Perfect Justice

39.

BEN ARRIVED AT THE Silver Springs courthouse at nine o’clock sharp. He found Judge Tyler, District Attorney Swain, and Ben’s alleged co-counsel, Harlan Payne, in the judge’s closetlike chambers. The air in the tiny room had a boozy smell; Ben suspected the bottle in the judge’s bottom drawer had made a few trips around before he arrived.

He squeezed into a seat between the DA and Payne. “Where’s Amber?” Ben asked Swain.

“Marjorie has her today.” He appeared faintly embarrassed.

“That’s a shame,” Ben said. “I was hoping to hear you sing ‘Rock-a-bye Baby’ in the courtroom.”

Judge Tyler smiled wryly. “That little Amber is welcome in my courtroom anytime, Mr. Swain. Your singing, however, is not. Shall we get to it, gentlemen?”

Both attorneys announced that they were ready to proceed.

“Now, let’s use this time productively and work out our problems in advance so this trial can move along as smoothly as possible. I’m anticipating a large turnout for this trial, and we don’t want everyone to think we’re a bunch of stupid hicks like Mr. Kincaid does.”

“Your honor,” Ben protested, “I never said—”

“Never mind that,” Judge Tyler said. “What can I do for you?”

“Well,” Ben said, “I’ve had a few discovery problems.”

“Like what?”

“The prosecution has not given me a witness list.”

Judge Tyler addressed Swain. “That true?”

Swain chuckled. “I hardly see what difference it’s going to make. Vick’s guilty as sin.”

Ben leaned forward. “Your honor—”

“Not necessary,” the judge said, holding up his hands. “Mr. Swain, regardless of your private assessment of the defendant, we’re going to run a good clean trial. So give Mr. Kincaid a list.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you will make your witnesses available to Mr. Kincaid if he wishes to chat with them before they take the stand.”

“Yes, sir,” Swain agreed. “I will.”

“Now see,” Tyler said, peering across at Ben. “Maybe we hicks know how to run a trial after all. What else can I do for you?”

“I’d like to see all his exhibits,” Ben said. “Before trial.”

“Well now,” Tyler replied, “I believe you’re only entitled to see evidence deemed exculpatory.”

“Swain doesn’t consider anything exculpatory, since he’s certain my client is guilty as sin.”

Judge Tyler tapped his pencil impatiently. “Mr. Swain, I believe it might be best if you provided copies of all your exhibits to Mr. Kincaid.”

“But, sir!”

“I think you can probably have those ready for him by noon, don’t you?”

Swain swallowed. “I’ll … do my best, sir.”

“Good. I’ll have Mabel drop by your office just to make sure you haven’t forgotten.”

“Uh … that’ll be great, sir.”

“I’m glad we got that taken care of. What else can I do for you gentlemen? Any motions I need to consider?”

“Yes, your honor,” Ben said. “I have two.”

“Two?” Tyler wiped his brow. “Great balls of fire. I sometimes go months without hearing a motion. I’ve tried entire cases that never had any motions. And you waltz in here with two!”

“I think they’re important, your honor.”

“No doubt. You big-city lawyers are scads more creative than us dumb country boys.”

Ben tried to ignore the jab. “First I have a motion in limine.”

The judge blinked. “Say what?”

“A … motion to exclude certain evidence.”

“I know what a motion in limine is, counselor.”

“He wants to keep out evidence that incriminates his client,” Swain explained.

“Well, wouldn’t we all?” Judge Tyler peered down at Ben. “Just what is it you wish to exclude?”

“A hearsay statement allegedly made by my client at the Bluebell Bar after a fight.”

Swain piped up. “My witness will testify that Vick said, ‘I’ll get you, you perverted little Vietnamese gook.’ ”

“The statement has no probative value,” Ben insisted, “but it would prejudice my client’s case. And it’s hearsay testimony. No question about it.”

“Well, maybe so,” the judge said. “But wouldn’t it also be an admission against interest? And as such admissible as an exception to the hearsay rule?”

“My thoughts exactly,” Swain said.

“No,” Ben said. “How could it be an admission? An admission of what? That Vuong was a perverted gook? It’s just name-calling.”

“Ah,” Swain said. “But that’s the point, your honor. It shows Vick hated Vuong. It proves his motive.”

“Thank you,” Ben said. “Mr. Swain has just confessed that he wants to admit this statement to prove the truth of the matter asserted—that Vick planned to kill Vuong. It is therefore by definition hearsay and cannot be admitted.”

The judge pursed his lips. “Any response, Mr. Swain?”

“Uh, no, your honor.”

“Mr. Kincaid,” the judge said slowly, “your motion will be granted.”

Swain was all eyeballs. “What?”

“I think you heard me.”

Ben was almost as astonished as Swain. He had felt obligated to make the argument, but he hadn’t expected to win. Wonders never ceased.

“Wait a minute, Judge,” Swain said. “I need that testimony. It’s practically a confession!”

“I’ve already ruled, counsel. Anything else?”

“I have another motion,” Ben said. Why quit when he was on a winning streak? “For a change of venue. I want this case transferred somewhere else.”

“Now, why would you want to do that? Don’t you like our fair city?”

“It isn’t—”

“Are you hoping to cut a few of your city-slicker lawyer friends in on this case? Maybe split some fees?”

“No, Judge. I just don’t think Donald Vick can get a fair trial in Silver Springs. You said it yourself last week—this town is a powder keg. Everyone’s running scared. A jury elected from this pool might convict my client just in the hope that it would set the world right again. Whether they’re convinced of his guilt beyond a reasonable doubt or not.”

“Got any evidence to support this theory of yours, Mr. Kincaid?”

“Well, how could I? I haven’t taken a poll.”

“Anybody come up to you and say they were going to convict your man no matter what?”

“Of course not.”

“You’ll have the chance to voir dire every prospective juror just like everyone else. If you find anyone who’s biased, you may excuse them.”

“Your honor, no one is likely to admit that they favor a quick conviction just because they’re frightened.”

“Then what am I supposed to rule upon? Your motion is denied.”

“Judge, that was only my first ground for a change of venue.” Ben had hoped he wouldn’t need the second. But now it appeared he was going to have to go all the way. “The second reason for a transfer is the trial judge’s obvious bias against my client.”

“What? How dare you—!”

“Judge, you told me yourself you read the DA’s file on the case. That’s improper. You said the evidence against my client looked pretty bad. You’ve already made up your mind.”

The judge rose halfway out of his chair. “I was simply stating facts!”

“The jury is supposed to determine the facts,” Ben said. “Not the judge. I want a transfer.”

“Mr. Kincaid, I am beginning to understand why you’ve had such a hard time holding down a job! I have served on this bench for twenty-eight years, and never—never!—have I been accused of being unfair!”

“You may not be conscious of it, sir, but you’re still—”

“Be quiet!” He pounded his fist on his desk. “I heard you out, now you listen to me. You’re right about one thing. I don’t like your client. And I’m starting to like you even less. But my likes and dislikes are irrelevant. Justice is what matters. And this court will serve justice—perfect justice—to the best of my ability.

“Your client will have a fair trial. And if he loses, it will be because the evidence was against him and he was found guilty by a jury of his peers. And for no other reason. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir.” There was nothing else to say.

“Very good. Your motion is denied. Understood?”

Ben nodded.

“Anything further?”

All attorneys present shook their heads.

“Very good, gentlemen. See you in court.”