“Yes,” Jordan said with the slightest trace of a whine. She glared at Ted.
“It’s not my fault,” Ted said defensively. He looked over at Howe. “I can’t help it if her walk makes the ratings go up.”
The mayor had just finished reapplying a bronze-red lip color when there was a knock on the door of the trailer. Clark McCarthy stood up and tucked his shirt into his pants.
“Mr. McCarthy, we’re ready for you on the set, sir,” said a voice on the other side of the door.
“We’re coming right now,” McCarthy called out.
Mayor Martinez giggled.
Jordan and Ted left, leaving Tiffany alone at the kitchen table with Dobson Howe. Howe leaned back in his chair. “All right,” he said. “Let’s have it.”
“Hmm?” Tiffany asked. “Let’s have what?”
“I assume you want to tell me that I’m wrong to want to repeal the 37th Amendment,” Howe said.
“Mm-hmm.” Tiffany’s voice held no enthusiasm.
Howe frowned. “Have I said anything to offend you?” he asked. “It seems that since you set foot in this house you’ve been upset about something.”
Tiffany looked up and met Howe’s gaze. The intensity of it surprised her. Unconsciously she straightened her hair with her fingers. “I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s nothing you’ve said, you’ve been wonderful. It was so gracious of you to invite me to stay here through the trial. It’s just...” She hesitated. “It’s difficult for me to be here again, in this neighborhood. Even though you can’t recognize the place. It’s been forty-five, no, fifty years.” She shook her head. “Hard to believe when you look around here that you’re just ten minutes away from downtown. These beautiful homes, and all the trees. How long have you lived here?”
“Twenty years.”
“And I’ll bet you’re the original owner of this house,” Tiffany said.
“Yes, I am,” Howe said. “Do you have friends who live around here?”
“No,” Tiffany said. “My husband used to work in this area.”
“Is that right?” Howe said politely. “What kind of work did he do?”
“He was a cop,” Tiffany said. “He was shot to death not three blocks from here.”
Tuesday, August 8, 2056
Carl Gonzales stepped to the lectern. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said to the jury, “This is a very simple case.” The jurors watched him attentively. “It may appear,” he continued, “that something enormously involved has happened here. But that’s just not true. This is a simple case of a law being broken. That’s all.”
Gonzales picked up a remote control device and pressed two buttons. A graphic appeared on wide-screen monitors in the courtroom. It read, “The Confidentiality of Records Act of 2012.”
“This law,” Gonzales continued, “was enacted to protect your privacy. In the era when records were kept on physical pieces of paper, this law wasn’t necessary. In order to get your private records, a person had to get inside a locked file room, something that was very difficult to do and very easy to discover. But today, your records are kept electronically. And we all know how fast and easy it is to copy an electronic file and send it halfway around the world and back. What protection do you have? You have the integrity of the people who handle this sensitive information. And you have something else.”
He clicked the remote control. The new graphic read, “It shall be unlawful to disclose, copy or distribute confidential records except as specifically allowed or required by law. The penalty for such disclosure, copying or distribution shall be not less than fifteen and not more than twenty-five years in prison and a fine not to exceed $500,000.”
“You have the law,” Gonzales said.
The jury looked solemnly at the monitors.
“You have the assurance,” Gonzales continued, “that when someone in a position of trust violates your privacy, that person will pay a high price. A price high enough to discourage, to strongly discourage, any intrusion into your confidential records.”
Dobson Howe made a note.
“What happened here,” Gonzales said, “is this: Ted Braden and Jordan Rainsborough conspired to copy all the confidential records in the district attorney’s files. All of them. They got every document on every case, even the sealed files of juvenile defendants, even the home addresses of protected witnesses. They got everything. Then they looked for cases in which mistakes were made. Now the mistakes were very serious, there’s no question about that. But ask yourself: do you want anyone, anyone, for any reason, to go searching through your confidential records? They’re just asking you to trust them? No, that’s not correct, is it? They’re not asking at all.”
Gonzales sat down.
Judge Martina Bernard wrote something down on a pad. “Mr. Howe?” she said.
Dobson Howe stood up slowly and walked with great deliberation to the lectern. He fixed a demanding stare on the jury. “I think you know,” he said quietly in a voice like distant thunder, “that this has nothing to do with privacy. This case is about justice.” He extended his arm and pointed to Ted and Jordan, seated together at the defense table. “Who are these people?” Howe continued. “They are not a pair of common snoops, looking for gossip to sell to the tabloids. Who is Ted Braden? He’s a man who saw a terrible injustice and tried to stop it. He saw an innocent man convicted and executed for a murder he did not commit. He dedicated himself to clearing that man’s name. That man was Robert Rand. Today, thanks largely to the personal efforts of Ted Braden, we all know that Robert Rand was an innocent man. And while that is not justice, it is truth.”
Howe pointed to Jordan. “And who is Jordan Rainsborough? She’s a woman who saw innocent people wrongly convicted and tried to do something about it. She’s an assistant district attorney, bound by law to release any person who has been arrested without sufficient cause. She’s the next-to-last line of defense protecting innocent people from wrongful imprisonment. But she is not the last line of defense. You are.”
Dobson Howe rested one hand on the lectern and looked intensely at the jurors. “You will decide who is innocent and should go free,” he said, “and who is guilty and should be punished.”
Howe sat down.
The judge made a note. “Mr. Gonzales,” she said, “Call your first witness.”
“Thank you, your honor,” Gonzales said. “The people call Christina Ferragamo.”
Heads turned in the courtroom as the door opened and the celebrity reporter made her entrance. A cloud of expensive perfume trailed behind her. She took the witness stand and was sworn in.
“Please state your name for the record,” Gonzales said.
“Christina Ferragamo,” she answered. “Would you like me to spell it?”
“I’m sure that’s not necessary,” Gonzales said. “Ms. Ferragamo, do you recognize this document?” He handed three stapled pages to the bailiff, who walked the papers over to the witness stand. Christina flipped through them. “Yes,” she said. “This is the report on the medical condition of Michael Dency after he was taken into custody and questioned by the police.”
Gonzales nodded to the judge. “I believe the defense will stipulate,” he said, “that this is in fact the medical report on Michael Dency, and that the document has been authenticated.”
The judge made a note. “Mr. Howe?” she asked.
Howe stood up. “So stipulated, your honor,” he said.
Judge Bernard turned to the jury. “Ladies and gentlemen,” she began, “A stipulation is an agreement between the two sides about a fact in question. When you hear that the attorneys have stipulated to a fact, that means you are to accept it as true insofar as it pertains to this case. Mr. Gonzales?”
“Thank you, your honor,” Gonzales resumed. “Ms. Ferragamo, when did you first see this document?”
Christina glanced at the pages in her hand. “When Jordan Rainsborough gave it to me in June,” she said.
Gonzales made a note. “Your honor,” he s
aid, “I believe the defense will stipulate that Ms. Rainsborough did in fact give that document to Ms. Ferragamo on June 9, 2056.”
“Mr. Howe?” the judge asked.
“So stipulated, your honor,” Howe boomed.
Ted watched the judge make a note. He felt a flutter of sickness in the pit of his stomach. He looked over at Jordan. She was pale.
Reporters and cameras were waiting when Dobson Howe’s driver pulled the car up in front of his office building. Howe, sitting in front, peered through the window at the crowd. “A very good turnout,” he said. “But we won’t take any questions right now. We have too much work to do upstairs. Everything must be handled with precision in court tomorrow or the consequences could be quite grave.” He opened the door. A din of shouted questions flooded into the quiet interior of the Bentley. Howe got out of the car. “No questions at this time,” he said, and closed the door, leaving Ted and Jordan in the quiet again.
“Ready?” Ted asked. Jordan leaned forward and looked past Ted to the crowd on the sidewalk. “I guess,” she said. Ted opened the door and stepped out, turning to assist Jordan. Cameras flashed and voices in the crowd shouted indecipherable questions. “Step out of the way, Ted,” Howe said, leaning close to Ted’s ear. “Let them get their shot.” Ted stepped to the side and cameras flashed again as Jordan’s long legs emerged from the car. The night before, the short skirt of her business suit had led two national news shows.
“Jordan! Over here!” a photographer shouted.
“Mr. Howe, are your clients going to confess on the stand tomorrow?”
“Did you know Christina Ferragamo was going to testify?”
“Ladies and gentlemen, please,” Howe said, holding up his hands. “I’ll just make a brief statement because we have a lot of work to do to prepare for tomorrow’s testimony. Today you saw the prosecution’s case against my clients. We do not dispute their version of the facts. Tomorrow we will present our defense. We are confident that the jury will, in the end, make the right decision.”
“Are you arguing for jury nullification?” a reporter shouted, “Are you saying the jury should acquit because the law is wrong?”
“As I said today in court,” Howe answered, “This case is about justice.” He swept his arm expansively behind Jordan and Ted and ushered them into the building.
Ted helped himself to Howe’s Scotch. “I think it went well today,” Howe said, settling into the leather chair behind his desk.
“Well, yes,” Ted answered. “We stip-u-lated,” he sounded out the word like a gradeschooler, “that all the charges are true.”
“No point in dragging out the trial,” Howe responded. “You want the networks to stay with the live coverage.”
Jordan, standing at the window, turned around to look at Howe. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” she said in a voice that sounded both casual and vaguely threatening.
Howe caught the tone. “Do you think I don’t?” he asked sharply.
Jordan turned away again. “I think every cause needs its martyrs,” she said.
Ted said nothing.
Howe stood up. “Get out, both of you,” he ordered.
Ted and Jordan looked at him. “But what about preparing the testimony?” Ted asked.
“Get out,” Howe repeated. “I’ll see you in court tomorrow.”
It was nearly seven o’clock when the cab dropped them back at Ted’s house. Royce’s car was parked in the driveway. “Royce is here,” Ted told Jordan. “I’ve been wanting you to meet Flynn’s mom. You’ll like her.” He paid the driver and they walked into the house.
“Hello?” Ted called as they walked down the stairs to the living room. “Anybody home?”
“Daddy!” Flynn came running to greet him.
“Hi, Ted,” Royce called.
“Hi, Ted.” It was Julia, from the living room.
“Uh-oh,” Ted murmured. Jordan, ahead of him on the stairs, turned and looked up at him quizzically.
“Hi, Jordan,” Flynn said politely as she pushed past her to get to Ted. She threw her arms around her father’s waist and buried her face in his chest. “Hi, Daddy,” she said. Her voice sounded thick.
“Hi, baby,” Ted said. He wrapped his arms around her reassuringly.
“Hey, Flynn, my turn,” Julia said. She was standing at the bottom of the stairs, smiling up at him with tears in her eyes. Jordan smiled awkwardly and stopped on the staircase midway between Ted and Julia.
Julia, tired of waiting, skipped up the stairs past Jordan to wrap her arms around both Flynn and Ted. “I didn’t see your car outside,” Ted said.
“It’s in the garage,” Julia answered.
“Oh,” Ted said. He found that very irritating.
“I’m so worried,” Julia said. “It didn’t seem to go very well today.” Ted felt Flynn trembling.
“Everything will be fine,” Ted insisted. He hugged Flynn tighter. “There’s nothing to worry about.”
“I love you so much,” Julia said. “I couldn’t stand it if anything happened to you.” Ted closed his eyes. It helped a little, though he could still see the image of Jordan’s stunned face through his closed eyelids. He heard her footsteps going down the stairs and opened his eyes again. “Jordan,” he called. “Wait. Let me introduce you to everybody.”
“That would be nice,” Jordan said coolly.
“Why don’t we all go into the living room,” Ted suggested. He grasped Flynn’s hand for protection. Julia reached for his other hand and held onto it with more force than necessary. They walked awkwardly down the narrow staircase.
Royce was sitting on the couch in the living room, wearing a sexy summer halter top and a floor-length skirt with a deep slit in front. She was leaning back, her legs crossed, and she appeared to be enjoying the unexpected show immensely.
“Jordan, this is Royce Eliot-Lee,” Ted said.
“Nice to meet you,” Royce said with a smile.
“Nice to meet you, too,” Jordan smiled back.
Ted winced inwardly. “And this is Julia Thomsen,” he said. “You’ve heard me talk about her.”
“All the time,” Jordan said sweetly.
“I’m so glad to hear that,” Julia said, still grasping Ted’s hand. “The way the papers are always talking about the two of you, even I started to wonder.”
“Well, you have nothing to worry about,” Jordan said. “Anyone could see that you two are in love.”
Ted closed his eyes again. “Anyone want something to drink?” he asked.
“I was just going to make some iced tea when I heard you come in,” Julia said. “I’ll go and do it now.” She headed up the stairs to the kitchen.
“So that’s the ex-girlfriend,” Jordan murmured. “When were you intending to tell her?”
“Look, it’s Dobson Howe,” Royce said, pointing at the TV.
Howe was on the news, talking about the need to repeal the 37th Amendment. Then the screen was filled with the latest poll numbers. For the first time, more than fifty percent of Americans nationwide were in favor of repeal.
“It’s your legs,” Ted told Jordan. “Nobody wants to see them locked up.”
“Always happy to help out,” Jordan said. Her voice was chilly.
Ted took Jordan’s hand and led her to an extra-wide armchair where they could both sit down. “I was going to tell her after the trial,” he said.
Royce cleared her throat. Julia was standing at the foot of the stairs, watching them.
“Tell me what?” Julia said.
Ted jumped to his feet.
Julia had tears in her eyes. “It’s all true, isn’t it?” she asked. “You two are secretly engaged.”
“No!” Ted and Jordan said together. Ted looked over at Jordan, a little surprised by her vehemence.
Julia was holding a pitcher of iced tea. “Flynn?” she asked. “Would you take this please? I just remembered I have an appointment.” Flynn got up from the floor in front of the TV and took the pitcher
from her. “Thank you,” Julia said, her voice barely a squeak. Then she turned and raced up the two flights of stairs to the front door. They all heard it slam.
Ted’s glance went from the staircase to Jordan and back to the staircase again. “Julia, wait,” he called, racing up the stairs after her. The door slammed again.
An awkward silence filled the living room.
“Well, I guess I’d better call a cab,” Jordan said. “Early day tomorrow.”
“You may call your first witness, Mr. Howe.”
“Thank you, your honor. The defense calls Ms. Jordan Rainsborough.”
Jordan stood up at the defense table. With a nervous look at Ted, who tried to smile encouragingly, she walked to the witness stand.
“Do you swear that the testimony you are about to give is the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth so help you God?” asked the clerk.
“I do,” Jordan said. Dobson Howe stepped to the lectern.
“Ms. Rainsborough,” he said, “Why did you give a copy of Michael Dency’s medical report to Christina Ferragamo?”
Jordan sat rigidly. “Because I believed the police had tortured Mr. Dency in order to obtain a confession from him,” she answered.
“And did you distribute confidential documents on other cases?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Why?”
Jordan looked at her lawyer. “Because you asked me to leak them to you,” she said.
The judge dropped her pen.
“No further questions at this time,” said Howe. “Reserve the right to recall this witness.”
“I think we’ll take a short recess,” said the judge. “I’ll see counsel in my chambers.”
“I don’t care who you are,” Judge Bernard said in a steely voice, “You are not going to use my courtroom for media stunts to promote your own political agenda.”
“Your honor, that is not the case. You have my word.” Dobson Howe’s deep voice could not conceal a note of alarm.
The 37th Amendment: A Novel Page 21