TWENTY-EIGHT
EDDIE
I found a bathroom in the Center Street Courthouse that didn’t smell like Marlon Brando’s pants in Apocalypse Now. The faucet ran cold after a few seconds, and I splashed water on my face and looked in the cracked mirror above the basin.
It was time to flip the switch.
When you’re a trial attorney, you have people who rely on you. Lots of people. In a trial, there’s one person who has placed their whole life in your hands. You can’t let your own shit get in the way. You have to find a way of turning it off so you can do your job. Your kid is sick – flip the switch. The bank just took away your house – flip the switch. You’re sick, depressed and an alcoholic with a dark grief that’s eating through your bones – flip the goddamn switch.
You have to be able to shut all of that shit out. Get rid of it. Put your head in the game. If you don’t, you’ll never forgive yourself and your client sure as hell won’t forgive you.
I blew out my cheeks, dried my face with a paper towel and flipped the switch.
It was the first day of trial. My priority was to stop it – kick the judge off the case and put the hearing back a few months. I needed some time to get my head straight. It was a risky play, but I had to get rid of this judge.
I came into court late.
The courtroom had been set up for a joint trial. Prosecution table on the left, filled with Dreyer and his cronies. On the right were two defense tables, six feet apart, side by side. Harry sat at the first table with Sofia. There were two empty chairs at our table. One for me, one for Harper. I asked for this seat to be kept empty, and Harry had agreed. Kate Brooks, her investigator, Bloch, and Alexandra sat at the other defense table.
All the tables faced the judge’s bench, with the jury seated to the right of the defense tables. To the left of the room, beside the witness stand, a large projector screen had been erected. It sat white and idle. I took my seat beside my client. She held out a hand, I took it and gripped it lightly. It was as reassuring a gesture as I could manage.
‘You don’t look well,’ said Sofia.
‘I’m fine. Don’t worry. I’ve been working hard on your case, is all.’
A false smile spread over her lips, which quickly pursed. It was Sofia who then squeezed my hand to reassure me. I didn’t look over at Kate or Dreyer. It was game time, and I didn’t need any distractions. My head felt like it was filled with cement and if I didn’t hold it up straight then it would fall to the desk and crack open.
‘ALL RISE,’ said the clerk, and Judge Stone swept into court, his black robes billowing behind him like the wings of some black, carnivorous bird. His face was pinched, his nose and lips pointed in a scowl at me and Harry.
The gallery was filled with members of the public, journos and TV reporters. Every man and woman in the courtroom stood to attention, answering the clerk’s call to be upstanding for the honorable Judge Stone.
Sofia stood. The prosecution team. Alexandra Avellino, Kate and Bloch. They remained standing until the judge got to his seat, flapped his robes around his midriff and bowed. Standing as the judge enters and exits the courtroom is a mark of respect.
Harry and I didn’t move our asses from our seats.
Not one goddamn inch.
Stone noticed this. He gave me a look like I was the worst scum of the earth. Beneath his contempt.
He sat down, his gaze boring into mine. There was a rustle of clothing, creaks from the public benches behind us, and squeaks from the defense and prosecution team as their chairs grated over the parquet floor as they took their seats.
‘Something wrong with your legs, Mr. Flynn?’ said Stone.
I stood slowly, stretching up to my full height, and said, ‘Absolutely nothing, Your Honor.’
‘What about you, Mr. Ford?’
‘Both legs are in top physical condition, Your Honor,’ said Harry.
‘I see. Well, then, I think I should probably take this matter up with the Bar disciplinary committee.’
‘As a former Justice, I’m one of the disciplinary committee chairs,’ said Harry. ‘Do you want to hand me the complaint now or email it later? Not that it matters.’
‘I think he should write it out now if he has a crayon to hand,’ I said.
Slowly, and with all the grace he could muster, Judge Stone rose to his feet. As he stood, his face changed from grey to pink, then a shade close to red.
‘I have never been so …’ He was too angry to speak. White bubbles of spit formed at the corner of his trembling mouth.
I glanced at Harry, he returned the look.
It was working.
‘Your Honor!’ cried Dreyer. ‘These are matters for another time, perhaps? There are more pressing issues than Mr. Flynn’s disregard for this court. We wouldn’t want to give him ammunition to make an unfounded claim of bias against you.’
Shit.
Harry sighed.
It had almost worked.
We had planned to make Stone explode. He had a weak pressure valve. All racists and bigots do. One word against Harry or me and we were going to make an immediate motion for Stone to recuse himself from the trial on the grounds of bias. He would’ve denied the motion, we would have had a chance for an immediate appeal, which would have been successful. No appellate judge would take the risk of sending a defendant for trial before a potentially biased judge, because if they were convicted they would be straight back to a higher appellate court, complaining not only about the initial judge but the appellate judge who let the trial go ahead. If the motion for a new trial judge had been granted, any other judge but Stone would split the trials, giving Sofia a fair chance.
Dreyer had spotted our play and took out the quarterback before he could release the ball. Goddamn, but Dreyer was quick-witted. I made sure I would not underestimate him again.
Judge’s Stone’s eyes narrowed in realization. He worked out that Dreyer was warning him. It took a while, but Stone got there. He sat down, said, ‘If there are any further outbursts or episodes of insubordination I shall refer this to the superior judge and he can deal with you two after the trial. Is that clear?’
Harry and I both nodded.
I whispered to Sofia that our attempt at removing this judge and splitting the trial hadn’t worked out. It had always been a long shot, and she appreciated this. We would just do our best. She knew the risks and we figured it was worth it, considering the major risk to Sofia was in a joint trial.
At least now Stone was aware of the danger of a bias claim; he would be seen to be fair to the defense in order to distance himself from any such allegation. We wouldn’t get an easy ride, but Stone would be careful not to prejudice our client in any of his statements and perhaps give me some extra leeway with my cross-examination. Nothing had been lost with the play. Stone was never an ally. If Judge Stone was in your corner, then you probably needed to take a long hard look at yourself.
‘Jury keeper, let’s have the jury in court. It’s time to get this trial started,’ said the judge.
A door opened to our right, and the jury was led in. I was reasonably happy with the jury when we finished selection last week. They looked to be a fair split of people who were as impartial as I could have wanted. Men and women. Some were religious, some weren’t. They had a broad spread of backgrounds, careers, and ethnicities. I didn’t care about anyone’s background. They were all Americans. They were ordinary people who were now under a tremendous burden. They alone would decide this case. I just had to make sure they made the right decision.