Judge vs Nuts: A Fiona Gavelle Mystery

by Una Tiers

  Judge Dorothy Wizard peered around the door at him with an elfish half smile that warmed his heart. She glanced around the office with the open notebooks, books and crumpled papers all over and then sat down without a word.

  She raised her eyebrows in inquiry with that sweet smile that placed him under her spell.

  Laslo launched into the painful details of his morning.

  Judge Dorothy listened for what seemed to be a very long time, but was only ten minutes in people time.

  Laslo looked to her for wisdom.

  “What can I say judge, sometimes the attorneys are not prepared,” she answered lightly.

  “This is business as usual?” he asked.

  “You’re learning a new skill, and remember it could have been worse.”

  She went on to tell him a war story. On the first day of trial, the defense attorney called the court receptionist and left a message that he was ill and wouldn’t be in court that day, expecting everyone to go along with him, based on a telephone call.

  “Wouldn’t he send another attorney to court?”

  “Hard to tell what they will do, sometimes the goal is to delay things. Some of them work alone and no one could just pick up the pieces. There are no understudies in law as a rule.” She paused, “I’ll tell you this, it’s never dull in court.”

  In response his stomach issued a lusty protest and Judge Dorothy quickly left the room.

  Laslo was mortified. He would need to draft an apology or explanation that he skipped lunch.

  In a few minutes, Judge Dorothy returned with an apple and a candy bar. Laslo looked carefully at the ingredients label, it was his favorite, plain milk chocolate.

  “Don’t worry about the calories,” Judge Dorothy laughed.

  Laslo patted his breast pocket and mentioned that he had to be careful while he tore the wrapping paper open. After the apple and a few aspirin, he had the candy bar. Were these the judicial food groups?

  His professional respect for Judge Dorothy grew by leaps and bounds while his heart beat faster and he cautioned himself about his history of love in the workplace and that an ample bosom even coupled with a brilliant personality could still spell doom. He reflected briefly on the estates of Dhume and Dena Struction from the morning call.

  The next week Laslo noticed some of the judges did go out to lunch together, and he was ready to join the herd. Although no one invited him, he noticed they congregated at the judge’s elevators at five to twelve on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Judge Dorothy was not with them, sadly.

  As he approached them the first day they looked formidable even in street clothes. They wore expensive suits, chests barreled out like weight lifters. Laslo however assumed they were all as soft as he was under the well tailored suits and shirts. Together the group walked to the far southwest side of the loop to a small nondescript restaurant where a large booth in the back was set aside for them. Laslo wondered why they walked so far.

  He made a note to get a Frank Sinatra hat like the other judges wore.

  At the restaurant, which was very budget oriented, everyone ordered one of two specials for the day, and Laslo followed suit.

  He sat back and listened to the conversation, which seemed directed at him in an indirect way. They made fun of the attorney mistakes from the morning calls. He listened carefully for solutions, but didn’t hear one.

  He broke away from the herd on the way back to court and stopped at a sweets shop he noticed on the way to the restaurant.

  “I just wanted to replace your fruit and candy Judge Dorothy.”

  “Why thank you Judge King, chocolate covered strawberries are one of my weaknesses.”

  Mine too Laslo thought.

  After two weeks of lunch with the other judges, he was ready to join in the conversation. When there was a lull while the dishes were being cleared, Laslo asked if they ever used checklists for the opening and closing of the estates. All judicial eyes focused on him before they shook their heads in a collective “no.”

  Each Monday, the judges had coffee and cake together. At the morning coffee clutch he asked Judge Dorothy about reading the entire will.

  “What are you looking for?”

  “Some wills have unusual clauses you’ll know them when you see them.”

  Laslo continued to have lunch with the judges although the restaurant was dreadful, the food was deep fried before it was submerged in a melted cheese product.

  He found an opportunity to break the lunch routine on a blustery day when he ordered soup and sandwiches (delivered) for all the judges. He told them he wanted everyone to try his favorite lunch and save them from being forced out into the blizzard. They were all stunned with this generous arrangement.

  Laslo assumed the soup stains could be cleaned out of the carpets if he could find the right requisition form.

  As he continued to learn his way around the courtroom, instead of understanding more, he saw more discrepancies. Some attorneys, whose documents appeared in order, were suspiciously nervous. He also saw that the overconfident attorneys had errors in their documents that were inevitably blamed on staff or new associates. Didn’t they review the paperwork before coming to court?

  After a while, he examined his demeanor and decided he could be more personable. He would learn a few names and a little about the lawyers who appeared before him. Why didn’t the other judges consider this option?

  Some of the office listings in the lawyer directory were out of date, showing the attorneys worked for a government branch. Laslo felt a kinship with those attorneys since he worked for the City for thirty years.

  He had an opportunity to put his plan into play when he recognized one of the former county attorneys now in private practice.

  “Counsel Noocaz, how is private practice?”

  The attorney looked like the question was posed in a foreign language. Laslo could feel the silence of the courtroom like a tight shoe pinching his judicial toes.

  “Is it that rough?” Laslo joked, trying harder to be friendly.

  The response he received was a rather stupid look.

  Laslo immediately abandoned his plan, vowing to never be friendly with an attorney again. What was he thinking? He was a judge; all that was expected from him was a reserved attitude and the application of the law. This wasn’t a popularity contest.

  The next week, he was hearing Judge Curie’s calendar and he glanced down at the attorney’s name on the documents. It was David Noocaz.

  His anger and embarrassment returned with a wave of fury. He longed to crush the attorney like a bug under his shoe. But when he looked up, it wasn’t Noocaz. Did he mix up the name and face? Was this a common name? Were they all starting to look alike?

  “Counsel, you didn’t introduce yourself, for the record.” The ‘record’ of course was imaginary, a mere figment of the past at this point because the court reporters had been cut from most of the courtrooms under the guise of budget considerations.

  “Counsel?”

  “Well I’m here for the attorney of record.”

  “What is your name?” Laslo noticed that when he raised his voice, even a little, a hush came over the court room and all eyes fell on him.

  “Joseph Putalavase.”

  Laslo made a note, and realized that he had a great attorney antic story for the lunchtime amusement of the other judges. It wouldn’t need any embellishment.

  The new estate was opened while the attorney burrowed his nose in the file, searching for something. This Laslo recognized as suspect attorney behavior and he guessed at what the crime was the attorney was concealing. He couldn’t find the flaw and had to let it go to hear the next matter.

  The rest of the matters continued rather smoothly that morning. When the room was empty except for the judge and his clerk, Laslo stood to leave the courtroom. As he went down the steps from the judge’s dais, an attorney entering the courtroom took one look at Judge King, pivoted and thumped out of the room.

  The judge and
his clerk, Alan exchanged questioning but amused glances. Alan, noted, “Full moon Judge.”

  The next day Laslo was handling Judge Fullhammer’s morning call, slightly distressed to see a packed courtroom. Some attorneys were leaning up against the wall since all the seats were filled. He offered to sign continuances as the first order of business because a less crowded courtroom was easier for him to manage.

  Most of the attorneys surged forward waiving papers before the clerk, making Laslo second guess himself.

  The last case on the morning call was with Attorney Noocaz, also known as the bug. Something made him take up the cause again. Maybe it was stubbornness, or maybe he was developing the arrogance often attributable to judges.

  When the attorney introduced himself, Laslo knew he hadn’t mixed up the name or face this time.

  “You need to change your listing in the lawyer directory,” he suggested as flatly as he could.

  The lawyer hesitated before speaking.

  “Is my name spelled wrong judge?” He smiled and swiveled his head to engage the clerk in this hilarious remark.

  Knowing better than to take a position that could be even remotely construed as against the court, Alan bent his head down until his nose was about an inch from the papers he was stamping.

  “You are listed as a county attorney.”

  That knocked the arrogance out of him. The attorney stood perfectly still, and a sixth sense beckoned Laslo to hunt him down.

  “You opened a private practice didn’t you?” the judge continue to probe.

  There was more silence.

  Like a wild animal, Laslo crept toward his prey.

  “Do you work for the county?” Laslo was mentally sharpening his incisors.

  “Uh, Judge my address is on the pleadings.”

  The address was not downtown Chicago, where the county law offices were located.

  “I asked if you work for the county.”

  “Oh Judge, I’m sorry, I’m up to speed now, this case is for a family member. We can accept cases for our family. This is a family member. A family member.” He laughed nervously, probably not noticing his repetition.

  The way he said it was as if Laslo, a judge for a mere three months, would not understand.

  Laslo worked for the City and he knew the rules. Attorneys who worked for any arm of the city, state, county or federal government were prohibited from accepting private law cases. The only exception was they could represent members of their family. Unfortunately, the term ‘family’ was never defined leaving a loophole the size of the Sears Tower.

  This rule seemed both amusing and dangerous to Laslo. If the attorney was not insured and probably not well versed in an area of law, no one minded if they committed wrongs upon their own people.

  Laslo tried to remember how many times this particular attorney had been before him, but he couldn’t be sure. Did he have a large family in really poor health? Was it the same case? He had to admit the attorneys were starting to look alike, except of course for the good looking women.

  Laslo dropped the issue and reviewed the current petition. Reluctantly he signed the order and sulked out of the courtroom with the file, brushing past his clerk who held his hand out for the file.

  “Five minute recess,” he sneered over his shoulder, not realizing he had finished the entire call.

  Back in his office, he dialed the telephone number listed for Attorney David Noocaz from the court documents. The generic recorded message indicated that no one could take the call at that time. Then he called the county office where he was listed and heard the same message.

  The issue persisted. On a day when he was covering Judge Hoover’s court call, the pleadings listed an unfamiliar attorney name on the pleadings but the face and tie were familiar.

  “Counsel, your name?” This was the attorney that didn’t know his name the last time he was before Laslo.

  “Pulatavase.”

  Laslo decided to bluff this time, “Are you are related to the decedent?”

  The answer was rambling at best. From what Laslo could understand, the attorney was related to the attorney of record, who was vacationing in Denmark.

  He weighed his words carefully, “Do you currently work for any branch of the government?”

  The attack was a success, so to speak. He handed the unapproved documents directly back to the attorney. Pulatavase, eyes averted, scampered out of the courtroom.

  Laslo doubted that he was the first judge to notice this problem.

  Unfortunately he was reluctant to put a colleague on the spot by asking them what to do about it because he already had indications that they looked the other way.

  Over the next few months, Laslo was on the bench more as the other judges seemed to have more days ‘off the bench.’ The phenomenon of people walking out when he walked in continued. Was it about government attorneys taking private cases? It reminded him of bugs running when the lights went on.

  His pace had improved considerably on the bench but he still had days when the morning calls didn’t finish until 1:00 PM or later. This caused a great deal of commotion with the courtroom staff who communicated their displeasure non-verbally. Most of the attorneys were complacent about the delay, some continued to pester the clerk, while others fell asleep or amused themselves with their cell phones.

  Laslo felt that each case demanded his full concentration and critical eye and if it took a little longer that was no problem. He was forced to bring cheese sandwiches for lunch since there was often not enough time to even run across the street before the afternoon hearings started.

  He was the only judge in the division that carried a briefcase home in the evening, and it wasn’t to carry the newspaper or office supplies. All of his time at home was devoted to reading cases.

  Laslo realized he was not spending much time with his family. His daughters were living in New York and his plans to visit them were stalled at the good intentions stage. He didn’t see Bob unless he was short a few bucks until payday or at family dinners.

  His growing confidence in court made him think that he should start to put balance back in his life.

  Maybe he would try dating again. He could invite the widow across the alley to dinner. She came to his swearing in ceremony, probably invited by his sister, Sophie. Mrs. Weber had always been friendly. Maybe he had learned enough in two divorces to make a relationship work this time.

  Before he had a chance to put his plan into play, his first trial was scheduled and the anticipation consumed him like a fire in a tissue paper factory. He developed sweaty palms and a throbbing headache. He ate antacids by the handful, feared amnesia, deafness, blindness or confusion at the sound of the first objection. Naturally oversleeping and coming to court naked or without his pants were regular features in his nightmares.

  The dancing skeletons were back, taunting him. He would have made a doctor’s appointment if he wasn’t sure he would be referred to a psychiatrist.

  In preparation for the trial, he reviewed all of the judge’s notebooks and copied the sections he might need in court as a handy reference. He asked one of the clerks to copy the court file so he could review it at home. She stared at him before complaining that files were never copied.

  “You just go and copy what I want,” the judge growled.

  Gena, the clerk currently assigned to his courtroom, guessed that he was more growl than bite. Nonetheless, with exaggeration she ran over to the copy machine and started to copy, just in case she had misjudged him. Unlike the other neophyte judges, she would routinely terrorize, Judge King’s requests were to be followed, period.

  He wanted more time to review but he knew he was expected to plow forward because judges did not ask for continuances. He particularly remembered that from judge’s college. He wondered if the rule could be changed.

  Chapter Nine

  The morning of his first trial, Judge Laslo King was only mildly nauseous. This was a good sign.

  The case was i
nitially assigned to Judge Requin’s calendar and some higher being thought that it would be perfect for Laslo to cut his judicial teeth on.

  His apprehensions worsened when nothing substantive happened the first day and no witnesses were heard.

  The attorneys exchanged a barrage of motions and matching objections. Laslo was put off by the screaming and theatrics of one of the attorneys.

  The first motion was to make the witnesses sit out in the hall until it was their turn to testify. Laslo wondered if they were paid for the time they had to wait.

  As the judge he couldn’t ask this question.

  The dispute was about money and personal property that either belonged to the decedent’s estate or to one of the daughters of the dead lady. The fight was between sisters.

  His headache grew worse as the arguments continued. It was as difficult to maintain his practiced poker face as it was to pay attention. The way the case played out did not seem like a search for justice or the truth.

  After what seemed an eternity, but was only two hours in real time, Laslo adjourned the matter for lunch. One of the attorneys argued over that too.

  A sharp look of dissatisfaction from the judge stopped the objections, for the lunch break at least. Back in chambers he had the traditional lunch of an apple, cheese sandwich, antacid and aspirin, while holding a cold compress to his forehead. He and his stomach felt a little better for the afternoon session.

  The rest of the day and the second day were a repeat of the first morning. Very little was accomplished. On the third day of trial, it was finally time for the opening statements.

  Attorney A.J. Ootladder represented the co-petitioners or plaintiffs for ease of understanding. A.J. was an oily, pandering man in a fairly nice well tailored suit. When he talked he pouted and gestured as if he was arguing a case for multiple murders.

  His partner (who never was introduced) was an older attorney who resembled a poorly groomed manatee basking in the sun in shallow water. He had a mustache that looked like it was drawn in and wisps of hair sprouting whimsically from about twelve spots on his head. He never left the table, stood or spoke a word during the hearing. He didn’t take notes, or seem to have any role other than sitting at the counsel table.