by Reason of Sanity

by Gene Grossman

About the only thing I can do on this one is try to break down the timeline of the video. I send a request over to Myra’s office for copies of the tapes they’ve no doubt made for me. The only time that the prosecutors are happy to provide you with their evidence is when it nails your client to the wall beyond any reasonable doubt. I guess it’s time to go downtown, pick up my appointment file and visit the new client.

  After checking in the front desk of Twin Towers, Los Angeles’ modern county jail, and presenting my State Bar card, a Deputy Sheriff leads me back to the attorney interview area, where I sit and wait about twenty minutes for my client to be brought in.

  No client appears. Instead, a jailer comes in and tells me that my client would rather not see me.

  This is a new one. After over twenty years of doing this, I’ve never been refused an interview before. And to make it even weirder, I wasn’t forcing myself on this guy, because the court clerk said that he approved of my representing him when the court appointed me.

  Just to make sure I’m not missing out on something, on the way out of the building I stop by the Captain’s office to find out exactly what their policy is for inmates who don’t want to see their lawyer. My client was right and I was wrong. The Captain tells me that an inmate does have a right to refuse a visit – even by his own attorney. Not only did he not want to see me – he also gave me an important indication of how difficult this case will be to handle…it’s going to be uphill all the way. If he’s smart enough to avoid meeting with me, I hope he’s also smart enough to figure out some strategy to beat this case – because I sure can’t.

  Approaching the Marina, I see some-thing that’s now familiar to me but almost caused me to wreck my car the first time I saw it – a huge Saint Bernard driving an electric cart. Actually, as I now know very well, the dog doesn’t drive – it’s Suzi. The dog sits up on the front seat next to her but if you see them from a certain angle, she’s hidden behind the dog.

  Her usual routine during the week includes stopping by the private mailbox place to pick up the firm’s incoming stuff, making a deposit at the driveup ATM window and stopping by the Chinese restaurant around the corner, where she and the dog disappear inside for an hour or so.

  Because her late mother was a head waitress at the place, she’s treated like royalty there. And since all the local cops eat lunch there every day, she’s become their official mascot, so she can do no wrong in their jurisdictions.

  On today’s trip, when she sees me, I’m honored with a wave of her hand as she speeds down the alley towards the rear entrance to the Chinese restaurant.

  Suzi’s late stepfather Melvin explained to me that she’s got the authorities convinced she’s being home-schooled, so as long as she keeps passing their quarterly tests, she has her days free to run the law practice I work for and volunteer at the hospital with that huge animal of hers.

  I still get a kick out of how she taught the dog to stand up on his hind legs, open the mailbox door with a paw and then deposit the mail from his mouth into the slot. During the rainy season, she has the dog trained to do the mail run all by himself. Of course none of this is amazing compared to how she’s got me trained during the past six months. Each morning I make my bed, throw away yesterday’s newspapers, wash my breakfast bowl (she can’t reach the sink), and take out the garbage.

  If it’s early enough in the morning, I usually bump into Laverne, who lives on a small houseboat a few slips down on the dock. If I’ve had enough to drink in the evening, I’ve been known to allow myself to be abducted by Laverne, while walking past her houseboat. This happens at least once a month, but I never complain… it must be some form of the Stockholm syndrome, named after an event that occurred in 1973 when four Swedes were held captive for six days in a bank vault during a robbery. According to psychologists, the abused bonded to their abusers as a means to endure violence.

  In my case, it’s a situation of bonding to my abductor because even though she’s got plenty of miles on her, she’s still a smooth ride.

  There’s a knock on the hull. It’s a messenger with two packages for me. The court file on my lawyer-shy murderer and a stack of videocassettes – copies of the surveillance tapes from the hospital. What a pain in the ass. I’ll never have time to watch them all. Each one is eight hours long, recorded in stop-motion intervals of one second. Fortunately they’re all labeled with a digital stopwatch appearing on the bottom of the screen that constantly displays the date, hour, minute and second of the taping. I’ve been told they call it time-code.

  This is all the fault of a guy named Harry Lillis Crosby, who was a great old-time crooner nicknamed ‘Bing.’ You should remember him from a bunch of old ‘road’ movies he made with a comedian named Bob Hope. There’s also an old song called White Christmas he recorded that sold quite well. Bing was a golf nut, but his game was interrupted quite often because he had to do his weekly television show twice during each broadcast day. The second show for local stations; the first one was show earlier, and broadcast from California to the East Coast, to allow for the time difference. Everything was shot ‘live’ in those days.

  Bing came across a guy named Jack Mullin, who had an idea for a new invention called ‘videotape.’ With the help of Bing’s fifty thousand dollar investment, a process was started in the 1950’s that resulted in me now having an entire week’s worth of crime-scene videotapes to watch. Good work, Bing.

  I leave the videotapes on the boat’s din ette table and start to read the file on Vinnie’s drunk driver case. Maybe I’ll have more luck with a broken tree than I had with my reluctant murderer.

  I can read a book in one sitting if it’s something that I’m really interested in. I usually can usually get through about fifty pages an hour if it’s a ‘page-turner,’ so the average four-hundred-page paperback takes me a full day. There’s no break necessary for eating because I’ve mastered the art of doing both of those enjoyable tasks at the same time.

  Unfortunately the same doesn’t a pply to anything other than a suspense thriller or some mystery written by Arthur Conan Doyle or Rex Stout, so after about five minutes with the police report, my eyelids are starting to get heavy. It’s such a beautiful day in Southern California, it seems like a good time to take a walk up and down the dock. Maybe I’ll bump into George Clooney. I’ve been told he bought the huge mega-yacht that’s parked on our dock’s large end-tie from the estate of Johnny Carson.

  A friend of mine who’s about my age, told me that after he turned forty, he started to feel old when the cops started looking like high-school kids to him. They look young to me too, but my introduction to the aging process happens now as I see a young mother carrying a baby in her arms and holding the hand of second youngster walking next to her. They’re obviously coming to visit a boat-owning friend or relative on our dock.

  As they pass by me, the eyes of the young one walking bulged out as he looks down the dock and sees that mega-yacht parked on our end tie. He looks up at his mother and asks her whose it is. She tells him that she doesn’t know, but that he should ask the nice man standing there (me). The kid, shy at first, looks up at me. “Mister, do you know who lives on that big boat.” Cute kid. He’s got his eyes on Johnny Carson’s former boat, now owned by George Clooney I look down at him and answer his question.

  Not wanting to violate George’s privacy, I tell the kid that huge yacht once belonged to none other than Johnny Carson.” The kid looks at me with a blank stare on his face. I don’t want to leave him completely confused, so I try to help him out. “Your mommy will tell you all about Johnny Carson.”

  That’s when my age creeps up on me. As I smile and look into the young mother’s face, I realize that she doesn’t know who Johnny Carson is either! How can this be? The most famous talk show host in history – the greatest interviewer who ever lived – a guy who spent thirty years entertaining people – and she doesn’t know who he is? She must be from a foreign country. And then it dawns on me: If this young mother is now
in her twenties, which it looks like she is, then Johnny Carson retired when she was still in elementary school, when she had to be in bed before his show started. Boy, time sure flies.

  I look at her and tried to explain in a way I’m sure she’ll understand. “He’s an old time television personality.”

  Realizing how fast time flies, I’d better get back to the boat and finish reading that police report before the cataracts kick in.

  6

  L

  ong, long ago, places selling booze would dole it out in very small amounts called ‘drams,’ and if you want to really get technical, you should know that a dram is about one-eighth of an ounce. Those shops that sold booze by the dram were called ‘dram shops.’ That’s about as clever as they got naming businesses back in those days.

  Nowadays, with all the damages and deaths that drunk drivers cause, most states have enacted laws that trace liability for drunk driving injuries back to the last place where the drunk driver was served. Those laws are called ‘Dramshop laws,’ and they now exist in all but seven states, but California isn’t one of them.

  This means that if I can construct my case properly by using California’s current Dramshop law, I might be able to bring an action on Vinnie’s behalf against the bar where his defendant got drunk.

  But even if I can put that together by showing he got drunk there and not somewhere else before going to that last watering hole, the restaurant will probably argue that his criminal act of stealing the Lexus was an ‘unforeseeable’ event, and therefore it cuts off their liability for his further actions. This is going to take some heavy-duty research. Jack Bibberman may have to spend time on some barstools for this case, but considering how well he holds his liquor, it will be a fun assignment for him.

  Fortunately, S uzi was successful in getting us a copy of the police report on the auto theft portion of the case. It gives a lot of facts about the vehicle, the lack of any owner’s permission to use it, yada yada. All that’s missing is how long the defendant was in that place drinking. I’d like to avoid any surprise that could jump up and bite me if the guy did all his drinking somewhere else and just stopped in this place to say hello to someone. The defendant obviously didn’t have his own car, so I tell Jack to check other saloons within walking distance. He’s got the defendant’s mug shot to show around.

  I feel better now th at there’s a slim possibility to hang my hat on for Vinnie’s case. Maybe now would be a good time to goof off for an hour or so and read a Sherlock Holmes story. Usually, getting comfortable to do some reading causes some interruption. This time it’s different. Just the thought of doing some reading causes the phone to ring. It’s Stuart.

  “Hey Stu, what’s up. Oh, by the way, I think I’ve got a way to go on your friend Vinnie’s case, but we’re going to have to do some investigating on it.”

  “That’s great Pete, but I’m afraid I’ve got another case that’s a little more important to me, right now.”

  “Stu, I’m really not l ooking for any new cases this month. I’ve got an arraignment on that murder case next week against Myra, Vinnie’s case will be taking up a lot of my time, and I’m still trying to defend that case where the slip and fall guy got killed in the hospital.”

  “Pete, you don’t understand. It’s me this time. I’m getting sued again.”

  “For what?”

  “You know that small claim court thing I’m

  doing f or people who get junk faxes? Well one of the defendants we filed against had the case moved up into the Municipal Court and they’re counter-suing me for some things like Barratry, Champerty and Maintenance.”

  I don’t want to admit that I haven’t the slightest idea what he’s talking about. “Stuart, bring whatever they served you with over to the boat this evening. I can’t give you any advice until I see the papers. We’ll have some dinner and talk about it.”

  “Are we eating out?” I sense some apprehension on his part.

  “No, Stuart. I’m cooking.” He doesn’t comment.

  After we hang up, I reach for my copy of the thick Black’s Law Dictionary that always occupies a prominent position on my desk. Let’s see now, what were those things he’s being sued for?

  A message from Jack Bibberman comes in. He only had to make one stop on Vinnie’s case. Two cocktail waitresses confirm that the defendant was definitely in the bar where he stole the car from for at least six hours. Good! Now they won’t be able to point the finger at some other saloon. This case is going ahead right on track.

  I’ll be in court in a few days for that murder case arraignment, but something doesn’t compute. If I’m defending the bank’s insurance company against the claim of Mike Drago who slipped and fell there, how can the court appoint me to defend the guy who’s charged with killing him? I call Myra’s office. Maybe this is my chance to get off this losing case. I get put right through to her.

  “What is it Pete? I’ve got a lot of work piled up on my desk.”

  “Well, I’m glad to see that you’re so busy. Maybe I can get out of your way on the murder case.”

  “He wants to plead out?”

  “No, I want to plead out. Out of this case. I think there might be a potential conflict here.”

  “No way, Josè. If you want off this case, I’ll meet you in chambers. We can discuss it there and we’ll let Judge Axelrod make the decision. As far as I’m concerned, you and your client are both going down in flames on this one.”

  Judge Axelrod’s clerk shows us into his chambers. The judge cleared up his calendar early today, so he’s got some time to meet with us. He’s in a good mood. “What’s up people?”

  I start with my pitch. “Your Honor, first of all I’d like to thank you for appointing me to this case. It’s an honor to get on the capital crimes appointment list, but I’m afraid I’ve got a conflict on this one.”

  The Judge and Myra exchange glances. I get the sinking feeling that they’ve already covered this ground and I’ve already lost.

  “As I was saying, my client the Uniman Insurance Company has a vested interest in Mister Drago’s death. If he can’t appear and testify in his slip-and-fall case and the claim for pain and suffering doesn’t survive his passing, then it’s to the insurance company’s benefit to have him dead.”

  They both question me, almost in unison. “So?”

  “So, if I win the murder case, it might mean that Drago did not die at the hands of another, which would mean that his death may have been a result of the slip-and-fall case. That’s against my insurance client’s interest. In other words, the better I do on the criminal case, the worse I do on the civil case.” The judge looks at me over his bifocals.

  “Mister Sharp, you’ve appeared in my court on many occasions and I obviously approve of your talents as an attorney, or I wouldn’t have appointed you on this capital case. The county jail informed my clerk that you were refused an interview with your client, which tells me that he isn’t interested in assisting with his own defense. According to Miss Scot’s interview on the evening news, the prosecution has a videotape of your client committing the act with which he’s charged. In view of these two facts, I would say that the chances of your winning this case are slim and none… and Slim’s out of town.”

  “Yes, your Honor, I agree it doesn’t look too good for the defense, but…” He cuts me off midsentence.

  “There are no buts, counsel. No jury trial was requested on this case. It’s going to be heard by just me. And to tell the truth, I don’t think Siegfried and Roy could create an illusion of innocence in this matter. Now this doesn’t mean that my mind is already made up, because I haven’t seen any evidence yet, but if for some reason it doesn’t get admitted properly then you might have a chance. “I’m willing to risk that you’re not creating any conflict here and I’m also going to have my clerk type up a memo to that effect on my official letterhead for you to present to your civil client and to the State Bar, if you feel that might be necessary in the fut
ure. Thank you for coming in today – I’ll see you both in court next week at the arraignment.”

  Okay, I’m still on the case. I’ll just drop this whole thing in Indovine’s lap. If they still want me on the civil case, then I’ll stay on, but I have to let him know that I’m going to do my best on the criminal case.

  The email is sent to Indovine. He calls me back personally. “Peter, I’ve received your message and we’re all quite pleased at your honest attempt to avoid a conflict here, but not to worry.”

  “Oh, thanks, I see you think I’m going to lose the criminal case too.”

  “Peter, it doesn’t matter. Even if by some miracle you get your criminal defendant off, it still doesn’t mean that our claimant wasn’t murdered… it just means that your guy didn’t do it. The videotape clearly shows that the claimant was murdered… and that should cut off our liability. It’s a criminal act and no court will hold that it was foreseeable. That shyster Handelmann doesn’t stand a chance – now go and do the best you can for your criminal client.”

  As I hang up the phone I see that the Saint Bernard is sitting here looking at me. He must be psychic. Suzi is busy studying this evening for her quarterly home-schooling test, so I’m left on my own to make dinner. The dog is rarely more than two feet away from her, unless he knows that I’ll be trying to prepare food. Not being the neatest guy in the world, he knows I can be counted on for some food droppings, so when I start cooking, he goes on ‘crumb patrol.’

  Tonight’s gourmet feast will be pasta a la Marina. Poured on top of the cooked, large elbow macaroni will be a can of Campbell’s low-fat cream of mushroom soup, a small can of sweet peas, three slices of non-fat mozzarella cheese, some chopped garlic, and whatever else I can find in the refrigerator.

  This is a win-win situation. Stuart will be here this evening with his lawsuit and whatever’s left over after the dog and my cooking mistakes, we will both have for dinner.

  Stuart shows up promptly at six-t hirty and the three of us sit down to eat. Suzi is spending the evening at her computer, but will probably be listening in to every word Stuart and I say. Stuart hands me the papers he was served with. It seems that one of his defendants decided to fight back. Our federal government passed the Telephone Consumer Protection Act, which gives any person who receives an unsolicited fax, the right to sue in small claims court and get five hundred dollars in damages from the fax sender.