Robert Tanenbaum - Counterplay

“Indeed,” said the judge. “Very well, Mr. Quixote-slash-Guma, are you ready to proceed with your evidence?”

“I am, Your Honor,” Guma replied as he rose from his seat. “But first I wanted to note something about Mr. Anderson’s innuendo stated for the benefit of the press specifically that the District Attorney’s Office chose to pursue this case prior to the election. Your Honor will recall that it was the defense that insisted on their client’s right to a speedy trial, and in fact chose the date in September as ‘most convenient’ for their busy schedules. As Mr. Anderson, this court, and anyone somewhat cognizant of the judicial system is aware, he could have delayed this trial until after the election. Indeed, we were prepared for that likelihood. In that case, only Mr. Karp’s political opponent would have benefited from the timing of this indictment as an opportunity to attack Mr. Karp through the only too willing members of the media-long before a jury renders a verdict that we believe will justify the timing as, in fact, long overdue.”

“Thank you for that aside, Mr. Guma,” the judge said sardonically. “But your boss is a big boy and plenty capable of taking care of himself. Please address the legal issues in front of this court today.”

“I was just getting there, Your Honor,” Guma replied. “My first response to counsel’s diatribe is to note that this is a system based in part on the law of common sense. Every juror is told that when deliberating, they are free to use their experience, their common sense-that when trying to ascertain what is meant by reasonable doubt, they are to use the same standards as they would when making an important decision in their everyday lives…their common sense. Mrs. Teresa Aiello Stavros, a devoted, thirty-five-year-old mother, disappeared fourteen years ago, fifteen in August. Since that time, there has been no evidence-not a clear photograph, not a conversation with a credible witness, not a handwritten letter. And in fact, as the defendant well knows, based upon all the facts contained in the affidavit that supported the issuance of the search warrant, at trial the people plan to call a handwriting expert who will testify that the signatures, allegedly of the deceased Mrs. Stavros, that appear on the so-called credit card and bank withdrawal slips-evidence the defense maintains is proof that she was still alive as of nine or ten years ago-were in fact forged. Moreover, we have a witness who says he saw Emil Stavros strangle his wife. So if the body, discovered after having served a legally justified search warrant issued by this court, isn’t that of Teresa Stavros, whose would it be?”

“Exactly,” Anderson replied, not waiting his turn as he shot to his feet. “Who? But that isn’t for my client to determine, or this court. It’s the state’s burden to prove that the body ‘found’ in the backyard is that of Teresa Stavros. And I’ve seen nothing that conclusively says it is. How does the state plan to prove beyond a reasonable doubt that my client killed his wife if they can’t even prove that the remains they plan to parade in front of the jury belonged to her? Or that she’s even dead? From what I understand, essentially what they found was a skeleton-no fingerprints or fluids to test DNA.”

“If I might continue, Your Honor,” Guma said testily. “Even if this body turned out to belong to Amelia Earhart, we’d still go forward with our case. The evidence presented to the grand jury that handed down the indictment in this case was more than sufficient to permit a trial jury to convict the defendant as charged.”

“Grand juries don’t hear the other side of the story-”

Guma ignored Anderson’s remark. “The means that led to the discovery of the remains at the Stavros residence, as well as the scientifically valid measures we’ve taken to positively identify the remains, will be presented at trial for the jury to weigh.”

Anderson rapped his knuckles on the defense table. “The state is well aware of the emotional impact that presenting a body, any body, would have on jurors,” he said. “By the time Your Honor grows tired of the testimony by their so-called experts, it will be too late. The jury will have heard that the bones belonged to Teresa Stavros, and no matter what I say, or what instructions you may give them regarding the burden being on the prosecution to prove it beyond a reasonable doubt, they will believe what Mr. Guma here has told them. It’s just human nature to want to solve a mystery and bring some closure for Zachary Stavros. But my client has a right-”

“-and so did Teresa Stavros,” Guma shot back.

“Your Honor, Mr. Guma is being disingenuous,” Anderson said. “Without the body, they know and I know that what they have left is a foray into carnival sideshow hypnotism and a bunch of circumstantial evidence that doesn’t prove a damn thing. The truth of the matter, one that the NYPD reached years ago, is that this woman walked out on her family, drained her accounts to get even with a cheating hubby, and is probably dancing the salsa with some hot young Latin lover as we speak.”

“Your Honor, what this hearing proves is that my counterpart is either an idiot or assumes that we’re idiots to believe that these remains belonged to anyone other than Teresa Stavros,” Guma said hotly, his face flushing. “However, we recognize that the burden of proof in this matter rests with the prosecution. But we contend that the weighing is rightfully something for the jury to undertake.”

“The jury cannot be expected to weigh fairly,” Anderson retorted just as angrily, “when faced with this quasi-scientific jargon and guesswork meant to confuse any layperson-at least that’s my motion from the papers I’ve been given so far, which I might add are very limited. I can’t even prepare my own expert witnesses because God only knows what the prosecution’s witnesses will claim.”

The judge held up his hand. “Okay, gentlemen, you’ve both had your say. I am going to wait to render my decision until after I’ve heard from two of the prosecution’s experts today. In the meantime, I have a small matter to take up in my chambers, and we’ll recess for thirty minutes.”

Karp remained standing after the judge left, but Guma plopped down in his seat where he doodled manically on a yellow legal pad. “You okay?” Karp asked.

“Yeah, I just thought that the ‘young lover’ remark was below the belt,” Guma said. “She should have left that bastard Emil; he was the one fucking around on her. But she couldn’t because she would have lost custody of Zachary. It just pisses me off that some slime-ball attorney can disparage a victim’s character without any proof whatsoever, but say one unkind remark about their client and they want a mistrial.”

Karp patted his friend on the shoulder. “Hey, if I didn’t know you better, I’d say you’re getting personally involved with this case.” He meant the remark in jest to lighten the mood, but immediately regretted it when he saw Guma’s eyes smolder and jaw tighten.

“I know what it takes to do my job,” Guma replied, balling up the sheet from his legal pad and tossing it toward the waste can near the witness stand and missing. “Damn. I’m just trying to see a little justice done here.”

“I know you are,” Karp apologized, walking over to pick up the paper and toss it in the can. “I was just trying to take the edge off before you cross the aisle and beat that smarmy bastard to a pulp…. How you feeling these days?”

“What is this?” Guma asked but only half as irritably. “I look like I’m going to keel over? Is the Grim Reaper standing behind me?” His eyes grew big with mock fear as he quickly looked over both of his shoulders.