Trial and Error

Twenty-one

“I’m sure Mr. Solomon will be here any moment, Your Honor. Traffic is so heavy today.”

Victoria often made excuses for Steve when they were cocounsel. Now, even on opposite sides of a case, she was still sticking up for him.

“Uh-huh.” Judge Gridley, berobed, was on the bench. Victoria, with perfect posture, stood behind the prosecution table.

Some judges will hold you in contempt for being tardy. Some levy a fine, five bucks a minute, the proceeds going to the Pizza Fund for Needy Bailiffs. But Judge Gridley seemed remarkably sanguine, leafing through a tabloid tout sheet called Lou’s Surefire Picks.

The door flew open and Steve barreled into the courtroom, looking as if he’d just been dragged through a car wash. Hair tousled, shirt sweat-stained, dark complexion tinged red around the ears. He slipped into his suit jacket and tightened the knot in his tie as he hurried through the swinging gate to the defense table.

“Good afternoon, Your Honor.” He nodded toward the bench, then gave Victoria a tight smile.

“What happened to you?” Victoria asked.

“Later. Let’s get this over with.”

“Ah, Mr. Solomon graces us with his presence,” Judge Gridley said mildly, without looking up.

Steve bowed slightly. “I apologize, Your Honor.”

“One preliminary matter before we take on the defense motion.” The judge closed Lou’s Surefire Picks and looked gravely at Steve. “What’s your take on Florida State at Miami this weekend?”

“I generally don’t bet against the ’Canes in the Orange Bowl,” Steve said.

“A wise policy,” the judge allowed.

“But those national championships seem like ancient history. The line’s pick ’em. I’d go with the ’Noles.”

The judge grunted his approval and jotted a note on his tout sheet. “Okay, Mr. Solomon. It’s your motion. Stoke your boilers.”

Before Steve could open his mouth, Victoria said, “The defense motion may be moot, Your Honor. I haven’t had time to discuss this with Mr. Solomon, but the state has a plea offer.”

“Excellent. Always happy to clear the calendar. You two take as much time as you need, while I check out the Big Ten games.”

The judge licked his thumb and began turning pages on his tout sheet.

Steve whispered to Victoria: “Two guys jumped me outside.”

“What! Who?”

“Later. What’s this about a plea deal?”

“Ray Pincher suggested it.”

“On his own?”

“No. The U.S. Attorney asked him to do it.”

“Because the feds are investigating the ALM? Or something else? A different investigation?”

“How did you know that?” Victoria demanded.

Steve exhaled a sigh that was almost visible. “Someone’s playing us, Vic.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The shooting’s just the tip of the iceberg. The feds are involved. Pincher, too. Plus a couple guys driving a Lincoln with Hillsborough County plates. It’s a big conspiracy.”

“A conspiracy to do what?”

“I don’t know yet, Vic. Jeez, gimme a break. I was only kidnapped a few minutes ago.”

She narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously.

“It’s the truth,” he said. “It was a five-minute kidnapping, but still…”

“And I’m sure you reported this vicious crime to the police.”

“Not yet, but…”

She sighed. “I just made a plea offer. Your client’s in a holding cell. Don’t you want to discuss it with him?”

Steve turned toward the bench. “Your Honor, negotiations are over. No plea. We’re gonna try this case.”

The judge sighed and refolded his tout sheet. “You sure, Mr. Solomon? Seems to me your train’s on a shaky trestle.”

“I’m sure, Judge.”

“So be it. Let’s hear your motion.”

“Yes, sir.” Steve whispered to Victoria, “Nice outfit today.”

“Thanks.”

“Where’d you get it? The Librarians’ Boutique?”

“Steve, what are you doing?”

“Warming up. Taking a practice swing.” He winked at her and clucked his tongue. “That belted jacket makes you look very buttoned-up.”

“It’s a court outfit. How am I supposed to look?”

“Not like a Republican senator from Kansas.”

“Mr. Solomon,” the judge prodded.

“Malfeasance!” Steve boomed.

“How’s that, Counselor?”

“Or is it misfeasance? I can never keep them straight. The state must be punished for Ms. Lord’s abuse of the discovery process. We’re talking stonewalling. Cover-up. Shady deals.”

“Can you be more specific, Mr. Solomon?”

“I demanded all records related to the decedent, Charles J. Sanders, Lieutenant Commander, U.S. Navy, retired. And what did opposing counsel give me? A military personnel file completely redacted. Billet-classified. Commanding officer-classified. Missions-classified. His DD-214 retirement papers-missing.”

“Your Honor, we gave Mr. Solomon everything the Department of the Navy gave us. He can take his complaints to Washington.”

“What about the security video?” Steve demanded. “Cetacean Park has cameras on the dock. They could show exactly what happened between Grisby and Sanders. We requested the tapes and got nothing. Zippo. Zilch. Bupkes.”

“Mr. Solomon knows very well that a lightning strike knocked the system out the week before the incident. The camera wasn’t working.”

“Shades of Richard Nixon, Judge. Erased tapes. Missing records. Hiding Brady material.”

Victoria wheeled toward Steve. “Nothing’s been erased. Nothing’s been hidden. If I had anything exculpatory, I’d turn it over in an instant, and you know it. You are so infuriating-”

“Judge, would you ask Ms. Lord to address the bench and refrain from her ad hominem attacks?”

“My attacks?”

“Your face is turning purple. Careful, or you’ll pop that belt.”

“You’re the sleaziest lawyer I’ve ever-”

“Slept with?”

“Damn you, Solomon,” she hissed.

“There she goes again, Judge.”

A shrill whistling noise pierced the courtroom. Interrupted, they wheeled toward the judge. Judge Gridley released a switch that activated a replica of a steam whistle. “Hit the brakes, you two. You’re coming into the station.”

Victoria knew the drill. One bleat of the whistle meant “Pipe down.” Two meant “Not one more word.” Three blasts and you go to the pokey for contempt.

“Any more argument, Mr. Solomon? Legal argument, that is.”

“No, Your Honor. We request-nay, we demand-that the court issue its harshest sanction. Dismiss all charges on account of prosecutorial misconduct.”

Steve sat down, and Victoria turned to the judge. “Your Honor, I hardly know where to begin. I feel like a dozen rats are nibbling at my feet.”

“Your shoes are too tight,” Steve whispered.

“Mr. Solomon hurls accusations that have no basis in fact. He should be reprimanded and-”

“But they’re nice shoes,” he kept at it. “You buy them new?”

“Save your breath, Ms. Lord. Defendant’s motion for sanctions stands denied.” Judge Gridley edged out of his cushioned chair and headed for the private door behind the bench, speaking as he walked. “Now, you two kiss and make up.”

Steve moved to the prosecution table and leaned close. “I always follow a judge’s orders.”

“No you don’t.” Turning away, Victoria began shoving her folders back into her briefcase.

“C’mon, Vic. You know I was just doing my shtick.”

“And it’s always so amusing.”

“We have different styles. Maybe that’s why we get along so well.”

“That must be it.”

“I can tell you’re a little irritated.”

“And who said you were insensitive to a woman’s moods?”

“There’s just one thing I gotta ask.”

“What?”

“Is sex tonight out?”

SOLOMON’S LAWS

6. When the testimony is too damn good, when there are no contradictions and all the potholes are filled with smooth asphalt, chances are the witness is lying.