Media Justice

by Dennis Carstens

  Arriving back at his office, he turned left off Lake Street onto Charles to put his car in the lot behind his building. As he did this, the first thing he saw were the twenty or so protestors, back again marching up and down along the sidewalk next to his building. Marc parked and before the protestors saw him, he ran through the back door and up the stairs taking them two at a time to the second floor. When he reached the top of the stairs, he had to stop and lean over at the waist, huffing and puffing to catch his breath. “I have to get back in better shape,” he said aloud to himself. “When this is over I have got to get back into the gym.”

  When he entered the office, he found everyone staring at the television. They were all watching Melinda Pace’s show. “Don’t any of those people out there have jobs?” Marc said referring to the protestors down on the street.

  “We were going to get a bucket and dump water on them,” Sandy answered without taking her eyes off of the TV screen.

  “Mother Nature’s going to do it for us,” Connie Mickelson said. “There’s a big storm coming through.”

  “What are you watching?” Marc asked as he set his briefcase on the floor and dropped his suit coat over it. No one bothered to answer him as Barry Cline and Carolyn stepped aside so he could see it.

  “I thought so,” Marc said.

  “You looked good trying to shield Brittany from the cameras,” Carolyn said.

  “They showed that? Was I able to shield her?”

  “Yes and no,” Carolyn answered. “Yes they showed it and no you didn’t shield her.”

  At that moment, Melinda looked at the camera and delivered the news about the life insurance policy.

  “Is that true?” Connie asked Marc.

  “Damned if I know,” Marc said. “Probably. She seems to be better informed than I am, which is really starting to piss me off.”

  The small group watched the interview with the woman lawyer and, by the time it was over, Marc was steaming mad.

  “I’m going to call LeAnne Miller and find out what the hell’s going on here,” he said as he angrily retrieved his coat and briefcase and stomped off toward his office.

  While everyone else stood passively watching him, knowing he had every right to be outraged, Connie went after him. She closed the door of Marc’s office as he was picking up the phone to make the call to the county attorney’s office.

  “Don’t do it,” Connie said as she gently closed the door behind her. “I know you’re pissed but calm down before you make the call. You won’t do your client any good by getting into a screaming match with the county attorney. They hold too many cards. They have much more clout than you do. It’s better for Brittany to keep things as calm as possible, at least for now.”

  Marc stared silently at her as he stood behind his desk. Connie sat down in one of the client chairs and waited for him. After a moment he heavily sighed and replaced the phone.

  “I’m already sick to death of finding these things out on TV,” Marc said as he sat down in his chair. “It’s bullshit. I’m learning about things on TV that I should be given before the media.”

  “I know,” Connie replied. “And you have every right to be mad. I would be too. But…”

  “You know what’s really frying my ass? This is just the beginning. They’ll be at this for months. And, on top of it, the media has already convicted her,” Marc said.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Gabriella Shriqui woke up at precisely 6:00 A.M, wide awake, flat on her back staring at the ceiling. Brittany Riley had been arrested the day before and it was Gabriella, through Stu Doyle, who obtained the information about the evidence found at the Rileys’ home that was used in the station’s news broadcasts. Gabriella had appeared live on the 5:00, 6:00 and 10:00 o’clock reports and when she left the station she was almost floating. Not only had she scooped every local station and newspaper in the Upper Midwest, but the story had gone national. Gabriella was scheduled to give a live report for the network noon news show today. She was looking forward to it and an appearance like that wouldn’t hurt her career.

  She thought about how well everything was going, how well she was handling the story and how effusive just about everyone had been in their praise. Then why, she wondered, was she lying in bed at 6:00 A.M, staring at the ceiling? Something was nagging at her and even though she knew what it was, she tried her best to suppress it.

  Gabriella lay like this for fifteen minutes trying to go back to sleep. Unable to to do so, she glanced at the clock, threw the covers off, got up and went into the kitchen. She started the coffeemaker and by the time she was done in the bathroom, the coffee was just about ready.

  She carried her coffee into the living room turned on the television then spent the next hour bouncing from one morning news show to another. First she checked out the local shows, then the networks and finally the cable shows. Every one of them had at least a brief spot about the arrest. Although none of the people on any of the shows was as blatantly biased as Melinda Pace, virtually all of them walked right up to the line. It was obvious they believed Brittany was guilty.

  Gabriella watched with a mixture of pride and uneasiness. The professional in her was warmly pleased because they all used a version, almost word for word, of the statement, “It has been reported that…” in reference to what they had to say. Gabriella knew that who and what they were referring to was her and the information she had obtained. The uneasiness came from the realization that this was common in the industry. If one reporter used something, reported some tidbit as fact whether it was or not, then it became fair game for others to report and no fact checking need be done. Little better than rumor reported and repeated as news.

  “We just report the news,” Gabriella said out loud as she pressed the button on the remote to shut off the TV. “It’s up to the viewers to decide for themselves what to make of it.”

  A phone message marked ‘urgent’ was waiting for her when she arrived at the station. It was from the network news associate producer who had set up the report she was to give. Before she even sat down at her desk, Gabriella dialed the woman’s number and plopped into her chair when it started to ring. She was worried she had been canceled and wanted to find out right away. “Hi, Patty,” Gabriella said and then told the woman who was calling.

  “I’m glad you called. Look, Hamas started shooting rockets into Israel again so, that’s the main story right now.”

  “There wasn’t anything about it in any of the morning shows,” Gabriella said, worried she was being cut out completely.

  “It just started up about a half hour ago. Anyway we’re going to tape you instead of doing it live. I’ll still get you on, there’s a lot of interest in your story. But, we may need to edit it down a bit. Can you be ready in thirty minutes?”

  “Sure, I wrote it up last night. I’m ready whenever you are,” Gabriella said, obviously relieved.

  “Great. I’ll get back to you.”

  Gabriella had worn casual business clothes to work and carried her best dress in a garment bag. She went to makeup and in twenty minutes her hair was done, she was dressed, ready to go and looked fabulous. The taping took less than twenty minutes and Gabriella hoped they would use two minutes of it on their newscasts throughout the day. When she finished the taping and had changed out of the dress, she hurried to the office of her boss, Hunter Oswood. His door was open and he waved her in as soon as she appeared in his doorway. She closed the door and took one of the chairs in front of his desk.

  “What’s up?” Oswood asked as he stopped what he was doing, leaned back in his chair and put his feet up on the open desk drawer he used for that purpose. Oswood truly liked Gabriella and not just for her physical attributes. He was just as warm blooded as any man when it came to beautiful women but, he had grown to admire Gabriella for her commitment and professionalism. Plus, she was still young enough to not be reeking of cynicism.

  “I was thinking I would like to be a little fairer to Brittany Riley. M
elinda has pretty much found her guilty and what if she isn’t? What if she didn’t do this?”

  “It’s not our job to make that decision,” Oswood said. “But, go ahead. What did you have in mind?”

  “I know her lawyer a little. I could do more to get him to talk to me,” she replied.

  “Go ahead,” Osgood said with a shrug. “You don’t need my permission. The arraignment is at one, I hear.”

  “I’m planning on going. Is anyone else?”

  “Yeah, we’ll send Harvey with a camera crew. You go too and see if you can get an interview with her lawyer, what’s-his-name?”

  “Kadella, Marc Kadella,” she answered.

  TWENTY NINE

  Marc leaned forward with his forearms resting on the windowsill behind his desk and slowly poked his head through the open window. A huge storm with window shaking thunder, crackling lightening and roaring winds rumbled through the city the day before dumping over an inch of rain on most of the metro area. It was the first rain the Cities received in more than a month and it cleaned the air, the streets and scattered the protesters alongside his building. It was now after 10:00 the next morning. The sun was shining, the air smelled fresh, the streets were not yet dry and fewer than half of the protestors were back on the sidewalk. While Marc watched them trudge up and down, he noticed their enthusiasm, as well as their numbers, was significantly reduced. The traffic going past was fairly busy for that time of day. Most of the drivers ignored them but a few honked and several others flipped off the protesters which brought Marc a flicker of a smile.

  The intercom on his phone sounded and he swiveled around back to his desk to answer. It was Carolyn informing him that Madeline Rivers was returning his call.

  After greetings, Madeline said, “I figured you’d be calling. I saw the arrest on TV. How is it the media just happens to be there every time something happens?” She asked.

  “They’re camped out at the Rileys so they are always there. Are you busy today?”

  “I can make time. Why?”

  “Brittany’s first appearance is at 1:00. I’d like you to come along and be there. Plus it looks like we’re going to have to find this Bob Olson guy. I think the cops are done looking for him,” Marc said.

  “What time?” Maddy asked.

  “Is 11:30 okay? I’ll buy you lunch and then we’ll drive out together.”

  “Deal. See you then,” she replied.

  At 12:45, Marc held open the courtroom door allowing Maddy to enter ahead of him. There was barely an empty seat in the place, including the jury box which was filled with lawyers, most of whom did not have a case before the bench and were there out of curiosity. The only open place to sit was the table for the prosecutors and a couple of chairs along the rail.

  Not everyone was in attendance to see the now notorious Brittany Riley. There were several other felony first appearances to be dealt with and several lawyers were there for those. Also, among the crowded gallery were friends and relatives of the various defendants, including Barbara, Floyd and Tim Riley who had managed to get seats in the very front row.

  As the two of them walked up toward the gate, a noticeable buzz swept through the crowd. Marc suppressed a smile while wondering if it was for the two of them or just Madeline. She always had that effect.

  When they entered the courtroom, Gabriella Shriqui, who made sure she obtained an aisle seat, turned her head and saw them. She was seated on the left side of the courtroom in the second row and she waited until the stunning woman walked by then stood to intercept and talk to Marc.

  “Hi, Marc,” she said. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

  “Should I be mad at you?” Marc said. “That station you work for isn’t doing me any favors.”

  “That’s what I want to talk to you about.”

  Marc leaned forward and whispered in her ear. “I’ll see you when we’re done here.” As he did so, he lingered a moment to take in the scent of her perfume. Madeline, who turned to watch, noticed it and was giving him an arched eyebrow look when he caught up with her.

  “So, how’d she smell,” Maddy whispered to him.

  “I don’t know what you mean,” Marc said with a smirk to which Madeline lightly laughed.

  The court clerk was in her chair next to the bench and she gestured for Marc to approach her. When he did, Maddy stood behind looking over the crowd while Marc conversed with the clerk.

  The woman leaned forward and quietly began by saying, “Judge Connors told me to keep one of the conference rooms available for you. Your client may even be in the hallway in back waiting by now. Why don’t you and your assistant go in the first one,” she said nodding toward a door along the wall by her chair. “I’ll go see if she’s back there and have her brought in.”

  “Okay, thanks,” Marc quietly replied.

  Marc and Madeline waited in the conference room for a deputy to bring in Brittany. They were seated in two of the four uncomfortable plastic chairs surrounding a small, round wooden table. Maddy sat patiently her hands folded together in her lap. In contrast, Marc fidgeted like a kid waiting to see the principal. He smoothed his tie several times, swiveled his head looking over the small room and when he began drumming the fingers of his right hand on the table. The irritating finger drumming caused Maddy to reach over and take his hand in hers to stop it.

  “Are you nervous?” she asked when he jerked his head toward her. She let go of his hand and he smiled.

  “Yeah, I am. I always am before one of these things. I don’t know why. It’s not like I haven’t done this before. I’ve just learned to accept it and go with it. Once things get started, I’ll be fine. It’s the waiting.”

  They turned their attention to the door when they heard a fairly loud knocking on it. Without waiting for a response, it opened and a male deputy was standing there with Brittany. He followed her in and Marc gestured to the man to close the door behind him.

  Brittany was dressed in an orange jumpsuit. There was a chain around her waist and her hands were shackled to it. Her ankles were locked together with a restraining chain that was barely twelve inches long which caused her to shuffle like an old man. Her hair was uncombed, she looked as if she had not slept well for several days and in general she was basically a mess.

  “You walked her through that courtroom looking like this?” Marc snarled at the deputy as he stood to pull out a chair for Brittany to sit down. She looked extremely relieved to see them.

  “Hey, I just…” the deputy started to protest.

  “Do you know there’s a TV camera in the courtroom? Do you know how much media is sitting out there?” Marc said cutting him off.

  “That’s not my problem,” the man answered.

  “There’s a door right there,” Marc said pointing at the door to the hallway that he could have used to bring her in. “Take these things off of her, right now.”

  “I don’t take orders from you,” the deputy said uneasily.

  Marc looked the man right in the eye and said, “I remember you. We went through this once before. Do we have to talk to the judge again?”

  “Look,” the deputy said holding up his hands, palms out with a worried expression on his face. “I got my orders direct from Sheriff Cale. He told me how to handle this. He said that she had to be shackled.”

  “Cale told you to do this?” Marc asked. “Cale himself specifically told you to do this? He said to shackle her and march her through that courtroom in front of the media?”

  The deputy, realizing he was about to step in it no matter how he answered, nervously shifted his eyes around the room then quietly, almost in a whisper, said, “Yes.”

  Marc looked at Maddy and Brittany who had silently observed the exchange and said to them, “Wait here, I’ll be right back. Let’s go,” he said to the guard as he pointed at the door.

  The two men went into the courtroom and Marc was relieved to see that the judge was not on the bench yet. The prosecutor, the same one who had handled
the child neglect hearing, had arrived. Marc walked over to her and whispered, “We need to see the judge.”

  “What about?” she asked.

  “Give me a minute and I’ll tell you.” With that he stepped to the rail and leaned over to speak to Barbara Riley.

  Before he could say anything, Barbara said, “Why isn’t she wearing the clothes I brought her last night?”

  “You did bring her a change of clothes?” Marc asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, that’s what I wanted to find out.”

  By now there was a discernable murmur rippling through the crowd as the reporters began to wonder what the problem was. Marc ignored them, spoke quickly to the prosecutor to tell her why he wanted to see the judge and the two of them, with the nervous deputy in tow, went back to Judge Connors’ chambers.

  Marc explained the situation to the judge and requested that the judge order the removal of the chains from Brittany. The judge promptly and with clear annoyance did so. The chastened deputy beat a hasty retreat back into the courtroom to wait for Marc.

  “I can’t tell Sheriff Cale how to run his jail,” Connors said. “But, I will make it clear that as long as she is in custody she is not to be shackled like that coming into court. I watch the news too, Ms. Lindquist,” he said to the prosecutor, “and I am none too pleased with what I am seeing.”

  “Your Honor, we have no control over…”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Connors said holding up a hand to stop her. “You want a gag order?” he asked Marc.

  “No, your Honor. That will only pertain to me. They’ll ignore it and still leak whatever they want through the cops…” Marc replied.

  “I resent that!” Lindquist exclaimed.

  “I’m getting a little tired of getting my discovery requests while watching TV,” Marc said.

  “Your Honor, our office will comply in strict accordance with the rules of discovery and any court orders,” Lindquist stiffly replied.

  “That’s big of you, Marcia,” Connors said with mild sarcasm. “Okay, no gag order for now. I’ll be out in a few minutes. Get your client ready, Marc. I’d like to take care of her case first. We’re arguing bail today, right?”