by Jason Mason
“Not really,” he replied.
“We all saw it from the sidelines, it was a masterpiece,” Sam recounted. “Allan, that big stupid ex-military guy from the prosecutors, was stalking you and you were hiding behind that pillar by the big pickle looking thing. We thought for sure he was going to gun you down and make you cry like how he got the rest of us but then you tricked him! You sneaky bastard, you tricked him by taking your shoe off and leaving it out in the open just a touch so he’d think you were in one place but you were hiding around a different bend waiting to ambush him. We won the game because of it!”
Baker remembered the exact event, and while he let everyone believe it was this big tactical plan that he had (which impressed everyone including Allan) in reality his shoe just came off as he was running. Allan could have shot it and he would have found out that Baker wasn’t actually wearing the shoe, but he didn’t. So at least Baker was partially engaged in some subterfuge he told himself.
“Hey Sam, can I ask you something?” Baker said, changing the subject.
“Of course, shoot.”
“It’s about my trial tomorrow. I’ve represented this guy before, but he doesn’t always use me. I think he just does for his drug trafficking cases.”
“Yeah, you’re the best in town at defending those,” Sam respectfully agreed. “Bar none.”
“Yeah, but I remember one time a few years back I was representing him when the police didn’t have a warrant to search his car but they did anyways and found drugs and a handgun in the backseat. It was a technicality but of course it was a clear violation so I got him off on account of it.”
“As you should,” Sam nodded.
“Right,” Baker agreed. “But I was looking at his criminal record in preparation for this trial, and I saw that less than a week after I got him off, he viciously assaulted his wife. And I mean brutally, she was in the hospital for nearly a month. Barbaric is almost a more accurate word for it. He went to jail for that one, and just got out around a year ago. She had stitches, a broken jaw, and required reconstructive surgery. It was really ugly. I just can’t help but think that if I didn’t get him off on the technicality – If we just plead to a lower offence or something like that – then the attack never would have happened.”
“You can’t let yourself think that way,” Sam told Baker looking him directly in the eyes. “What these people do or don’t do after the trial is none of your business. We have an important duty in the justice system to give people the best legal defence they are entitled to under the Charter. It’s their constitutional right! Does that mean sometimes guilty people walk free? Yes, absolutely it does. But it also means that no innocent people gets put in jail either.”
“Do you ever feel guilty?” Baker asked him.
“Do I? No, never. However my clients usually feel guilty enough for the both of us so I don’t have to worry too much about that,” Sam answered with a grin.
“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Baker laughed as well as he finished his pasta. “It’s just ethically hard sometimes. Anyways, thanks for supper. I really need to get back to the office and get this trial prepped for tomorrow.”
Sam rolled his eyes. “Fine, head back. Just promise me you’ll be out of there by ten, ok? Don’t make me get the security guard to go check up on you!”
“Agreed,” Baker nodded.
After Sam paid for their meals and left to drive home, Baker went back to the office. As all the automatic lights switched on welcoming him back to the empty office building he sauntered over to his desk where he kept working on his case briefs and trial plan until a few minutes past midnight.
It’s too late to bother going home, he thought to himself as he closed his laptop and staggered over to his couch to curl up and get some sleep.
This way I can spent the morning talking to my client and making sure he’s going to act presentable and innocent in the courtroom.
As Baker drifted off into a restless sleep, all the contingencies and possibilities of the trial the next day flooded through his mind. Every possible question that could be asked, every misdirection and expression on the judge’s face, and every little bit of evidence he could use to impeach the witnesses drowned his thoughts so heavily that he was unable to get more than a couple of hours of sleep that night. And if there was something he needed more than anything else in this world, it was more sleep.
Chapter 6
Trial by Liar
Wearing his black court vest, white tabs, and his flowing gown, Baker was discussing the trial with his client, Marcus Freeman, deep down in the cells in the cells tucked away in the courthouse basement. Being in the cells was required last night to ensure that Mr. Freeman would actually attend the hearing, as he was known in the past to skip bail. However, in the courtroom he would be allowed to sit up at the defendant’s table with Baker without cuffs or the orange jumpsuit. His client might be a threat to his own wife, but at five foot nine and less than a hundred-forty pounds, Baker was not too worried about this guy starting anything in a courtroom where the bailiff was six foot three and a former football linebacker.
“Are you nervous?” he asked Marcus.
“Nah man, I got the best representing me,” the man replied calmly.
“You’re damn right you do,” Baker said as he high-fived his client. That wasn’t something he normally did, but with Marcus it just felt right, and he had an excellent ability to read people. Shaking hands just wouldn’t have been appropriate with a gang banger like Marcus Freeman who probably sells more drugs in a given day than McDonalds sells Big Macs. No, Freeman gets the high five and the prosecutor would get the handshake.
After their brief meeting, Baker headed back up to the barrister’s lounge and took a seat on one of the plush leather chairs to close his eyes for a few minutes. He had that dream again last night, the one he has every now and then since becoming a lawyer. Often it comes up just before a trial which does nothing but increases his stress levels even higher.
The dream was never exactly identical, as the students and the class often changes from dream to dream but the result was always the same. He was back in law school, up in the library studying for an exam the next day when one of his friends would come up to him and ask him if he wants to go grab a drink.
“Sure,” he would always respond. He was a university student and already had some of the best grades at his school so why not go out and unwind? He would have just one drink and then he’d be back in the library studying. That was always the plan, just never the result.
Because the dream would never let him return to the library. He would be out with his friends at various locations, this time it was at the university pub (though in other dreams it’s been his basement apartment, bars he goes to now, or even his mother’s house) but he wasn’t drinking. No matter what he tried to do, he was physically unable to leave the pub and get back to the library. Inevitably at some point during the dream, he would turn around and be in one of his old classrooms, where Professor Brady – it was always Professor Brady – would tell him to take his seat and begin his exam. He had no notes, no outline, and no textbooks (in law school it was always an open book exam, the goal was to be able to create a well-reasoned answer, not to memorize everything). He had no chance of succeeding so he would just stare at the blank exam in a panic until he woke up.
As he sat in the chair, Baker did his best to push the dream out of his mind. The problem with dreams though, is if they’re based on reality you can never fully forget them. Unfortunately this was one dream that was far too close to the truth for him.
◆◆◆
The lawyer and his client met again in the courtroom with Marcus sitting to the right of Baker up at the large wooden counsel table. The courtroom loomed imposing for the man, though he’s been in this situation many times before. The judge, Justice Robert Q. Samuelson, stared down at Marcus and scrunched his face as if trying to determine if this particular suspect had been in his courtroom before.
; He had. Twice in the past six years, and both were convictions. They were both relatively minor crimes (at least in front of this judge) and he received a fine – or maybe it was a few days jail time, Baker couldn’t remember – for each one of them but there was no love lost between the trial judge and the accused in this case. With no jury, Marcus’ hopes of walking out free in this trial rested solely on Justice Samuelson and his able attorney – Baker Desjardins. Breaking eye contact with the elderly judge, Marcus glanced over at his lawyer to see how he was preparing for this trial.
Baker had all of his notes, documents, and photographs spread out in front of him and – as was his custom – he slid a small lined notepad with a pen over to his client so that he could silently communicate with Baker during the hearing without interrupting the judge or the other attorney. There was no jury, and no preliminary motions, so the prosecutor, Ryan Cutler, kicked off the hearing by making his opening statement to the judge.
Baker’s worked with Ryan before, and knew he was the type of man who would rather plead out than ever run a trial. In keeping with his character, he even offered a very generously minor custodial sentence for Baker to take back to his client in exchange for a guilty plea. Marcus decided against it with a little counselling from Baker. It was the right decision. Or it seemed like it at the time, going through his notes last night Baker wasn’t so sure anymore.
“Your honour, the defendant Mr. Freeman was apprehended by the police with three ounces, or approximately eighty-five grams, of crystal methamphetamine on his person. This is far too much to be considered for personal use. His intention was to distribute these drugs, and by the time he was arrested had likely already distributed an unknown amount. Given the facts there is no defence for this crime. There is no defence for selling drugs in our community, especially given the proximately to one of the local parks where children play. It’s one thing for addicts to feed their addiction because of men like the accused. It’s a completely different thing when children may be involved.”
Baker rolled his eyes dramatically so his client could witness it. The whole think of the children, thing was so over-the-top he had considered objecting to it but there was no real point. Since there was no jury, theatrics like that wouldn’t do anything to sway a seasoned judge like Samuelson. If anything, it might even tick him off, which Baker wanted.
So with that brief statement the prosecutor called police officer Julian Garrett to the stand, who was sworn in by the court clerk. Raising his right hand and foregoing the Bible, he swore to tell the truth and nothing but the truth. For most of the police force in Edmonton, testifying in court was not a new experience.
Cutler shuffled his paperwork and began reading his direct examination questions off a script he likely prepared the night before. After going through the first couple of routine questions about who the officer was, where he worked, and how long he was in the force for, he then began asking about the events that got Marcus Freeman arrested. This is when Baker had to be on his game.
“Thank you for all that. Could you please explain to me what happened on the day of August 17th that led us here today?” the prosecutor asked.
“Certainly. I was driving alone and patrolling my route around 118th avenue when I saw the suspect, that man there,” the officer pointed to Marcus, “acting suspicious near the intersection of 82nd street.”
“What do you mean by acting suspicious?” Cutler probed.
“Well, he was leaning against a telephone pole talking to another individual and it appeared that they were exchanging something. I thought it was probably drugs given the location and the general appearance of the two men, but when I turned my sirens on the second man ran away. Mr. Freeman attempted to run in the other direction but stopped when I told him to ‘freeze.’’
“What about the appearance of the two men made indicated to you that there may be a drug deal?” Cutler asked.
“Their clothing.”
“What was it about their clothing that looked suspicious?” Cutler asked, likely probing the witness to reveal the truth that Marcus was wearing gang colours during the drug deal.
“Objection,” Baker stood up. “What he was wearing is completely irrelevant, and the witness is trying to colour the character of the defendant.”
The judge thought about it for a second then made his ruling.
“Defence counsel is correct, as long as identity is not in issue here I’ll ask you to move on counsel. Your objection is sustained, Mr. Desjardins.”
The prosecutor accepted the outcome of the objection and decided to press forward without determining why the appearance made Marcus look suspicious. Baker was actually a little shocked he won that one, he mainly objected as a show for his client.
“And then what happened?”
“I asked Mr. Freeland what he was doing and why he tried to run away from me. I caught up to him after a few seconds, then turned him around and pushed him up against a wall. I told him that he was being detained under the suspicion of trafficking narcotics and asked him if he had any weapons on his person. I also told him about his right to remain silent and told him about his right to an attorney,” Officer Garrett smiled and nodded as he said these last points as if he was proud of doing it.
Baker assumed that at some point this officer had a case thrown out because he forgot to read a suspect their rights before arrested them. Or, just as damaging, did read them their rights but didn’t properly note it and couldn’t be sure on the stand if it happened or not. That must be why he was so proud of mentioning something every officer is supposed to do during every arrest.
“And how did he respond?”
“Well sir, he told me that he wasn’t doing anything wrong and he knew his rights and that since I had no grounds to arrest him he wanted to leave. I told him he was not allowed to leave but that I could arrange for him to speak to a lawyer if he wanted.
“How did he respond to that?”
“Well, Mr. Freeman said there was no need to talk to an attorney.”
Baker cringed and bit his lip when he heard that. Always take that call and talk to your lawyer, he thought. Always.
“I see. Well keep going, what happened next?”
“I turned Mr. Freeman around again to face my vehicle. Once he did so that I patted him down… you know, just to ensure that he did not have any weapons on him and that’s when I discovered the drugs in the front pouch of his hoodie. Once I found the drugs I informed the suspect he was under arrest and placed my handcuffs on him. Following that, I read him his rights again, put him in the back seat of my vehicle and then took him to the police station for processing. Once there I passed him off to Officer Michelle Rudolph and that ended my involvement in this matter.”
“You say drugs. Did you bring the substance to court today?” Cutler asked, knowing full well the answer.
“I sure did,” The officer handed up the drugs in a sealed envelope with some certifications on it. This was marked as an exhibit by the court clerk.
“Thank you for that officer. Can you please tell us more about these drugs?”
“Of course, what would you like to know?” Officer Garrett responded. It seemed a little too perfect for Baker, almost like it was rehearsed. That would be a grave accusation to level on a prosecutor so Baker let the thought leave the front of his mind, but uninvited it continued to linger in the back.
“Well for starters, how do you know that substance was crystal meth?”
“Well Michelle… I mean, Officer Rudolph… would take the drugs from me and once back at the station they were given to and then analysed by our drug team,” the officer handed up a piece of paper to the clerk. “This is the drug analytical results. It’s ninety-one percent pure methamphetamine which isn’t perfect but it’s pretty damn potent.”
“And can you ensure that from the point you got to the police station, that the drugs were always handled by somebody and not left exposed?”
“Objection,” Baker stood up.
“He’s clearly leading the witness.”
“Sustained,” the judge admonished the prosecutor again. “I let you get away with a few questions that may have been on the line, counsel, but that one has definitely crossed it. There are no leading questions in direct examination, you know that. You’ve been at the bar long enough.”
Baker was happy his objection was sustained but ultimately it didn’t matter. The question triggered the police witness to correctly explain what happened to the drugs, closing another possibility for an acquittal for him.
“My apologies your honour, I’ll reframe my question. Officer Garrett, did the drugs ever leave your sight or the sight of anyone else at the police station?”
“No sir it didn’t, here is a list of all the people who handled the baggie before it was brought to the lab for analysis,” the police officer handed up another paper to the clerk.
Clearly rehearsed, Baker thought as he rolled his eyes again. This time he didn’t do it for show.
“Thank you officer. I have no further questions.”
The judge nodded to the prosecutor then looked over at Baker.
“Counsel, your witness. You may cross-examine him if you’d like.”
Cross-examination. Now this is what all the late nights and the research was for. Cross-examination is where a case is won or lost, and it’s why Baker was paid far more money than most defence attorneys (and why he never bothered to take legal aid clients anymore). He was damn good at cross-examination and impeaching the credibility of even the most upstanding police officer. Almost certainly this kind of behaviour has led him to more speeding tickets than he would have liked but the trade-off was worth it in the end. He would either have this police officer admit some fact he didn’t want to, or have him sound so unbelievable the judge ignores his – admittedly damning – testimony.
Baker stood up to address the witness.
“Thank you for your testimony, officer. Now, about what time of day did you say you arrested Mr. Freeman?”
