[Lady Justice 17] - Lady Justice and the Pharaoh's Curse

by Robert Thornhill

  “When you executed the warrant, who was present in the home?”

  Winkler pointed to the defense table. “Ralph and Doris McDonald, the defendants.”

  “After searching the home, what did you find?”

  “In the basement, we found 41 marijuana plants being cultivated under grow lights. In addition, I discovered a bag containing 35 grams of processed marijuana in the defendant’s bedroom dresser.”

  Benson picked up a sandwich bag full of brown stuff and some photos from his table.

  “Your Honor, may I approach the witness?”

  The judge nodded.

  “Officer Winkler, is this the marijuana you found in the defendant’s dresser and are these photos of the live plants you discovered in the basement?”

  Winkler studied them both. “Yes they are.”

  “Your Honor, I would like to submit these as State’s exhibits A and B.”

  “So ordered.”

  “May I approach the jury?”

  “You may.”

  Benson handed the photos to the first juror who took a look and passed them on.

  Benson directed his attention to Winkler. “Officer, other than the marijuana, did you find anything else of interest in the home?”

  Winkler looked perplexed.

  “Firearms, Officer. Did you confiscate any firearms?”

  “Oh, that. Yes, we found a twelve gauge shotgun.”

  “So, you raided a suspected drug house and did indeed find drugs and guns.”

  Romero jumped to her feet. “Objection! The prosecutor’s remarks are prejudicial and definitely an over dramatization of what actually occurred.”

  “While I’ll admit that Mr. Benson’s remark was somewhat theatrical, it did contain elements of truth. Objection overruled. You may proceed Mr. Benson.”

  I figured Benson would rest his case right there. He had all of the elements he needed for a guilty verdict. I was surprised when he forged ahead.

  “Officer Winkler, at any time did either of the defendants make a statement regarding the intended use of the marijuana?”

  Winkler was obviously taken by surprise as was I. Benson had already disposed of the medical aspect of the marijuana in his opening remarks. It seemed redundant and out of character to bring it up again.

  “Well, they mentioned several times that they were only using it to treat Mr. McDonald’s glaucoma. Is that what you mean?”

  “Yes, Officer. Thank you. One more question and I’ll be finished. You testified earlier that your unit had received a tip from a neighbor. I’d like to explore that further. Did the tip come directly to you from the neighbor?”

  “Uhhh, no. Actually the neighbor contacted Councilman Victor Carson. It was Councilman Carson that passed the tip along to us.”

  So there it was. A case that the prosecution could have wrapped up in an hour was about to be drag on so that Councilman Carson could promote his ‘tough-on-crime’ candidacy in open court. Suzanne Romero was right. This trial wasn’t about the McDonalds. It was politics pure and simple.

  I had expected Romero to object on the grounds of relevance, but she never moved a muscle. I thought I detected her trying to hide a smile.

  Benson addressed the judge. “I have nothing further for Officer Winkler.”

  The judge turned to Suzanne. “Cross examine, Ms. Romero?”

  Suzanne rose to her feet. “Yes, thank you. I have just a few questions for this witness.”

  “Officer Winkler, you’ve been involved in dozens of drug arrests over the years. The prosecutor characterized the McDonald’s home as a ‘suspected drug house.’ Would you say that it was typical of the other drug houses that you’ve raided?”

  “Ms. Romero, we’ve found meth labs in hotel rooms and guys dealing out of trailer parks, but I think I know what you mean and the answer is ‘no.’ It was definitely unique.”

  “Unique? In what way?”

  “Well, it was clean --- you know --- neat and tidy. The grass was cut, no trash or cars on blocks in the yard, and the house was immaculate. Definitely not traits of our typical drug dealer.”

  I knew Rocky wasn’t any happier with the bust that had been shoved down his throat than I was, and I could see that he was trying to help without pissing off the prosecution.

  “Thank you for your candor. When you served the warrant, did you get any resistance from the defendants?”

  “No, quite the contrary. They sat quietly on the couch while we conducted our search.”

  “How about when you placed them under arrest? Any resistance then?”

  “Not exactly resistance. Mrs. McDonald cried a lot when the officer took her from her husband’s arms.”

  Benson jumped to his feet. “Objection! What’s the relevance here?”

  “Your Honor,” Suzanne responded, “Mr. Benson characterized my clients as hardened criminals. Officer Winkler’s testimony would seem to indicate otherwise.”

  “Objection overruled.”

  “You testified that the defendant said that he was growing the plants for personal medical use. Based on the number of plants you found and the quantity of processed marijuana you found, do you believe he was telling the truth?”

  “I do. There was not enough product in the house for a commercial operation.”

  “Thank you. One more thing. The prosecutor made quite a fuss over the firearm that you found in the house. Could you describe it, please?”

  “It was a twelve gauge shotgun. It had the words, ‘American Gun Company, New York’ on one side and ‘Knickerbocker’ on the other. It looked pretty old.”

  “Indeed it was, Officer. In fact, that model shotgun was only manufactured between 1890 and 1940. Is that weapon typical of firearms you find in drug houses?”

  “Hardly. Our typical dealer is usually carrying an automatic weapon or an assault rifle of some kind.”

  “In fact, didn’t the defendant tell you that the shotgun was an heirloom handed down through his family from his grandfather?”

  “Yes, I believe that he did mention that.”

  “So, did the discovery of that weapon strike fear in your heart?”

  Winkler smiled. “Not really.”

  “One last question, Officer. At any time during the execution of your warrant, did you or the officers in your command believe you were in any danger whatsoever?”

  “No. Never.”

  “Thank you. No more questions, your Honor.”

  Romero had done a terrific job of turning the prosecutor’s characterization of the McDonalds as drug lords upside down, but the fact remained --- Winkler had found drugs in the house. They had broken the law.

  Judge Hartly looked at his watch.

  “Let’s break for lunch. We’ll reconvene at one o’clock.”

  At precisely one o’clock, court was back in session.

  The judge turned to Benson. “You may call your next witness.”

  “The prosecution calls Angelo Gutman to the stand.”

  A serious-looking fellow who appeared to be in his mid to late fifties took the stand and was sworn in.

  “Mr. Gutman, please tell the court what you do for a living.”

  “I work for the American Glaucoma Society. I am a spokesman for the organization. I attend fund raising rallies and make presentations for the Society.”

  “I’m sure you’re aware that in the case before the court today, the defendant, Mr. McDonald, has claimed that the drug found in his possession was being used to treat his glaucoma. Does the American Glaucoma Society take any official position on the use of marijuana?”

  “Indeed it does. Although marijuana can lower the intraocular pressure, its side effects and short duration of action, coupled with a lack of evidence that its use alters the course of glaucoma, preclude recommending this drug in any form for the treatment of glaucoma at the present time.”

  “Mr. Gutman, are you aware that there is legislation pending in both the House and Senate of the State of Missouri to legalize
marijuana for medical use?”

  “Yes, we are aware of the legislation, but at this time our organization does not support its passage.”

  So there it was. Councilman Victor Carson had been a staunch opponent of the medical marijuana bill and had urged his constituents to write their state senators and representatives expressing their opposition. Carson had seen the drug bust at the McDonalds as the perfect platform to publicly attack the legislation.

  “Thank you, Mr. Gutman. No further questions.”

  The judge turned to Suzanne. “Cross, Ms. Romero?”

  “Yes, Judge. Mr. Gutman, in your previous testimony, you said that your organization could not support the use of marijuana because of its side effects. Is that correct?”

  “Yes, that is our position.”

  “Could you please tell the court what drug is most commonly used for the treatment of glaucoma?”

  “That would probably be latanoprost.”

  “Is Xalatan a trade name for latanoprost?”

  Gutman nodded.

  “Judge, permission to approach the witness.”

  “Granted.”

  Romero handed a page to Gutman. “Mr. Gutman, you have in your hand the possible side effects of Xalatan. Would you please read it for the court?”

  Benson jumped to his feet. “Objection, your Honor. The drug company is not on trial here today.”

  “Sorry, Counselor,” the judge replied. “Your witness opened this door when he testified about the side effects of marijuana for the treatment of glaucoma. Objection overruled. Please read, Mr. Gutman.”

  It was quite obvious that Gutman wasn’t pleased with the turn of events.

  “Possible side effects resulting from the use of Xalatan include redness, swelling, itching or pain around the eye, oozing or discharge from the eye, increased sensitivity to light, chest pain, cold symptoms such as stuffy nose, sneezing, sore throat, headache, dizziness, blurred vision and rarely, herpes simplex keratitis.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Gutman. What about Timolol? Is that ever used in the treatment of Glaucoma?”

  Gutman nodded.

  Romero handed him another document. “Please read for the court the possible side effects of Timolol.”

  “The most serious possible side effects include cardiac arrhythmias and severe bronchospasms. Timolol can also lead to fainting, congestive heart failure, depression, confusion, worsening of Raynaud’s syndrome and impotence.”

  “So let me get this straight. Your organization is concerned about the side effects of marijuana, but not about the side effects of these two drugs?”

  Red-faced, Gutman replied, “These drugs have been approved. Marijuana has not.”

  “I see. Are you aware, Mr. Gutman, that The American College of Physicians, the American Medical Association and the Epilepsy Foundation have all indicated that medical marijuana may have beneficial therapeutic effects on various diseases?”

  Gutman nodded again.

  “One more question. Glaucoma effects 2.3 million people over the age of forty. Were you aware that in a recent poll 70% of AARP members approved of the legislation being considered in Jefferson City?”

  “No, I was not.”

  Romero turned to the judge. “Nothing further, your Honor.”

  “Redirect, Mr. Benson.”

  “No, Judge. The State calls Frank Slaughter to the stand.”

  It was quite obvious that Benson was cutting his losses and saw no value in prolonging Angelo Gutman’s time on the witness stand. It was painfully apparent that Councilman Carson didn’t get his money’s worth from Gutman’s testimony.

  Slaughter approached the witness stand with the aloof arrogance. He was wearing a suit that was probably worth more than my whole wardrobe.

  “Mr. Slaughter, what organization do you represent?”

  Slaughter puffed out his chest. “I am a representative of the Food and Drug Administration of our Federal Government.”

  For the next fifteen minutes, Benson questioned Slaughter about the role the FDA played in protecting the health and welfare of American citizens.

  “Mr. Slaughter, I’m sure that you’re aware of the controversy surrounding the medical use of marijuana. Could you please tell us the FDA’s position on this important topic?”

  “Absolutely! Our position is that marijuana has a lack of accepted safety for use under medical supervision and that there are no scientific studies supporting the medical use of marijuana. My own personal opinion is that the dangers of medical marijuana far exceed any therapeutic usefulness, particularly in the context of safer and more evidence-based alternate treatment. Legal cannabis is a bad drug trip the public should avoid.”

  “Thank you. No further questions of this witness.”

  The judge turned to the defense table. “Ms. Romero?”

  “Mr. Slaughter, your organization regulates the manufacturing, distribution and marketing of tobacco products as well as drugs. Is that correct?”

  “It is.”

  “Then I’m sure you’re aware that each year, at least 480,000 people in the U.S. die prematurely from diseases caused by smoking or secondhand smoke exposure. The Center for Disease Control, a sister organization of the Federal Government reports that between 1999 and 2007, twenty-six people died from marijuana use. In light of these statistics, how can your organization continue to allow the use of tobacco, but deny the use of marijuana for medical use? I don’t suppose that it would have anything to do with the millions of dollars spent each year by the lobbyists of the tobacco industry?”

  Benson jumped to his feet. “Objection!”

  “Withdrawn, your Honor.”

  I could see that Slaughter was relieved that he had been given a reprieve on the question, but Romero had made her point.

  “Mr. Slaughter, you mentioned a lack of scientific studies supporting the use of medical marijuana. Where do the bulk of these so called ‘scientific studies’ originate? Say, for example, the studies that led the FDA to approve a drug like Xalatan.”

  Undoubtedly, Slaughter could see where this line of questioning was heading.

  “Well, uhhh, some are done by universities or foundations, but the bulk of them come from the pharmaceutical companies themselves. They want to make sure that their products are safe for the public.”

  “Oh, you mean like Vioxx and Celebrex. Those safety studies?”

  Slaughter looked pleadingly at Benson, not wanting to answer questions about two of the FDA’s biggest blunders.

  “Objection!”

  “Withdrawn. Let’s talk about those studies by the pharmaceutical giants. I wonder what the chances are that big pharma will EVER conduct a study on the medical benefits of marijuana. The company that manufactures Xalatan for the treatment of glaucoma brings in 1.6 billion dollars a year in sales. If Mr. McDonald can grow a product in his basement for pennies a day that is as effective as Xalatan, I would imagine that they would be lobbying their asses off to keep marijuana as a Schedule 1 drug.”

  Benson was incensed. “Objection! Is there a question here?”

  The judge looked sternly at Romero. “Well, is there?”

  “Yes, Judge. I have one final question for Mr. Slaughter. Where were you employed before you took your position with the FDA?”

  Slaughter hesitated. “Putnam Pharma-ceuticals.”

  “No further questions, your Honor.”

  “Any more witnesses, Mr. Benson?” the judge asked, probably wondering as I did, how Benson could sabotage his case any further.

  “We have one more witness, your Honor. The State calls Councilman Victor Carson.”

  I actually felt sorry for Benson. No prosecutor in his right mind would have called the previous two witnesses when he already had a conviction in the bag. Undoubtedly, he had been instructed to do so by people higher on the food chain, namely the District Attorney, at the urging of this final witness.

  Carson was a scrawny guy about my age, sporting a pencil-thin moustache. Everything ab
out him cried ‘weasel.’ I never could understand how he had ever been elected in the first place, but given the quality of our elected officials nationwide, I shouldn’t have been surprised.

  After being sworn in, Benson began. “Councilman Carson, Officer Winkler testified that you came to him initially with the information regarding the illegal marijuana at the McDonalds. Is that correct?”

  “Yes, Counselor. I have to assume that one of my constituents, familiar with my ‘tough on crime’ platform, came to me knowing that I would not rest until these criminals were brought to justice. Officer Winkler and his brave men performed admirably and, indeed, justice has been served.”

  Carson’s pompous attitude made me want to puke. I was pretty sure he wouldn’t recognize justice if it bit him on the ass. Somehow he had failed to mention that the ‘constituent’ was a shirt-tail relative. Nevertheless, he had accomplished one of his goals, a ringing endorsement for his re-election campaign.

  “Councilman, Mr. McDonald claims to have been using the illegal drug to treat his glaucoma. What is your position on that issue?”

  I knew this leading question was just a ploy to allow Carson to put another nail in the coffin of the bills pending in Jefferson City, and I figured Romero would object, but she remained silent.

  “I’m glad you asked, Counselor. I am firmly opposed to any legislation that would lead to the legalization of marijuana for medical use. It’s a slippery slope that would soon lead to the legalization of the drug for recreational use, and before we know it, we’ll have hippies and beatniks smoking dope in our parks and on our streets.”

  After that last statement, I realized why Romero wanted the idiot to express his opinion. The minute that he uttered the words ‘hippie’ and ‘beatnik,’ Carson had let the world know that he was living in the past and his ideals were fifty years out of date. In my mind, I could see Carson as a kid, listening to Pat Boone and slicking his hair back with Brylcreem, while others his age were sporting pony tails and listening to Janis Joplin.

  Even though I, myself, was more Pat Boone than Janis Joplin, I was willing to admit that things are a lot different today than in 1960.

  Poor Benson. His final witness had shot himself in the foot without having a clue. He valiantly tried to salvage something and redirect the jury’s attention to the bare facts of the case and away from the totally worthless testimony of the afternoon.