False Justice

by Larry A Winters

  Leary nodded. “I agree with that.”

  “But bad luck always seems to follow that guy. No sooner did he get the money, someone attacks him on the street, breaks his leg. Can you imagine?”

  “He was attacked?”

  The bartender nodded grimly. “Some thug, jumped off a motorcycle, hit Al’s leg with a bat, then got back on his bike and sped away. You want another beer?”

  “No thanks.” The word motorcycle echoed in Leary’s mind. “I need to get going.”

  Leary’s phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out and recognized the name on the screen as his contact at the City Hall courthouse.

  Leary said, “You have something for me on Judge—”

  “Not on the phone. Let’s meet. Talk in person.”

  “Where?”

  “Same place we met last time.”

  The call disconnected before Leary could ask where that was. It had been years since he’d seen his friend—back when he was still a homicide detective. He let out a curse.

  “Bad news?” the bartender asked amiably.

  “No, I just—” Then it came to him, the location of their previous rendezvous. Penn’s Landing. “I need to go.”

  “Have a good one.”

  33

  Leary walked along the Penn’s Landing waterfront. Around him, people enjoyed the restaurants and shops and arcades. Sunlight sparkled pleasantly on the Delaware River. He wished he could relax and enjoy it, but his mind kept flashing on Alphonse Fulmer—the man with the pinprick pupils and gin-tainted breath—and his limp.

  It seemed likely that Fulmer’s claim about not receiving informed consent before the operation on his ruptured biceps tendon was bogus—cooked up by Kelly Lee as an easy win with the hospital’s insurance company, just like Noah Snyder had explained. He’d interviewed enough witnesses, questioned enough suspects, to know when someone was hiding something. That meant Vicki Briscoe really had been wronged. The medical malpractice claim against her had been fabricated. A lawyer’s trick.

  And the revocation of Briscoe’s medical license? Leary remembered Noah Snyder’s comments on that, too. He’d said the medical board might use the medical malpractice claim as a pretext for revoking a license, if the board was already looking for a reason. Vicki Briscoe was the daughter of a well-known criminal, a gang leader. Leary had no trouble imagining the backroom political discussions at the State Board of Medicine, old white men steeped in tradition and propriety. Can we get rid of her? She doesn’t belong here.

  He grimaced. But what really bothered him was the limp. The bartender had told him that Fulmer had been attacked by a man on a motorcycle. Ray Briscoe was the leader of the Dark Hounds Motorcycle Club. Coincidence? He didn’t think so. Fulmer’s claim ruined Vicki Briscoe’s career, so her father—or maybe Briscoe herself—arranged for some revenge in the form of a baseball bat to the knee.

  And now Jessie was spending time with this woman.

  She can take care of herself. Leary mouthed the words, but he wasn’t sure he believed them—not in this scenario. Briscoe has no reason to want to hurt her. That sounded better. But was it true? Hadn’t Jessie mentioned prosecuting Briscoe’s boyfriend?

  A voice jerked him back to the moment. “I forgot how lovely Penn’s Landing can be.” It was Warren Williams.

  “Thanks for meeting me on short notice,” Leary said.

  “Where’s your guy?”

  “He’ll be here. Walk with me.”

  Warren’s breathing sounded heavy, and Leary had to slow his pace so the overweight lawyer could keep up. They had not been walking for more than a few minutes when the smell of cigarette smoke invaded Leary’s space. He turned to see a middle-aged man. He wore sunglasses and a fedora, and walked briskly with one hand jammed in a pocket of his windbreaker and the other holding a cigarette to his mouth.

  “Who’s he?” the man said, indicating Warren.

  “My boss.”

  The man nodded but didn’t stop walking. “Okay.”

  “Is this cloak and dagger routine really necessary?” Warren said between labored breaths.

  “I don’t want to be seen talking to you. The reasons should be obvious.” The man hesitated for a second, then added, “And also, I like to get outside. Gives me a chance to smoke.”

  “I guess you can’t do that in the courtrooms of City Hall,” Leary said.

  The man blew out a plume of smoke. “It’s frowned upon.”

  “Imagine that.” Between this cloud and the one in Noah Snyder’s cigar club, Leary’s throat was starting to feel irritated.

  The man turned slightly as they walked. Through the haze of cigarette smoke, his gaze was wary. “Before I tell you anything, I want to know why you’re asking about Dax.”

  Leary started to answer, but Warren touched his arm, stopping him. “Let’s just say I have an interest,” Warren said.

  “You’re planning to tangle with her?”

  “She’s tangling with me. I don’t think I have a choice.”

  The man nodded. “This judge is dirty. Not just ethically challenged—most of them are that—but this one is on the take. Been accepting gifts from litigants and other interested parties for years.”

  Warren seemed to take this news in stride, and Leary wondered just how common it was. “Risky. How is she getting away with it?”

  “Friends in high places, mostly. People willing to look the other way. And money. Where political expediency doesn’t cover her, she just spreads the wealth. The usual facilitators.”

  “Did she take any bribes in connection with the Rowland case?” Leary said. Warren shot him a warning look, but said nothing.

  The man nodded. “As a matter of fact, she did.”

  Leary felt his stomach drop. Right now, Jessie was pulling out all the stops to prepare for a hearing Judge Dax had set for 2 PM. But if the judge had taken a bribe from Boffo Products Corporation, then Jessie didn’t have a chance. Dax was going to throw out the case.

  “Please tell me you brought us evidence,” Leary said.

  The man patted the bag slung over his shoulder. “Come on, Leary. Have I ever let you down?”

  “Give it to me.” Warren stopped walking and held out a hand. The man didn't move.

  “Giving you what’s in this bag could be very dangerous for me.”

  “The DA’s Office will protect you.”

  The man snorted a laugh, then coughed. To Leary, he said, “This guy serious?”

  Leary had been dealing with the man off and on for years, and believed he had established that his word was solid. Still, this request was the first time he’d really tested the strength of the relationship. “If you give us what we need, we’ll make sure Dax won’t be a threat to you.”

  “You’re going to take her down?”

  Leary glanced at Warren, who gave a curt nod. “Yes,” Leary said.

  The man flicked his cigarette to the ground and stomped it out. “I have a friend, needs a little help.”

  “You’re joking,” Warren said, but Leary hushed him.

  “What can we do for your friend?” Leary said.

  “He was arrested for drunk driving. Can you make it go away?”

  “Yes,” Leary said. “Right, Warren?”

  Warren grumbled a reply.

  “You know I’m good for it,” Leary said.

  “That I do,” the man agreed. He opened his bag, withdrew a manila folder, and passed it to Leary. “You better handle her decisively. She slips the net, all of our careers are finished.”

  “Understood,” Leary said.

  The man turned and walked away, leaving Leary with Warren. The lawyer looked disgusted. “The DA’s Office isn’t in the business of doing personal favors, Leary.”

  “You’re really saying that with a straight face?”

  Warren sighed. “Fine. I just hope his friend doesn’t wind up running over some kid the next time he drives home drunk from a bar. I don’t need that on my conscience.”


  Leary held up the folder. “Right now, this is what matters. Jessie has a hearing before Judge Dax in a few hours. We need to move quickly.”

  34

  Jessie squirmed on an uncomfortable, pew-like seat. It had been a long time since she had felt like an outsider in a courtroom, but that’s exactly how she felt now. Part of this feeling stemmed from the fact that this courtroom was in City Hall, rather than her familiar stomping grounds of the Criminal Justice Center. Part of it was that she sat in the gallery with the other spectators, rather than at counsel’s table as a participant. (Noah Snyder sat with the Rowlands at the plaintiffs’ table, and Douglas Shaw sat at a defense’s table so packed with lawyers they’d barely been able to squeeze in enough chairs.) But the greatest source of her unease was the feeling that she didn’t understand the rules here, that Judge Dax, Noah Snyder, and Shaw’s legal team were playing a game no one had shown her the manual for, and which had little to do with the facts of the case or the legal research she’d spent the first half of her day working on. And there was nothing she could do but watch.

  Judge Dax opened the proceedings. They were assembled here this afternoon for a motion hearing, which meant the lawyers for each side would try to persuade the judge to rule in their favor on the two motions before the court—the plaintiff’s motion to certify a class and the defense’s motion for summary judgment. Snyder was still riffling through the document Jessie had prepared for him. It was a legal roadmap of the arguments she hoped would carry the day for the Rowlands and other victims of Boffo’s recklessness. They had also filed her hastily prepared reply brief.

  The lawyers at the defense table sat stone-faced with their hands clasped in front of them on the tabletop. They looked calm and prepared. And confident. Either they were great actors, or they knew something Jessie didn’t, since as far as she’d been able to determine, the law was on the Rowlands’ side.

  “I’ve considered your motions,” Judge Dax said, “and before I rule, I will hear arguments. Mr. Snyder?”

  Snyder stood up. He flashed the judge his trademark, rakish smile, but Dax only regarded him coldly. Snyder faltered, but only for a second. Then he smiled again and glanced at the document in his hands.

  “Your Honor, as you know, my clients seek certification as a class for purposes of the Commonwealth’s class action statute. Courts have consistently held that Pennsylvania’s class certification rules are to be applied liberally. See, uh, Inn Braun v. Wal-Mart Stores Inc., a Pennsylvania Supreme Court decision—”

  One of Boffo’s lawyers stood up. “Your Honor, I don’t believe that case was cited in plaintiffs’ brief.”

  Snyder shot the man an annoyed look. “It was cited in our reply brief.”

  “A reply brief that was filed literally minutes before this hearing, Your Honor.”

  Snyder looked at the judge with a pained expression. “As you know, the plaintiffs in this case substituted counsel between the filing of the motion and this hearing, as a consequence of the death of their original attorney. But I can assure you that we provided as much notice as was possible given the circumstances. If Your Honor would prefer to postpone this hearing to give the defense additional time to review the reply brief, we would not object to that.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Dax said. “Go on.”

  “Thank you, Your Honor.” Snyder glanced again at his document. “As I was saying, the Pennsylvania Supreme Court upheld a jury verdict in favor of the class action plaintiffs in that case. I would also point your attention to another decision, Weinberg v. Sun Co., where the court held that a class action method does not need to be superior to alternative modes of suit.”

  He flipped a page, and Jessie cringed inwardly as she watched him quickly read what she’d prepared for him. She hoped he wasn’t reading this for the first time.

  “Your Honor,” he went on, “for a suit to proceed as a class action, Rule 1702 only requires five criteria to be met. It is not intended as a demanding standard. Therefore, it is our position that class certification should be granted here.”

  “Your Honor,” another of Shaw’s lawyers said, “the burden of proving those elements is on the moving party. The plaintiffs here have not shown them.”

  “Not true,” Snyder said. He flipped more pages. “Let’s see. First element. Right. The class must be so numerous that joinder of all members is impracticable. That’s an easy one. How many of these deadly toys did the defendants foist upon the unsuspecting public? Thousands? Tens of thousands? More? The exact number doesn’t really matter because….” He flipped more pages, hurriedly looking for Jessie’s argument to back up his comment. Watching him, she gritted her teeth. Then he found it and read, “‘The class representative need not plead or prove the number of class members so long as she is able to define the class with some precision and affords the court with sufficient indicia that more members exist than it would be practicable to join.’ Bam.”

  “Bam? Hardly.” Shaw’s lawyer smirked. “To date, the Rowlands are the only people alleging an injury from my client’s products.”

  “Oh, come on,” Snyder said. “The toy was a bestseller last Christmas.”

  “There’s also the element of commonality, Your Honor,” Shaw’s lawyer said. “Questions of fact must be common to the class. Thousands of toys may have been sold, but that doesn’t mean every purchaser is in the same factual position. The common question of fact means the facts must be substantially the same so that proof as to one claimant would be proof as to all. That’s from Allegheny County Housing Auth. v. Berry, which, by the way, was cited in the defense’s brief.”

  “That’s a very narrow reading of the law,” Snyder said. The sound of flipping pages filled the courtroom. “Just give me a second here.”

  Judge Dax sighed and shook her left arm so that her judicial robe fell away from her watch. She read the time, then glared out at the courtroom. “I’ve heard enough. Although I am certainly sympathetic to the plaintiffs in this action, I do not feel that a class action is appropriate here. For that reason, I am denying the motion to certify a class—”

  Noise erupted from the plaintiffs’ table as Ken and Deanna Rowland, looking angry and shocked, peppered Snyder with questions about how this could happen. Across the aisle, Douglas Shaw smiled knowingly. Jessie noticed that he carefully avoided eye contact with the judge.

  Almost as if….

  Jessie bit her lip. Had Shaw and his lawyers known all along that Dax would rule in their favor? Was Dax in Shaw’s pocket? If so, the Rowlands didn’t have a chance. This ruling was only the beginning. Next, Judge Dax would consider the defense’s motion for summary judgment, and she would grant it, throwing out the Rowlands’ case forever.

  The courtroom doors opened with a bang. Jessie watched as uniformed police officers streamed into the courtroom, apparently not concerned that their entrance was disrupting a legal proceeding. Behind them, Warren Williams and Mark Leary followed. Jessie’s breath stopped. What the hell were they doing here?

  Snyder shot her a questioning look. All she could do was shake her head.

  The bailiff started to object, then realized what he was seeing and shut up. Judge Dax rose slightly from the bench. “What is the meaning of this?” Her voice was as imperious as ever, but Jessie noticed the way her gaze fell on Warren. She went pale.

  “Cynthia Dax,” one of the cops intoned, “you are under arrest.”

  Jessie could barely hear the rest of the litany as an uproar in the courtroom drowned out the Miranda warnings. But she did see one of the cops lock handcuffs around the judge’s wrists like the criminal she was.

  Jessie joined Warren and Leary as the cops led Judge Dax toward the courtroom doors. Jessie realized too late that their paths were going to intersect. She stood rooted in place with Warren and Leary. Dax walked straight toward them.

  “Well, look who’s here. The whole team. Shouldn’t you people be prosecuting homicides, instead of harassing a judge?”

&nb
sp; Jessie pressed her lips together. Warren and Leary also remained silent in the face of the woman’s hostility.

  The cops tried to push the judge forward, but she jerked out of their grasp. “If my career is over, I’ll make sure yours are, too. That’s a promise.”

  “No, that’s a threat,” Warren said, “and one I highly doubt you’ll be able to carry through. I think you’ll find that you don’t have as many highly placed friends as you thought. Those kinds of friends tend to disappear when the handcuffs come out.”

  “We’ll see,” Dax said.

  “Ending our careers won’t help you anyway,” Jessie said.

  “Revenge is its own reward.”

  The cops jerked Dax forward, and this time the judge went willingly. Jessie watched them disappear through the courtroom doors.

  Jessie sense Warren looking at her. She turned and saw his serious expression. “Judge Dax is out of the picture now, Jessie. The Rowlands will get a new judge, and you better believe, after this, he or she will handle the case strictly by the book. Your job here is done. It’s time to let this go.”

  “Warren’s right,” Leary said.

  Jessie was grateful for their help, but she wasn’t ready to let it go yet. “What about Kelly? If Douglas Shaw had her killed—”

  “I gave you a chance to find evidence,” Warren said. “Did you?”

  “No, but….”

  “But what?”

  “Let me talk to Judge Dax. Now that she’s under arrest, she’ll be sure to turn against Douglas Shaw to reduce her own sentence. Maybe she knows something about Kelly’s accident.”

  “That sounds like a long shot,” Warren said.

  “No harm in trying, though,” Leary said. Jessie was glad for his support.

  Warren seemed to consider. “Fine. Talk to her. But this is it, Jessie. One way or the other, this is the end of your involvement in the Kelly Lee matter. Agreed?”