The Law of Second Chances

40

Langford Middleton was intelligent and ambitious. He was also passive and indecisive, but those qualities didn’t show up on his resume. On paper, Langford looked like he had it all-undergraduate degree from Princeton, law degree from Columbia. He was equally impressive in person, standing a little over six feet, two inches tall with a full, thick head of brown hair, a strong jaw, sharp features, and a booming baritone voice. He was the fourth generation of a prominent New York family. His mother was a professor at City College, his father a Park Avenue doctor like his father before him and his father’s father.

The powers that be at the Wall Street firm of Stockwell, Pennington, Morris, and Jewel fell in love with Langford Middleton, his resume, and his pedigree when they met him on a recruiting visit to Columbia. He was everything they were looking for in a young trial lawyer. So they offered him a job with a six-figure income, which Langford graciously accepted.

Like the other associates, Langford spent the first few years of his career in the library, researching and writing for the partners. His work was acceptable in the sense that he laid out the problems and presented the research. However, time after time, Langford failed to provide the partner he was working for with a decisive conclusion as to legal precedent or a definitive strategy on how to proceed. Even though he was transferred from partner to partner over the years, nobody seemed to notice that Langford was not living up to the expectations the firm had for its associates. He had an affable, easygoing manner about him, and in his brief appearances in court at motion hearings he was generally impressive. He even did okay sitting second chair in a few trials. Consequently, when his five years were up, Langford was offered a partnership, which he again graciously accepted.

When he had his own case files, Langford’s character flaws gradually revealed themselves to even the most myopic observer. He wouldn’t move cases along to trial, and he failed to make settlement recommendations to clients for fear that they might consider him weak-willed. He was billing okay, but he wasn’t turning cases over. Five years after becoming a partner, Langford was bewildered and befuddled and buried under a truckload of cases, old and new. He avoided clients’ calls, and they started to complain to the managing partners, who finally took notice and decided to do something. But what? Langford was a partner, and he came from a prestigious New York family. It would be both embarrassing and expensive to jettison him.

“I think we need to make him a judge,” Richard Stockwell told the other senior partners at a management meeting.

“A judge?” Howard Pennington said disbelievingly. “How the hell can he be a judge? Judges have to make decisions. He can’t decide what type of knot to put in his tie in the morning.”

“Nobody knows he can’t make a decision but us and our clients,” Stockwell persisted. “Besides, he looks like a judge. He’s got that hair and that voice.”

“He may be central casting’s ideal choice,” Frederick Morris added, “but this isn’t Hollywood. We’re talking about a real judge.”

“Come on, Fred,” Bennett Jewel, the remaining member of the Big Four, weighed in. “We’ve got a bunch of nincompoops up there right now masquerading as judges. This has been done before. Grady, Scott, and Anderson put that fool Justin Wennington on the bench just to get rid of him.”

“Okay, okay,” Fred Morris replied. “Let’s assume we were going to make him a judge. How would we go about doing it?”

“It’s very simple,” Dick Stockwell added. “We start putting Langford out there as the face of the firm. We’ll put him on bar committees, have him attend all social functions, and let him make the charitable and political contributions for the firm in his own name. We’ll divvy up his cases among the other partners so he doesn’t cost us any more bad publicity. It’ll take a year or two, but when a position comes up for appointment, with his name and face out there and our political connections, he’ll be a shoo-in.”

“What if he doesn’t want to go along?” Howard Pennington asked.

“Oh, he’ll go along,” Dick Stockwell replied. “In case you haven’t noticed, Howard, Langford doesn’t like to work very hard. We can sell this new job to him real easy. A year or two down the road when he doesn’t have any cases, he won’t have much choice in the matter.”

The plan worked like a charm. Two years after the plot was hatched, Langford Middleton, in just his twelfth year of practice, was appointed a judge in the civil trial division of the New York State Supreme Court.

Lawyers who appeared before Judge Middleton learned early on that they were not going to get a speedy resolution of their case. The judge didn’t like any pressure coming his way. Motion hearings with difficult legal issues were taken under advisement and the attorneys, after waiting months for an answer, usually reached their own resolution. He didn’t like trials at all, and he would lean hard on lawyers to reach a settlement. Complaints were made about him. For years nothing ever came of them, until a decision was finally made to transfer him to the criminal division to force him to try cases. Judge Middleton was in his fifteenth year on the bench, having just been transferred to criminal, when Benny Avrile’s case was placed on his docket.

Warren Jacobs, the district attorney, was furious when he heard Langford Middleton had been assigned the Avrile case. He discreetly tried to get it transferred to someone else, to no avail. He had to give up the effort or risk exposure and charges of judge-shopping. With no other avenues to pursue, Jacobs resorted to the direct approach. He went to see Judge Middleton personally.

“I want to get directly to the point,” Jacobs told the judge when they had dispensed with the amenities and were seated in the judge’s chambers. “I want you off the Avrile case.”

The polite, insincere smile on Langford Middleton’s face vanished. “For your information, Counselor, I want off this case as much as you want me off. Unfortunately, you’re stuck with me.”

The truth was that Langford was finally under the gun. He had tried to get rid of the case as soon as it had been assigned to him. He didn’t want that kind of publicity. The Judicial Qualifications Commission told him in no uncertain terms that the case would not be transferred and that he was being watched.

“Well, if I’m stuck with you, Judge, let me give you fair warning. This case is going to be tried, and it’s going to be tried on time. No delays-none of your usual crap to get the parties to settle. My ass is on the line here, and if you fuck around with me, I’m going after you.”

Langford Middleton was shocked. He didn’t know if Warren Jacobs was aware of the pressure he was receiving from his own superiors. He just knew he was being backed into a corner. Still, he couldn’t let Jacobs get away with such talk.

“Counselor, do you realize I could have your license for this?”

“Cut the crap, Judge. There’s nobody in this room but me and you, and I don’t think you want to get into a pissing contest with me. You just remember what I said and know that I am dead serious about this. I will bury you.”

Having said his piece, Jacobs got up and walked out before Langford had a chance to say anything else.

Judge Middleton took Warren Jacobs’s threat to heart. There were no delays. At precisely nine a.m. on the anointed date for trial, June 14th, Spencer Taylor, Norma Grier, and the judge were all in court ready to proceed, as were selected members of the press. The rest of the media were outside on the courthouse steps. The courtroom was full of spectators as well. Benny was downstairs in a holding cell. The only one missing was Sal Paglia. At 9:25, the judge called for Spencer and Norma to follow him into his chambers.

“Do you have any idea where he is?”

“No sir,” Spencer replied.

“When was the last time you talked to him?”

“Friday afternoon. He was all set to go.”

The judge called Christine, his secretary, on the intercom. “See if you can get Mr. Paglia’s office on the phone.”

Hazel answered on the second ring. She had just gotten into the office. Knowing Sal was going directly to the courthouse, she hadn’t seen any need to get to work on time. Her game of solitaire could wait, and so could the clients.

“Law office of Sal Paglia,” Hazel sang into the phone while she continued to play the game she had just started.

“This is Judge Middleton’s secretary. Is Mr. Paglia in?”

“No,” Hazel answered. “He was going directly to court this morning.”

“Well, he’s not here.”

“Something must have happened,” Hazel responded. Sal was a lot of things, but he was always on time to court. “I’ll call his apartment and call you back.”

The phone rang only once at Sal’s apartment. “Hello,” answered a voice Hazel didn’t recognize. It was a woman, which could definitely explain things.

“Who is this?” Hazel demanded.

“Detective Sarah Hingis,” the voice answered. “Who is this?”

“Detective as in police detective?” Hazel asked.

“That’s right. Now who is this?”

“Hazel Reece. I’m Mr. Paglia’s legal secretary. He was supposed to be in court this morning but he didn’t show. Is something wrong?”

“Yes, Hazel, something is very wrong. Your boss has been murdered.” Detective Hingis saw no problem in letting Hazel know about Sal’s demise, although she made sure that she didn’t provide her with any details about the murder. At this stage everybody, including Sal’s secretary, was a suspect.

Hazel couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Murdered? Sal? It took all her strength to call the judge’s secretary back and deliver the news.

When Christine told him of Sal Paglia’s untimely death, Judge Middleton could do nothing but cancel the trial and return Benny to prison.

For a fleeting moment, when he learned that the trial had been put off, Warren Jacobs considered the possibility that Langford Middleton had finally gone too far to avoid his obligations as a judge.