Steve Martini - Prime Witness

“I move at this time,” he says, “that the state be ordered by this court to amend its indictment to charge my client with the Scofield murders. . ”

There are audible voices, murmurs from the front row of “Whaddid he say?”

Fisher stares at Adrian as if the lawyer has suddenly lost his mind.

“Or in the alternative,” says Chambers, “that the state be barred forever from bringing any charges in those cases against Mr. Iganovich.”

“What?” says Fisher. “You’re asking this court to order the prosecutor to charge your client with two more counts of murder?”

“Let me explain,” says Adrian.

“Mr. Chambers,” says Fisher, “you have more moods than the three faces of Eve.”

“There is authority, your honor.”

I’m out of my chair protesting. “Mr. Chambers had ample opportunity to notice this motion, to give us an opportunity to respond,” I say. “The People object and ask the court to rule it out of order, as not being brought in a proper manner.”

“Good point,” says Fisher.

“Your honor, I would not be bringing this motion at this time, except for the information dropped on me here today that there is a witness to the Scofield murders. Mr. Madriani has held charges in the Scofield cases in abeyance, refusing to commit himself as to whether he was going to charge my client or not. He’s made public pronouncements that he’s searching for another killer, a so-called copycat. Now on the eve of trial he tells us there’s a mystery witness out there somewhere. A witness who if found will testify to God knows what.”

Adrian makes a face, like what is he to do with all of this?

“I’m left to face the specter of a piecemeal prosecution. The state is free to try the first four murders against Mr. Iganovich and if they fail, if we obtain an acquittal,” his voice goes up, a single finger held in the air for effect, “then, Mr. Madriani can turn around and bring separate and new indictments against my client in the Scofield cases. He can change his mind about a copycat, say it was all a mistake, produce his secret witness who has suddenly shown him the light, and try again.”

Fisher looks at me only for the briefest second, wondering, I think, whether such a devious plot has crossed my mind.

“We should not be required to defend on a piecemeal basis,” says Chambers. “Make no mistake,” he says. “I’m not anxious to have my client charged with additional counts. But it is either that or the court must tell Mr. Madriani that he may not bring these charges later.”

“On what authority?” says Fisher.

“ Kellett v. Superior Court , your honor. As I read that case,” he says, “Mr. Madriani is compelled to consolidate all of his charges in a single prosecution.”

Adrian holds up the piece of paper, a citation to the court opinion. “Nineteen sixty-six case,” he says, “and still good law.”

He passes the paper up to the judge. Fisher adjusts his glasses and reads. Several seconds pass. Then he arches an eyebrow and looks at me.

“Mr. Madriani, have you read this case?”

“The name doesn’t ring a bell, your honor.” Goya is scrambling behind me, fighting with a volume of the annotated Penal Code, the only resource book she has with her, looking to see if she can find a citation to the case, a veritable long shot.

“Maybe you should,” he says, “read it. I think Mr. Chambers may have a valid point.” He seesaws his head a little like maybe he’s about to make a ruling, some shot from the hip.

I cut him off. “Your honor, we should have time to consider this. To prepare a response,” I say. “At least to Sheppardize the case, to see if it has not been overturned by a later opinion, or limited to different facts.”

Fisher nods, aggravated that he is still not finished with these motions.

“Very well,” he says. Heavy sighs. “Forty-eight hours,” he says. “Two days. I will expect written points and authorities from each of you in two days. No more than five pages, on this single issue, the facts in Kellett. Do you understand, Mr. Chambers?”

Nods from Adrian.

Fisher looks at me. I give my assent.

“Don’t try to stretch it,” says Fisher. “This issue only.”

A solemn posture from Chambers, palm up like he’s taking an oath of honesty.

“This issue alone,” he says.

“We’re gonna eat it,” she says. “It’s settled law.” Lenore is talking about Kellett v. Superior Court . “I’ve pulled everything on it, every case in which Kellett is cited. Even punched it up on Lexis.”

Lexis/Nexis is the lawyer’s research tool for the computer-literate, cases input to the system back to the 1940s, all the law you can handle in a nanosecond.

We are back in my office, just before noon. Lenore has been up most of the night poring over the cases, researching Adrian’s latest shot. This one appears to have bounced into us, below the waterline.

“It’s not been overruled, or limited. In fact,” she tells me, “ Kellett was cited in a case last year, that if Chambers finds, he will argue is on all fours with the facts of our own-separate charges of first-degree murder.” She hands me computer printout sheets still joined at the perforated tops and bottoms, four pages.

“Read it and weep,” she says.

This is bad news. I had hoped for some crack through which we might slip.

“There’s nothing we can use?” I ask her. We are obligated to provide points and authorities to an unhappy judge tomorrow.

She makes a face, like every good lawyer can always argue something-even if it’s only the direction of the grain in the wood on the table in front of him.

“Chambers overstepped himself, just a little,” she says. What she means is that he has stretched the legal authority of Kellett to the snapping point. I am not surprised with Adrian. On matters of law, he has always been famous for this.

“There’s no authority,” she says, “for the court to order us to charge Iganovich with the Scofield killings. That’s purely a matter of prosecutorial discretion. On that you call the shot alone,” she tells me. “There are some cases on point in there.” She taps the computer sheets in my hand.

“At least we can nail his feet to the floor on that,” I say.

“The downside is, the case slams the door on your fingers, if you fail to charge the Russian with the Scofield murders.”

What this means is that I must either charge Iganovich in Scofield or give him a free ride for life, irrespective of any evidence we may later discover linking him to those crimes, a lifetime pass for double murder. The city fathers will love it.

While Kay Sellig and my better judgment tell me that Iganovich did not do Abbott and Karen Scofield, the Kellett case forces me to fish or cut bait.

“Did you see this?” says Lenore. She’s holding a copy of the morning Times , the only paper so far to get the story right. They’ve used a law grad as a reporter to cover this trial. This morning it’s paid off. After research they have come to the same legal conclusions as Goya.

The rest of the pack have gotten it all wrong. They are reporting that the court is about to order me to charge Iganovich with these crimes, but that I am resisting. They leave it to the reader to decide whether it is simple incompetence or corruption that is my motivating force.

As I turn into my driveway this evening coming home from work, I see Nikki at the mailbox. Dressed up, with her purse in hand, apparently she’s just beaten me home from some errand or other.

Sarah’s outside the front door, waiting for her mother to come and open it with her key, when she sees me.

Before I can turn off the headlights, my daughter’s at my car door clutching at the handle to open it. “Daddy, daddy.” The unbridled enthusiasm of little children happy to see a parent, one of the only true touchstones of life.