Corrupt Justice

by Peter O'Mahoney

  As soon as Alwen finished at the lectern, Tex Hunter stood, folder in one hand, ready to deliver his opening. Alwen stepped away, and Hunter opened his folder, his actions exaggerated to gain the attention of the jury. He didn’t want to give them a chance to think, a chance to ponder the ideas thrown up by the prosecution.

  When invited by Judge Ramos to begin, Hunter started immediately.

  *****

  “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, Your Honor, my name is Tex Hunter. I’m a criminal defense attorney, and I’m proud and privileged to represent Mrs. Mary-Ann Claire Steele.

  Mrs. Steele did not set fire to the Jaguar sedan, she did not steal the car, and she did not seek vengeance on Mr. Kenneth Chow. Over the coming days, I will show you that there’s no evidence to charge her with this crime, or any other crime. There’s simply not enough evidence to convict the defendant with arson.

  There are four important roles in this courtroom: the judge, the prosecution, the defense, and you, the jury. Judge Ramos is here to preside over the proceedings, to ensure the process of the court is followed. The prosecution is here to try and convict someone of this crime. This crime deserves to be solved, but it deserves to be solved by convicting the right person. My role, as a defense attorney, is to be a protector of justice. I’m here to represent those that have been accused but are innocent.

  Your role as a juror is to make your decisions based on the evidence, or lack thereof. You must be impartial. You must be fair. And above all else, you must listen closely. Don’t be fooled by the tricks of the prosecution. Don’t be fooled by the long arguments. Don’t be fooled by hearsay.

  As a juror, the role you play is very important. You’re tasked with making the decision on whether or not there is enough evidence to charge this person with a crime.

  And let’s make a very important distinction here—your job isn’t to decide whether or not you think Mrs. Steele is guilty, your job is to decide whether there’s enough evidence to prove it.

  That’s a very important distinction to make, and one that I want you to keep in mind as we go through this trial.

  You’re not to base your decision on a feeling, on a thought, or on a hunch. You’re not to guess. You’re not here to solve this case. You’re not here to piece the puzzle together. That’s not your job.

  You’re here, in this court, to base your decision on whether there’s enough evidence to reasonably convict Mrs. Steele for the crime of arson. That’s it.

  Your role is evidence based, and that’s all you can use to decide this case. Our justice system, our great justice system, states that you may only convict a person if you believe they are guilty beyond a reasonable doubt. That decision can only be made based on evidence.

  On proof. On facts.

  And the onus of that proof is with the prosecution.

  Right now, Mrs. Steele is innocent. That’s our starting point and the prosecution must prove Mrs. Steele set fire to someone else’s property. They must present evidence that convinces you beyond a reasonable doubt. They won’t be able to, of course.

  The police selected Mrs. Steele as a suspect due to the circumstances surrounding the fire. The level of evidence the police need to arrest someone is ‘probable cause.’ ‘Probable cause’ requires more than mere suspicion, but it’s not an absolute certainty the crime took place. ‘Probable cause’ is the standard used in our great justice system to determine if there’s enough evidence to charge a person with a crime.

  But it’s a relatively low standard of evidence.

  The standard of evidence that must be presented to you in the courtroom is much higher, much more stringent. When the prosecution has delivered their side of the argument, you will be disappointed that they have not completed their role.

  When this case is drawing to a close, I will stand before you again and point out the ways in which the prosecution has failed to present enough evidence. At that point, you will use your common sense to make a decision. That decision will be ‘Not Guilty.’

  By saying that Mrs. Steele is not guilty, you will tell the prosecution that there’s not enough evidence to solve this case.

  Thank you for your service to our great justice system.”

  Chapter 35

  The first punch came from Nina’s left.

  She didn’t expect it, she didn’t see it coming, but she didn’t react too much. She’d been hit many times before. She turned to see who swung the punch, looking deep into the eyes of a 300-pound prisoner who never had a hope of getting out. There was rage in the woman’s eyes, a desperate stare that appeared almost primitive.

  Behind the six-foot tall woman stood five others, with her friend, her protector, Denise to the side.

  “That’s the one.” Denise pointed at Nina, but wouldn’t look at her directly. “She’s got a whole lot of money now. Enough to share around and make sure we’re all looked after.”

  They were standing in the laundry room—a small concrete space with five washing machines lined against one wall. The floor was stained brown, the walls were covered in filth, and the smell of mold was overwhelming. There was one door in or out, and the guards only periodically ventured past. It was a place to be feared, a place where the worst could happen to those who found themselves there at the wrong time.

  “I’m sorry,” Nina stepped back to the corner of the room, thick with mold. “It’s not my money. I didn’t ask for it.”

  “We want the money.” Denise moved forward. “And if we don’t get some of that action, we’re going to make sure your life in here is hell.”

  “I thought we were friends?”

  “Aw. Isn’t that sweet.” Denise snorted, turning to the others in the room, who laughed loudly with her. “This isn’t high school anymore, sweetheart. This is the real world where adults do things that will make you regret everything that you’ve ever done.”

  The group of women stepped closer to Nina, blocking any hope that anyone could even see her.

  She had learned not to yell. She had learned not to attract attention. In her short life, in the eighteen years she had been alive, she had learned that yelling only makes it worse. Yelling only makes them hit you harder.

  “Give her a taste of what will happen to her if she doesn’t follow our suggestions.” Denise turned to the door, keeping watch for any passing guards. “Just keep her quiet.”

  The largest woman smiled. On the outside, Tracey Mason had no skills. She didn’t finish high school, she couldn’t keep a job for any longer than a month, and she had no family to speak of. But in prison, inside the walls where influence was given to the strongest, she was a force to be reckoned with.

  Inmates came to her when they needed someone dealt with, her size alone intimidated most women. Tracey pushed Nina into the corner with a shove worthy of a spot on an NFL offensive line. Nina’s head slammed against the hard-concrete wall, and she fell to the floor, with her arms raised above her head.

  The first punch came down on her right side, slamming into her head just above the ear. Instinctively, her hand moved to block the area, leaving her ribs exposed.

  The second punch crashed into her ribs, robbing her of any breath.

  Nina’s knees went to her chest, before the third punch, coming from the left, landed onto her cheekbone. It was a weaker punch, not much force behind it, but it was followed by another right punch to her skull.

  Before prison, Tracey had never been violent, she had never been a fighter. After she was locked up for the death of a pedestrian she hit with her car when drunk, she found a world where people wanted to fight her, if only for the challenge. After pushing her way out of many fights in the first month, her cellmate taught her how to throw a punch. She practiced and practiced throwing punches, but only ever on her right, leaving her left punch weak and basically useless. When someone was on the ground, her kicks became effective. Tracey was naturally good at those.

  “Alright, alright.” Denise stepped back into the narrow room, pulling
Tracey back. “She understands it now. She understands what we can do. Don’t you, Nina?”

  Nina didn’t respond, keeping her hands over her head, keeping a defense against any more punches.

  Denise was well-connected inside the walls, as were her friends. Once the money landed into Nina’s bank account, once she knew how much money Nina had, Denise demanded a piece of it. A large piece of it.

  “I need protection money.” Denise came over the top of Nina, kneeling close to her. “You keep paying me every month, and I’ll make sure you have a lovely time in prison. You need to get someone on the outside to set up a regular transfer to my account. Every month.”

  “What?”

  “Are you deaf, girl?” Denise leaned in close to Nina’s ear. “I said I want money transferred into my account each month. I’ll share the money with these girls. The money that got transferred to your account for killing the cop, that’s going to be shared with everyone. We’re all going to be rewarded for your good deed.”

  “I didn’t kill him.” Nina was fighting back the tears.

  “What!” Denise grabbed a fist full of Nina’s hair. “You think that matters now?! I know how much you got paid to take the deal, I know how much money is in your account! I helped it happen! You will pay us!”

  “Or what?”

  “Or what? Or what!” Denise snarled into Nina’s face, close enough for the spit to splatter in her eyes. “Or this will be your future! Every. Single. Day. I will make sure you don’t last ten years, you dirty piece of scum!”

  Nina tried to shake her head, tried to say no, but her hair was pulled back tightly as she fought back the tears. “I thought we were friends?”

  “You and I are no longer friends! You’re a wimp, you’re nothing like me. To think I thought you were like me. You’re crying. Crying girls don’t last long in here.”

  Nina struggled to hold back more tears, but she couldn’t. Her shoulder was being rubbed into the mold on the walls, her body was sitting in a pool of stale water, and her face was being covered with Denise’s spit.

  “One hundred a month, every month, to my bank account until the money runs out.” Denise whispered into her ear. “And if it doesn’t happen, you’ll be beaten daily until you change your mind. And trust me, you’ll change your mind.”

  Nina was good at math; it was something she thrived in.

  And she knew instantly that she would be leaving her ten-year stint with no money, no future, and no chance on the outside.

  The deal she signed was worthless.

  Chapter 36

  When the prosecution called their first witness, Chicago Police Department Officer Garry Ball, the pressure was already building on the defense. Mary-Ann’s foot tapped incessantly under the table, her cheek twitched nervously, and her eyes were focused on the pen in front of her. The fear of judgment, the fear of prison, was real. Tex Hunter rested his hand on her shoulder, calming her, before reviewing his notes on the witness.

  Officer Garry Ball walked to the stand full of false bravado. His shoulders were strung up towards his ears, his chest puffed out, and he had a fake swagger, which could’ve been easily mistaken for a limp. Ball was doing his very best to present a confident image to the jury, however, it was clear his confidence was paper thin.

  Prosecutor Alwen used Officer Ball to introduce the basic facts of the case—where the car was found, what state the car was in, when the incident could have occurred. Officer Ball had little to offer the jury, other than what he saw when he arrived at the scene, however, he was painting the first layer on the canvas, providing the groundwork for the prosecution.

  As the first layer of evidence was being painted, Hunter objected where he could, interjected for the sake of breaking the prosecution’s rhythm, and waited patiently for his chance to wash the canvas clean.

  “Access to the Richard J. Daley Park boat ramp is locked after 11pm, and there were no reports of any cars left in the parking lot when the person in charge closed the gate. We know the gate was broken after that time, and the car fire was first reported at 1:03am by a person driving across the Western Avenue Bridge.”

  Officer Ball took the jury through the crime scene photos, detailing exactly what state the car was found in, and how the car must have been driven there. The prosecution presented a satellite photo, and took them through how close the reserve was to Mary-Ann’s home, only a ten-minute walk away via the back streets past the Stevenson Expressway.

  Ball’s voice stuttered occasionally, and wavered at other times, shaking a little when he was unsure of the answers. It was his first appearance in court, his first time on the stand, and although the court was almost empty, except for Mary-Ann’s supporters, the eyes of the jury were almost burning into him.

  He spent two hours describing the scene, two hours creating the perfect bottom layer for the prosecution, and when he was done, when the prosecution was happy with his responses, the judge turned him over to the defense.

  And it became Hunter’s job to wash the canvas clean.

  “Officer Ball,” Hunter remained seated, opening his files on the table, and looked up to the witness. “Thank you for taking the time to talk with us today, and thank you for your service to our community. Your testimony is a very important starting point for this case, and I’m going to ask you some questions to establish the details of the event. There may be some questions you don’t know the answer to, but I would ask you to answer them in the most honest way possible.”

  “I’ll do my best,” he stated, shifting in the chair.

  “Thank you,” Hunter reviewed his notes before continuing, running his eyes over the questions he had planned. “Do you believe this incident, this arson attack on the vehicle, could have been the result of a car theft gone wrong?”

  “It doesn’t appear that way.”

  “And why would you say that?”

  “I say that because nothing was reported as stolen from the scene.”

  “Nothing was reported as stolen?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Other than the car?”

  “Of course.” He scoffed. “Nothing other than the car appeared to be stolen. In the investigation, we found evidence that something heavy had been dragged out of the trunk of the car, and a badly burned handbag on the front seat, that was later identified to belong to Mrs. Steele. The handbag had her name on the inside, and it was still visible. If it were a car theft, one would’ve expected the thief to steal the handbag.”

  “Can you be certain nothing was stolen from the car?”

  “Mr. Chow, the vehicle owner, didn’t report anything as stolen from the car.” He ran his hand over his thighs, smoothing out any creases on his trousers. “If there was anything else to steal in the car, then he would’ve reported it.”

  “Are items from the vehicle always stolen during car thefts?”

  “No, not always.”

  Hunter nodded, exaggerated enough for the jury to notice. The line of questioning wasn’t breaking the case open, however Hunter was attempting to establish that everything reported wasn’t comprehensive. They were the drops of water he needed to wash the canvas with.

  “Were Mrs. Steele’s fingerprints found on the vehicle?”

  “It was burned out.” He scoffed, shaking his head.

  “Can you please answer the question?” Hunter’s voice grew louder. “Were Mrs. Steele’s fingerprints found on the vehicle?”

  “Of course not. No. It was too burned—”

  “DNA?” Hunter interrupted. “Was there any DNA found from Mrs. Steele on the vehicle?”

  “No, it wasn’t—”

  “Were there any witnesses that saw anyone light a fire?”

  “There wasn’t—”

  “Yes or no. It’s a simple question, Officer Ball, and it has a yes or no answer. We’re not here today to listen to spin, mistruths, or opinion, we’re here today to listen to the facts. The facts. So I’ll ask you again, were there any witnesses that saw anyone
light the fire?”

  “No.” He groaned loudly. “The witnesses—”

  “Any video footage that shows Mrs. Steele lighting the fire?”

  “No.”

  “Any footage that shows Mrs. Steele entering the car?”

  “There wasn’t—”

  “Yes or no.”

  “No.”

  Hunter shook his head, and moved a piece of paper closer to him.

  “From those answers,” he ran his finger along the top of the piece of paper. “Can you confirm that you have no direct evidence, none at all, that shows Mrs. Steele lighting that fire?”

  “I don’t understand the question.”

  “You don’t have any evidence, do you? None. Nothing to say, directly, that Mrs. Steele lit that fire?”

  “Her handbag was found—”

  “Yes, the handbag,” Hunter said. “Does the presence of her handbag directly show she lit the fire? Perhaps there was something in there that shows her lighting the fire? A lighter perhaps?”

  He shook his head.

  “Sorry, Officer Ball, you will have to answer the question verbally.”

  “What we had was—”

  “Officer Ball,” Hunter interrupted again. “Please, answer the question directly. In any way, does the presence of the handbag directly prove that Mrs. Steele lit the fire?”

  “No.” He looked away. The prosecution had tried to prepare him for this line of questioning, they tried to spend time with Officer Ball, however, as with most confident young officers, he refused to listen to them. His confidence was misplaced.

  “So, I’ll ask you again, and this question can be answered with a yes or no response. Officer Ball, is there any evidence, any direct evidence at all, that shows Mrs. Steele lit the fire?”

  “No,” he sighed. “But—”

  “Thank you, Officer Ball.” Hunter interrupted. “And can you tell the court if there is any evidence, anything at all, that proves Mrs. Steele was near the car when the fire was lit?”

  “No.”