Misdemeanor Trials (5 page)

CHAPTER SEVEN

CRAWFORD

“Justice brings closure, not fairness.”

--Nicole Simpson

Trader walked to the Hall of Justice directory next to the elevators and looked for Judge Crawford's courtroom.  There were courtroom numbers one through twelve and a Judge's name, but no indication of which floor the courtrooms were located.  Trader knew this was the best guidance the government could give.  It was evident that there were no incentives for any judge to have anyone find out where their courtroom was.  If people found them, it meant work, or they would have to make a decision, or they would have to put on that black dress they called a robe.  He must have appeared bewildered because he heard a female voice behind him ask, “Are you going to Crawford's courtroom?”

Trader turned, and his elbow brushed up against the soft and forgiving feel of a woman's breast.  He saw her and she looked at him at that moment, and a pleasant warm rush of excitement went through his body, and he knew that if he ever in his life blushed, it was probably now.  She looked up at the elevator and said, “Follow me.  He is on the third floor.  I'm going there too.” She paused for a moment and said, “You must be one of the new D.A.s.  Welcome to the Zoo.”

Trader saw a well-dressed business suit, hiding a slightly cherubic body.  Her hair was long and brown, and broke at her shoulders.  She had a face with a small nose, dark eyes, perfect mouth, and, to Trader's own sense of silliness, a beckoning smile.

“Thanks.  I am,” said John.

“In Crawford’s courtroom, it's probably a good idea to just keep quiet.  We will go to his chambers with a bunch of other lawyers.  He will call your case.  You spell out the proposal.  He will do the rest.  Usually he hammers us to change our offer, but it is the Public Defenders, and most of the private attorneys who will cave.  If they don’t, the Public Defender or the judge will continue the case.  You don’t really have to do much except note the results in the file.  If not, get set for a trial starting today.  Crawford moves fast.”

Trader followed her out of the elevator as they walked to a courtroom.  When they entered, the room was empty except for the Bailiff.  He barely looked up from a book he was reading and said, “Go on back.  Most everyone is here.” They walked past the short wooden gate in the courtroom that separated the spectator’s area from the judg
e
s platform, and the empty jury chairs.  The wooden gate was in history referred to as “the bar”.  He was now a lawyer and had the right to pass the bar.  They walked through a door at the side and in the back of the courtroom, where a judge would typically enter the courtroom.  They turned down a short hallway where the inner sanctum of the Judge’s chambers was.  This was a new and mysterious place for John, and he felt that he was truly in the mix of where law and justice gathered in the backrooms of the courthouse.  He entered the judge’s chambers through a door marked with Judge Crawford's name.  There were seven or eight attorneys who sat, or stood, surrounding a long table where Judge Crawford sat, addressing an attorney on a case.  He looked up and nodded, “Good morning, Cody.” Well, at least Trader now knew her name.

Cody said, “Good morning, Judge.”

Trader sat down and watched as the Judge went through each case.  It was just as Cody told him.  Finally Crawford said, “Who has the Martinez case?” A smallish bearded lawyer responded that it was his case.  Trader said, “I have that case, Judge.”

“Who are you?” asked Crawford.

“I’m John Trader. I am from the D.A
.
s office.”

“What is your offer, counselor?” said Crawford.

Trader looked in the file and repeated the offer written in the margins.  “Six days in jail, three years probation, Level two DUI classes, and statutory fines and fees.”

The Public Defender responded, “If you could reduce probation to two years we would take it.”

Without thinking, Trader responded, “No.”

Crawford said, somewhat sternly, “It is not uncommon for two years of probation in this kind of case.  Your objective here should be to settle these cases, get them off the calendar, so we can get to the cases that deserve to be in trial.” Trader did not know how to respond.  He disguised his inquiring look over at Cody, but she had her head in her file and the other attorneys had a glazed look in their eye, waiting only for their cases, or talking quietly among themselves.

Trader thought for a moment.  The defendant, Martinez, had a blood alcohol content of .13 and was staggering when asked to “exit the vehicle” by the highway patrol.  He could not even come close on the Field Sobriety Tests, could not find the line to walk on, not to mention he could not walk it, and admitted he had several Long Island Iced Teas.  “Thank you, Judge, but that is the offer,” said Trader. 

“Ms.  Jones,” said Crawford as he looked in Cody's direction.  “Mr. Trader needs some guidance on how to settle these cases.  Maybe you should give him some help.”

“Your honor,” said Cody Jones, “Mr. Trader has decision making power over his own cases.  I have no influence.”

Now John knew her name was Cody Jones.

Crawford looked at the Public Defender.  “It's your move.”

“Okay,” said the smallish, bearded public defender, whose one brown sock and one blue sock set him off from the rest of the rather well dressed attorneys.  “I will take it to my client.  I think he will settle.”

A few more cases were called.  There was a settlement offered by the D.A. and typically accepted by the defense attorney.  Attorneys left the chambers as their case files were dealt with.  Finally only Trader and the smallish, bearded Public Defender remained in the room.

“I guess we have only the Hernandez indecent exposure case that has not settled.  Mr. Trader, I think you should give your position some thought over lunch.  Remember your case will be tried in front of twelve people who are not smart enough to get out of Jury Duty.  Be back at 1:30, we’ll select a jury and get moving on this case,” said Crawford.

Trader left the Judge’s chambers.  He had no idea how to conduct a trial, select a jury or present evidence.  The only actual courtroom experience he had was from reruns of Perry Mason, L.A.  Law, The Good Wife, and vague references during law school of the actual mechanics of a trial.  He could feel the drops of perspiration dripping down, inside his shirt, from his armpits.  It was odd, Trader thought, that he had never perspired in the Military from anything except the heat.  But today, it was a different story.

 CHAPTER EIGHT

VANESSA

“I've always been fascinated by the theft of innocence.....it should be a capital crime.”

---Clint Eastwood

When trader returned from Crawford's courtroom, Tom Benton gave him minimal guidance on how to conduct a trial.  He told Trader to sit at the table in the courtroom that was closest to the Jury Box.  He told John that the Judge would tell him to conduct Voir Dire, where each attorney was allowed to ask questions of prospective jurors.  During Voir Dire Benton told him he should ask each juror if he or she could be fair, and that was all.  He said the Public Defender will ask many questions which will give Trader enough information about each potential juror so that he could challenge or excuse any juror he felt would be too biased against the Prosecution.  Benton said, “If you are asked by the Judge if you want to excuse a juror, say, ‘The Prosecution would thank and excuse juror number whatever’.  After the jury is selected and the judge reads the pretrial instruction to them, be ready to give the jury your opening statement.”  In this case the victim was a 15 year old girl who saw the defendant get out of his car on a residential street, and expose his penis while she was walking home from school.  Benton told him he should call the victim to the witness stand.  The clerk will swear her in.  Benton told John to have the girl identify herself, then ask her what happened on the day of the crime and to make sure she identified the defendant as the person who exposed himself.  After that tell the Judge you have no further questions.  Benton told Trader that when the Public Defender was finished with cross examination, he would have the opportunity for redirect examination and he could clear up any discrepancies or inconsistencies brought up by the defense attorney.

Benton asked Trader who the Public Defender was.  Trader told him that the Public Defender on the case was Tom Casey.  Benton paused for a moment and then looked at Trader and said, “Casey is more nauseating than a blob in a lava lamp.  He is obstreperous, antagonistic and uncooperative.  I will try to get someone with a little trial experience to come over and help you when the trial starts.”

At 1:15 Trader left his cubicle and headed towards the courtroom, alone, with a single file, and his Evidence Code Book and a copy of the Penal Code.  When Trader arrived outside the courthouse elevators, he saw a young girl with a woman, obviously her mother, standing near the elevator doors.  He walked over and he asked, “Are you Vanessa?” The young girl nodded yes, and then his mother introduced herself.  They both acknowledged that they had received a call from the District Attorney's office and told to come to the courthouse.  The got onto the elevator and were alone.  Trader told them the case was going to trial and he would call Vanessa to the stand to ask her what happened.  Vanessa was quiet and had a serious and anxious look on her face.  He told Vanessa that she could not make a mistake in the courtroom, since she was the person who witnessed everything.  The elevator doors opened, and Vanessa suddenly put her hand to her mouth, and with a frightened look on her face, said, “That's him.”  Trader turned and saw a fifty year old Mexican male wearing jeans and a long sleeve shirt standing outside the courtroom doors.  He was talking with Tom Casey, a 60 year old, gray haired man of medium stature carrying files with “Public Defender” stenciled on the tan manila folder.  They walked into the courtroom without looking in Trader's direction.  Tom Casey was dressed in a subdued plaid suit with flared bottoms and wide lapels.  It was a relic of a previous fashion life.  His tie was very wide and did not match anything, except possibly the tablecloth in the nearest Italian restaurant.  Trader told Vanessa to wait in the hallway until she was called to testify in an hour or so.

Trader entered the courtroom and put his file and books on the table closest to the jury box.  Casey and the defendant who Vanessa saw outside the courtroom, Alex Hernandez, sat at the other table.  Neither looked in Trader's direction.  A few minutes later the court clerk and court reporter quietly entered the courtroom.  A moment later the judge entered the courtroom, sat in his chair and called the case by its number.  “I will call the case of the People versus Alex Hernandez, Case 409876.  Will counsel please identify themselves.”

Trader said, “John Trader for the People.”

Casey stood up and said, “Tom Casey for Mr. Hernandez, who is present in the courtroom today.”

The Judge asked if there were any motions.  John answered, “No”.

Casey said, “Your honor, we would like to exclude all witnesses, and we would like to insure we have all discovery from the Prosecution.”

The Judge said he would exclude all witnesses until they testify, and asked Trader how many witnesses he has.  Trader said the victim and the police officer who arrested the defendant.  The Judge then asked if the Prosecution had complied with all discovery.  Trader said, “Your honor, all I have is in the file on the table.  It contains the police report and the defendant's RAP sheet and a few scheduling notes by the DA's office.”

The Judge turned to Casey.  “Do you have that discovery?”

Casey responded that he did.

The Judge looked at the courtroom sheriff's deputy and said, “Bring up the panel of jurors.”

A few minutes later about 50 potential jurors walked silently into the courtroom.  John turned towards the courtroom door and watched each of the jurors as they entered the courtroom.  He tried to figure who would be good jurors, but he admitted to himself he had no clue.  There was one young guy who had spiked hair, several metal chains on his vest and pants, and lots of piercing.  After the jurors sat in the courtroom chairs, the court clerk swore in the panel, and the Judge called out the name of the first twelve potential jurors, and each of them settled into the more comfortable jury box chairs. 

The Judge then told the jurors that the case was a misdemeanor charging the defendant, Mr. Hernandez, with indecent exposure.

The Judge looked at Casey and nodded, “Voir Dire, Mr. Casey?”

Casey stood up and moved in front of the jurors seated in the jury box.  “My name is Tom Casey and I am the Public Defender representing Mr. Alex Hernandez who has been wrongly accused by the Prosecution and sits in the courtroom as an innocent man and was badgered by the police after multiple denials by him that he was guilty.”

The Judge jumped in, “Mr. Casey, this is not argument, this is Voir Dire.  Please question the jury and hold off on argument until the conclusion of the presentation of evidence.”

Casey looked at the Judge and said, “Yes, your honor”.  Casey then questioned each juror, asking them if they had ever had anyone expose themselves, or ever been a victim, witness or defendant in a criminal trial.  He followed up on some of the questions to several of the jurors, and after about a half hour, Trader felt he knew a little about each one of the jurors. 

When the Judge nodded towards Trader, Trader stood up and introduced himself.  Trader then asked the first juror if she could be fair and impartial.  Trader expected a simple “yes” to his question, but he looked squarely at the potential juror as the juror answered.  He wanted to try to determine it the juror was a solid citizen, worried about crime, and had the capacity to make a decision for guilty.  He followed with the same question to each juror, hoping there was some magic in each juror's answer that would let him know that they would not be sympathetic to the defendant.  He couldn't see any jurors with a disposition one way or the other.  When he got to the young man with the piercings, the young man answered like all the others, that he could be fair and impartial.  John then asked him if he had ever served on a jury before.  The man answered, “I have been called a couple of times, but always excused.  Look at me.  Nobody wants me on their jury.” A subdued chuckle came from the jurors.

A loud wailing alarm started in the courtroom.  Everyone looked at the deputy who spoke into a microphone clipped to his shoulder.  He looked at the Judge and said, “Your honor, the building is to be evacuated immediately.” The alarm continued to wail.

The Judge turned to the jurors, told them not to discuss the case with anyone, even among themselves, and to exit the building immediately.  The Judge stood up and walked to his chambers.  The Jurors left the courtroom, and Trader followed with his file in hand.  The hallway to the stairs was filled with people nonchalantly evacuating the building.  When John finally got outside, it was a clear, brisk day that had warmed appreciably since the morning.  He walked among the milling crowd outside the courthouse.  Trader passed a deputy and asked, “What is happening”

The deputy replied, “It's a bomb threat.  We have been getting them about once a month lately.  It shouldn't be too long.”

“Thanks,” said John as the deputy walked off. 

Trader leaned against a concrete light post and began to thumb through his file notes and the police report.  He closed his eyes for a moment as the sun warmed his face. 

“Are you a D.A.?” he heard a feminine voice asking. 

Trader opened his eyes and looked at a younger woman, blond with a pony tail, with red blotches on her forehead and cheeks.  John guessed she was in her late twenties.  She was thin and appeared nervous.  Trader had to think for a minute before he realized he should answer.  “Yes.”

“I need some help.  Can you help me?” she asked.  John could tell her voice had been on some long journeys.  She looked from side to side, but not for something or someone.  She pulled out a cigarette and lit it.

“I don't know.  What would you want me to do?” he asked.

“Look,” She said.  “I am here on a drug charge.” She pleaded, “I need some help.  I can’t do this anymore.” She paused for a moment.  “Maybe I can help you,” she said, “but you've got to help me.  I know every meth dealer in this state.  I know a lot of Hell's Angels, how they produce and distribute.  I've been with them for years, and I know every meth lab west of the Mississippi.  I have to get out of this.  Can you help me?”

Trader heard the voices of several deputies calling out that the evacuation was over and everyone should return to the courthouse.  People started to slowly file back into the courthouse.

“Maybe you should talk to a deputy.  I don't know what I can do for you but maybe I could find out.  I have a generic business card from the office.  Let me put my name and my direct phone number on it if you want to talk to me later.” The woman took Trader’s card, and without another word, turned around and quickly disappeared into the crowd.  Trader walked back into the courthouse and wondered what he could do for her, and had a nagging feeling that he had failed somehow.

Trader returned to the courtroom, sat at the Prosecution table and waited for the courtroom to fill with jurors.  His  mind was distant in the courtroom after his short, but strangely compelling talk outside with the blond girl.  He snapped out of it when the Judge entered, and the Judge's entrance restored the room to its pre-evacuation silence.  The Judge looked at Trader and said, “You may continue, Mr. Trader.” John had one more potential juror to Voir Dire.  The juror was in his mid-twenties, wore a blazer with a shirt and tie, and looked like he was climbing the business ladder to success.

“Juror number 12, do you believe you can be open minded, presume the defendant is innocent, and be fair in this trial?” asked Trader.

“I think I can,” said the juror, and then continued.  “But the defendant is obviously here because he did something.  I mean, the cops don't just willy-nilly arrest people off of the street.  I don't think the D.A. would prosecute someone he thinks is innocent just because it presents a unique challenge.  It stands to reason the defendant did something and the cops arrested him for doing it.  Unless the guy was in Wisconsin at the time of the crime, he can be presumed innocent, but probably isn't.”

Trader was somewhat startled by the no nonsense answer, which reflected a real world observation rather than the Pavlovian response of the other jurors.  They all had stated that they could be “fair and impartial” even though they carried all the prejudices, pre-conceived notions, and biases of their entire life into the jury box.  In discussions with his classmates in his law school criminal law study group, he had heard others say that blacks always let blacks go free, Asians convicted blacks no matter if they were guilty or innocent, Hispanics had no clue about how the process worked and just went along with the flow of the other jurors, and whites leaned the way their political whims led them.  But you could not ask a potential juror if he or she were a Libertarian, Conservative or Communist, or if they believed in God.  The ideal would be to have jurors who were fair.  In the final analysis, thought Trader, their role is to make a decision, and not necessarily to deliver justice.  Still, Trader had no follow-up questions for Juror number 12, and looked at the Judge and said, “I have no further questions, Your Honor.”

The Judge looked at Casey.  “Mr. Casey?”

Casey stood up and said, “I would like to excuse Juror number 12.” Trader mused that the system might not have room for a person like juror number 12 who was no nonsense and had a real world view of how the system operated.  The jury would end up with persons who could not actually be, but who would pretend to be, “fair”. 

John asked himself, “Were the juror’s lives so dull that they thought being selected for a jury would give them some excitement, or were they looking for a few days away from the job when their employer paid them jury duty pay, or were they retired, with nothing else to do?”