William Bernhardt - Capitol Offense

He looked away. Ben could see his eyes were watering. “I’m starting to lose it, Ben. I really am. I can feel the heat, the fire, the… the anger, ebbing away. And if I lose that, I don’t know what I’ll have left. I can’t get through another trial. And I can’t live in a world filled with people who think I’m a murderer. I-I-” He shook his head. “I don’t know if I can live at all.”

“Hey now.” Ben placed his hand on the man’s shoulder and squeezed. “Let’s not talk like that.”

“I’m just telling you how I feel.”

“Let me make the motion, Dennis. Then we’ll take it from there. Okay?”

“I guess. I-” He looked up at Ben with sorrowful eyes. “I trust you.”

Ben nodded, took his briefcase, and headed for the judge’s chambers.

Why had Dennis said that? Ben would have rather heard “I hate you.”

What Dennis had said instead was the worst curse a client could possibly lay on his lawyer’s shoulders. Especially in a capital murder case.

Ben had not been inside Judge McPartland’s chambers before, so he was surprised at what he found. Judges were free to decorate in any way they wanted, but most kept it on the conservative side. Members of the judiciary must be distinguished, it seemed, even away from prying eyes. Decorating tended toward Western art, macho Remingtons and such, with the occasional cowboy or OU football paraphernalia.

McPartland liked dogs. Ben hadn’t known it before, but the evidence was all around him. He had at least four, judging from the photographs, and apparently took them to shows on a regular basis. There was Judge McPartland, motioning to his Pomeranian to sit up on cue. There was the mighty Doberman strutting down the walkway. Even a fluffy white poodle, and if Ben wasn’t mistaken, it had painted toenails. They all appeared groomed and brushed, and in one case even clothed. Their pedigrees hung on the walls, as did their graduation certificates from obedience school.

Ben found himself liking the judge a lot more than he had before, even though, technically, Ben was a cat person. Still, it was good to see the judge had outside interests. After a week of criminal trials, a dog show must seem very relaxing.

They only had to wait a few minutes before the judge arrived. McPartland did not appear surprised to see Ben and District Attorney Guillerman waiting in his chambers. Not surprised, but not pleased, either.

“Let me guess,” he said, leaning back expansively in his padded recliner. “Senator Kincaid has a motion.”

“Darn tootin’,” Ben said curtly.

“And the state opposes?”

The DA shrugged. “I don’t know what we’re talking about yet.”

“Mr. Guillerman, I’ve been a judge a long time. Don’t play games with me.”

“Honest, Judge, I don’t-”

“Well then, let me inform you.” The judge leaned forward, his brow sharply creased. Ben got the impression that Guillerman might have made a major tactical blunder. “Do you recall a while back when we were selecting a jury?”

“Certainly.”

“And do you recall the conclusion, when I mentioned to you both that I didn’t want any more discussion of the case with the press?”

Guillerman pointed at Ben. “He was the one who kept calling the press conferences.”

“Yes, and you intruded whenever you could, but it doesn’t matter. The point is, I issued a gag order. And you have violated it.”

Guillerman pressed his hands against his starched white shirt. “I didn’t call a press conference. All I did was answer a few questions.”

“From the press.”

“And they didn’t even pertain to the murder trial. They were about the defense attorney.”

McPartland was not impressed. “And you thought that would have no relevance to the trial?”

“Not really.”

“Amazing that a man with your naivete could survive so long in the world of politics.”

“I just do my job.” Guillerman shook his head with dismay. “I’ll admit, I had no idea the media would sensationalize my remarks on the evening news. Very tabloid. Might as well be Entertainment Tonight .”

“I guess you’ve never watched the evening news before.”

“Well… I stay pretty busy at work.”

McPartland drew in his chin. This was the most overt display of irritation Ben had seen since the trial began. “You know, I’m enjoying this inane repartee, but it’s essentially irrelevant. I issued a gag order and you violated it.”

“I don’t recall you ever using the words gag order . You just said not to talk to reporters about the case.”

“That’s what a gag order is, counsel. You’re making me wonder if you went to law school. Except I’m pretty sure that’s a requirement for becoming district attorney, and last I heard, you were teaching night classes.”

“Your honor, I mean no disrespect. But I maintain that I did not violate your order because I did not discuss the substance of the case.”

“You told a city full of couch potatoes that the defendant conspired with his attorney to get away with murder, which is basically your whole prosecution theory. That’s commenting on the case. And it’s exactly the same line your man was dishing from the witness stand last week.”

Guillerman chose to remain silent. Ben was glad he was not in his shoes. The judge was displeased, and that never worked in a lawyer’s favor, as he knew all too well.

Judge McPartland ran his hand back and forth over his chin. “You know what this means? I’m going to have to sequester the jury now. I’ve got no choice. The press won’t let go of this anytime soon. I heard about it on the radio driving to work this morning, and I was listening to a hip-hop station. The jurors will not be happy. And I don’t blame them. City hall won’t be too pleased, either. Sequestration costs a fortune.” He leaned back in his chair. “The jurors will go into a major tailspin.”

“Are the accommodations provided that bad?”

“No, they’ll stay at the Ambassador Hotel down the road. But these people have already given up days of their lives and expect to lose more before it’s over. Imagine their reaction when they find out they don’t get to go home anymore.”

“Who knows?” Guillerman said optimistically. “Some may be happy about it.”

“No, Mr. District Attorney, no one will be happy about it, not even the housewife with six kids who hasn’t had a vacation in eight years. And let me tell you why. Two words: no television.”

Ben gulped. “No TVs at the hotel?”

“We have them removed. Can’t take the risk, especially not when coverage is all over the airwaves. So now imagine the scenario: away from home, away from family-no glass teat. Horrifying, huh?”

“Dreadful.”

“It gets worse. We take out the minibars, too.”

“No!”

“Have to. State can’t buy liquor for anyone. Against the law.”

“Do they at least get pay-per-view?”

“No. I’m telling you, Uncle Sam can be a cruel master. But I’ll do this to those poor public-minded citizens to cure this mess you’ve created.”

Ben raised a hand. “Shouldn’t we consider my motion first?”

“Good point. Because you’re hoping there won’t be any need for the jury.” He thumbed through a stack of papers on his desk. “I assume you’re moving for a mistrial.”

“Yes, your honor.” Ben cleared his throat. “Um, sort of.”

McPartland peered at him over his bifocals. “Sort of?”

“I am moving for a mistrial, your honor, but specifically I’m asking for a finding of prosecutorial misconduct and a ruling that double jeopardy has attached.”

Judge McPartland gaped. “You want me to set your man free?”