“State v. Anthony Lewis. Ms. Holman, what’s up?”
“Anthony and I had a long talk Monday after court. Anthony drops five days a week, but he’s requesting dropping on weekends too. I explained the lab is only open Monday through Friday. I’d like Anthony to tell you his solution.”
“Go ahead, Mr. Lewis,” Lourdes says.
“Put me in jail, Your Honor. I’m ready to live clean. I’ve connected with my son and his family. I want to see them, but I can’t be around the kids unless I’m sober. I need drops hanging over my head. If I have to drop, I know I can’t use. Put me in jail, weekends. At least till I have more control.”
Lourdes feels tears in her eyes. “Okay, Mr. Lewis, write down what time you want to go in and get out. I’ll write an order that’s valid for the next month. I’ll give you a copy and we will fax one to the jail. Good luck. I admire you.”
Anthony looks at Lourdes. “No one’s ever said they admired me.”
Defendants often serve time on weekends, but the jail personnel refused to let people in if there are any ambiguities in their paperwork. Lourdes wonders if they do this on purpose.
When she was a new lawyer, clients would tell her, “I went to jail, but they wouldn’t let me in. Said my paperwork was no good. Now I’m in trouble.” At first she didn’t believe them, but after she heard the same story over and over, and talked to other lawyers with the same experience, she felt they were telling the truth. She wasn’t sure why the guards acted this way. Incompetence, she hoped. Some lawyers felt they did it on purpose to get defendants in trouble.
The second add-on was State v. Quiroz. Jesus Quiroz is Anthony’s opposite. He’s twenty-one, impeccably dressed and rarely says a word. He’d pled guilty to attempted possession of cocaine although he never tested positive for anything. The drug court coordinator thinks he’s a dealer, his PO thinks he’s a cheater.
“Why is Mr. Quiroz here?” Lourdes asks the County Attorney.
“His PO caught him using a device to cheat on his drug test.”
“What device?” Lourdes can’t help asking.
“I’d rather his PO explain.”
“It’s called a whizinator, Your Honor,” says PO Walter Brand. He puts on latex gloves, picks up a plastic bag from the prosecution table, and holds it up so Lourdes can see. She gazes at the tubes and wires.
“It works by . . .”
“It’s fine Mr. Brand, I get the point. I don’t need to hear more.”
“Does the state wish to be heard?”
“We’re going to file a Petition to Revoke his Probation, and we request he be held in custody.”
“Ms. Holman.”
“Your Honor, Mr. Brand’s presumed innocent. He’s going to fight the allegations on the petition. There’s no reason to hold him in custody. He’s made all his court appearances. He lives with his mom and she’s happy to have him. The PO can verify that.”
“Mr. Quiroz, do you want to say anything?”
Mr. Quiroz whispers something to his lawyer. After a moment’s silence, Quiroz says, “No, Your Honor.”
“I’m going to set the arraignment on the petition next Tuesday at 9:30 a.m. and order Mr. Quiroz be held. If there’s nothing else, Court will be adjourned.”
“I can’t believe you kept a straight face when the PO held that thing up.” Becca says as they walk back to chambers. “I googled it. Only $59.99, free shipping included.”
“When I first started at the PD, one of my clients tested dirty for cocaine and heroin. He couldn’t believe it. Neither did I. He’d only tested positive for pot before. When he saw the results he blurted out,
‘That asshole sold me dirty urine.’”
NINETEEN
Lourdes is researching a defense Motion to Dismiss for lack of reasonable suspicion. The police stopped the defendant’s car and found cocaine. They searched his house after obtaining a warrant and found more. The issue is whether the car stop was legal. The defense contends the client was stopped for ‘driving while black.’ The hearing is tomorrow. If the defense wins the hearing, the defendant walks free even though the cops found more than two pounds of cocaine. Lourdes is reading cases when Mary buzzes, “Clerk’s office on line 2.”
“This is Judge Velasquez.”
“Good morning, Judge. I want to give you a heads up about a matter we want to put on tomorrow’s calendar. We’ve tentatively scheduled it at 10:30 a.m. after your other hearings.”
“Okay, but why are you telling me? You guys always add stuff.”
“This is a tad out of the ordinary. A minor seeking an abortion. She just turned seventeen. These hearings are randomly assigned to judges on the criminal bench. It’s your turn. Since this is your first one I wanted to give you a heads up.”
“Oh, . . .” Lourdes didn’t know what to say. It doesn’t sound like she has a choice.
“I’ll email you some information. Usually these are cases where parents refuse to consent or sometimes the minor’s parents aren’t available. Most judges do them in chambers, but they’re on the record. If you have questions ask me or any of the criminal judges.”
Lourdes doesn’t know what to think. Most of her friends are pro-choice. She’s always said she was, but never thought deeply about it. Never had to make that decision. Her parents, and most of her family are pro-life. They believe in the Church’s teaching that life is sacred. No abortion even if the woman was raped.
Computer buzzes. The information has arrived. She reads the two-page memo.
Is she the right judge to hear this case? OMG, the minor’s lawyer is Anne Levy, an old colleague from the PD’s office. That’s both good and bad. Anne will do a great job, but it might be hard for Lourdes to turn her down. Lourdes has always admired her. And what would her parents think? Her parents believe abortion is a sin. Her mom would make an exception if the life of the mother was at stake. Carlos isn’t religious and understands why a woman would seek an abortion. At least that’s how he used to think. They hadn’t talked about abortions for years.
Why is she thinking about other people’s opinions? A good judge doesn’t decide a case because of who the lawyer is or what a friend or family member thinks. She needs to bone up on the law and quickly.
The clerk has also sent over the statute:
“A Judge of the Superior Court after a hearing shall authorize a physician to perform the abortion if the minor is mature and capable of giving informed consent.”
Pretty vague. The next section lists criteria for determining if a minor is mature such as age, experience outside the home, travel, and ability to deal with personal finances. Nothing about giving the baby a good home.
Lourdes’ immediate thought is these criteria were written by rich Anglos. Neither Lourdes nor her friends traveled or dealt with personal finances before they were eighteen. Lourdes’ personal finances in high school were lunch money. As for experiences outside the home it sounded like they meant internships or band trips, not working at Dairy Queen or doing manual labor.
The words mature and capable of giving informed consent run through her head. Is anyone under eighteen mature? She remembers some of the decisions her friends had made. Took someone’s car and went joyriding. Drank lots of alcohol. Did drugs. Met a guy on the Internet. Snuck out of their houses at night. Drag raced. It’s amazing we made it out of high school alive.
Lourdes wonders if this work is Anne’s passion. Why else would she do it? Can’t imagine a minor could pay. Could Anne or a friend have needed an abortion before Roe v. Wade? Abortion had only been legal since l973. She’d heard stories of girls going to Nogales for abortions. Some were so butchered they could never have babies. Some died.
Would this case make the news? She knew journalists checked the calendar and court filings. She hoped not. Bev would know.
“Hi, it’s me . . .Fine. . .Definitely next wee
k. Everything good with you?. . . I have a question. I hope you don’t think I’m a pain in the butt?”
“Don’t be silly. I asked hundreds of questions. Better than making a mistake or wasting hours researching when I can help. If I can.”
“I’m doing my first minor requesting an abortion hearing. Are those reported in the media?”
“No. The record is sealed. Can’t be opened without a court order. No one will know other than the participants in the hearing.”
“Can my law clerk sit in?”
“As long as she understands about the confidentiality.”
Lourdes is relieved. No one need know. Not her friends, not her parents, not Carlos.
TWENTY
Lourdes can’t stop thinking about the decision she must make. The way her stomach churns reminds her of trying a capital case, someone’s life in her hands. She’s always thought of abortion in the abstract. A fetus, not a baby. The girl she’ll see tomorrow has a child growing inside her. A child who could become the next President or a concert pianist.
She’d recently attended a seminar where a psychologist explained that some jurors experienced PTSD after handing down a death sentence. Could okaying an abortion cause PTSD? Well, at least she’d have some insight into what Carlos is going through.
In high school the only thing worse than losing your virginity was being pregnant. The nuns harped on virginity constantly. Their lectures didn’t scare everyone. A couple of girls in her class got pregnant. When the nuns found out, the girls were whisked away.
One was her friend, Allison. A good student, smart and ambitious, but pregnant. The baby’s father wouldn’t marry her. She wanted the baby, but the nuns told her, her only choice was to give it up for adoption. Allison fought to keep her baby. For a while the father hung around.
Allison’s mom had called her ‘stupid’ for having unprotected sex. Her dad had said a lot worse. They kicked her out. The nuns took her to a home for unwed mothers. The girls weren’t treated well. She never graduated high school. They tried to force her to give up the baby, but she didn’t. Lourdes had tried to continue the friendship, but they’d lost touch. A few years ago, Lourdes ran into her at Safeway where she managed the bakery. She seemed happy and talked proudly about her daughter Brianna.
Carlos isn’t home when she gets there. After changing into jeans and a short-sleeved knit shirt she makes a salad and takes some green chili chicken enchiladas out of the freezer.
The enchiladas are ready when Carlos walks in. He says hi and goes into their bedroom. A few minutes later he comes back having traded his uniform for jeans and a polo shirt.
She makes up plates for both of them. He grabs a beer, but she sticks to water.
“How was your day?”
“Nothing special. Rick told me about this dynamite woman he met over the weekend. That’s all he talks about.” Carlos tells her about it in too much detail. She nods from time to time, but isn’t paying attention. Thinking about her case.
She remembers one of the sisters who tried to scare them into abstinence. They all had to watch a horrible movie about syphilis. The narrator said if you caught it, you’d have dementia and die a horrible death.
Tia Gloria was the only relative she trusted to answer sex questions. “Is that really true?”
“No, mija, it can be cured with a couple shots of penicillin. Don’t listen to anything those nuns tell you about sex. If you have any questions ask me.”
They made them watch a movie about abortion that pictured what was supposedly a week old fetus, but it looked more like a full-term baby. The narrator said an abortion would cause the baby great pain and could make the woman sterile.
“Lourdes, what are you thinking about? You haven’t listened to anything I’ve been saying. And you ignored me when I asked if there were more enchiladas.”
“Sorry.” She gets up, and dishes out a couple more to Carlos.
“You’re not eating either. What are you thinking about?”
“Just work. A hearing I have tomorrow.”
“Tell me.”
“I don’t want to ruin our dinner.” She begins eating with gusto. Her enchiladas, even after being frozen, are excellent.
“Tomorrow’s Friday, so it can’t be a trial.” Carlos says.
“No, you’re right it’s just a hearing.”
“You’ve got me curious. Tell me.”
“Okay. I have to decide if a minor gets an abortion.”
“Is she in jail or an orphan?”
“I don’t think so, but I don’t know much about her. I was told usually it’s because the parents refuse consent or maybe they’re not available. Want any more enchiladas?”
“No, I think five are enough. I’ll have ice cream later. What do you mean not available?”
“Maybe in the military or she’s a runaway.”
“How old is the girl?”
“17.”
”Will her parents be at the hearing?”
“No. It’s just the girl, her lawyer, and a court reporter.”
“What about the father?”
“What do you mean?”
“The baby’s father?”
“He won’t be there. He has no legal right to be involved.”
Carlos gets up and grabs another beer out of the fridge. “Seriously, he can’t be there? What if he wants the baby?”
“I assume if he wanted the baby he’d marry the girl. Or these days I guess they’d just live together and raise it.”
“What if he doesn’t know about it?”
“I don’t know, Carlos. For all I know the father dumped her once he found out she was pregnant. I hardly have any information. That’s why there’s going to be a hearing.”
“When I was in Afghanistan, one of the guys in my unit, Bear, you remember me talking about him?”
“Yeah. You showed me his picture. He was short, skinny and hairy.”
“That’s him. Anyway his girlfriend dumped him. Later he found out from one of his buddies in the states she had an abortion. He was beside himself.”
“That’s sad.”
“Sad? He wanted that baby. Said he would have taken care of his child, if she didn’t want it. Started drinking, taking drugs. He was killed by an IED. A lot of the guys in our unit thought he committed suicide.”
“Poor guy. That’s tragic.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“What do you mean? I have no idea till I hear the evidence.”
“You can’t just kill it, if the guy has no say.”
“For all I know she doesn’t know who the father is. She could’ve been raped. It’s my job to follow the law. The law says if I find that’s she’s mature enough it’s her right to decide if she wants an abortion.”
“It sounds like you’ve already decided to let her kill the baby.”
“I haven’t decided anything, Carlos.”
“What about your Cousin Ana? She’s adopted. What if her mother decided to kill her? You wouldn’t have a Cousin Ana.”
“Stop it, Carlos. Enough. Let’s talk about something else. I forgot to tell you my dad’s coming home from the hospital next Monday at the latest. I’m so glad you made him stay at rehab. Mom said he’s come a long way. He can walk with a walker and they’re trying to transition him to a cane.”
“That’s great. What do you think your parents are going to say if you grant this abortion?”
“They won’t know.”
“They read the paper.”
“It won’t be in the paper. All the proceedings are sealed. No one can find out without a court order.”
Carlos takes his plate and puts it in the sink. He goes into the living room and turns on the TV. Lourdes cleans the table and does the dishes. She’s relieved their discussion is over for the moment, but afra
id it will continue if she grants the abortion. She wishes she hadn’t told him about the hearing, but she’s no good at lying. No way can she bring up the gun safe. She takes her time and gives the kitchen a thorough cleaning.
Carlos is watching soccer. She never could get into it. She picks up the paper and sits next to him.
Game over, Carlos turns to her. “I could tell your parents.”
“I shouldn’t have told you. This is confidential. You wanted me to be a judge. I can get in trouble if you talk about this. Please don’t say a word to anyone. Especially my parents.”
TWENTY-ONE
Lourdes finishes her morning calendar at 10:20 a.m. A few minutes to freshen up. What would she do if she didn’t have a bathroom in chambers? (Use the one in the lobby like everyone else.) Mary has straightened up without being asked. Olga Hendrickson, the court reporter, has set up her machine. The smell of old cigarette smoke wafts up from Olga’s clothes. Lourdes groans inwardly. Most of the court reporters are competent and respectful. Then there’s Olga, whose life seems to revolve around smoking.
Occupational Safety and Health Administration (OSHA) rules require reporters to get a fifteen minute break every ninety minutes. If a lawyer is close to finishing with a witness or is at a crucial part of questioning, judges will hold off. Not with Olga. Lawyers and judges joked a lawyer could be in the middle of eliciting a surprise confession from a serial murderer, and if Olga was there, they’d have to stop. With one exception, another judge addicted to nicotine, all the judges hate having Olga in their courtroom.
Lourdes thinks drawing Olga’s a bad sign. She sits at her desk, waiting. Finally Mary buzzes. “They’re here.”
Lourdes walks out of chambers to greet them. She debated whether to wear her robe, but decided against it. Anne Levy is standing next to a tall slender girl with straight blonde hair that Lourdes assumes is her client, Meghan Kennedy. Meghan is wearing an expensive summer dress with a matching shrug. Her outfit’s barely appropriate. The dress is too short and too low-cut. But just. Her nails and toes are manicured and Lourdes can tell her shoes cost more than all the shoes she owns. Meghan comes from money.
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