Joel Goldman: The last witness

"Sign this," Ortiz said, and slid a single sheet of paper toward Mason.

Mason picked it up. It was a consent form authorizing the state of Missouri to obtain a DNA sample from Wilson Bluestone, Jr. Mason signed it and handed it back to Ortiz.

"You want to talk about a plea, come see me this afternoon," Ortiz told him.

"My client's only plea is innocent. I don't expect you to agree to release him without bail. How much are you looking for?"

"No bail. That's what I'm looking for."

Before Mason could respond, three deputy sheriffs led Blues into the jury box. After a night in jail, clad in Day-Glo orange with his hands and feet manacled, he looked like a flight risk and a danger to the public.

They made eye contact. Mason shook his head, telling Blues all he needed to know about the prosecutor's position on bail.

Judge Pistone made his entrance as the bailiff called the courtroom to order.

"Good morning, Counsel," the judge began. "We'll take the video arraignments first."

A projector mounted on the wall directly above the table for defense counsel beamed a six-foot-by-ten-foot image on the opposite wall. The picture was grainy and washed-out. The audio was a beat behind the image, and the transmission speed was somewhere between real time and slow motion. The proceedings had the look and feel of justice administered in the middle of a bad dream.

Each defendant appeared on-screen, an oversized head shot that magnified every tremor and twitch. The last defendant was a young boy Mason guessed was barely twenty. He tried to retreat from the camera, his lips quivering as he tugged at his chin. The judge read the charge and the maximum sentence for the offense.

"You are charged with forcible rape, a Class A felony for which the maximum penalty is life in prison."

The boy whipped his head up at the camera, his mouth gaping at the judge's words.

"Do you have an attorney?" The boy shook his head. "Very well. The public defender will come see you."

The picture disappeared. Mason had the feeling the boy was as lost as the image that had been on the wall.

"The next case is State of Missouri v. Bluestone," Judge Pistone announced. "State your appearances, Counsel."

Patrick Ortiz stood and announced, "The people of the state of Missouri appear by Patrick Ortiz, deputy chief prosecuting attorney."

Mason followed. "The defendant appears in person and by his counsel, Lou Mason. We're ready to proceed, Your Honor."

"Very well, Counsel," the judge said without looking up. "The defendant will rise."

Blues stood from his seat in the jury box. Mason could hear the faint etching sounds of the courtroom artists.

Judge Pistone continued. "The defendant is charged with the crime of murder in the first degree in the death of Jack Cullan. Does the defendant understand the charges or wish to have them read?"

"We'll waive the reading of the charges, Judge. We'd like to discuss bail," Mason said.

"What's the state's position, Mr. Ortiz?" the judge asked.

"The people oppose bail in this case. The defendant is a former police officer who was forced to resign because of a shooting death that violated departmental rules on the use of deadly force. He has an extensive history of violent conduct. Though we acknowledge his ties to the community, he's both a flight risk and a danger to the public."

"Mr. Mason?"

"Your Honor, my client is entitled to bail. He owns a business that will be shut down if he's not there to run it. Everything he owns is tied up in that business and he's not about to run out on that. Mr. Ortiz is correct that the defendant is a former police officer. He's wrong about the defendant's history. He's never been charged with or convicted of any crime. The state's evidence in this case is as thin as yesterday's soup. While the victim was a high-profile member of the community, the court should reject any pressure to deny my client bail."

As soon as the judge looked up for the first time that morning, Mason knew he'd hit the wrong nerve.

"Mr. Mason, if you have any basis for suggesting that someone is attempting to improperly influence this court or that I would be susceptible to such attempts, now is the time to share that with me."

The color rose in Mason's neck. He refused to look at Ortiz, who, he was certain, was smiling wide enough to suck down a bag of Doritos. He couldn't look at Blues.

"I didn't mean any reflection on the court, Your Honor. All I meant was that the state is pushing a lot harder on my client than they would in any other case with this kind of evidence. Whatever the reason for that, it's not sufficient to deny bail."

"You can take that up with the circuit judge who gets assigned to this case. Bail denied. We're adjourned."

Mason was beginning to believe that Blues was right. Even though he had roused Joe Pistone's slumbering judicial dignity, the decision on bail had already been made. Mason's gaffe had given the judge all the cover he needed.

He weaved through the media throng, making his way into the hallway that connected to the judge's chambers. It was the route by which Blues would be taken back to the county jail. He caught up to the sheriff's deputies and Blues just as they were getting onto the elevator.

"Mind if I get a word with my client?" Mason asked one of the deputies.

"Make it fast. This ain't a parade," the deputy said.

Mason pulled Blues by the arm as far from the deputies as he could without getting them too excited.

"Listen, I'm sorry about what happened in there, but I don't think it would have made any difference."

"It's cool, man," Blues said. "Like I told you, they're going to try to squeeze me."

"We'll get another chance in front of the circuit court judge. Ortiz can either ask for a preliminary hearing or take the case to the grand jury. I'm betting on the grand jury. That way he doesn't have to tip his hand. The grand jury meets every other Friday. The next session is a week from tomorrow. Once you're indicted, we can ask the circuit court judge to set bail."

"I've got a better idea. Don't ask for bail. If we don't fight for it, they can't hold it over me. Spend your time finding out who killed Cullan, not writing motions the judge is going to turn down anyway."

Mason studied Blues for a moment. "You won't have any friends inside."

Blues gave Mason a broad grin. "You'd be surprised how easy I make friends. There's just two things you need to worry about besides winning my case."

"What?"

"First thing is you got to find somebody to run the club. Try Mickey Shanahan. He's the PR guy whose office is next to yours. He's always behind on his rent. Tell him he can work it off behind the bar."

"Okay. What's the second thing?"

"You're on your own. Don't get dead. They'll throw away the key to my cell."

Mason found Patrick Ortiz talking to the assistant prosecutors. They stopped talking when Mason approached, the younger lawyers looking away to hide their smirks.

"You were way out of line with that shit about Blues being forced to resign from the police department," Mason said. "You know that there's no way in hell that comes into evidence. Except now it will be the lead on every newscast and plastered on the front page. You must want me to file a motion to move the trial out of town so my client can get a fair trial."

"I'm not going to tell you how to try your case. Bluestone already shot one person to death. That may not be admissible to prove he killed Jack Cullan, but it's sure as hell relevant to the sentence he's going to get and whether he should get bail."

"Forget about the bail. You're lucky that Blues is more patient than I am. He'll take the county up on its offer of hospitality until the trial."