?

  “Did you set up a manger scene on the Possum town square last night in direct violation of my order?”

  Jasmine jumped up. “Don’t answer that.”

  Ichabod turned on her. “What?”

  “I’m instructing my client not to answer on the grounds that it might incriminate him.”

  “Brilliant, Counsel.” Ichabod shook her head to show how stupid the tactic was. Then she turned to Mayor Frumpkin. “Did you go out to the town square last night?”

  “Yes.” Frumpkin’s voice was so soft that Jasmine could barely hear it.

  “Did Mr. Hammond set up a manger scene on the town square in direct violation of my order?”

  “Yes.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Frumpkin.”

  Now Jasmine felt like a complete idiot. She had angered the judge for no apparent reason.

  Ichabod turned back to Thomas. “Do you intend to go out there and set it up again tonight?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Have a seat.” Ichabod tilted her head and gave Jasmine a nod. “You may argue now, Counsel.”

  For five minutes Jasmine talked about Thomas and his family. She spoke of the American tradition of civil disobedience. She invoked Martin Luther King, Harriet Tubman, and Rosa Parks. She asked Ichabod to issue a stay of her ruling so that Jasmine could appeal to the Fourth Circuit and get a final word before Ichabod did something so drastic as send a man to jail. All the while Ichabod listened attentively, her eyes drilling holes in each of Jasmine’s arguments.

  When Jasmine finished, Harrod jumped up. “May I respond, Your Honor?”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Ichabod said. “The court finds the analogies to the civil rights protestors most inappropriate, especially since my colleagues on this very court, the Eastern District of Virginia sitting in Norfolk, paid such a high price for their courageous rulings against segregation at a time when it was most unpopular for them to take that stand. If anything, your client is more analogous to Judge Roy Moore, and we all know how that turned out.”

  Ichabod’s nose flared a few times as she considered her options. “Mr. Hammond, please stand.” Jasmine stood with him. “You may believe that you are subject to a higher authority, but you must learn that you are also subject to my authority. Though I am reluctant to take this step, your conduct leaves me no other recourse. I am hereby finding you in contempt of court and sentencing you to twenty-four hours in a federal holding cell. But I’m also putting you on notice right now, Mr. Hammond. Any further violations of my order after your release will result in a much longer sentence.” She paused, letting the gravity of her words sink in. “Am I making myself clear?”

  “Crystal clear, Your Honor.”

  Jasmine had heard that before.

  Later that afternoon Jasmine received a call with a 212 area code. New York City. She tried not to sound nervous. “Hello.”

  “Jazz, this is Pearson.”

  “Hey, Mr. Payne.”

  “Call me Pearson, please.”

  “Okay, Pearson.” Man, that sounded strange. “What’s up?”

  “You’re making quite a name for yourself down there, Jazz. You been watching CNN?”

  Should she tell him she preferred Fox News? “No. Why?”

  “They’ve been running that story about the Possum manger scene every fifteen minutes or so. My partners are starting to talk.”

  “Is that a problem?” She sensed that it was.

  “Well, let’s put it this way: Possum is not exactly coming off as the center of enlightenment here. And your involvement on the side of the religious Right has some of my partners concerned. Heck, most of ’em haven’t been inside a church since their kids got married.” Pearson hesitated. Jasmine decided to wait him out. “I’m going to bat for you, Jazz, but help me out by keeping a low profile. These guys are afraid that word will leak out about your coming to Gold, Franks, and the New York press would have a field day.”

  Jasmine wasn’t sure what to say. In truth, she had already been thinking about withdrawing from the case. How could she represent a client who wouldn’t take her advice? But on the other hand, she didn’t like being pressured by a firm she didn’t even work for yet.

  “Thanks for your support, Pearson. But I don’t understand why your partners don’t side with the First Amendment on this one.”

  Pearson chuckled. “Not my partners. They’re on the side of billing clients. And they don’t want this case to impact our hard-earned reputation with our decidedly liberal client base.”

  “I understand,” Jasmine said, though the idealist in her didn’t understand at all. “And I’ll govern myself accordingly.”

  “You’re going to fit in just fine at Gold, Franks,” Pearson said. “And don’t worry. I’ve got your back.”

  That evening, in a grungy visitation booth at the federal holding cell, both Theresa and Jasmine tried to extract a pledge from Thomas that he would not set up another manger scene after his release.

  Theresa approached it from a mother’s perspective, begging Thomas to consider the impact on their children. She told Thomas how Hannah had cried when she learned her daddy would be in jail. “Tiger stuck up for you, blaming the judge,” Theresa said. “I told them both you were a hero, but all they could think about was the time you spent in prison when Joshie died—and how the court took them away from me for a few weeks.”

  When Thomas didn’t respond, Jasmine started in. “You’ve made your stand, Thomas, and we’ll appeal Judge Baker-Kline’s rulings. We’ve got a good shot at getting her overturned in the Fourth Circuit and making some good law. But I can’t defend someone who blatantly disregards the court’s orders in the meantime. And I won’t represent someone who doesn’t follow my legal advice.”

  “Listen to her, Thomas,” Theresa said. “The judge may not be so lenient next time.”

  But Thomas set his jaw. “I love you, Theresa,” he said. “And, Jasmine, you’ve done good. But if you gotta drop the case, I understand.” Thomas stared at his hands, fingers laced together on the table in front of him. “But somebody’s gotta take a stand. Somebody’s gotta say ‘enough is enough,’ or everything our country stands for goes right down the toilet. And right now I don’t see nobody else willin’ to do it.”

  Thomas made eye contact with his wife. “I’m sorry, but this ain’t over.”

  Jasmine handed Thomas a one-page legal document—her motion to withdraw as counsel of record. “Then I’ll be filing this tomorrow,” she said. “I need you to sign it.”

  Instead of pleading for her to stay on the case, Thomas just nodded. He signed the document with the pen Jasmine provided. “Thanks for everything you’ve done.”

  This was harder than Jasmine thought it would be, especially when she saw the tears welling up in Theresa’s eyes. “Can I have a couple of minutes alone with him?” Theresa asked.

  FRIDAY, DECEMBER 15

  The next morning Jasmine filed her motion to withdraw when the clerk’s office opened at nine and obtained a hearing for eleven. She spent the time in between fighting the crowds at the MacArthur mall, though she didn’t actually buy any presents. Despite the Christmas music and decorations, she found it hard to summon any Christmas spirit in light of the fact that she would be abandoning Thomas’s case that day. She had developed a grudging respect for the man, despite the stubborn streak that made him impossible to defend.

  The hearing went about as expected, with Thomas voicing no objection. Harrod was nice enough, telling Jasmine before the hearing that she had done excellent work “for a law student.” A few members of the press attended, though Jasmine didn’t give them any comment. She intended to keep her promise to Pearson Payne and maintain a low profile.

  Ichab
od didn’t ask one question during the hearing. Professor Arnold had counseled Jasmine well, so she simply cited “irreconcilable differences between counsel and Mr. Hammond.” This could cover any range of things and therefore wouldn’t necessarily signal to the court that Jasmine was withdrawing because Thomas wouldn’t listen to her advice about following court orders. The phrase—and the feeling in the pit of her stomach—made this feel more like a divorce than a simple conflict between a lawyer and client.

  When Jasmine finished, Ichabod provided another of her vintage surprises. “I’m granting the motion,” she said, “effective twenty-four hours from now, at twelve noon on Saturday. That will give Mr. Hammond sufficient time to find new counsel.”

  Jasmine balked at the ruling. It meant that she would still be representing Thomas when he got out of jail that afternoon. She suspected that Ichabod knew exactly what was going on between client and lawyer and wanted Jasmine to still be counsel of record on Friday night, advising Thomas against setting up his manger scene on the town square.

  “Ms. Woodfaulk, I’d like to see you in my chambers for a few minutes,” Ichabod announced. She turned to Harrod. “The court typically doesn’t hold ex parte conferences,” Ichabod said, referring to a meeting with one lawyer in the absence of the other, “but this is about Ms. Woodfaulk’s motion to withdraw, not the merits of the case.”

  “That’s fine, Your Honor,” Harrod said.

  A few minutes later Jasmine found herself ushered into the vast expanse that was Ichabod’s office. High ceilings, cathedral-style windows, luxurious velvet drapes, and an ornately carved mahogany desk all served as testaments to Ichabod’s imperialistic power.

  “Come in,” Ichabod said, motioning to a chair in front of her desk. She took off her reading glasses and studied Jasmine the way opposing coaches used to look her over during warm-ups.

  “Why are you really withdrawing?” the judge asked.

  Better be careful here. “Off the record?”

  Ichabod nodded.

  “Because my client won’t follow my advice.”

  Ichabod waited for a few beats. “If you’re telling him to obey my orders, then you’re giving him good advice.”

  Jasmine nodded. “I know.”

  Ichabod relaxed and leaned back in her chair. “You think I like putting your client in jail?”

  Jasmine scrunched up her face, trying hard to read this enigmatic judge. “No, Your Honor.”

  “Look, I like Christmas just as much as your client, despite what the papers are saying. It’s just that I also happen to value our Constitution, and particularly the separation of church and state that it requires, even more than I do your client’s right to set up a manger scene on public property.”

  “I understand, Your Honor.”

  “Frankly, I don’t think you do. But that’s beside the point. Our country needs this issue settled, and I know the final word won’t come from me. One way or another, this case is going to be appealed. And I don’t like being reversed, Jasmine—” Ichabod penetrated Jasmine with a look as she said this—“but I also want to see a fair fight. You don’t usually get good rulings when one side has bad lawyering.”

  Jasmine wasn’t sure where this was headed. Is she accusing me of bad lawyering?

  As if reading Jasmine’s mind, the judge grinned. “Not you, Jasmine. That’s my whole point. You’re the only lawyer on your side who seems to know the law and cares enough to make the arguments that need to be made. For a law school student, you’ve done an admirable job.”

  Ichabod hesitated again, and Jasmine basked for a moment in the glow of the compliment.

  “If you withdraw, you leave Mr. Hammond with what? a court-appointed lawyer? What if he refuses a court-appointed lawyer—which, knowing your client, he just might do. Then he proceeds pro se.” Ichabod shook her head. “There’s nothing worse than an out-of-control defendant proceeding pro se. The press gives him all kinds of sympathy, and he turns my courtroom into a circus.”

  “I hear you, Judge. But how can I represent someone who doesn’t take my advice?”

  “Get used to it,” Ichabod scoffed. “If clients always followed their lawyer’s advice, we wouldn’t have any repeat offenders. Criminal defense lawyers make a killing off clients who ignore their advice. Comes with the territory.”

  That’s why I’m not going to be a criminal defense lawyer, Jasmine wanted to say. But there was no sense arguing with Ichabod. “You’re asking me to stay on?”

  “Yes. It’s why I made my order effective twenty-four hours from now. Gives you a chance to reconsider your motion if you want.” The judge leaned forward. “I followed your basketball career when you played for Old Dominion, and I know you’re not a quitter on the basketball court. I’m betting you’re not a quitter in the courtroom, either.”

  This is so unfair. “Okay, Your Honor,” Jasmine forced herself to say. “I’ll think about it.”

  “You do that,” Ichabod said. “But don’t think that if you decide to stay on, I owe you any favors. You and your client are wrong about this. And my rulings will be sustained by the Fourth Circuit . . . after a fair fight, of course.”

  “Of course,” Jasmine said. She left the judge’s chambers feeling a little more proud and a lot more confused. How did I get myself into this mess?

  He showed up at the trailer on Friday afternoon, and Theresa knew immediately that he was an answer to prayer. For one thing, she had been praying at the precise moment he knocked on her trailer door. Not the kind of quiet, kneeling-in-solitude prayer that she needed but seldom experienced anymore. But she had been praying, even as she amused three toddlers and listened to VeggieTales blaring in the background.

  At first she hesitated to answer, thinking that he might be one of the reporters who had been seeking an interview. But when she peeked through one of the miniblinds and saw the big silver Cadillac, she knew he was some kind of angel, rather than a member of the demonic press.

  Turned out that David A. Arginot III was a lawyer, but then angels had been known to disguise themselves as some pretty unlikely characters. Why not a lawyer?

  The impeccably dressed man handed Theresa a business card. “I am chief counsel for the Freddie Hester Evangelistic Association,” he said, chest puffed out. The card was embossed in gold. “Reverend Hester himself sent me because he believes so strongly in what your husband is doing. May I come in and have a word with you?”

  Theresa thought about what a mess her trailer was. There were toys strewn everywhere, with Elizabeth and another toddler crawling underfoot and a third child sitting in an automatic baby swing. But wasn’t there a Scripture someplace that talked about always being hospitable because one might be entertaining angels unaware?

  “Please come in,” Theresa said, blushing a little. “But pardon the mess—I’ve just been so busy.” She picked her way to the couch, moving a few toys and picking up some stray Cheerios so her new friend could sit down.

  Mr. Arginot smiled, pressing his perfect mustache into his round puffy cheeks. “Don’t worry about it; I’ve seen much worse.” For some reason Theresa doubted it.

  Her visitor crossed his legs and wrapped his hands around a knee. “I know that your lawyer filed a motion to withdraw today,” he began. “And Reverend Hester wants to make sure you have good legal representation. He believes this case is a key battle in the cultural war for the soul of America.”

  Theresa simply nodded, amazed at how quickly this man had learned of Jasmine’s withdrawal and then found Theresa’s trailer. And the man was probably coming from . . . where? Florida? Wasn’t that where Hester’s ministry was located? It almost qualified as miraculous.

  “In fact, Reverend Hester feels so strongly about this that he has already started a legal defense fund for your husband.” At this revelation, gratitude surged through Theresa. And Arginot was not even finished.

  “And I am willing to drop everything I’m doing right now and make myself available to personally serve as
your husband’s lawyer.”

  Elizabeth chose that precise moment to bump her head on the end of the couch and begin fussing. Theresa picked her up, kissed the spot, and began shushing the little girl. “I’m . . . I’m not sure what to say,” Theresa stammered once Elizabeth had calmed down. It seemed too good to be true—a real lawyer, a Christian to boot, willing to take her case. And someone else was paying for it! “I mean, I . . . I can’t believe you would do this . . . I was just praying . . . I’m a little overwhelmed.”

  This brought another reassuring smile from Arginot. No teeth should shine that brightly. He reached into his suit-coat pocket and withdrew a few sheets of paper and a pen. “I’ve taken the liberty of drafting a contract,” he said. “You’ll notice in the first paragraph that it specifies that all legal bills will be paid from the legal fund established by Reverend Hester.”

  Theresa gently placed Elizabeth back on the floor and the child motored off. She took the paper from Mr. Arginot and perused the first few paragraphs, just enough to realize she couldn’t understand a word of it.

  “Thomas will be released in a few hours,” Arginot said confidently as if he had the case file memorized and knew everything there was to know about Theresa’s family. “If it’s okay with you, we’ll pick him up at the jail together and let him know that he’s in good legal hands.” A broad smile. “Mine.”

  Theresa nodded.

  “If he decides to retain me—at no cost, of course—you and the older kids will go from there to the Norfolk municipal airport, where we have a charter jet waiting to take you to New York. I will accompany Thomas back to Possum so he can resurrect the manger scene.” Arginot looked around at the chaos. “You might want to get somebody to take care of your younger child tomorrow—this could be a whirlwind trip.”

  A babysitter? New York? Resurrect the manger scene? Who said anything about resurrecting the manger scene?

  “New York?” she asked. One issue at a time.