by Lyle Howard
But it was the events unfolding on the eleventh screen that always seemed to catch the focus of his attention lately: a live, local court television feed from the City of Miami Beach Courthouse, just a few scant miles across Biscayne Bay from the WDI offices. Bock reached down to the pocket on the side of the wheelchair and withdrew his remote control. One by one, the scene on each monitor was replaced by the videotaped life and death drama that had recently played itself out in Courtroom CMB-206. Staring at the screens, his mind couldn’t help but drift back to that day when everything changed...
8
Baltimore, Maryland
1998
This Tuesday afternoon had turned into a truly dark day in the jam-packed Federal Courtroom. With his knuckles blanched white and his face flushed red with anger, August Bock’s hands strangled the corners of the prosecutor’s dais.
Across the courtroom, defendant Earl Keely basked in the joy of seeing the arrogant lawyer squirm, but you wouldn’t have known it by his demeanor. He always wore the same “cat who had just dined on the canary” smile. With his wiry gray hair pulled back in a shoulder-length ponytail, and dressed in a dark blue suit issued to him by the prison, Keely looked like the proverbial fish out of water. Uncomfortable in his binding new clothes, he fidgeted behind the defendant’s table with his coat sleeves pulled up to his elbows, revealing a hideous tapestry of tattoos that ranged from the pornographically bizarre to the blatantly sacrilegious.
Between yawns, Keely folded a piece of yellow legal paper into 32nds and began picking his gold-capped teeth with its sharpest edges; all of this endless ranting by that melon-headed prosecutor had been going on way too long as far as he was concerned. What was that Bock guy’s problem, anyway? Hey Chief, you win some, you lose some, you know what I mean? Chalk this one up to your incompetence and move on! You think this is some kinda fucking personal vendetta? You want personal? I’ll be more than happy to show you what personal is after this whole thing is over!
He leaned his head back and stared blankly at the ornate woodwork overhead, his ponytail dangling over the back of the chair. On and on the tirade continued … in one ear and out the other. Yadda-yadda-yadda … enough already! He tried to focus his limited attention span by counting the ceiling tiles, but he kept losing track. His lawyer had told him this was nothing more than a formality, so how much longer was it gonna take? All that mattered to him now was getting the hell out of this place … putting the pedal to the metal and basking in the freedom of the open highway … feeling the sun warming his face once again … and of course, last but never least …
Gettin’ laid!
* * * * * *
Slivers of daylight poured into the courtroom through the panoramic windows facing west. If you looked closely enough, you could see millions of dust particles floating aimlessly through these radiant beams of light. These tiny grains of debris were continually being swept up in the air currents caused by the prosecutor’s flailing arms, before they eventually settled invisibly to rest somewhere on the cold marble floor.
August Bock was livid! Wiping a handkerchief over his cleanly-shaven head, he looked over at his associates who both looked away to avoid his Medusa-like glare. “But Your Honor, I must beg you to reconsider your position!”
“I understand your frustration, Counselor,” Judge Althea Simmons consoled him from the bench, “but all of the evidence admitted must be regarded as tainted. Need I remind you of the textbook example of fruit from the poisoned tree?”
On a scale of one to ten, Bock’s headache was an 82. He had expended so much time and effort on this case, and now, because of a rookie patrolman’s inexperience, this piece of sleaze was going to walk!
“Your Honor,” Bock pleaded, “the Government has already proven its case beyond all reasonable doubt! Earl Keely must be found responsible for the mass murder of these six innocent schoolchildren during the commission of capital counts of murder, not to mention kidnapping and extortion! Surely, Your Honor won’t allow the naive oversight of one young officer to jeopardize that conviction by discrediting the entirety of the Government’s testimony!”
Bock watched the judge fumble with a file folder in front of her. She couldn’t look him in the eye.
“Mr. Bock,” she addressed him, “I sit here in a very unenviable position. I've listened very carefully to the overwhelming body of evidence that the Government has presented, and I’ve had to counterbalance it with the testimony the defense has produced.”
He stared at her incredulously as she rubbed her temples as though trying to suppress a whopping migraine of her own.
“I have a feeling that once my next comments go into the record, it will give the defense all the grounds they will need to file a motion for a mistrial, but I honestly feel it’s gone way beyond that point already.”
Almost in unison, the throng of reporters crowding the gallery all inched forward in their seats. Bock and everyone else in the courtroom waited impatiently as she contemplated the exact wording of what she would say next. All eyes were on her as she toyed with a miniature bronze sculpture of Lady Justice, blindly balancing her scales which graced the corner of her bench.
“This was a vile and contemptible act on the part of a vile and contemptible human being.” She glared down at the defense table. Earl Keely pointed to himself and smiled maliciously. “Don’t flatter yourself, Mr. Keely: I’m referring to your lawyer.”
A murmur rolled through the crowd like a human wave at a sporting event. The judge slammed down her gavel to silence the gallery. Everyone flinched with the exception of August Bock.
“Over these last few weeks, the law in this courtroom has been so manipulated, bent, and distorted that it’s no longer recognizable. You should be very proud of yourself, Mr. Greenwood,” she snarled at Keely’s seedy legal practitioner. “You have served your client well. It pains me to see that the bottom line in this sad day and age is that it’s your duty to see that your client is set free. Now, notice that I said 'set free,' and not 'found innocent.'”
Now she gazed down at Bock, who had collapsed into his chair. “It sickens me to contemplate what I am about to do, Mr. Bock. I want you to know that I admire and commend you and your colleagues on the case you’ve presented, but unfortunately, the outcome of a trial does not hinge on its personalities: rather, it survives on the letter of the law. And I know, after almost a year and a half of heartache and delays, there are six families sitting out there who have every right to hate me, and whom I wouldn’t blame if they introduced a petition for my impeachment. Quite honestly … unless I have a drastic change of heart … I just might make those impeachment proceedings a moot point.” Tears welled up in her eyes. “I … I don’t know what else to say right here, except … it is my finding that Officer Curtis performed an illegal search and seizure of the defendant’s property, and for that reason, all evidence gained from said search and seizure must be deemed inadmissible. Unless the prosecution has any new evidence to offer—”
August Bock hung his head in disillusionment.
“—or until the Government can offer any new evidence on which to issue another indictment against Mr. Keely…” Althea Simmons’ final ruling issued through trembling lips, “… I must grant the defense their motion for a mistrial.”
You could have heard a pin drop in the stunned courtroom. Then the gavel slammed down and the place erupted like thunder.
Flashbulbs turned the ordinarily dignified courtroom into a Fourth of July fireworks spectacular. With their microphones and palm-sized tape recorders jockeying for the best position, the army of reporters and newscasters pleaded for the first words from both the defense and prosecution.
Earl Keely rolled down his sleeves and held up both arms in a Nixon-esque victory salute. “Y’all wanna hear what I got to say?”
August Bock chose to remain silent. He just stood up behind the prosecutor’s table and methodically began filling his briefcase with the case files that were spread across the
table’s surface. The sadness on his face was easily explained, but the sorrow ran much deeper. Of course losing the case bothered him, but that was only the tip of the iceberg. Something was going terribly wrong. The legal system wasn’t working anymore! He knew it, the judge knew it, and just about everybody who turned on the evening news or read a newspaper knew it.
Bock didn’t hold Officer Curtis responsible for the outcome determined here. He was young; he would learn. Nor did he feel the judge was at fault. It was the law itself that no longer worked! The very rights and tenets that the American system of civilization was based upon, the rules that he’d sworn before God to defend, had become so diluted by loopholes and lawyer-created sleights of hand that they not only safeguarded the innocent, but protected the guilty as well!
Bock closed his briefcase and sat back down. There was no need to push his way through the herd blocking the entrance; they would catch up to him on the courthouse steps. They always did.
“Are you going to be alright, August?” Kathy Randolph, his closest aide, asked.
Bock fidgeted with the lock on his briefcase. “You’d better go out the side door, Katie. It’s bound to get pretty messy out front.”
She put her hand on his shoulder. “If you want me to walk out there with you, I’ll be more than happy to do it.”
He shook his head. “No, I’ll be okay. I just wanna let Keely have his five minutes in the limelight before I head out there. He’s been itching to tear into me, and I don’t think my office would want to have our confrontation broadcast on the six o’clock news.”
Randolph squeezed his shoulder. “You did your best, August. You have nothing to be ashamed of. We can go back to square one and start digging all over again. We won’t let Earl Keely get away with this!”
“Tell that to the six families who would love to have my head mounted above their fireplaces right about now. Did you see their faces as they left the courtroom? If they had me in their mouths, they would have spit me into the river!”
“August, you’re being much too hard on yourself!”
Bock slipped on his sunglasses and stood up. “No. Quite frankly, I don’t think I’m being hard enough! Whatever happened to the good ol’ days when justice was as simple as an eye for an eye?”
Kathy Randolph smiled. “Well, I for one am glad those days are long gone!”
* * * * * *
The media schooled around the bottom of the granite staircase like sharks in a feeding frenzy, waiting for him to make his appearance; like their aquatic kin, they smelled blood in the water. They had already picked apart Earl Keely and realized there was nothing much there to begin with. But victory was something that rated a 30 second tag following the sports. Defeat, on the other hand, was lead material!
August Bock stood inside the building, just beyond the revolving doors, watching them down there, salivating like a pack of hungry wolves.
“Why don’t we go out one of the side doors?” Randolph suggested.
Bock shifted his briefcase into his other hand nervously. “What, and have them track me down at the office? Uh-uh, might as well do it here, and get it over with.”
“I’ll be standing right next to you. If you need a way out or someone to deflect some of the heat, give me a sign.”
Bock took a deep breath and stepped into a space between the spinning doors. “Thanks, Katie, but I’ve gotta take responsibility.”
The afternoon sun was blistering hot. Beads of sweat formed on his bald pate the instant he stepped outside. Even with his sunglasses on, he was momentarily blinded as his eyes adjusted to the glare, but he could still hear their frantic rush up the stairs.
Hundreds of voices all screaming his name at the same time. Such adulation, such notoriety, such a pain in the ass. He would have gladly traded it all for a solid conviction.
“Mr. Bock!”
He pointed at a woman he knew worked for one of the lesser networks. He had met her at a charity function, and they’d seemed to hit it off. Start off with a nice softball before the big boys step up to the plate. “Yes, Ms. Chandler?”
She stuck the microphone in his face like it was a wooden spoon covered with chocolate icing. “Would you care to explain to the taxpayers of this state how, after all of the time and money that you’ve wasted on this case, Earl Keely is a free man?”
So much for softballs!
Bock set his briefcase on the top stair, and one of the cameramen promptly knocked it over with a thump. “First of all, Ms. Chandler, Earl Keely is not a free man—”
The voice screamed out over the crowd noise like fingernails raking across a chalkboard, causing everyone to turn and look. “What do you mean, I ain’t a free man? I’m standin’ out here like you are, Mister Bock!”
Earl Keely stood defiantly on one of the lower stairs, his arm wrapped around a woman who looked like she was posing for the cover of Easy Rider magazine. Dressed from head to toe in black leather and studs, she had a ring piercing one of her nostrils and another in her ear, with a thin gold chain draped between the two. As she spoke, she jawed her gum the way a cow would gnaw its cud. “You tell him, lover!”
Bock thought better than to accept the verbal challenge. “As I was saying—”
“Hey, what’s the matter, college boy?” Once again, the crowd of reporters turned and aimed their cameras and microphones up at Keely. “You just pissed off ‘cause my lawyer’s too smart for you?”
Looking at the heads of the reporters, you would have thought they were watching a tennis match. Now their attention shifted back to the federal prosecutor, waiting for his response.
“I really don’t see a need to justify—”
It was clear Earl Keely wasn’t going to let him talk. He enjoyed being the center of attention, and he was in no hurry to give up the spotlight. “Are you people writing down all that bullshit? He don’t see a need.”
Every man has his breaking point, and August Bock had been pushed so far beyond the limit of his tolerance he could no longer stand idly by. Despite Kathy Randolph’s futile attempt to hold him back, the prosecutor shoved his way through the horde of media and stormed down the steps. Keely released his grip on his leather-clad girlfriend but steadfastly held his ground. August Bock was a perfectionist. He did his homework. He knew everything about the man perched at the top of the courthouse steps. Nothing or no one ever intimidated Earl Keely. He was born and raised in the backwoods of Jackson, Tennessee. By the age of 12, he was already classified by the State of Tennessee Corrections Department as a habitual offender. Dealing drugs, stealing cars, robbing liquor stores—Keely had done it all by the end of puberty. Murder and extortion wasn’t much of a stretch for the long-haired Tennessean—it was more like a rite of passage.
Bock stopped when he was so close to Earl Keely’s face he could smell the staleness of the biker’s breath.
Keely inched closer until his chest was nearly touching Bock’s. Without blinking, he put on his most ferocious facade, tipping his head slowly side to side, smiling like the deranged madman he was and letting his gold teeth glimmer in the afternoon sun. “You think you’re such hot shit,” the biker growled.
August Bock never flinched. He slowly removed his sunglasses and looked Keely square in the eyes. “Your time is coming, Earl. There’s nowhere to hide. This was just round one.”
Bock spied the nearly imperceptible tremble in Keely’s lower lip. He knew which of Keely’s buttons to push. Keely was all hat, no cattle.
“You … you think you’re hot shit,” Keely stammered again.
Bock’s steely gaze never wavered from the biker’s pock-marked face. “You said that already.”
Keely took his fingers and jabbed at the prosecutor’s shoulder. “Well, tell me, Mr. Bock … if you’re so damned great at your job, then why are we holdin’ this conversation out here in the sunshine, huh, smartass?”
Bock casually glanced down at Keely’s encroaching hand and frowned. “If you ever lay a finger on me agai
n, Earl,” he said, in a voice soft, yet threatening at the same time, “I’ll crush your nose so far into your face, you’ll have to breathe through your ears.”
Bock returned his sunglasses to his face and straightened his tie. “Enjoy the time that the court has graced you with, Earl. Go out and learn yourself a trade … take up a hobby. Just make sure it’s something that you’ll be able to keep yourself occupied with while you’re enjoying your life-long stay at Cumberland, because the next time we meet—and mark my words, there will definitely be a next time—you’ll be going away for good. And I’ll be the person slamming the door!”
Every camera and microphone was trained on the two men. Traffic bustled on the busy street not more than ten yards away, but no one appeared to notice. Pigeons fluttered overhead scavenging for their next meal, but no one was bothered by them. Trying to be heard over the commotion, a hot dog vendor screamed at the top of his lungs hawking his boiled sauerkraut on the sidewalk only a scant distance from the confrontation.
Keely pulled off his jacket and threw it at Bock’s feet, then ripped the buttons off the front of the shirt the state had provided him. His chest was heavily matted with gray and black hair, but beneath it all, there was a tattoo of a skull with some sort of venomous-looking serpent curling from its empty eye sockets. The skull wore a helmet bearing a Nazi swastika, and peered out hatefully through the thicket of hair. “You see this face, baldy? Now, you mark my words: this is gonna be the last sight you’ll ever see!”
Bock turned his head toward the cameras and then back to Keely. Always knowing how to pander to the jury was the prosecutor’s strongest attribute. “Are you threatening me in front of all of these people, Earl?”