by Reason of Sanity

by Gene Grossman

  Once the bailiff’s announcement is made and Myra and I both state our representation for the record, it’s my turn to offer a plea on my client’s behalf. I think I’ve got a win-win way for us all to handle this – if it works. The Judge looks down at me. “Well, Counselor, you’ve had some time now. How would Mister Blitzstien like to plead? I’m sure you’re familiar with the menu. Today’s specials are Guilty, Not Guilty, Not Guilty by Reason of Insanity, or Nolo Contendere. Would you like to make a selection?”

  I spend a few seconds telling Harold that Nolo Contendere means ‘no contest,’ and that they can do whatever they want, because you just don’t care. He’s not very talkative today. The judge is getting impatient.

  “Mister Sharp, can we please move this along? Not Guilty has traditionally been our best seller, would your client like to try it out?”

  I can’t keep the judge waiting any longer. “Your Honor, if the court pleases, at this point we’re down to two choices you offered that look attractive today.” I look over to the prosecution table. Myra is glaring at me, nervously tapping her pencil on the counsel table with one of those ‘what the hell is this schmuck up to now?’ looks on her face. I haven’t seen that look since we were married. I continue. “We seem to be on the fence between Not Guilty and Not Guilty by Reason of Insanity, so to save everyone a lot of trouble down the road, we would ask that the court order a psychological examination of Mister Blitzstien, to determine, among other things, his ability to understand the charges against him, his ability to cooperate with the defense, and whether or not he’s fit to stand trial.” The courtroom is silent. I can hear the gears grinding in Myra’s head. Not hearing any immediate objection, I go on. “In this way Your Honor, once the court has had an opportunity to examine the Defendant, we will go along with whatever the result is. In fact, we’ll stipulate to an agreement right now, that the plea will depend entirely on the results of the court’s psychiatric examination.”

  The judge wants to make sure. “Mister Sharp, are you telling this court that if the examination I order shows the defendant to be fit to stand trial, that you will not consider an insanity plea and go with a straight Not Guilty?”

  “That’s correct, Your Honor.” The judge looks over to Myra.”

  She stands up. “No objection, Your Honor.” The judge bangs his gavel down. “So be it.

  You’ll both be notified when the report comes in.” I look at Harold, just before they lead him

  away. “Harold, just be yourself.” At this point, I have

  no idea what he really is, so I’m as curious to see

  what the shrink will say as Myra and the judge are. I

  can only say one thing about him – he looks really

  terrible. I hope he’s physically okay.

  Back at the boat, I start to go over the responses to Interrogs returned to us. I scan through both sets, looking for answers to certain questions. On Stuart’s spamming case I see the answer I’m looking for. On Vinnie’s case I don’t.

  The questions asked of the Mexican restaurant were about employees and customers. I specifically mentioned the night that the drunk driver was there, but their answers completely deny that he was either a customer or an employee. This is not good for us. If he wasn’t working as a bartender or waiter and he wasn’t an employee, then how the hell did he get enough booze in his system to blow a 0.19? The restaurant didn’t report him to the police for stealing alcohol, so he must have been drinking it over the six hours he was there. Was it free? I don’t think so.

  The property report from his arrest didn’t indicate any credit cards, so if he paid for the drinks, it must have been by cash. This calls for more investigation. I call Jack Bibberman and tell him to re-interview the witnesses. No wonder Patty Vogel was so smug when I talked to her. I was right; she knows something that I don’t know and it bothers me.

  I call the public defender’s office and try to locate whatever deputy has been assigned to the drunk’s Grand Theft Auto charge. After what seems like an hour on hold, I finally reach a deputy PD who is handling the matter for arraignment. “Hi, this is Peter Sharp. I filed a civil matter against your client Harry Michaels. He’s the one charged with driving that Lexus into a tree after leaving a Mexican restaurant on Washington Boulevard, out here in the Marina, and I understand you’re representing him.

  “That’s right, Mister Sharp, I caught that case. What can I do for you?”

  “Well, as you probably know, he wound up

  wrapping that car around a tree.”

  “And you represent the tree?”

  “Not quite. It so happens that my client was

  standing next to that tree, taking a leak, at the exact

  same time that Mister Michaels decided to attack it.” I hear laughter on the other end of the line. “Is

  your client claiming some invasion of privacy, or

  maybe peeus interruptus?”

  “Not exactly, but the tree did fall on him. We

  filed a Municipal Court action to recover for some

  new clothes and minor pain and suffering. This is a

  small matter but the client is an employee of one of

  my bigger clients, so I’m trying to keep him happy.” “Okay. It’s time for the commercial. You

  want to interview him, right?”

  “Right.” The Interrogs I got back from the

  restaurant that served him last don’t dispute the fact

  that he was there for six hours, but I can’t establish him as either a customer or an employee. I’m trying

  to figure out what the hell he was doing there.” “Sharp, I appreciate your situation but I can’t

  arrange for an interview. I’ll tell you what - I’m

  pleading him out later this week. If you want, you

  can be there in the courtroom. Maybe you’ll get a

  chance to ask him a quick question while he’s

  standing next to me at the counsel table.”

  “Do you think he’ll do some time?”

  “Yeah, but it won’t be hard time. I’ve talked

  to the City Attorney and they’re willing to let him do

  six months at County Jail. They’re pretty

  overcrowded there, so he’ll probably be out in a

  month or so. If you really want some cooperation, I’d

  like to be able to tell him that you’ve authorized me

  to deposit some cash to his prisoner account, so while

  he’s in there, he can buy some grooming stuff.

  Nothing big, maybe ten or fifteen bucks.”

  “It’s a deal. I’ll give it to you in court before I

  talk to him. If anyone sees me handing you the

  money, you can just tell them it’s a drug deal.” Just as I hang up the phone, there’s a knock

  on the hull. It’s a messenger with the still pictures I

  ordered off the security videos from the bank and

  hospital, so it looks like I’ve got some work to do

  now.

  The dog is sitting and watching me. This

  means that he knows something before I know it –

  that I’m cooking tonight. Suzi must be busy doing

  something, so she told the dog that I’d feed him. He

  obviously doesn’t want to be late for dinner. Tonight’s pasta dish will be a special

  combination that includes the usual small can of sweet peas, eight ounces of large elbow macaroni, a can of almost fat-free vegetarian chili, plus a few dashes of Paul Newman’s Spaghetti sauce. Added to the mix will be three slices of veggie imitation cheddar cheese and some garlic salt. I call this combination my chili-mac special. The dog smells the open can of chili, but because it’s up on the sink and he can’t see the label, he doesn’t know it’s the

  vegetarian kind.

  As I’m walking around the galley, I notice

  that the door to the little princess’ stateroom is ajar.

&
nbsp; She’s peeking out at me.

  “I’m preparing one of my pasta dishes

  tonight. Would you like a bowl of it?”

  For the first time since I’ve met her, I see a

  slight smile on her face as she nods ‘yes’ and then

  immediately hides behind her door. I must have done

  something right, because this is the first time she’s

  agreed to voluntarily eat my cooking.

  The phone rings. “Myra, my dear. Your

  number is always a pleasant sight when it appears on

  my caller ID display. What can I do for your

  tonight?”

  “You stood me up last time. I had to sit there

  and eat lunch all alone.”

  “I called.”

  “Yeah, but I was already waiting in the

  restaurant, so I stayed to eat.”

  “I’m sorry, but you know how it is when

  you’ve got a busy private practice.”

  “Sure Pete. How many cases do you have

  now, three?”

  “It’s four, but who’s counting? To what do I

  owe the pleasure of this call?”

  “I thought I’d give you a heads-up on that

  murderer you’re defending. We did a thorough search

  of the hospital and found a discarded latex ‘missionimpossible’ type of facemask that looks exactly like

  your client. That means someone else may have done

  the crime and then looked up at the security camera

  with the mask on, to make it look like your client was

  the guilty one.

  “It’s probably something the CIA is involved

  in, so we’ll be dismissing the case and releasing your

  client with a letter of apology signed by everyone in

  the District Attorney’s office. I hope that helps you

  out a little.”

  She must really enjoy torturing me. “Oh gee,

  Myra, thanks a lot. That’s exactly what I’ve been

  hoping for to clear this innocent man. I’d better get

  down to the county jail to pick him up… or will you

  be sending your driver to take him home? There! You

  feel better now? I know it doesn’t look too good for

  us but there’s no need to rub it in. You’ll get your

  conviction and you’ll get elected as District

  Attorney.”

  “Yeah, I know. But it’s still going to be fun

  beating your pants off in court. In all the years I’ve

  known you, I’ve never seen you at such a loss for

  words or strategy. Your client is going down and

  there’s nothing you can do about it.”

  “The shrink’s report isn’t in yet, you know.

  There’s always a possibility he can be found unfit to

  stand trial.”

  “No way Petey, and you know it. He’s just as

  sane as you and me. I’m glad we’ve got him on tape

  because the only weak link in our whole case was the motive. After this is all over, maybe you’ll tell me

  why he did it.”

  “Sorry beautiful. I’d like to assert the

  Attorney-client privilege, but all I’ve gotten from his

  so far is silence. And I do mean silence. The guy

  hasn’t said one complete sentence to me since I was

  appointed to defend him. Oh by the way, I’m

  preparing one of my special pasta dishes tonight –

  want some?”

  “No thank you, I’m off of gruel this month.

  But I’ll make it easy for you. If you win this case, I’ll

  buy you dinner anywhere you want.”

  “Anywhere?”

  “You got it, pal.”

  “Myra, if I win this case by proving that my

  client didn’t do the crime, I’d like to have dinner at

  the club.”

  “What club would that be, Peter? Have you

  joined the ‘Y’?”

  “Not exactly, my dear. I mean our club – the

  Lahaina Yacht Club. I’ll pay for the plane – you pay

  for the food.”

  There’s a brief lull while she’s thinks it over.

  This will be the real test to see how much she

  believes in her case. My macaroni timer is

  approaching eight minutes, so I try to move the

  conversation along. “Myra, I don’t want to sound

  rude but my pasta is almost done cooking.”

  “Okay Petey, you get an acquittal on this case

  and I’ll buy you dinner at the club on Maui.” She can call me Petey as much as she wants,

  as long as it’s accompanied by an offer to go to Maui

  with me. The last time we were in Maui together was

  during our first few years of marriage, and it was really great. Maybe because that’s before she started law school.

  Now I’ve got some extra incentive to win this case. Even if the court only awards me fifty bucks an hour, by the time the trial is over I’ll have about two hundred hours invested. Ten grand will help to make it like a second honeymoon - and we’ll go first class. Now, all I have to do is figure out some way to win an impossible losing case. No problemo. I’m sure

  that with the dog’s help, it’s in the bag.

  During dinner I browse through the still

  pictures that were ‘frame-grabbed’ from the hospital

  security tapes. There are several that I requested and

  they clearly show Harold walking into the hospital

  room, standing by the closet door, walking over to

  the vacant bed next to Drago’s, picking up the pillow

  from the vacant bed, lowering the pillow onto

  Drago’s face, pressing and holding the pillow down

  on Drago’s face, and then putting the pillow back

  onto the other bed.

  There were another few minutes or two of

  photos I didn’t ask for, during which time the nurses

  ran into the room and tried to revive Drago.

  Evidently, his flat line showed up on the nurses’

  station computer, letting them know that they’d lost

  another customer, so they rushed into the room.

  When they ran in, Harold hid behind the vacant bed’s

  curtain and then walked out while they were trying to

  revive Drago. That’s when he looked up at the

  hallway security camera outside Drago’s room. According to the added time-code on the

  bottom of the photos, the whole act took no more

  than two minutes. The hospital staff used those electric paddles and spent several minutes trying to

  bring Drago back to life, but it was to no avail. I spread the ink-jet printed pictures out on the

  coffee table in chronological order and scan back and

  forth over them, looking – I don’t know for what –

  just looking.

  The Saint Bernard is coming out of the

  forward stateroom with his leash in his mouth. This is

  the signal for me to do the trick he taught me. When

  he brings his leash over to me like that, I’m supposed

  to attach it to his collar and take him for a walk. As

  I’m fastening the leash, he drools on one of the

  pictures, completely obscuring the upper portion of

  the one that shows my client lowering the pillow onto

  Drago’s face. No problem. That’s a picture I’m not

  particularly fond of.

  On the way back from our walk, I can’t help

  but notice Laverne smiling in our direction from her

  window. I hope it’s me she’s smiling at. I let the dog

  go back to our boat by himself, and smile back at


  Laverne. Aw, what the hell. I’ve worked hard today –

  I might as well take a break from normality. If I

  perform the tricks that she taught me, I’ll get

  rewarded with French toast for breakfast.

  10

  I

  ’ve received the bank’s security tapes and just like the hospital cassettes, they were digitized into a computer somewhere. I now have a single tape that contains all the action in the bank concerning Drago’s fall. Because there’s constant traffic in the bank, there aren’t any dead spots with no motion, so all I’m concentrating on is the thirty minutes before and after the fall.

  This one-hour cassette is not a compilation of footage – it’s the actual real-time account of what happened in the bank the hour of the accident. I see a kid spilling his coke on the floor near the counter where the deposit and withdrawal slips are. I see Drago come in and walk over to the counter. Boom! He goes down on his ass. Once down, he just lays there with a grimace on his face. People come over to help him up but he waves them off, obviously in pain and afraid to be moved by anyone but professionals. The old security guard must have finally noticed the accident because he walks over to where Drago is lying. In less than ten minutes, the paramedics arrive, get him onto a gurney, and remove him from the bank.

  I watch the part where Drago falls, over and over again. It looks strange that a fall like that would injure his ribs. This doesn’t compute, so I ask the office to prepare a subpoena for his hospital records and X-rays. I want to get an independent medical opinion on this because if his ribs were damaged before the fall, then our client may only be responsible for aggravating a pre-existing injury. I also want to know if he hurt anything else when he landed on his ass.

  This is where working for an insurance defense firm really comes in handy. Getting medical records out of hospitals and finding doctors to testify is their bread and butter, so everything gets done at warp speed.

  I also want to know if there’s any connection between Blitzstien and Drago, so I instruct the authorized investigation service to run credit reports and extensive civil background checks on both of them to see if there’s any way they might have known each other before the murder. No wonder it’s so tough to beat an insurance company. I now appreciate the benefits of having unlimited assets to avail myself of the services of the big investigative firms, but nothing beats the personal service of a guy like Jack B. and his dedication to the case, and not the fee.