Judge and Jury

by William Bernhardt

  “But is there any question that damage to my client’s reputation occurred? We believe the evidence will make clear, if this recording has not already, that unlawful slander was perpetrated by the defendant. Mr. Sweeney believes that his wealth, his connections, and his influence will immunize him, that they raise him above the law. I hope you will take this opportunity to send a strong message to the contrary. No one is above the law. Not even the rich and powerful. No one.”

  She stepped to the side so the jury had a clear view of Sweeney, who sat impassively at his table. Not quite grinning. But almost.

  “This man believes he can get away with anything.” She turned back to the jury, giving heavy emphasis to each word. “Prove—him—wrong.”

  * * *

  Dan was not enormously surprised that Drake stood to deliver the opening. Caldwell might be the better attorney, but her robotic Spock demeanor wouldn’t resonate with jurors or incur much empathy. She would have trouble driving home the drama. As it happened, Drake was all about the drama.

  “Just to be clear, I agree with exactly one thing my worthy opponent just said, and one thing only. We do have the First Amendment in this country. We have freedom of speech. Supposedly. But what does that freedom mean if people can haul you into court for saying things that are well known and mostly a matter of public record? We live in a time of vile words. It’s everywhere. People tweet lies every day, but Congress says they are immune from liability. Troll farms pump out fake news and they are not stopped. But one man, perhaps the most prominent citizen of the city, tries to alert people to a possible danger, a family that has repeatedly aligned itself with crime and criminals, and what does he get for his service? Well, a lawsuit, of course. No matter how frivolous your claim, there’s some lawyer somewhere willing to bring it to court.”

  “Objection,” Maria said. As Dan well knew, objections during openings were rare, but this crossed the line. “Among other problems, this is argumentative.”

  “I have to agree,” Judge Fernandez said. “Please stick to previewing your evidence and case for the jury. The court does not appreciate attacks on the justice system. Please remember that you are an officer of the court.”

  “Understood,” Drake said, then turned back to the jury as if he hadn’t heard a word. “Here are the facts. The evidence will show that the plaintiff’s father, Ethan Pike, was a police officer convicted of murdering a fellow police officer. He was given a life sentence and died in prison. Fact. The evidence will show that his son, the plaintiff, Daniel Pike, is a criminal lawyer who has represented many drug dealers and other felons. Fact. He also represented the man who, after Pike got him released, started the Trademark massacre. Fact. Pike has represented gang members on many occasions, and even more recently has handled two cases that involved organized crime, specifically, South American cartels. Fact. And that’s important. Because, thank God, in America, we still have the right to speak facts, even if someone else finds those truths unpleasant. You see, statements can only be slanderous if they are false. Truth is a defense.”

  Drake leaned against the rail separating him from the jury. “That’s the key here. We will show that every statement our client, Dr. Conrad Sweeney, made is true and has strong support in documented fact. We will also show that the plaintiff made statements that have no basis whatsoever in fact. That’s the basis for our counterclaim. In this case, it’s not just the plaintiff asking for damages. The defendant is also seeking damages, and believe me, Dr. Sweeney’s reputation is worth a great deal more than this criminal lawyer’s. If anyone has suffered damage, it is Dr. Sweeney, the man who has done more for this city than any other living person.”

  Drake hesitated, as if ready to conclude, then spoke again. “Let me say a word about those reports my esteemed colleague mentioned. Those reports were generated by us, Dr. Sweeney’s lawyers, not Dr. Sweeney. As the judge will explain in his final instructions, they are privileged work product. The court has ruled that they do not have to be produced to the other side in advance at trial. But they will be produced during this trial, so these suggestions that we’re hiding something are nonsense. As with most investigations, the lion’s share of what we learned is not that interesting. But we did dig up a few nuggets that are directly relevant, that shine a whole new light on Mr. Pike and his...associations. And prove, once and for all, that Dr. Sweeney has not committed slander. He has merely shined a light on the truth. He should be praised and thanked. And the plaintiff—”

  In an almost direct mimicry of Maria’s final move, Drake took a step back, inviting the jury to look at Dan. “This man, this son of a convicted murderer, this defender of murderers, this man who always seems to be in the middle of whatever crime gang, crime lord, cartel or...” He paused. “...crossfire is taking place, has very little reputation to worry about. Even if his claims were true, he couldn’t suffer damages, because his reputation has no value. But I will ask you to hold him accountable for his own actions, something that has been far too long in coming.”

  Chapter 21

  Garrett liked to think of himself as a well-rounded adult male, open to new ideas, flexible not rigid, fun-loving if not frivolous. But he was on the conservative side, and there were some aspects of modern society he took exception to. He refused to become his father—or worse, his grandfather. But come on—that alleged music they play on FM music stations is corporate claptrap. He didn’t mind same-sex couples, but he was tired of seeing them gratuitously forced into television dramas in percentages that far exceeded reality. He was a healthy male who enjoyed heterosexual sex in monogamous relationships. And he felt certain that if he ever had any problems in that department—not that he ever had—he would seek the appropriate help.

  But visiting a professional sex researcher? That was not on his bucket list. That was modern society reeling out of control.

  He had tried to make an appointment with Dr. Elliot Harrison at a neutral location, like maybe a diner or a donut shop. But Harrison said he was busy, didn’t really have time for this, so the meeting was either at work or it wasn’t happening.

  A sex researcher. He should get hazard pay for this one.

  After a few minutes, a man wearing the traditional white coat emerged from a doorway. As if that cliché weren’t quite sufficient, he was actually holding a clipboard.

  “Dr. Harrison?”

  The man smiled. He was short, a little stocky, balding at the top, and wore thick plastic glasses. “I am. Last time I checked.”

  Ha ha. “I’m Garrett Wainwright. Thank you for meeting with me. I’m sure you’re very busy.”

  “Busy enough. Depends on your measuring stick. Nothing like being an OB-GYN, my former life. Much calmer lifestyle.”

  “I can imagine.”

  “Care to step inside?” He led the way and Garrett followed.

  Although the exterior of the building was modest—plain square stucco, boring—the interior was more modern and high tech. As they walked down the corridor, Garrett passed a number of small lab units. He had no idea what the researchers inside were doing, but they looked smart and appeared to have the equipment they needed to complete their tasks.

  “We do all kind of work here,” Harrison explained. “But my lab is in the rear. Some of my volunteers prefer privacy. I’m sure you understand.”

  Privacy for sex research. He definitely understood. Harrison escorted him into what appeared to be his office. Small but adequate. A desk piled high with file folders took up most of the space, but the far window permitted a view of another room beyond. One equipped with a small bed. He couldn’t be certain from this perspective, but he thought that was a one-way mirror.

  “I called you because I believe you used to deliver babies at St. Petersburg General.”

  “True enough. I didn’t have, or want, my own practice. I took what came. ER work, too. You’d be amazed how many pregnant women don’t have a regular doctor and haven’t made any advance plans. Hell, I’ve had women who didn’t
even know they were pregnant. Till the baby started making its way into the world. And somehow I’m supposed to take these random elements and turn them into a successful childbirth. Too stressful for me.”

  “So you switched to...sex.”

  Harrison chuckled. “I guess that’s one way of putting it. I got into pure research. Always what interested me most, but that’s not where the money is, you know what I mean? As you get older, you have to accept some things about yourself. I’m not a people person. I don’t want to sit around listening to people telling me about their problems. I do like helping others...but perhaps in a less immediate way.”

  “So...research?”

  “Exactly. I didn’t start with the sex stuff, but strangely enough, that seems to be what I’m best at.”

  Garrett could almost see it. Given his “class nerd” appearance, he would not appear at all threatening or intimidating. People might be able to discuss their intimate issues more readily with him. As long as they didn’t know he wasn’t a people person and didn’t like listening to their problems.

  “I rose in that field far faster than I ever had at the hospital,” Harrison explained. “Everything changed for me after I attended my first orgy.”

  Garrett blinked. “Your first orgy?”

  “Yeah,” Harrison said matter-of-factly. “The amazing thing is, you think it’s going to be all sexy and loud, lots of streaming and wailing and orgasmic ecstasy.”

  “But it isn’t?”

  “Nah. Mostly silence. No conversation. The occasional sound of a belt buckle hitting the floor.”

  “You actually...attended? Observed? Participated?”

  “Observed. You think it’s going to be a crazy free-for-all, but no, there’s a bouncer with an iPad keeping track of everything and everyone. This was a formal affair sponsored by a private club. You had to be approved in advance and you had to pay an admissions fee. A hundred bucks for a single guy, fifty for a married guy bringing a spouse, and ten bucks for a woman.”

  “Seems rather sexist.”

  “Sexist but necessary. And that fee doesn’t guarantee you’re going to have sex with anyone. You still have to find someone who wants to. It’s a lot like a singles bar, except you don’t need clever banter and you don’t have to go anywhere once you’re ready to hook up.”

  Garrett felt a chill. “I don’t think I’d enjoy it.”

  “Imagine how I felt. Not only there but administering the penile gauge.”

  “The...uh...”

  “You heard me right. To measure arousal. I was working on an ongoing study, and the fact that I didn’t mind doing what others found embarrassing made me indispensable. I don’t know why I didn’t mind. I think it’s because those people didn’t mind me. Maybe they were just preoccupied, but I think there’s something that makes me sort of...invisible. Someone people overlook.”

  Garrett could almost see that, actually. “What were you researching?”

  “There’s a psychological theory—a whole branch of research actually—called ‘cads vs. dads.’ Which is related to the ‘sexy sons hypothesis.’ Have you read about it?”

  “I’m afraid I have not.”

  “But I bet you’ve wondered, Do women always go for the bad boy? Or do they want a stable partner, a good husband and father.”

  “And?”

  “The answer depends upon the age of the woman, the background, and the personality, but as a general rule, once women reach a certain age and maturity, they look for a stable partner, someone who will be a good provider or parent. But after a while, it’s possible they might stray–even if only for a night—with a hunkier guy with ripped abs. So she still has the reliable guy, but gets to have sex with the hunkier cad. You know, the Fifty Shades of Grey fantasy.”

  “I really don’t—”

  “And then the kids from this union, with hunky Daddy genes, become ripe candidates for the exact same thing, thus perpetuating the cycle.”

  “And this is a real scientific study? How would women find these beefcake one-night stands?”

  “That’s part of what I was researching. The eternal question. Years ago, at Florida State, someone ran a study where someone walks up to a person of the opposite sex and says, basically, ‘I’ve noticed you around. I think you’re attractive. Would you sleep with me tonight?’”

  This is a study, or a frat house prank? “And?”

  “Most men were ok with it. Even the ones who said no apologized and made an excuse. But all the women said no. ‘You must be joking.’ Or ‘Leave me alone.’ The study has been repeated elsewhere with almost identical results. Initially people said this proves men are sexual hunters, they’re ok with casual sex, they always want more, yadda yadda yadda. Women, supposedly having less interest in sex, especially casual sex, and concerned about the possibility of becoming pregnant, say no. But my partners and I think the people conducting this study got it wrong. We think women would say yes to exactly the same degree—if they could eliminate the fear factor.”

  “Which is?”

  “When we conduct this experiement, the women get to choose a potential partner from an array of photos. Polaroid Grindr, if you will. Then they get to chat with him for half an hour, to break the ice, watch for red flags. Eliminate the fear of the unknown.”

  “Did it change the results?”

  “Completely. Eliminate the fear factor, and women opt for casual sex only slightly less frequently than men. The numbers are almost statistically identical. We still need to do more research but, when I publish, I think this is going to blow the lid off current theories. This is going to change everything we thought we knew about sex.”

  “Could we talk about Pamela Pike? I mean—Pamela Fisher. When you knew her. You do remember the case?”

  “Oh yeah. How could I forget?” Much of the light that shone in his eyes when he talked about sex faded as he recalled this case. “That was a tough one. The lady said she wanted to put the baby up for adoption. But she’d made no plans.”

  “I’m sure you knew how to contact the proper authorities.”

  “I didn’t have a clue. But I educated myself fast. Got the social workers and adoption agency people on the scene pronto.”

  “Was her daughter born...ok?”

  “Rough delivery. Roughest I’ve seen in my life that didn’t lead to either mother or child perishing. We got through it...barely. I thought the worst was over. Wrong.”

  “What happened next?”

  “Dad showed up. Her husband.”

  Who might not have been the dad, given that the child was conceived before Pamela and Jack married. “What did he do?”

  “Acted like a complete douche. Total tool. Ranting and raving. He didn’t want to give the baby up.”

  “Why was she insistent on giving the baby up for adoption?”

  “She never explained it to me. I was just the doctor. Mostly I just had to sign papers. But she kept dragging me into. Wanted me to say the baby had problems. I think she figured her ass of a husband wouldn’t want to be saddled with a kid with disabilities. I finally gave in. Signed the papers, spread the word. Don’t tell anyone I falsified the paperwork, but I figured if she didn’t want her baby raised by that dick, she probably knew best.”

  “I’m sure you did the right thing.” In a completely illegal sort of way. “What name did they give the baby?”

  “I never heard.”

  “Did you ever see the parents again?”

  “Oh yeah. Why do you think I remember the case so well?” Something happened to Harrison’s face as he told this part of the story. Like a shadow fell over his entire countenance. “Years later, the dick returned.”

  “What did he want?”

  “The baby. He thought I could tell him who the adoptive parents were so he could get his little girl back. And he couldn’t give me a rational reason, nothing that made any sense. It was more like, someone stole his toy and he wanted it back.”

  “I assume you didn’t he
lp him.”

  “I didn’t want to, but remember, he was legally the father. He claimed the adoption took place without his consent, in secret, which mitigated against the usual privacy afforded adoptions. Threw his weight around because he was a cop. Threatened to sue.”

  “Did you believe him?”

  “I know the adoption wasn’t a secret. I’d seen them discussing it. But it might well have been without his consent. Maybe the lady forged his signature. Did something while he was out drinking beer.”

  “But why come after you just because you delivered the baby? How could you possibly know anything about who adopted the child?”

  Harrison’s eyes drifted downward. “Except actually...I did.” He cleared his throat. “Once again, I let my heart work harder than my head. This thing was such a mess. So traumatic for everyone involved.” He blew air through his lips. “Anyway, I didn’t think the official adoption was going through. Not without his active participation. But I knew a wonderful couple who lived just a few doors down from me. Nice people, good jobs, smart. Childless. Weren’t having any luck adopting because he had a criminal record. Trivia stuff. Marijuana, like anyone cares these days. So I sort of...”

  “You arranged for them to adopt Pamela’s baby.”

  “In an unofficial, Ma and Pa Kent sort of way. Private adoptions are not illegal in Florida. And no money changed hands. Well, okay, not much.”

  “Tell me you didn’t take any money for arranging this.”

  “Me? No. I was just trying to help. But I thought the lady could use a little something. Frankly, I was hoping she’d use it to go to a women’s shelter or blow town, but I don’t think she did. Too bad. That guy was an abuser if I ever saw one.”

  Garrett took a step closer, his fists clenched. “Did you tell that man where his daughter was?”

  “He held a gun on me, for God’s sake! And as if that wasn’t enough, he pulled out a knife, a big one, and pressed it against my throat. Told me he was a cop so he could get away with murder, no questions asked. What could I do? I didn’t want him to get the kid. But I didn’t want to die for it, either.”