Misdemeanor Trials (16 page)

Bob came to the door when the interview with Madani was over.  Bob reached out his hand and asked for the paper with the names and addresses that Madani had written down.  It did not make any difference to John.  He already knew where Madani lived, and the rest, he would be able to find out from his notes he took on the day of his first contact with Madani.

CHAPTER THIRTY THREE

MIKE'S CRABHOUSE

“Sex, food and occasionally movies.”

--Richard Burton when asked what he and Elizabeth Taylor talked about.

It took the rest of the afternoon to fill out his application and resume.  On countless forms he filled in his social security number, service number, MOS number, mother’s maiden name, shoe size, ethnicity and sexual preference.  Well, almost.  But it seemed to him to be a colossal waste of time.  When he saw he would be classified with a paygrade of G-10, that made him feel somewhat better, but in reality he did not want another check from the federal government until he retired. 

Later in the afternoon, while John was filling out forms, Agent Davis showed up with a few papers in his hand.  He only said, “Mr. Trader, until you hear from us otherwise, please do not shave, trim your beard, or cut your hair.  Can you do that?” asked Davis.

“What you guys have planned for me does not sound like a lot of fun,” said John.

“Can you do that?” repeated Davis.

“Do I have a choice?” asked John.

“No, Mr. Trader,” replied Davis.

“Yeh, sure,” said John.  Back to the old days.  In the military he had worn shaggy hair and a full beard from the first day he was assigned out of country.  He would be comfortable with it.

“And there is no need to explain to anyone why you are doing it,” said Davis.

“How could I when I don't know why?” replied John.  “I hope my boss is on board with this.”

“It should not be a problem,” said Davis.  John wondered what that meant.  Was that a cultural statement about grooming in America, or had it been worked out with his boss.  He was too frustrated with dealing with this clueless bunch to inquire further.

“Also, you are not to tell anyone you were here today, or contact any of Madani’s relatives, or discuss with anyone our conversations today.  Do you understand?” asked Davis.

“Yes, I do,” said John. 

At around 4:00 P.M.  Bob showed up and said, “That’s it, Mr. Trader.  We will head on downstairs.   I will pick up the vehicle and meet you in front of the building and give you a ride back to the Hotel.”

John stood in front of the building and Bob showed up in the ubiquitous black Chevy suburban.  He got in, and noticed that Bob was not packing outside the building.  Bob hit the congestion of the Beltway and they crawled along in silence.  John figured it was pointless to talk to Bob, since he would be talking to all the Bobs, and at the same time, none of the Bobs.  When they arrived at the Hotel, John said to Bob, “Bob, can you ask Sarah Todd to call me.  I can give you my number.”

“She has it,” said Bob.

“Thanks, Bob.  See you,” said John.  John got out of the Suburban and Bob quietly drove off.  The sun was lowering in the sky and it promised to be a warm and humid evening.  He entered the hotel and walked over to the elevators.  As he waited for the elevator, his cell phone vibrated.  He took it out of his pocket and looked at the caller I.D.  It said “unknown caller.”  He answered, “Hello.”

“John, this is Sarah.  I can pick you up at six and we can go to Mike’s Crabhouse in Annapolis.  They have the best soft shelled crabs on the east coast.  It’s casual.  Don’t wear a suit.  See you then.” The call ended.  John went to the room, showered, and put on his gray slacks and tan sweater, the only non-suit clothes he had with him.  Pack light was the operative phrase.  At five minutes to six he walked outside into the warm, humid evening and stepped to the curb, looking for a Black Chevy Suburban on the U shaped driveway that brought everyone to the front door of the hotel.  He saw four Black Suburbans, but they were all parked and empty.  He saw a gray Volvo convertible with the top down and saw Sarah driving.  She stopped and he got into the car.  She was wearing shorts with a red sweatshirt.  The sweatshirt had a large Indian with a headdress silk-screened on the front, surrounded by the words ‘Stanford Indians’.”

“I was expecting a Black Chevy,” said John.

“Tonight is not an expensable event.  We are on our own,” said Sarah.

“Did you go to Stanford?” asked John.

“No,” answered Sarah.  “My dad did in the 70’s, when they banished Chief Lightfoot and changed the name of the sports teams to a color, and the mascot to a tree.  He never really got over it.  When we watch football games he always, and I mean always, says ‘Where’s the warrior in a color, where’s the winner in a tree.’ He’s a sweet guy.  He retired to California.  I can’t get out there very often. 

“Anyway, it’s about a 40 minute drive to Mike’s Crabhouse, but you have to go there during soft shelled crab season.  Anyway, it is a warm night and a nice drive.  Do you know much about this part of the country?”

“No, I don’t,” said John.  “Today was one of the big reasons I don't know and hesitate to learn.  Everyone’s name is ‘Bob’.  And Bob knows you have my telephone number, but Bob is only the driver, that’s all.  And the Bob, who was the driver, is different than the Bob who met me in the building today, who he is a different person than the Bob who drove me to the hotel today.  And Agent Davis told me to grow long hair and a beard, and said my boss would be okay with the shabby look, and you have my military file, and I’m a lawyer, and old Fordham tells me I only think I have rights.  And, you know what? Old Deputy Director Fordham is right.  Besides that, Madani wants to talk to me.  Madani wants to talk to me even though he doesn't tell me anything of great pitch or moment.  But he is frightened, because Bob probably told him he had no rights, and Madani quickly learned he had no rights, and thought I could protect him against whoever you guys are.  But I have to say, it is all worth to me if I can have dinner at Mike’s Crabhouse in Annapolis with Sarah Todd, unless every woman there is named Sarah, or your real name is Bob.” Sarah laughed.

“I have something to tell you, but before I do, I have to swear you to secrecy for the rest of your life,” said Sarah.

“Cross my heart,” said John.

“Last night dinner was on the government because I was supposed to make a quick evaluation of your suitability to work on a national security matter, as if years as a Seal wasn’t enough.  You also have some other solid credentials.  We are working on a short timetable and didn’t have time to use a shrink, and the group had the sense you would not want to cooperate.  The question among the group before you arrived yesterday at the conference room was, ‘Is he normal?’ I’m no shrink.  How was I supposed to define ‘normal’? Anyway, I can’t tell you what normal is, but anyone can recognize abnormal, crazy, nuts, off center, and bizarre.  You passed.”

“Good to know.  But how did you guys know that it was Madani's brother who blew himself up with others? I thought DNA got contaminated when mixed with some other guy's DNA,” asked John.

“It really is simple when you have mixed DNA.  It's like mixing yellow marbles and blue marbles in a jar.  When you analyzed blue marbles where there are only blue marbles, you can conclude that you have blue marbles in the jar.  If Joe Blow's DNA is blue marble DNA, then you have identified Joe Blow through his blue marbles.  If the blue marbles get mixed with yellow marbles from some other John Doe, they don't become green marbles.  When that mixed sample is analyzed for DNA, the results are some blue marbles and some yellow marbles alone, even though mixed together, just like that jar that has blue and yellow marbles.  So we learn that John Doe and Joe Blow were blown up together, but in this case it was Madani's brother and a government agent.  That contamination argument you hear in court is theatrical hogwash.”

“Oh,” said John.

The restaurant was crowded and they had to wait for a while.  They were finally seated outside on the deck over the bay.  The warm balmy air persisted.  Sarah had an unending smile that he had not seen before tonight, and the glass of pinot noir hit its mark, and the world was all good.  They talked about movies, and books, and food.  Sarah said, “In a lot of the books I read, the author has the guy and the gal at dinner, and he tells the reader what they are having, and sometimes it’s good and sometimes it is really good.  I think the best authors who write about a meal in a novel are really hungry when they write it.”

The ride back was mellowed by the wine and dinner.  The top was down and the traffic was light.  When they rounded the driveway into the Hilton Sarah stopped in front of the door.  She reached over to John and put her hand on his.  “It has been a nice evening, John.  I haven’t done that in a long time.”

“Would you like to come up to my room?” asked John.

“I don't think so, John.  It’s much too soon,” She replied.

“So it’s just a matter of time?” he asked.

“If we went up to your room, we would probably make love, and form some kind of bond, which is not a good idea when we are in a business that is difficult, and oftentimes impersonal, and can be ruthless,” said Sarah.

John said, “Would you like to come up to my room?”

“You don't seem to have heard what I am saying,” said Sarah.

“I heard, and I would love to hear you say 'Yes',” said John.

Sarah leaned over towards the steering wheel with her head touching the top of the steering wheel, looking at the gauges on the dashboard with a distant stare.  She paused momentarily, and without changing her eyes she said, “I’ll park the car.  You get out and I’ll be up in a minute.”

John said, “My room……”

Sarah interrupted, “I know what it is.”

The next morning John lay in bed.  It had been a night he could only describe as beautiful.  As he lay in bed, he watched steam coming from under the bathroom door.  A moment later, Sarah came out, a towel wrapped around her.  She leaned over him and kissed him.  “I have to go.  Someone will pick you up to take you to the airport.  She dressed and walked to the door, opened it, looked back at John and said, “You have my number,” and the door clicked closed as she walked out. 

At noon John left his room and walked out to the curb at the Hilton with his bag, packed light, waiting for Bob to give him a ride to the airport.  A black SUV came around and stopped in front of him.  He opened the passenger door and John saw Sarah.  She was dressed in a blue skirt and jacket over a white blouse.  He said, “But you’re not Bob.”

Sarah smiled and said, “Feel free to call me Bob.  Get in, I don’t have much time, and I didn’t give you my number.  It is lunchtime at the government and I don't want to be missed.” When they arrived at the airport, John took her hand and kissed it and told her it had been very nice.  Sarah put her hand on his cheek and kissed him lightly on the lips.  John reached for his bag and was about to close the door when Sarah said, “There is one more thing, John.  Apparently you have been seeing a Psychologist.  What was that all about?”

John answered, “The good Doctor thinks I may have a problem with women.”

Sarah: “I don’t think so”. 

John closed the door and Sarah pulled away, the tires briefly screeching as she left the curb.  A few minutes later, John realized he didn’t have her number. 

CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR

AND THEN SHE DIED

“I never knew a corpse that could hold up its end of the conversation.”

--Ken Goldman, and a Coroner's lament before an autopsy.

John called Tom and told him, “I'll be back at work tomorrow.”

“I have already been informed,” said Tom.  “Get in early.  Your Misdemeanor Vehicular Manslaughter case was continued, and it was supposed to start tomorrow at nine.  You can have it back.  The file will be on your desk.  Witnesses have been notified and will show up in the morning.”

The case was about a nineteen year old guy who was speeding down a quiet residential street returning from a fast food restaurant where he had purchased some sort of breakfast sandwich and French Fries on a Sunday morning.  When he looked down and picked French fries off the passenger seat, he collided with a forty-three year old woman who was crossing the street at the corner.  She was tossed thirty feet in the air and landed in the middle of the street.  And then she died.  The trial started and John began with his witnesses.  He first brought into testify the neighbor who saw the collision.  The neighbor was an elderly friend of the victim, and after the collision, she ran to aid the victim as she bled onto the pavement.  The witness cried on the stand.  The judge intervened, even without an objection from the defense attorney, and told Trader the emotional testimony might be appropriate for sentencing, but not for the guilt phase which should be fact based.  John said, “Thank you, your honor,” and moved on, but the bell had been rung, and there was sympathy for the victim and her elderly friend.  John had the Medical Examiner, Doctor Mandel, testify on the injuries and the cause of death.  The Medical Examiner, like all Medical Examiners, looked like a coroner.  He was older, thin, and crotchety.  He was irritated that he had to come to court, and told John he had never testified in a Vehicular Manslaughter case in thirty years.  “The DAs from your office and the defense attorney have always stipulated the victim was dead.” But John had insisted that the Medical Examiner show up and testify.  He appeared at trial and described in gruesome detail the injuries that no stipulation that the victim was dead could convey.  It was manipulation of the emotions of the jury, but John was beginning to understand the process.  The trial took three days, and at the end the jury took two hours to come to the guilty verdict. 

After the verdict Tom told John, “No one ever wins misdemeanor vehicular manslaughter trials.  Juries normally consider them an unfortunate accident and won't convict.  It is seldom that a jury convicts.  The office knows you have done something fairly unique.”

John’s hair continued to grow.  He left his beard untouched.  None of the managing D.A.’s mentioned it.  A few of his colleagues on the Misdemeanor Trial team told him he was looking more and more like a Public Defender.

A few months after his vehicular manslaughter trial, Tom called John and asked him to come to his cubicle.  “Interesting hair, John,” said Tom when John arrived.  John had gotten to know Tom a lot better since he arrived at the D.A.’s office.  Tom was smart and probably could have made a lot of money on the outside, but Tom was having too much fun as a Prosecutor.  “I think there may be an opening in felony trials.  I had a few minutes and I want to give you bit of background on who you are dealing with when you do go to felonies.  We are the white hats.  The people we see as hard case felony defendants have a lifestyle that is just different than misdemeanor violators.  Felon’s lives include crime.  Guys like you and me buy season tickets to the University basketball team.  We visit our mothers occasionally.  If we get a parking ticket, we pay it.  We don’t take or break other people’s stuff.  That’s part of the philosopher John Locke’s social contract.  Guys like you and me, unlike the bad guys who live on the other side of the spectrum, don’t know how to commit a felony.  I don’t even think I could do a misdemeanor.  There is something in me, and in most people, who just can’t do it.  The felons can.  The felons commit a crime and get caught.  They lose their jobs and then their families have no money.  Because they have to spend time with their parole officers, and in prison, they become unemployable, broke, with no prospects.  They only see the future, at most, two weeks out.  They steal stuff without considering what will happen to them, and don’t consider at all what it will do to the victim.  Most of the time, not much happens when they commit a crime.  Killers continue to kill, thieves continue to steal, child molesters continue to molest.  Felons commit ten crimes between felonies before they are caught.  When they do get caught they go back to prison.  They don’t like prison, but they are not afraid of it like you would be.  Sometimes they see their friends when they go back.  When they get out, it is the same story all over again.  They don't seem to have a grip on the fact that they are the epitome of a waste of life, and time, when they do spend time in prison.  I have learned and I think you will too, that felons don't laugh much, and prostitutes have no sense of humor.  It's a common trait.  Sometimes I feel like grabbing their collar, shaking them and saying, ‘Why do you do this?’ I have the hope that the misdemeanor team tries to catch the virgin crook before they sink into the criminal justice system.  We try to give the misdemeanor criminals a chance to clean up before they lose everything.  Most of the time it works.  We get their attention early on.  The experienced felons who commit misdemeanors know the drill if they are charged with a misdemeanor.  They plead guilty and move on.  Sometimes the misdemeanor means a parole violation and a short return to prison.  They can do it standing on their heads.  For them it's a piece of cake.  That’s why I like running the misdemeanor trial team.  I think we do some good.”

A few months later Tom called him back to his cubicle.  Today, Tom was all business.  “There may be room on the Felony team in the next month or two.  You’ve been successful in misdemeanor trials.  I have recommended you to be next in line for the move.  Get your misdemeanor trial cases current.  If you are moved to Felonies, it will be a ten minute transition, especially if you get a Felony hand-off of a case going out to trial that day.  When the time comes, we’ll move your cubicle to the seventh floor where the felony trial team is located.  I will assign all your current misdemeanor cases to others on the team.  Good Luck, John.  Felonies are different.  You’ll be putting the bad guys away.”

John returned to his cubicle and began to review his files for possible hand-offs, in the event he were suddenly transferred to the felony trial team.  He grabbed some papers he needed to copy.  He walked to the copy machines down the hall from his cubicle.  He looked up from the copy machine, and saw Cody coming down the aisle.  John felt the beckoning smile of Cody, who he knew when they were briefly doing misdemeanors.  But now she was an experienced felony trial lawyer.  She was not sexy, and did not have obvious sex appeal, but she had magnetism, an unseen emotional aroma not unlike perfume.  It was a discomforting animal appeal that pulled on him.  Whenever he saw her, a warm feeling tingled the nerves in his skin and he wanted to get close to it.  So far he had successfully stayed away from Cody.  He told himself he didn’t have the time.  He was putting in too much effort during the week and weekends trying to figure out how to be a trial lawyer.  Also, she was in the office, and that always spelled trouble.  But she had a feminine attraction that was compelling.  Whenever he saw her he was drawn to her in a real basic visceral way. 

Cody stopped at the copy machine.  “Hi, John.  I heard you may be coming to the felony team soon.  It is very different than misdemeanors.”

“News travels fast,” replied John.

“Let's go out after work and celebrate, unless you think you need to avoid me,” said Cody.

John felt every bit of resistance dissolve.  He replied, “No, I haven't been avoiding you.  When you were transferred up to seventh floor doing felonies, you became a big time high powered lawyer, and I was stuck here doing misdemeanors.  You just weren’t around.”

Cody smiled.  “Okay, that works for me,” she said as she continued down the aisle.  “So I’ll see you at O’Dell’s at 5:30.  I look forward to it.”

John’s heart fluttered a bit and once again he felt a warm blush.  He wondered if it were visible.  He saw that his will power was gone, but the better side of that was he would have some time with Cody.  A smile crossed his lips and he knew he was doomed. 

He heard his name paged by reception.  When he got back to his cubicle he dialed reception.  Jill, the receptionist, said, “There was someone here on the first floor to see you.”

John asked, “Who is it?”

Jill said, “He did not say, but he did say that you were expecting him.” John didn't expect anyone, but he took the elevator to floor one, and there was only one person in the reception area, a man, dressed in a government blue suit, and John had a sense of foreboding.  John walked over to him.

“Hi, I’m John Trader.  I hear you were looking for me.”

He did not introduce himself.  “I am here at the direction of Agent Davis.  You need to be on a flight tonight at 7:30.  Here is your packet with the boarding pass, and how to make contact once you arrive in Stuttgart.  I was told to tell you to travel light, things are moving quickly.”

“Anything else?” asked John. 

“No.  I was told you were briefed,” replied the man.

John left and returned to his cubicle and dialed Tom.  Before John could say anything, he heard Tom say, “You’re covered.  Have a nice trip.” John then emailed Cody. 

Paul Simpson, a recently hired misdemeanor trial attorney, arrived in John's cubicle.  “John, show me where you keep your files.  I’m covering for you while you’re gone.” John pointed to his files, grabbed his coat, and left.