No Team To Root For (21) "Barrett, this is George Archer." Barrett and George shook hands. "George is my right hand man." Miles smiled. "I don't make a move without him." Barrett nodded absently. He couldn't take his eyes off the limo. Miles and George then escorted Barrett to the chauffeured vehi-cle, leaving the two policemen behind to continue their role as guardians of the Jessop home. Barrett sat between George and Miles in the back of the stretch limo. "Barrett," said Miles, "I have tried to brief you as best as I can regarding what the prosecution might say or do. I have also tried to give you some idea of what the final outcome might be. Our chances are very good. But as I told you before, you never know." "We're dealing with human nature here as much as we are dealing with the law." added George. "Anything is possible." Miles then put his hand firmly on his client's shoulder. "I can only promise you that I'll do all I can." Barrett looked down, unconvinced. His hands were sweaty and not as steady as they were. . All sorts of disoriented thoughts bounced around in his head. Why did I try and get involved with Jodi? Why couldn't I just leave well enough alone? During the thirty-five minute drive to the county courthouse, Miles continued to try and brief Barrett as well as console and reas-sure him. Only half of him absorbed it. The other half could only think of Janet and Jodi. First one than the other. Back and forth un-til his entire body felt on fire. He was convinced that at some time during the next few weeks Janet's death, and not Jodi's, would come back to haunt him. * XXIX The limousine turned sharply at the large sign that read COURTHOUSE PARKING and followed the arrow to the paved lot next to the courthouse, finally pulling into a space that said RESERVED. As they began their walk up the wide concrete steps to the front door, they were suddenly besieged from all sides by photographers and reporters. "How do you feel about this?" "Do you have any comments?" "Did you really do it?" The barrage of questions went on and on. The trudge up the steps seemed the longest of Barrett's life. Now he had to deal with these obnoxious and aggressive strangers. Who are these fucking idiots? What right do they have to invade my privacy? I owe them less than nothing! "GO AWAY!" Bar-rett was screaming. He felt his anger mount and his patience dwindle when a skinny curly headed man rushed up to him and shoved a camera right up to his nose. George tried to restrain him but it was too late. Barrett, never having had any tendencies toward physical violence, put his hand over the man's face and pushed him, sending him and his ex-pensive equipment flying everywhere. "Get your fucking camera out of my face!" he yelled. Just as a group of Hari Krishnas was about to bless Barrett, four policemen intervened. Using themselves as protective shields, they were able to get the three men through the unruly throng and inside the courthouse. With the men in blue leading the way, Barrett, Miles and George walked hurriedly down the long deserted hallway as the sounds be-hind them slowly faded into silence. After what seemed to Barrett like a millennium, they finally made it to the large musty court room. As they sat down, Barrett looked around him at the unfamiliar surroundings. He suddenly wanted to re-live the last few months of his life. Tough shit, Jessop! Barrett knew the noisy crowd at the back of the room were the onlookers. Noisy curiosity seekers crowded the back of the room. They considered this garish spectacle as a major entertainment event rivaled only by the Saturday night ABC movie! And he --- Barrett Jessop --- was the main focus of attention. The star of the show. The center of it all! A mild mannered optometrist from a tiny town in the conservative midwest on trial for murder. Who would have ever thought such a thing was possible? Incredi-ble! Inconceivable! He could almost feel the fiery gazes of every-one in the room burrowing into the back of his head. Miles quietly and methodically pointed out the various sections of the courtroom, which certain people would occupy: the clerks; the court stenographer; the county prosecutor; the witnesses and the jury. As he spoke, the members of the jury began to file in one by one, all having been questioned and approved by both the prosecution and the defense. There were seven men and five women. One was black, one was Asian, and the rest were white. They were all totally expressionless. And not a single juror looked at Barrett. At this point Miles turned toward Barrett and said very quietly, "Just keep looking at me and listen." He spoke slowly, carefully pronouncing each word, "I know you are scared shitless!" "You know --- " "Shhh --- just be quiet and listen. It's imperative that you try not to let that fear show. Remember, you're innocent. So look like it --- and act like it!" "I --- I'll try." Barrett answered nervously. "Just do it!" Miles turned back to the jury box and smiled. Being calm and collected was going to be a major effort for Bar-rett, but he knew it was important. Barrett sat up as straight as he could, pasted a smile on his face, and did his best to look --- inno-cent. He thought of all the hardened criminals that had sat in this very seat over the years, which made the task Herculean. "Please rise." said the young male clerk as he introduced Judge Mason Stoner, the only black judge on the bench of the common pleas court. The judge paused and looked over the courtroom for several seconds before he spoke. "You may be seated." His voice was powerful and intimidating. He was handsome --- almost regal looking. Barrett figured his height to be near six feet four inches. He had dark wavy hair with just enough gray in it to give him that look of sophistication and maturity. His piercing black eyes cut through the courtroom like a scalpel. The judge banged his gavel to start proceedings. Everyone sat down and the courtroom suddenly became very quiet. Stoner then looked at the County Prosecutor for his opening remarks. "Mr. Ivers, you may commence." Barrett Jessop remembered Miles telling him that the County Prosecutor's name was Walt Ivers. He'd been in that position for three years. He was a forty-eight year old widower, tall, gaunt, and slightly bald. His eyebrows were pale and his lips were thin. Barrett quietly compared the techniques and the tactics of Garri-son and Ivers. Walt stood away from the jury box, avoiding any eye contact. He kept his hands behind his back or in his pockets most of the time and in a monotone told the jury how the State would seek a murder one conviction based on the findings of the defendant's ffingerprint-sand his wrist watch, as well as the testimony of the cleaning lady. Then he would link it all to a torrid love affair between the defen-dant and the deceased. He described how Barrett killed Jodi to avoid his wife's finding out. As an after thought, he said that as it turned out it wasn't necessary! Barrett cringed silently. Walt added that a scandalous affair like that would have ruined him profession-ally. "Thus", he said in closing, "we have established motive." Then Miles slowly and confidently walked directly to the jury box, going out of his way to make as much eye contact as possible, sometimes adding a smile or a wink. Barrett remembered the jury's first impression was critical. As he spoke he made all sorts of theat-rical gestures to make his points come across with as much drama as possible. All his performance needed was a spotlight. He said the State's evidence was weak and conjectural and the motive was unsubstantiated. And that if there was even a hint of uncertainty, 'not guilty' was the only verdict. And he would prove beyond any doubt that his client was innocent of all charges. Barrett was mesmerized by his attorney's performance. Even George Archer, who had worked with him so many times over the years, looked amazed at Miles' ease in presenting his case. The only person in the courtroom besides Walt Ivers that didn't seem impressed was Judge Mason Stoner. He was visibly fuming! After both attorneys were seated, Judge Stoner banged his gavel and asked both Miles Garrison and Walt Ivers to come to his pri-vate chamber. There would be a twenty minute recess. The small room that comprised the chamber was newly paneled and recently equipped with a new wood grain desk and matching chair. The wall behind the desk was bare. The other two walls were filled floor to ceiling with law books. Only the doorway interrupted the profound look. The tight dark green carpeting matched the ve-lour drapes. There were no windows. The two attorneys took two small chairs from against the wall, placed them across from Stoner's desk, and sat down. Neither spoke. Their attention was focused on the judge as he carefully re-moved his robe and laid it over his chair. "Gentlemen! I am tired. My feet hurt and my back aches. In short --- I am burnt out!" Stoner then walked back to his desk and sat down. The desk was clean except for a large stack of papers in one corner. An intercom and telephone were in the center. "Next year I plan to try and get back to one of the lower courts. I don't know where yet. But I'll take care of traffic fines, petty thefts, and stray dogs!" The judge's voice began to rise as he spoke. "Otherwise I will take an early retirement. I am fed up with all of this bullshit! I don't want it! I don't need it!" He sat back in his chair and paused for a moment as if to gather his thoughts. His gaze darted back and forth between Miles and Walt. He went on quietly. "Therefore I would entertain a compromise between the state and the defense." Walt Ivers cleared his throat nervously and spoke. Miles thought, maybe too quickly. "We could possibly settle for a lesser plea --- oh say --- second degree murder? Say --- second to a --- lovers quar-rel. They argue. The gun goes off --- et cetra --- " He waited for a response from Miles. When he got none he cleared his throat again. "We could ask for a reduced sentence instead of either life or --- the chair. Maybe --- twenty years and a fine of --- say --- twenty thousand." Walt then folded his hands and put them in his lap. He looked at his adversary then he looked at the judge. "Hmmm --- " Stoner rubbed his chin. "And just how do you feel about all of this, Mr. Garrison?" Miles stood, put his hands in his hip pockets, and began to pace slowly. He had done enough trials to know when the opposition was in trouble and faltering. Even before the trial began he knew their evidence was lacking and their motive was flimsy. Their case was weak and the State was reaching. He knew it and he was cer-tain Walt Ivers knew it. Otherwise there would be no reason for such an early compromise. "Mr. Garrison." continued Stoner, "If you like, you can mull it over for a day or so." "That won't be necessary, your Honor. I don't have to --- mull it over." Then Miles turned and faced Walt. "There will be no com-promise!" Miles turned back to Stoner and added, "We cannot settle upon any sort of agreement that would in any way suggest that my client is guilty. We cannot settle upon any sort of agree-ment that would hinder us in our quest for the truth --- can we? You above all others, your Honor, know that justice must be served." "Mr. Garrison!" boomed the judge with fire in his eyes but a con-trolled temper. "I just said that I was burnt out. And I am trying to make this as painless as possible --- on all concerned!" He began to drum his fingers on the desk. "Miles put his hands behind his back and once again faced Mason Stoner. "I am sorry about your personal problems, your honor. But in the true cause of justice, I can not and will not agree to any sort of a compromise." "You are making a mistake." said Walt, fixating on the blank wall behind Stoner's desk. His hands were locked behind his head and his back was arched. "I'll take my chances." said Miles Garrison and he headed for the door. Then he turned back and faced the prosecutor. "Gentlemen, I am glad we had this little --- get together. I do believe my case has just suddenly gotten a lot stronger!" Walt stood and faced Miles. "Eighteen years and fifteen thou-sand." "No deal!" Miles had his hand on the doorknob. "Have it your way, Mr. Garrison." said Stoner now standing and pointing his finger at Miles. "But I will only warn you once. I will not allow you to turn my courtroom into a damned carnival and ve-hicle for your disruptive antics!" His voice was loud but firm. "I am quite aware, as is everyone else involved in this noble legal profession, of your provocative reputation. And I will not put up with it in my courtroom!" "Your Honor." Miles walked up to the desk. "With all due re-spect. I resent your implying that my record as an attorney leaves any doubt as to its quality and integrity!" Mason Stoner put his folded hands on top of the desk and leaned in to the riled attorney. "Mr. Garrison. We do not question your ability." The judge forced a smile. "We question your tactics!" Miles, without looking back, stormed out of the judge's chambers and went directly to his seat between George and Barrett. They both looked questioningly at him. "What the hell was that all about?" whispered George. "Later, George. Later!" * The first witness for the prosecution was Sal Petrow. Sal was a forensic scientist with the County Coroner's Office. He was of me-dium height, very thin and dark complected. His black eyebrows matched his short black hair. He also sported a large waxed handle-bar mustache. He spoke with an Eastern European accent. Sal Petrow was sworn in and the trial began. He testified that the bullet that killed Jodi Bartless was fired from the twenty-two caliber weapon found next to her body. "Yes. It was shot from close range." And "Yes. The fingerprints found on the gun belonged to the deceased." And "A Pulsar watch was found at the scene. According to the inscription on the back it belongs to the defendant. The time and date registered on the watch corresponded to the time and date of death which was May tenth, ten twenty pm. The watch stopped when something smashed the face of it. It is assumed that the defendant stepped on it while he was in the apartment or as he was running out of the apartment." And "Yes. Fingerprints matching those of the defendant were also found at the apartment. They were left there on May tenth between ten and eleven pm." "Miles." Barrett taped the attorney on the shoulder and whis-pered, "What about Aaron Claypool's prints?" Miles didn't turn his head. He whispered back through the side of his mouth. "Claypool is a dead issue both figuratively and realisti-cally. Forget it!" Barrett started to respond, then changed his mind and re-focused his attention onto the proceedings. "No further questions." said Walt. "Pass the witness." He did not look at Miles. He walked quickly back to his chair. He crossed his legs after he sat down. Miles hesitated a moment before he got out of his seat. Then he walked slowly up to the witness and just stood there staring at him. "Mr. Garrison." said the judge. "Are you going to interrogate this witness or merely stand here and model your three piece suit?" Everyone in the courtroom either smiled or laughed --- except Mason Stoner and Miles Garrison. Even Walt Ivers found the caustic remark amusing. "Mr. Petrow." Miles ignored the intrusion. "How long have you been with the coroner's office in your present capacity?" "Eight und von half years." Sal began to twirl the ends of his mustache. "Well, Sal --- may I call you Sal? I hate formalities." Mason Stoner opened his mouth to speak, but changed his mind as he looked away disgustedly. "Yah. Sure --- I guess so." The forensic expert looked puzzled. "Good!" Miles clapped his hands. "Now, Sal. Have you ever been involved in a case where a weapon was found next to the body? And that weapon was responsible for the person's death?" Sal thought for a second. Then he nodded. "Uh --- vell yes. Sure." "And if that particular weapon only had the fingerprints of the de-ceased on it, wouldn't you consider the possibility of --- suicide?" "Objection!" yelled Walt Ivers. "Sal Petrow is not a detective." "Overruled! Please answer the question." said the judge. Sal thought again before he answered. Then he stopped twirling his mustache and folded his arms. "Not in ziss case." "Really?" Miles spoke quietly. "Could you please explain that?" "Ve examined ze gun und found it vas almost impossible to pull ze trigger." Miles was perplexed. "So --- ?" "It vould need a stronger hand den dat of a voman to have done so." "Sal." asked Miles smugly. "Are you saying that Jodi Bartless would not have been strong enough to pull the trigger?" "Yah!" He nodded confidently. "Really! And you can make a general statement like that without even knowing the victim?" "Yah! Dot's my finding." He folded his arms tighter. "Sal. I'm amazed that you can blatantly say a woman --- or per-haps women in general, are that much weaker than men!" As Miles made his arousing statement, he went eye to eye with a young smartly dressed female seated in the front row of the jury box. He spoke to the witness, but he looked at the juror. "Do you honestly believe that, Sal?" "Vell --- uh --- no. Vot I mean is --- " "Yes, Sal." Miles could see Walt Ivers out of the corner of his eye. Walt was sitting on the edge of his chair. Miles knew he was ready to jump up and scream, "Just what do you mean?" "I mean --- in dis case --- " "You mean in this case but not in any other case." Miles stayed eye to eye with the young woman. "Vell --- no. Not --- " "Sal! Do you think that men --- in general --- are stronger? But maybe women are smarter?" "Objection!" yelled Walt. "Sustained!" said Stoner. "The jury will disregard that last com-ment!" "Now, Sal," Miles continued undaunted. "What time did you say Jodi Bartless was shot?" Sal unfolded his arms and began to twirl his mustache again. "Betveen ten und ten tirty." Miles put his hands behind his back and smiled at the forensic ex-pert. "Could it have been --- oh --- nine or nine thirty or --- say --- eleven thirty?" Sal stared at Miles and rubbed his chin. The attorney walked closer to the witness. "Would you like me to repeat the question?" "Vell da vatch said --- " Miles' hand shot up. His smile remained intact. " We'll get to the watch in a second, Sal. Let's stay on tract here, okay?" Miles leaned in closer. "Now, I ask you again. Would you like me to repeat the question?" Sal waited a long time before he answered. "No. I tink ten --- ten tirty is fairly accurate." "Fairly accurate." Miles nodded slowly. "Could you be off --- oh --- maybe one or two hours?" Sal cleared his throat. "I --- I don't tink so." "You don't think so." The two were nose to nose. The defense at-torney's smile was gone. "Yes or no, Sal. Yes or no!" "Maybe." Sal began to shift uncomfortably in his seat. "Maybe?" Miles put his hand behind his back again and walked toward the jury box. He stopped half way. "A person's life is at stake here. And you say --- maybe!" "Objection!" roared Ivers. "He is badgering the witness!" "Sustained!" Stoner was furious. Miles turned back toward the forensic expert. "It's a simple ques-tion, Sal. Could your timing be off one or two hours?" "I --- could be --- uh --- sometimes --- " "Could be! Sometimes! You think so!" Miles had raised his voice for the first time. "You're not sure of anything, are you? Except how weak women are!" "Objection!" screamed Walt Ivers who was on his feet. "Sustained! Mr. Garrison, I am warning you!" boomed the judge as his gavel came crashing down. Miles, avoiding Stoner's eyes, waited a long minute before he continued. "Now, Sal. I'm a little confused here." Again Miles got closer to the forensic witness. "Can you help me out?" Petrow nodded. "Sure." "Good." Miles smiled at the jury then turned back to Petrow. "See, Sal, I thought only fresh fingerprints --- a few hours old --- could serve to determine a specific time frame." Miles rubbed his baby smooth chin. "But the prints in the deceased's apartment were almost twenty-four hours old." "Vell, da prints und da vatch vere --- " Sal looked past Miles. Again Miles' hand shot up. "I'm not asking you about the watch. For now, I'm only interested in the fingerprints. So just bear with me, okay?" After a long pause, Sal nodded. Miles finally went on. "Now. I know you're the expert here, Sal." The smile returned. "So tell me how it's possible, with prints that old, to tell not only what day they were left but also what time?" Miles paused again, his eyes locking Sal's. "Can you tell me that?" There was no response. Miles looked at Walt, whose head was down. The defense attorney put his ear next to Sal's mouth and said mockingly, "I didn't hear you, Sal." Sal only cleared his throat and continued to look past Miles. "The truth is, Sal, that you cannot pinpoint fingerprints that old anymore than I can --- can you?" It was a statement not a question. "It looks like the State tried to slip one over on the defense." Miles said it to himself quietly, but loud enough for the jury to hear. "Sal, do you know the penalty for perjury?" Walt Ivers started to object then changed his mind. "Your Honor." Miles said facing Stoner. "May we approach the bench?" The judge hesitated a moment, then motioned for both attorneys to come forward. The two men quickly positioned themselves in front of Stoner. "Shame on you, Walt." Miles shook his finger at the prosecutor and whispered, "A witless sophomoric stunt like that is beneath even a putz like you! Did you really expect to get away with it?" "Go fuck yourself, Garrison!" Ivers spoke softly out of the cor-ner of his mouth. "Your Honor." said Miles. "Considering that the fingerprints found in the deceased's apartment were not recent, I would ask the court to reconsider using them as evidence to establish a specific time frame."
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