by Reason of Sanity

by Gene Grossman

  “Yes I have, Your Honor. The evidence is in an autopsy report that was faxed to her office yesterday. We have the person who did the autopsy and prepared the report on one-hour call. If you’d like him here, we can page him.”

  Myra is in the first stages of becoming ballistic. “Your Honor, we strongly object to this new evidence. It just came in to our office yesterday, less than twenty-four hours before the trial. We’ve had no opportunity to have our medical examiner go over it. We’ll have to ask for…”

  I cut her off mid-sentence. “Your Honor, the private autopsy that was agreed to by the People was re-scheduled several times because the People’s representative kept canceling out. When it appeared that no one from their side was going to show up, we couldn’t wait any longer and notified them that due to the rapidly approaching trial date, we had no other choice but to proceed without them.”

  Myra starts to argue again for a continuance, but the judge won’t have any of it. “Counsel, it looks like you’re both a little right. I’m going to put this matter over until tomorrow morning to give the district attorney’s coroner a chance to look over the results of that report. The People will take a couple of days to put on their case, so it won’t be until next week when you start your defense and call the autopsy guy to the stand. By that time, if the People want, they can have the body examined in their own facility to confirm or deny your results.” With that, he bangs his gavel, says “see you tomorrow morning at nine,” and heads for the golf course.

  The reporters who ran out into the hall come back into the courtroom and are informed by the clerk that life continued, even without them there, and that the case has been put over until tomorrow morning at nine, at which time I’ll bet there isn’t an empty seat in the room. Too much is riding on this case for the press to leave it alone. A slam-dunk case might get snatched right out from under the nose of the county’s most popular prosecutor, whose chance for election as District Attorney is now in jeopardy - all of this being brought about by her ex-husband. This is definitely screenplay material. Too bad Spencer Tracy and Katherine Hepburn aren’t around to play our parts.

  The vultures are gathering in the hallway outside the courtroom. The reporters present all probably called for backup, so the camera crews are waiting for us as we step out of the room. Both of us make the same decision to avoid the press, so like running backs, we push our way through the news crews, make it to the exit door and hurry to our respective cars.

  That night the story leads on all the local news shows and also gets mentioned on the network broadcasts. They can’t seem to let go of the fact that Myra and I were once married and now they say that I’m out to destroy her. They keep reminding the viewing public that Myra isn’t the only celebrity in the courtroom – they point out that I was the one who singlehandedly broke up a big bank robbery gang. I’m sure my coalition forces get a kick out of hearing how I did it all by myself.

  This may be good for Harold, but it certainly isn’t doing Myra any good. And since she’s friendly with the kid, I’m cooking for myself this week because the kid’s mad that I’m going to make Myra lose. Gee, maybe she doesn’t notice that if Myra loses, I win. Goes to show you how the loyalties go. Those females sure stick together.

  The phone is ringing constantly, so I shut off the ringer. No sense in answering. If they want me on Nightline, they’ll have to arrange it by email.

  Just to make sure I’m not dreaming, I call Victor at the autopsy place and we spend about an hour going over what I’ll be asking him and what Myra will probably do to try to discredit his report. He stands by his autopsy results and assures me that any competent medical examiner would make the same findings.

  The thing that bothers me is the timing. Everyone knows that Harold was in the room at about the same time that Drago died, but how do I go about convincing the court which event came first, the death by natural causes or the smothering? They both must have happened at almost the same point in time, maybe just seconds apart. This is starting to look like what the racetrack calls a photo finish. I wish there could be some instant replay. Wait a minute, there is… the videotapes.

  I’ve seen that five minutes of tape so many times, it’s permanently etched in my memory. It doesn’t help at all. If I’m going to win this case, I’ve got to figure out some way to combat Myra’s argument, which will probably be that if the report shows smothering wasn’t the cause of death, that the forcible use of the pillow caused the broken ribs to pierce the blood vessels and bring about the hemorrhaging that caused the death. If she’s successful with that argument, then it’s all over. Harold goes down for the murder.

  Contrary to common belief, judges are human too. I have to admit that if it was me sitting up there on the bench hearing this case, and I saw a defendant try to smother a guy with a pillow, I might be inclined to believe that the death was caused by the defendant’s acts. All the laws say that you’re supposed to give the defendant the benefit of the doubt, but the margin of doubt in these facts is so slim that it’s almost invisible. I’d like to think that we have a chance, but all that the autopsy did was give me something to argue about that I didn’t have before.

  This morning the crowded courtroom looks like a place where they’re giving away free money. If I weren’t such a well-known crime-busting attorney, I probably wouldn’t have gotten through security and into the courtroom. Reporters are here from every station, both local and network. They all sense that this is going to be a battle of arguments between the attorneys. To make things easier for all of us, Myra and I go into chambers before the trial starts and we both stipulate to the admitting into evidence of the videotape and autopsy report. That will save about a day of trial and eliminate the necessity of qualifying the witnesses, establishing a continuous evidence chain of custody, direct examinations, crossexaminations, etc.

  I can’t get over how terrible Harold looks. When he’s led into the courtroom he sits down at the counsel table and with eyes closed, bows his head as if he intends to sleep through the trial. He must have nerves of steel.

  Once the judge takes the bench the show begins. Myra bases her entire case on the videotape evidence that shows Harold pushing that pillow down on Drago’s face. Copies of the tape were made and sold to the press by some hospital employee, so the public has already made their mind up. It’s a good thing this isn’t a jury case because it would have been impossible to get a jury of twelve people who haven’t seen the murder over and over again on television. To get a fair panel, you’d have to find a dozen Al Qaeda members who’ve spent the last month in a cave somewhere without a television set.

  Myra calls only one witness, the Coroner of Los Angeles County. I know exactly what he’s going to say and he doesn’t disappoint me. Notwithstanding the fact there’s no apparent sign of asphyxiation having caused the death, it’s his expert opinion that the decedent’s hemorrhaging was brought about as a direct result of the defendant’s exerting force upon the decedent’s body.

  No surprise there. He’s sticking to the prosecution’s contention that Harold is guilty. His argument is so convincing that I’m almost starting to believe him. I don’t even waste the energy to ask him any questions on cross-examination, other than just one: “Doctor, is it possible that Drago was dead before the defendant put the pillow on his face.” He tries to wriggle out of it, but I finally pin him down to a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ situation, and he agrees with me that it is in fact possible.

  This case has been like a roller coaster ride for me up to now. From not having anything at all to work with, to having a favorable autopsy report, to having my report torn apart by a credible witness with a believable argument. I wish there was some way I could get off of square one.

  After the doctor strikes his dagger into my case, Myra decides to leave it in and twist it a little. Not only does she have a fifty-inch flat screen plasma display television screen rolled into the courtroom, she’s also brought with her a high-end video deck that will play the
crucial footage in slower than slow motion. She’s going to show it one frame at a time.

  Myra is going to make this look like a slide show presentation being made to capture a new advertising account. As the frames go by and the action jerkily moves on the screen, Myra is doing her voice-over description, like a play-by-play sports announcer.

  The footage she chose was the very short section that shows Harold lowering the pillow down onto Drago’s face and then lifting it up and moving away from the bed.

  I’ve got the still photo enlargements we had made sitting in front of me on the counsel table, complete with dog drool marks on one of the photos. To keep my mind off of the fact that I’m being destroyed, I concentrate on the small portion of one photo that the dog ruined for me. In another couple of seconds, it will be appearing on the screen. Here it is now. I see the portion of the screen that shows something that I didn’t notice before because it was marked by the dog. I jump up in my seat and do something I’ve never done before in my entire twenty-plus years of trial work. I shout “Whoa” out loud.

  Every eye in the courtroom is on me. I’m so embarrassed, I wish there was some small portion of the carpet to crawl under. I don’t know what happened to me – it just came out of my mouth. As I heard the exclamation, I was saying to myself “what idiot just shouted that out?”

  The thing that shocks me out of my senses is a portion of the screen that shows a monitoring device over the bed. I run over to the display and write down the exact frame that’s on the screen and then apologize to the court. It doesn’t matter what I say. Everyone in the courtroom thinks I’m crazy, but at this point I can’t care less. I think I’ve just won the case. I return to my seat and let Myra continue.

  Every member of the press is surprised by my actions but they know me well enough to realize that whatever it is that causes me to react like this must be important.

  Myra finishes her presentation and the prosecution rests. It’s my turn now and I intend to put the video on cross-examination.

  I address the court. “Your Honor, we can now prove beyond any reasonable doubt that Harold Blitzstien is not guilty of the crime with which he has been charged.”

  At this point, the reporters are scribbling notes feverishly. I take a pause. I don’t want them to miss one precious word of what I’m going to say.

  “Your Honor, we would like to have the video person freeze a portion of the tape that the People admitted into evidence… more particularly this frame.” I hand my scribbled note to the techie, who proceeds to bring up that frame. When it’s on the screen, I continue. “As shown by the prosecution, this exact frame of the video is prior to the attempted smothering of Mister Drago. The pillow is being lowered onto his face, but has not touched his body yet. Myra jumps up to make an objection. “Your Honor, we’ve gone over all of this before. If defense wants to…” The judge cuts her off with a quick wave of his hand and overrules her. He signals for me to continue. Good. Not only have I got every reporter in the room sitting on the edge of his seat, I’ve got the judge captured too. Now it’s time to ‘thrust ho.’ “We would ask the court to take notice of one particular portion of the upper left corner of the screen.”

  Pointing to the corner of the screen I want him to concentrate on, I go on. “Your Honor, this device is an electronic monitor that detects the heartbeat of the patient and sends it to the nurse’s station, down the hospital corridor. As you can see, at the exact time that the defendant is lowering the pillow down towards Mister Drago’s head, the monitoring device is showing that the heartbeat line is flat. This is an indication that Drago was dead at the time of the alleged pillow-smothering event. Rewinding the tape several frames will surely indicate that the alleged victim’s lifeline must have gone flat a few seconds earlier.

  “Furthermore, we would argue that if the computer print-out of the nurse’s station is brought in as evidence and compared with the time-code on this exact video frame, we can establish beyond any reasonable doubt that Mister Drago was dead prior to the defendant’s actions.”

  The courtroom erupts. All the reporters get up and run out of the room. The judge is banging his gavel demanding order in the courtroom, but he’s hardly heard over the noise of the reporters shouting into their cell phones as they rush outside to reach the news vans to make satellite transmissions of this story to their stations.

  With all the commotion going on, nobody notices poor Myra sitting there quietly. She knows she’s been beat. I walk over to her table.

  “Sorry kid, but it’s right there on the screen. I had to do it.”

  “Yeah Peter, I know. You won fair and square. I’ve got no complaint. To be truthful, I wasn’t even thinking about this case. I’m too busy thinking about my not-too rosy future as a lawyer.”

  “Whattaya mean, not too rosy? You’re a great lawyer. I just got lucky, seeing that portion of the screen. You had me beat every which way up to that point. No one can fault you. They should be lining up the block to get you as their lawyer.”

  “Yeah, but it’s not the clients I want lined up… it’s the voters. I don’t think I have a chance now.”

  “Listen to me. I’m going to make a promise to you. First, we’re going to have dinner at the Lahaina Yacht Club in Hawaii. Then, I’m going to pull another ace out of my sleeve and get you elected to the office of District Attorney of Los Angeles County.”

  “And just how do you plan on doing that?”

  “Never you mind, beautiful. You just go home and pack your bags for our trip to Maui next week. I’ll take care of everything.”

  I turn back to the defense table. Harold is sitting there with his head still bowed. What a wonderful thing I’ve just done, getting a coldblooded murderer off scot-free. I wonder who he’ll kill for money next. I figure he might at least want to shake my hand, so I sit down next to him. “Harold, you’re a free man now. I know what you tried to do. You tried to kill a man in cold blood. It didn’t work. The angel of death beat you to it. I’m glad I won the case because as it turns out, you didn’t really do it. But I want you to know that this hasn’t been a nice experience for me, so I hope you’re not too offended when I tell you not to waste your time expecting to thank me and shake my hand. I hope I never see you again.” Having said that, I walk past him and bend down to pick up some of the boxes of paperwork I left under the counsel table. In doing so, I brush up against him. He slowly starts to lean over and then falls over onto the floor like a limp rag. He’s dead.

  20

  H

  e must have died some time during the trial, but because everyone was so wrapped up in my brilliant defense presentation, nobody noticed. I wait for the ambulance to come and take him away. The paramedics don’t even try to revive him. They can spot a cadaver when they see one.

  I sure would like to know what caused his death, but I shouldn’t have to wait too long to find out because there’s no way the county will avoid doing an autopsy on Harold, especially when he died in one of their courtrooms.

  When the paramedics arrive, the press smell another story and they once again fill up the courtroom. When the judge isn’t on the bench, the court isn’t officially in session, so lights, flashbulbs, and video cameras all join in with the reporters.

  They’re so busy following the gurney out to the ambulance that they don’t see Myra and I sneak out.

  While we’re walking out the rear courthouse exit completely unnoticed by the press, Myra asks me why I’m missing this opportunity to do one of my ‘courthouse steps’ performances. I let her know that in my mind there is no news here. The only purpose the local press serves is to make us aware of crime on the streets and to relay the hype that the advertisers and politicians want us to see. The only time I stage one of those outdoor performances is when I want to do the same thing that everyone else does – manipulate the news to my own advantage. This time I won and true justice lost. There’s no need for a statement. It’s over.

  Now I’m really up the creek. As
id e from the fact that I’ve just had an incredible victory in a criminal case, by proving that the slip-and-fall claimant died as a result of his accident in my client’s bank, I also destroyed my insurance defense career at the same time,

  There’s no sense in trying to stall off telling Indovine – if he’s watching television, he’ll see how I elevated the bank’s liability from a nuisance slip-andfall situation into a loser of a wrongful death case. Thanks to my brilliance in the courtroom, instead of having a chance to settle for a thousand dollars, it will now cost the insurance company over a million. I’m also sure that Drago’s attorney will be watching my demise on television tonight. This might mean a payday of several hundred thousand dollars for him. He owes me big time.

  What a fine mess I’ve gotten myself into this time. Myra is destroyed, the kid is not happy, and my insurance defense career is over. There’s a message on my answering machine telling me that email has come in for me. I’m so far down in the popularity department that the dog won’t even deliver a message to me.

  I check the email. Indovine’s office would like me to submit my final timesheet. I’ve been fired. This is wonderful. Not only is my civil practice in the dumper, but ever since I busted the bank robbery gang, the criminals don’t like me either.

  Another message is wait ing on my machine. It’s the administrator at County Jail. They want me to come down there and pick up Harold’s personal belongings. I pawn this chore off onto Jack Bibberman.

  Amazing as it sounds, the County has decided not to perform an autopsy on Harold. The news broadcast says that he obviously died from the stress of the trial, and they’re ruling it ‘natural causes.’ They don’t believe that anything else could have been instrumental because he was sitting in open court.

  This sucks. I really want to know what happened to him, so I call Victor the autopsy man and leave a message on his machine that I’ve got another assignment for him. I don’t care if the office won’t pay for this – it has to be done.