Judge and Jury

by William Bernhardt

  “Freedom of Information of Act?”

  “Might get me docs in federal possession, but what I want are the files in the bowels of the SPPD.”

  “They might not exist anymore. You should file a subpoena.”

  “Already done. Opposed by the other side. They say what happened twenty-odd years ago isn’t relevant to the defamation.”

  “They have a point.”

  “Which is why I came to you.”

  Jazlyn flopped down in her chair. “You want me to lean on the cops. To help a defense attorney.”

  “I probably wouldn’t put it exactly that way...”

  “You realize I have no authority there at all. You should be talking to the chief of police.”

  “That’s a brick wall and we both know it. You decide whether the cases they investigate go to trial. They want you on their side.”

  “How would I explain why I’m helping a defense attorney? Worse, helping an attorney trying to exonerate a guy accused of killing one of their own? I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

  He looked her straight in the eye. “Jazlyn—if you’re going to sit in the big chair, you have to make the tough choices.”

  “So now you’re a motivational speaker?”

  “No. But you know it’s true.”

  She let out a huge sigh. A moment later, she swiveled her chair and gazed out the window onto a busy downtown street. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Meaning?”

  “I’ll talk to the records officer. But only because you’re a good friend, and I know if I needed anything you’d do it for me in a heartbeat.”

  “True dat.”

  She hesitated. “And I kinda like you.”

  “Uh...you...”

  “After all, it’s only because of you that I got the biggest source of joy I’ve ever had in my entire life.”

  He smiled. “You mean Esperanza.”

  “I do. Biggest source of worry, insecurity, and stress I’ve ever had in my entire life, too. But she has made my life so much better. She puts a smile on my face each and every day.” She grabbed the phone. “So no promises. But I’ll make the call.”

  Chapter 10

  Dan had not set foot in the offices of Friedman & Collins since the day they booted him out. He had no desire to return. Just glancing at the long carpeted hallways lined with private offices with glass walls made him feel nauseated. When he worked here, he thought he was on the top of the world, cock of the walk. He’d made it.

  Now he realized he hadn’t made a damn thing, except a ton of money, and more of that went to the senior partners than to him. Now he felt like he was part of a team, people working together to accomplish some good in the world. These stiffs in their identical suits were more antagonists than teammates, and their only goal was the perpetuation of a system that allowed them to buy those expensive suits.

  Or so it seemed to him this morning. It was possible that the fact that he was about to be confronted with the man whose testimony put his father behind bars might have something to do with his negative attitude.

  “Remember,” Maria said, as the receptionist escorted them to a corner conference room, “your job today is to be pleasant and not speak aloud. To anyone.”

  “They will speak to me,” he replied.

  “Ok, you can say, ‘Hello,’ ‘Thank you,’ and ‘Good to see you.’ That’s it.”

  He smiled. “I understand that you’re taking the deposition. Not me.”

  “Good. You have a right to be here, but you do not have the right to ask questions, harass, threaten, growl, intimidate, or even exhibit a cross expression.”

  “That seems a bit restrictive...”

  “These big-firm lawyers are experts in delay. They almost always represent defendants and they know time is on their side. The longer they can delay judgment, the longer the clients hold onto their money. So I guarantee that if you misbehave, they’ll terminate the deposition and we’ll all be in court arguing about it, which will make Judge Fernandez angry and, more to the point, will slow down the case. Discovery is important, but I assume that at some point you’d like to get to the actual trial.”

  “True.”

  “So keep your mouth shut.”

  The receptionist opened the door to the conference room. He was not surprised to find that Caldwell was already there, comfortably situated on the far side of the table. Drake sat beside her. The court reporter sat on the other end of the table with her recording machine.

  And between them, Bradley Ellison. The man whose testimony put his father behind bars. Tall. Aging well. Still fit. Immaculate nails, like he’d had a manicure. Buzzcut. Gray looked good on him.

  Exactly how he imagined his own father would look today. If he hadn’t died in prison.

  Dan had interviewed Ellison once before, about the Ossie Coleman inheritance, but the entire time they discussed that case, his father was the elephant in the room. Dan only recalled two things Ellison said. “I always liked your daddy” and “I told the truth.”

  Today, they would put bother of those statements to the test.

  The conference room was unnecessarily large and designed for larger gatherings, but Dan knew this was the most impressive meeting place F&C had, which was probably why it had been chosen. Artwork by notable local talents lined the walls. A refrigerator bar in one corner contained about every kind of non-alcoholic drink imaginable. The chairs were plush and the table shone as if had been polished like a diamond.

  Caldwell stood. “Good morning. Would you like coffee? Something to drink?” As always, her tone was flat, devoid of emotion. It was not so much hospitality as much as like an AI bot that had learned it was traditional to offer beverages to visitors and did so as part of its programming.

  “I’d kill for some coffee,” Maria said.

  “That will not be necessary. Mr. Pike?”

  “I’m good, thanks.”

  Caldwell walked to the corner and poured. The cup and saucer were Royal Albert bone china. Lady Carlyle, if he recalled correctly.

  Maria drank the entire cup in a single swallow. “Oh, that’s good. Pike Place?”

  Drake grinned. “You have a discerning palate.”

  Maria nodded. “For coffee. Other than that, I’m a simple girl.”

  “Ha. I’ve seen how you dress. I’ve seen you function in court. You’re far from simple.” Drake glanced at Dan, then back at her. “You have real potential. You would fit in here at F&C very nicely.”

  Dan tried not to choke. Was this man flirting with her?

  Maria looked surprised and flattered. “Me? In this marbleized mausoleum?”

  “We need more experienced litigators.”

  “Is that it? I thought maybe you needed to increase your diversity portfolio.”

  “It wouldn’t hurt.”

  “Well, thank for the offer, but I’m very happy where I am. I assume this is the witness.” She nodded in Ellison’s direction.

  “Bradley Ellison.” He leaned forward and extended his hand. He looked uncomfortable, even unnatural, stuffed in a suit. It was much easier to imagine him in a police uniform, or perhaps since her was retired, in Bermuda shorts. “Mr. Pike and I have met.”

  Maria shook his hand. Dan did not.

  “And you must be our court reporter. I don’t think we’ve met.” Which was not unusual, Dan knew, since they handled far more criminal cases than civil, and depositions didn’t exist in the criminal world. In the courtroom, judges kept their own court reporters.

  “I’m Marjorie McKnight,” she said. She appeared to be in her early thirties. Small tattoo on the inside of her left wrist. Hoop earrings. D&G shoes, more expensive than the ones he was wearing. “I’m new to St. Petersburg. Moved a few weeks ago from Manhattan.”

  “Why Florida?”

  “Oh, my boyfriend wanted to go someplace warmer. We both decided we had to get out of New York. I love the city, the theater, the fact that you can walk everywhere. But after the CO
VID-19 panic—it just wasn’t the same place. White semis filled with bodies trolling down the street with a police escort. So many people in our church sick or dead. I used to think all the city noise was annoying, but after the lockdown, every night was eerily quiet. I had to get out of there to stay sane.”

  “That sounds terrible. We had the lockdown here too, and it was bad—but I think New York had it worse than anyone.”

  “We’re starting over, and so far, everything has gone well. I’ve had to learn to drive—but there are worse things than being able to drive to the beach every day.”

  “No doubt.”

  Caldwell cleared her throat. “If everyone is ready to begin, let’s go on the record.”

  Marjorie sat up straight and placed her fingers on her recording device. “This is the deposition of Bradley Ellison.” She recited the date, location, and the parties present.

  Caldwell nodded. “The usual stipulations?”

  Maria had almost answered “Yes” when Dan cut in. “What are the usual stipulations?”

  Caldwell peered at him for a moment. “I suppose you’re more accustomed to criminal work. In civil depositions, it’s traditional—”

  “I’ve taken lots of depositions. But we should specify exactly what the stipulations are going to be.”

  If it was possible to discombobulate an android, he had managed it. “The...most important stipulation is that we reserve objections till the time of trial.”

  “We won’t agree to that.”

  Maria turned to look at him. No psychic powers were necessary to detect her annoyance. “It would certainly speed things along, Dan. I can still make a motion to strike—”

  “I know these people. It’s a bad idea.”

  Caldwell seemed perplexed. “This is standard procedure, and it benefits all parties equally. May I ask the nature of your objection?”

  “Give you people any rope, and you’ll find a way to turn it into a noose.”

  “And when you say, ‘you people,’ you mean...”

  Dan tried to suppress his sneer. “The kind of people who would represent him.” His head jerked toward Ellison.

  “Actually, we don’t represent Mr. Ellison. We represent the defendant, Conrad Sweeney.”

  “Even worse.” Out the corner of his eye, he saw Maria glaring at him. He understood why. He was behaving with an appalling lack of professional courtesy, letting his feelings interfere with common sense. And he had no excuse for it. No strategic ulterior motive. He was just not thinking straight.

  He was doing everything Garrett accused him of.

  Oh well. He wasn’t in the lawyer role this time. Lawyers had to remain professional. Clients could be asshats.

  Maria launched into the deposition. Ellison’s answers were short and precise. He always answered the question, but he added nothing extraneous. No rambling. No attempts to defend himself or win over the questioner. He answered like a police officer on the witness stand, which was not surprising. That was how he had been trained.

  “We received a call about a disturbance on the Southside, near where the International Imports warehouse is today,” he explained.

  “What was the nature of the call?” Maria asked.

  “Someone reported hearing gunfire. As it turned out, there was a shootout in progress. A gang war. Bloods and Crips. Blacks versus Hispanics.”

  “Who started it?”

  “I don’t know.” Before any deposition is taken, attorneys typically cautioned witnesses that if they weren’t sure about the answer or couldn’t remember, to simply say so. Don’t be bullied into giving an answer you might regret later. Depositions were not taken just to obtain information. They were also taken to make a record. If a witness’s testimony at trial differed from what they had said earlier at a deposition, the transcript could be hauled out and read to the jury to impeach the witness. “This was more than twenty years ago, after all.”

  “You must have some recollection of what was going on and why.”

  “I don’t. I was simply following orders. I was a young lieutenant at the time, still in uniform, still patrolling a regular beat. I did what I was told.”

  “Who else went to the site of the shootout?”

  “Every available officer.”

  “Do you recall any specific names?”

  Ellison glanced at Drake. He nodded slightly. “I knew everybody there, but the two most relevant to this case were Ethan Pike—the defendant’s father. And Jack Fisher—the man he murdered.”

  “Move to strike,” Dan said, a heartbeat later.

  Maria drew in her breath. “What he said. But we’ll get back to that in a minute. Let’s get this story in chronological order. So you and the other officers went out to investigate the shooting. What happened next?”

  “I can’t agree to the word ‘investigate,’” Ellison said. “There was nothing to investigate. By the time we arrived, the shootout was in progress. Two gangs were holed up on opposite sides of a basketball court. Some failed attempt at urban renewal, to give kids a safe place to go after school. Now it was a war zone. One gang was holed up behind a stone dugout. Storage shed for sports equipment, I think. The other side holed up behind a couple of trash bins. And we drove up right into the middle of it.”

  “And what happened then?”

  “Exactly what you would expect. Both sides started shooting at the cops.”

  “What did you do next?”

  “We followed procedure. Four squad cars arrived at almost the same time. I drove one. Frank drove another. Jack drove another. I don’t remember who drove the fourth. We came in with sirens blazing, but it didn’t scare anyone off, at least not that we noticed. A bullet hit my windshield before I had even stopped the car.”

  This sounded horrific. A tiny voice inside Dan told him he should be feeling some sympathy. But he didn’t.

  “What did you do next?”

  “I opened the car door and slid out, crouching behind the door for cover. Almost immediately I felt bullets impact the door. Fortunately, they are reinforced. They will stop bullets, at least up to a point. Since I arrived first, I got out my bullhorn, identified myself, and told them to stand down.” He paused. “No one did.”

  “Were you following standard procedures?”

  Ellison made a snorting, disgusted sound. “There is no standard procedure for a situation like this. None of us had ever experienced anything like it. I served overseas. I was a Navy Seal. But this is the worst scrape I’ve ever been in. I still have nightmares about it.”

  Maria glanced at Dan. He could be wrong, but he had the feeling that she was asking for permission to go easier on him, given the circumstances. Permission was not granted.

  “What did you do next?”

  “The only thing I could do. I started firing back. This was absolute and complete chaos. You can’t imagine. Bullets flying in every possible direction. Gangs shooting at each other, shooting at us. It became clear very quickly that they were much better equipped and armed than we were. They were never going to run out of ammunition—at least not until long after we did. We were sitting ducks.”

  “But you returned fire.”

  “I wasn’t trying to hit anyone. Frankly, I couldn’t see well enough to hit anyone. I was laying down cover, trying to blanket a wide area, hoping to calm everyone down.”

  “Anything else?”

  “I called for reinforcements. Told them we had a desperate situation and they needed to send more officers. Even if they had to bring them in from another jurisdiction. Or county. Even if it was the National Guard. We needed backup in the worst possible way.”

  “Did they comply?”

  “The Chief said he’d see what he could do. You can imagine how much better than made me feel.”

  “Did help arrive?”

  “Eventually. But we were on our own for twenty-three minutes, and let me tell you, that was the longest twenty-three minutes of my life. Before or since.”

  “How
did you stay alive?”

  “I kept firing, but judiciously. I knew my ammo wouldn’t last forever. And I stayed behind the door. Frank and Jack raced behind their vehicles to cover our rear flank, make sure no one came up on us from behind.”

  “You were wounded at one point, correct?”

  “Damn straight.” Ellison suddenly looked embarrassed. “Uh, pardon my language, ma’am.”

  “It’s quite all right.”

  “Leaned out too far, trying to lay down some cover for my fellow officers while they moved. Took one right here.” He rubbed his right shoulder. “Healed up, but I still have an impingement. Bone cuts into the muscle when I stretch my arm out.”

  “How do you deal with that?”

  He grinned slightly. “I don’t stretch my arm out.”

  “The pain must’ve been intense.”

  “It was, and it threw me off my game a little, which is way I didn’t see everything that happened next. Unfortunately, we didn’t have car-cams or body-cams back then. But I saw enough.”

  Maria paused. Dan knew she was trying to find a way to segue to the part that mattered most, without leading him or pushing him toward an answer they didn’t want. “Could you see what the other officers were doing?”

  “Sometimes. And we could communicate by radio.”

  “I believe one of your fellow officers went down.”

  Caldwell cut in. “Is that a question?”

  “Pardon me. Were any of your fellow officers hurt?”

  “Yeah. And I still blame myself for that.”

  Caldwell cut in again. “I will caution the witness against making any statements that could be misunderstood as self-incriminating. You have the right to assert your Fifth Amendment privileges at any time. Including during a deposition.”

  “It’s ok. I did what I did.”

  Maria tried to recover the thread. “Was anyone hurt?”

  “Yeah. Jack. Killed dead. Bullet to the head.”

  “I would imagine that in this gigantic conflagration, this traumatizing crossfire, it would be difficult to know where the bullet came from.”

  Ellison drew in his breath, then slowly released it. “That’s what your client’s pappy was hoping.”