Judge Me When I'm Wrong

by Cheryl A Head

  “I’m going to do you one better, Mr. Bateman,” Judge Harrington-Smoot said loudly. “We’re taking a fifteen-minute recess. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, please return to the jury room. Ms. Raab, this is just a break in your testimony. I expect you back. Counselors, you will join me in my chambers.” The judge banged the gavel to give emphasis to her orders.

  # # #

  The jury room lit up with gossip. There was not enough time to grab a smoke or retrieve cell phones, so jurors talked among themselves, and took turns pouring cups of the too-strong coffee. Charlie filled a cup from her thermos.

  “You got another one of those?” the young lawyer-to-be asked, taking a seat next to her.

  “I thought you preferred your caffeine from soft drinks?”

  “I do, but today some café au lait sounds soothing. It was getting ugly in the courtroom.”

  Charlie poured coffee into the small paper cup he held. “It’s Clint, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, but not after Eastwood. My folks were Bill Clinton campaign workers.”

  “Ah. Your parents, the attorneys. How do you feel you did on the LSAT?”

  “I think I did well. Certainly well enough to get into a good law school.”

  “Where are you thinking of going?”

  “There’s no thinking to be done. Mom and Dad bleed maize and blue.”

  “Got it. My father was an attorney. He went to Michigan.”

  “What about you, Ms. Mack?” The shouted question wafted in from the other side of the room where Richard Fletcher held court with a few other jurors.

  “What about me?” Charlie responded, sipping coffee.

  “You’re a lawyer. You think that lady prosecutor will get a spanking from the judge?”

  “I’m not a practicing attorney, Mr. Fletcher, and we’re not really supposed to discuss the case.”

  “I know. I know. But it seems to me, that motel business stirred some things up.”

  “It probably had more to do with the evidentiary process,” Clint piped up.

  “You a lawyer, too?”

  “No. Not yet.”

  “Well, what’s this evidentiary process business?” Fletcher asked.

  Charlie placed her hand on Clint’s arm. “I think we need to just wait and see what further instructions we get from the judge.”

  Fletcher gave Charlie a stony look. The jury foreperson, a fifty-something East Indian man, voiced his agreement with Charlie. An awkward quiet fell over the room, but the fashionista juror broke the frost.

  “Well, I’ll tell you one thing. I wouldn’t mind visiting the Alpine Motel with that fine Allan Bateman.”

  The laughter came from almost everyone. Clint blushed. The knitting lady shook her head, and her shoulders bounced with silent chuckling. The tension was broken, and the buzz of conversation picked up again. Fletcher and his two lunch pals moved over to the window seat.

  “So, you’re going to be a lawyer?” the fashionista woman asked Clint. She filed her nails and gave him a flirty smile.

  Clint became unsettled under her stare and leaned back in his chair with a nervous laugh. “That’s the plan. Unless I decide to stay in music.”

  “Music? Are you a singer or something?”

  “No, I write music and play guitar.”

  “Oh.”

  “My name’s Clint by the way.” He extended his hand to the young woman and turned on the charm.

  “Trina,” the girl said, extending her manicured hand. “Lawyers make a lot of money. Musicians don’t,” she said matter-of-factly.

  “That’s what my father tells me.” Clint shrugged. “He’s putting on the pressure.”

  Trina’s judgmental scowl turned into an understanding look. “I know what you mean. My father’s a dentist. I work in his office. He thinks I should get a dentistry degree.”

  “Why don’t you?” Clint asked.

  “I don’t want to spend my days poking in people’s mouths,” Trina said with a sneer.

  And how could you with those nails, Charlie thought, smiling. She watched the give-and-take between the two twenty-somethings for a few minutes. Then she moved to the other side of the table to check on the progress of the afghan.

  “That’s coming along pretty good. I love the colors.”

  “Thank you. Yeah, it should take me another week.”

  “Aw, then I won’t get to see the finished product,” Charlie said.

  “You really think we’ll be done by Friday?”

  “I sure hope so. I only planned to be away from my office for two weeks.”

  Charlie watched the jurors at the window seat. They’d been joined by a woman Charlie had heard talk about her son, who had some kind of disability. They spoke in hushed tones and took turns looking over their shoulders.

  “It looks like a few people made some friendships during the trial,” Charlie noted. “They must have found something they have in common.”

  “All I ever hear them talk about is money,” the knitter said.

  “I saw a few of them at the casino during the lunch break. It’s kind of hard to resist when we’re only a couple of blocks away.”

  “If you like that sort of thing. My pastor says gambling is a sin.”

  The judge’s clerk stepped into the room. “Okay, they’re ready for you again.”

  “Guess her honor is done with the spanking,” Fletcher said in a stage whisper.

  A few people snickered as they rose and lined up in the order of their seating. The clerk frowned and scanned them with a warning look. She glanced at her clipboard, satisfied that everyone was in place and then led them to the courtroom.

  The judge, both sets of attorneys, and Ms. Raab were already in their places. The ghost was in the courtroom, but Don hadn’t returned. Neither had Raab’s two gentlemen friends. Spivak took up the questioning while Gleason organized documents at the prosecution table. As Fletcher had speculated, maybe Ms. Gleason had rubbed the bench the wrong way. The judge gaveled the proceedings to order and addressed the jury.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, the prosecution failed to follow proper procedure in handling new exhibits. That can happen when there are a lot of documents, and new evidence is discovered and presented. The prosecution and defense attorneys are now all on the same page. We’re continuing where we left off, with Ms. Raab’s testimony.”

  “Ms. Raab, have you visited the Alpine Motel?” Spivak asked.

  “I have no recollection of that,” Raab replied.

  Spivak introduced a new exhibit, handing it to Bateman, the judge, and the court reporter.

  “Your Honor, may I approach the witness?”

  “You may.”

  Spivak was all business as he stepped toward the witness box. “Ms. Raab, I have a signed declaration from Mr. Kenneth Smith. I’d like you to read it aloud for the jury.”

  Bateman popped up from his seat. “Your Honor, I see no reason why the witness should be induced to read this document.”

  “I disagree, Your Honor,” Spivak retorted. “Since Ms. Raab is the subject of this exhibit, I think it’s highly appropriate.”

  “Your objection is overruled, Mr. Bateman. Please read the document in front of you, Ms. Raab.”

  Raab began reciting the incriminating words of Canova’s General Manager. The document recounted a series of visits by Ms. Raab and Mr. Smith to the Alpine Motel on Detroit’s near east side. The visits were conducted often during the workday, but sometimes in the evening. According to the document, the purpose of the rendezvous often involved the delivery of cash from Mr. Canova to Ms. Raab. However, the visits primarily involved Smith’s and Raab’s romantic liaisons.

  Raab read the document with stony resolve until she got to the last paragraph of the declaration where Smith described Raab’s ongoing attempts to rekindle their relationship, even after Canova was indicted on the bribery and conspiracy charges. By the time the witness was done reading, she was in tears.

  The courtroom was completely silent.
There wasn’t even a cough. Charlie swiveled her eyes to watch Goulet. His eyes swept across Canova’s back and landed on the sobbing Raab. With a quick glance at the jury, he stood and left the courtroom.

  “Do you have any other questions of this witness, Mr. Spivak?” the judge asked.

  “Just a couple if the witness can continue.”

  The judge looked at the courtroom clock and at what Charlie supposed might be a schedule in the folder in front of her. She directed a question to the defense table.

  “Will the defense wish to cross-examine this witness?”

  “No, Your Honor,” Bateman said with resignation.

  “Ms. Raab,” the judge began, “are you able to continue? If so, you’ll be done with your testimony today.”

  “I . . . I want to finish with this,” Raab said. “May I have some water?”

  The court clerk quickly found a bottle of water for the witness. Spivak and Gleason conferred for a few more moments, and with a single document in hand Spivak asked for permission to approach the witness. The judge assessed Raab’s countenance and beckoned Spivak to continue his examination.

  “Ms. Raab, have you ever received money from Kenneth Smith?”

  “I refuse to answer on the grounds that it might incriminate me.”

  Raab resumed invoking her Fifth Amendment rights in response to questions about the Fleetstar executive and Canova’s phone records. The prosecution’s attempts to connect Raab closer to Canova than she’d earlier testified were thwarted by her declaring her right not to incriminate herself. Within twenty minutes, the judge adjourned for the day, and Ms. Raab’s misery, at least in this courtroom, was over.

  Chapter 9

  Charlie was accosted by Judy as she stepped into the office.

  “Why didn’t you call me? I left you three messages.”

  “My battery was almost dead, so I turned off my phone after lunch, and didn’t think to turn it on when I left the courtroom. It was a grueling day, and I just wanted to get the hell out of there. Where’s Don?”

  “He’s looking for you. I’m calling him now,” Judy said, activating the speakerphone.

  “Is Gil around?”

  “He’s here.”

  “What is it, Novak?” Don answered.

  “I’ve got Charlie here.”

  “What? How did I miss her?”

  “Where are you, Don?”

  “A block away from the courthouse. I’m keeping an eye on Goulet’s car. He hasn’t come out.”

  “Where’d he go this afternoon?”

  “I followed him to the Greektown Casino, and watched him drink. He met a few people at lunch time. Then I followed him to his car, which was parked on Gratiot. He sat in the car for a while; then a black guy arrived and they sat there for another half hour.”

  “Was it a young guy, short hair, nicely dressed?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I think he’s a lawyer.”

  “He’s definitely a lawyer. He works in the Wayne County Prosecutor’s Office. I followed the guy back into the courthouse. I know one of the sheriffs, and got an ID from him. The guy’s name is Earl Thompson. He’s a new attorney there.”

  “I saw them together earlier today in the courtroom corridor.”

  “What the hell is going on here, Mack? Why is a prosecuting attorney meeting with a convicted felon in a car?”

  “Don, who were the people the ghost met with at the casino?”

  “A couple of guys, one white, the other black, and a woman. They sat at a booth at one of the bars, but weren’t drinking. They ordered some sandwiches and talked.”

  “How did they seem? Like they were friends?”

  “Hmm. I wouldn’t say that. Nobody was laughing. It seemed like they were conducting some kind of business.”

  “Did they have papers or exchange anything?”

  “No. Not that I saw. After they finished eating, the ghost paid the bill and he left the other three there. I followed him back to his car, and that’s when he met with the attorney. You got a theory, Mack?”

  “Yep. Come on back to the office, Don. Gil’s here. I want to talk this over.”

  “You don’t want me to stay with Goulet?”

  “Nah. If my theory is right, he’ll be back in the courtroom this week.”

  # # #

  Charlie made changes to the conference room whiteboard. Caspar Goulet was still in the center in an updated photo Judy had received from the FBI, but the board had a new focus. Charlie had drawn fourteen squares below the photo filled in with either names or descriptors. Charlie was listed in one square, Mr. Fletcher in another. There were squares for the knitting lady, the fashion juror, the man with the beard, Clint, the Blue Cross Blue Shield employee, the jury foreman, and the lady with the disabled son. There were connecting lines drawn to five additional squares. The diagram looked like a two-level organizational chart.

  Gil stepped into the conference room and stared at the board. “What’s all this?”

  “I think Goulet is in the courtroom to bribe the jury on Canova’s behalf.”

  “Hmm. What makes you think that?”

  “I’ll spell it all out when Don gets here. He’s on his way.”

  # # #

  Don rushed into the office like a storm trooper. He and Judy immediately started sniping at each other, and as they entered the conference room they were still bickering. Gil and Charlie looked at each other in amusement. Don gawked at the whiteboard for a moment, then lunged for the minibar.

  “Don’t we have some leftover pizza or something?” he asked, grabbing two bottles of apple juice.

  “Hold your horses,” Judy said. She opened a lower cabinet, took out a basket with chips, nuts and cheese crackers, and placed it on the table. Don moved for the crackers. Charlie moved to the whiteboard.

  “Okay. Here’s what I think. The ghost is hanging around the courtroom because he’s tampering with the jury. I think he may already have gotten to these three,” Charlie said, pointing to squares on the board representing Mr. Fletcher, the lady from Blue Cross and the bearded man. “He may have also gotten to others.”

  “I’m assuming you still don’t want to take your suspicions to law enforcement,” Gil said.

  “Not yet, Gil. There’s really nothing to tell them that I can prove.”

  “You could tell them Goulet is a fugitive, and you know where to find him.”

  Charlie looked chagrined. “I could, but that wouldn’t get to the bottom of things.”

  “Do you want to get the jurors in trouble?” Judy asked.

  “No. Not necessarily. That’s not what I’m after.”

  “What are you after, Mack?”

  “I don’t know, exactly,” Charlie said, taking a seat. “I guess I want to see justice served. That probably sounds kind of idealistic.”

  “It does actually,” Gil said. “But since we all know you, it’s not so odd.”

  “Jury duty helps make our democratic process work. It’s the way anybody, regardless of position or class, has a fair path to justice. Now some asshole like Goulet, working for another asshole like Canova, is trying to bypass that process.”

  “You’re right, Mack. You talk like you’re running for office. For a minute I thought I heard a fife and drum.”

  “Very funny, Don. Maybe I am making this more about me than it should be. But I need to find out what’s going on and I want to snoop for the next couple of days.”

  “Are you sure, Charlie?” Gil asked.

  “I’m sure.”

  “What do you want me to do?” Judy asked.

  “Get me some info on this new prosecutor. What was his name, Don?”

  “Earl Thompson.”

  “Right. Find out where he lives, where he comes from, what law school he went to, how much money he makes, and what his habits are. Let’s see if we can figure out why he’s hanging around with the ghost.”

  “Got it,” Judy said.

  “Don, I want you in court again to
morrow. Come in about ten o’clock. The prosecution should be resting their case, and the defense will take over. If the ghost is working for Canova, he’ll come to the courtroom tomorrow. I want you to tail him again. I’d like to know where he goes when he’s not in the courtroom. Maybe run his license plate. You got it, didn’t you?”

  “Yep. I have it.”

  “What about me?” Gil asked.

  “You should stay focused on the Ferry case.”

  “So that’s it. Let’s go home. Tomorrow I’ll get to know a few more of my fellow jurors.”

  “Suggestion,” Judy said. “Take a couple of bags of candy to share.”

  “Good idea. Sugar is almost as effective as torture to get people to open up.”

  “I have another suggestion,” Don said. “Don’t make any speeches about democracy. Try to act like a normal person.”

  “Fuck you, Don.”

  “See. That’s what I mean. Normal.”

  Chapter 10

  Tuesday

  At 7:30 Charlie stepped through the courthouse metal detectors, secured her phone and laptop in a locker, and took the stairs up to the jury room. Taking Judy’s advice, she’d brought a package of Hershey’s Kisses and a bag of Twizzlers. The kitchen vending area across the hallway was empty, and she opened the cupboard to look for a couple of paper plates. She had to settle for paper cups to hold the Kisses and Twizzlers. Returning to the jury room she found the Blue Cross lady sitting at the table.

  “Good morning.”

  “Good morning,” the woman replied and pulled out a book.

  “I brought in some candy,” Charlie said, filling two cups with the chocolate. She placed one of the cups near the woman. “Help yourself.”

  “I don’t eat much candy,” she said.

  “Neither do I. Well, that’s not true. I never pass up a chance to have a bit of chocolate,” Charlie said, smiling. “But this case is making me so restless I needed candy.”

  The woman returned a slight smile, and looked down at her book.

  “My name is Charlene, by the way. I see you’re trying to read so I won’t bother you anymore.”