by Dave Derin
“Well, how about that,” the surprised prosecutor said admiringly. “You know, I’m a little jealous of you. I’d love to be able to make my own hours one day, you know, when I’m an old man.”
“One day,” I laughed as Benji gave me a quick wink, then he turned and joined the two other attorneys on the prosecution’s side of the courtroom. I glanced over and noticed that Special Agent Dodson had also joined their table.
I heard the creak of a door open, turned around, and saw my client in handcuffs being led toward me by a squatty, olive-skinned female bailiff. Susanna’s glorious red mane was beautifully braided into a long plait pulled over her right shoulder. She still wore that hideous oversized orange jumpsuit, but I hoped to have her out on bond, and out of that awful outfit, very soon.
Susanna grinned when she saw me standing there, but her wide, frightened eyes still darted around the courtroom. She frantically scanned the seating area behind me with her eyes, then suddenly seemed to relax as she was herded to her chair.
“Good morning, Miss Jenkins,” I greeted her with a nod as we both sat down in the maroon padded chairs.
“Mornin’, Mr. Stone. Thank you so much for being here with me today,” her voice wavered as she placed her handcuffed wrists on the table.
“It’s my job, Susanna,” I said quietly, turned to face her, and placed my hand gently on her cuffed wrist. “I will be here for you every step of the way, so whenever you feel scared or unsure about what’s going on, you just talk to me about it, okay?”
“Okay,” she said softly after she took a deep breath and released it.
“Is everything alright with you this morning?” I asked with a glance behind me. “You seem a bit anxious, besides the obvious situation.”
“Well, to be honest with you,” the curly-headed beauty began and nervously twisted the end of her braid. “I was really worried that Cooper was going to send one of his thugs to spy on me, but I don’t see anyone familiar.”
“Oh, I didn’t know it was that precarious of a situation,” I responded with a concerned frown. “We need to sit down and have a serious discussion about this Cooper guy after the hearing.”
“It’s okay, hun, don’t worry ‘bout me,” she replied and rolled her large green eyes. “They can’t get me while I’m locked up.”
“Well, actually Susanna, the goal for today is to get you released on your own recognizance,” I relayed, and she tilted her head at me curiously.
“I didn’t think they’d let me do that,” she said excitedly.
“I believe with your flawless criminal history, and if we offer up front for you to wear an ankle bracelet, the court may allow it,” I stated with confidence and hoped my uneasiness didn’t show through my stoney exterior.
The stocky bailiff who’d escorted Susanna to her seat stood up from her chair near the judge’s bench and then announced, “All rise for the Honorable Augusta Williamson.”
Everyone in the wood panelled courtroom stood to their feet and watched a dark-skinned woman in her 60s dressed in the long, traditional black judicial robe enter through a door behind the bench. Her dark brown hair was cut short and stylish, and she wore rimless glasses low on her nose. She peered over them into the crowd that silently waited, then slowly lowered herself into her large, brown leather chair.
“Please be seated,” she said in a booming alto voice. “Ms. Brownlee, please let the court know why we’re here this morning.”
The tall deputy clerk in the navy skirt suit rose from her typing station and read from a piece of paper, “Criminal action 18-101, the United States of America versus Susanna Louise Jenkins. Will counsel approach the podium and identify yourselves, please?”
I looked over at Benji and motioned for him to proceed with his introductions first. He nodded back at me, then stood and made his way to the microphone at the wooden podium in front of the judge’s bench.
“Benjamin Price, your Honor,” the silver-haired man said into the microphone. “Here with me I have Samantha Myers and Travis Metts from the Special Counsel’s Office that represents the United States. We also have with us Special Agent Meryl Lee Dodson, the lead FBI investigator on this case.”
“Thank you, Mr. Price,” Judge Williamson replied and gestured at me to continue.
I strode confidently toward the podium and leaned in to the mic, “Good morning, Your Honor. John Stone with John Stone Law here on behalf of Miss Susanna Jenkins.”
The stoic judge nodded at me, so I smiled at her, turned around, and returned to my seat next to Susanna.
“Thank you, gentlemen, and good morning to you all,” Judge Williamson continued. “Mr. Price, if you will please begin.”
“Thank you, your Honor,” Benji stated, stood from his chair, and picked up a legal pad from the table. “May the record reflect that the defendant has received a copy of the criminal charges. The defendant, Susanna Jenkins, in criminal case 18-101, is charged with domestic terrorism and carrying a weapon onto an airplane.”
“Thank you, Mr. Price,” the ebony-skinned judge replied. “Mr. Stone, does your client waive the formal reading of the information?”
“No, she does not, your Honor,” I said after I stood to my feet. “We would like to know exactly what crimes the prosecution alleges my client perpetrated.”
“Of course, Mr. Stone,” the judge responded. “Mr. Price, if you will please address the defendant’s concerns.”
“Yes, Your Honor,” the prosecutor stood from his chair again, cleared his throat, then read from his notepad. “The defendant Susanna L. Jenkins is charged with the following crimes. Count One, Domestic terrorism, as defined in United States code 18, section 2331, that on and between June 2, 2018, June 17, 2018, and July 3, 2018, those dates being approximate and inclusive, within the jurisdiction of the United States, in the state of Texas, the defendant Susanna Louise Jenkins did knowingly and intentionally collaborate with a domestic terrorism organization, to wit: Reign of Dissent, henceforth RoD, to install and detonate an explosive device onboard three Central United States Airlines aircrafts while passengers were present.”
Susanna shifted uncomfortably in her seat, and I placed my hand over hers on the table to calm her.
“Just take a deep breath,” I comforted the nervous defendant. “It will be over soon.”
“Count two,” the prosecutor continued. “Carrying a weapon or explosive device on an aircraft. With regard to count one, the defendant is charged with having personally installed the explosive device on the aircraft.”
“But I didn’t do it,” the redhead whimpered and lowered her head.
“Shh,” I quietly shushed her and put a hand softly on her shoulder. “Don’t say anything yet.”
“In addition,” Benji rambled on. “There is a criminal forfeiture of two items in relation to counts one and two in which the United States gives notice to the defendant that any individual, entity, or organization engaged in coordinating or perpetrating any Federal crime of terrorism against the United States, citizens or residents of the United States or their assets, or items acquired or maintained by any person with the intent of concealing, planning, or engaging in any federal crime of terrorism against the United States, its citizens or their property, are subject to federal investigation and forfeiture.”
“Wait, what?” Susanna asked and looked over at the prosecutor, “What are they talkin’ about, a forfeiture?”
“The items are, specifically, one HP laptop computer and one plastic bag with trace evidence of triacetone triperoxide, or TATP, an element commonly used in manufacturing explosive devices.”
“What the hell?” The braided beauty demanded in a hushed whisper and slammed her fists into her lap. “I’ve never even owned a laptop. All I have is a little tablet.”
“You’ve got to be quiet, Susanna,” I whispered into her ear. “We’ll get it all figured out, we’re just going to plead not guilty today and go from there, okay?”
“Okay, I’m just really nervou
s about all this,” she sighed and leaned back against the back of her chair.
“I understand,” I whispered as my heartbeat thudded loudly in my head. “Just trust me.”
“The prosecution requests the forfeited items availability for use in an official proceeding,” the competent prosecutor continued. “To wit, a preliminary hearing before a federal judge in the Northern District of Texas relating to the possible commission of one or more terrorism offenses, including the offenses charged in counts one and two.”
“Does that satisfy the defense?” Judge Williamson asked as she gazed at me.
“It does, your Honor. Thank you,” I confirmed, then stood from my chair and continued unperturbed. “However, your Honor, before any preliminary hearing of this case, I would need a complete copy of the laptop’s hard drive the government claims belongs to my client, as well as any and all physical evidence that links her to said item. I'd need to have that reviewed by a forensic expert, and since she has never seen this laptop and insists she’s never even owned a laptop computer, I will also need verification of exactly when and where the laptop was seized, and any evidence that my client has even been in the same room with said laptop.”
“Is that all, Mr. Stone?” Judge Williamson peered over her glasses at me.
I started to sit down, then stood up straight and added matter-of-factly, “I will also need the alleged chemical evidence analyzed by a scientific expert that was not provided by the government. My client also requests to be released on her own recognizance and is amenable to wearing a monitoring ankle bracelet upon release if it pleases the court.”
I mentally crossed my fingers, sat back down, then glanced over at Susanna who stared at me with wide, emerald eyes.
“You’re really good,” she whispered softly.
“You ain’t seen nothin’ yet,” I joked in a hushed voice and raised my eyebrows at her.
“That seems like a moderately fair request, Mr. Stone. However, your client definitely will not be released on her own recognizance,” Judge Williamson announced after a moment of thought. “I read through her Pretrial Services report, and because she has no criminal history and access to minimal funds, I don’t foresee a flight risk here.”
I glanced over at the prosecutor’s table and noticed that Special Agent Dodson glared at me from across the courtroom, so I shot her a quick smile before I turned my attention back to the judge.
“So, Mr. Stone,” the somber judge met my eyes. “I’ll allow your request for release with a monitoring bracelet, as long as your client also completes daily check-in calls with a PO.”
“Thank you, that is very generous, your Honor,” I replied with a nod, then looked down at Susanna who stared up at me with hopeful emerald eyes.
“Mmhmm, now don’t you disappoint me, young lady,” the judge peered over her glasses at my seated client.
“No, ma’am,” Susanna shook her head, and her long red braid fell over her shoulder. “I promise I won’t.”
“Okay, then,” Judge Williamson adjusted her glasses on her nose, glanced down at a piece of paper in front of her, then looked back up at me. “Mr. Stone, on the record, how does your client wish to plead?”
I gently took Susanna’s elbow and guided her to stand up with me.
“Go ahead and say not guilty,” I whispered into her perfectly shaped ear.
“I plead not guilty, your Honor,” the wide-eyed redhead stated loudly.
“Alright then. Bail is hereby set at fifteen thousand dollars, and the defendant may be released after she posts bond and is registered with a monitoring device and supervision services,” Judge Williamson concluded. “Miss Jenkins, you are prohibited from leaving Dallas County pending the results of the preliminary hearing, which is to be scheduled no further than twenty-one days from today’s arraignment. Ms. Brownlee, what day would that be?”
“That would be the second of August, your Honor,” the court reporter responded after she referred to a document on her desk.
“You heard her, the second of August,” the judge nodded at both sides of the courtroom. “So, get your calendars out and let’s get a date scheduled, alright everyone? I don’t want to deal with any continuances on this one, so let’s get the date right the first time.”
I picked up my phone from the table, opened my calendar, and then looked up at the judge expectantly.
“How does July twenty-third look?” The judge asked after she reviewed a printed calendar on her desk.
“I’m in court a few hours away that day, your Honor,” Benji stated.
“Okay, what about July twenty-sixth?” she inquired.
“I’m sorry, again, that won’t work for me,” the prosecutor admitted.
“Alright, we’re pushing it here, guys,” Judge Williamson said and shot a glance at Benji over her glasses. “I have August first open, then we’re right up against our deadline of the second.”
“August first is open for me, your Honor,” Benji said, and I watched his body release the tension it had been holding.
“Works for me as well, your Honor,” I agreed with a nod.
“Alright then, on August first at 9:00 a.m., right here in this courtroom, I will hear the preliminary discovery and arguments for criminal case 18-101, the United States versus Susanna Louise Jenkins,” the stone-faced judge pronounced. “Court is dismissed.”
Chapter 9
“Please rise,” the stocky female bailiff announced thunderously. Everyone present in the courtroom stood and watched as Judge Augusta Williamson exited through the wooden door behind her bench.
“That went a lot better than I expected,” Susanna uttered softly as tears welled in her round green eyes. “But, we, I mean, I have a little problem. Make that a big problem.”
“What’s the problem?” I studied her delicate features as her face flushed pink.
“I-I, well, I, um,” the freckled young woman stuttered.
“Susanna, you can tell me,” I looked into her eyes, and they grew dark with worry.
“I don’t have the money to post bond,” she blurted out, then covered her face with her hands, and the silver handcuffs slid down her slender wrists.
“Hey, that’s an easy fix,” I smiled at her and gently removed her hands from her face. “We’ll figure it out, Susanna. Would your family be willing to help you pay it?”
“Oh, yes,” she looked up at me with tear-streaked cheeks. “My parents are simply beside themselves, and they know I could never do anything like this. I know they’d help me out.”
“I’ll post bond for you,” I said matter-of-factly. “And your parents can pay me back after you speak with them.”
“You’d really do that for me?” she said softly and looked at me with amazement.
“Of course, you’re my client,” I responded casually and grinned at her. “I’d do it for any of my clients.”
“You really are the best,” Susanna’s naturally dark pink lips parted into a smile, then she looked down at her handcuffs. “Do you know when I can get these things off?”
“Sure, one second,” I said, then crossed the room toward the bailiff. “Excuse me, officer, but would you mind removing my client’s handcuffs, please?”
The hefty officer followed me back to the defense table, silently took her keyring from her belt, and removed Susanna’s handcuffs. Her beige uniform fit awkwardly on her stubby body. “Follow me,” she said gruffly. “You have to post bond and get fitted for your ankle monitor before you can just waltz out of here, Miss Priss.”
We followed the brusque bailiff through the side door that Susanna had originally entered through, then turned left and walked through a set of double doors and into a stark white administrative area. A row of segmented kiosks lined the right wall where a few people were being waited on by court staff who were seated behind protective glass.
“You can pay here,” the stout officer grunted. “I’ll wait over there until you’re done, then we’ll get the ankle monitor hooked up
.”
“Thank you,” I nodded at the officer, then strode toward the payment counter with Susanna right behind me.
“What should I do?” the redhead whispered as she stood with her shoulders hunched.
“Just stay with me,” I whispered back. “You’re fine.”
“Case number,” a thin woman with a long face and short brown hair muttered monotonously when we reached the front of the line.
“U.S. versus Susanna Jenkins,” I responded as I glanced down at the file in my hand for the case number. “It’s case number 18-101.”
“Posting bond?” she asked in the same deadpan tone after she’d typed a few keys on the outdated computer in front of her.
“Yes, ma’am,” I replied, then pulled out my wallet and took care of the bond processing paperwork.
I posted my client’s bond, then we followed the bailiff through the processing area and into a waiting room with six brown plastic chairs along the back wall.
“Wait here, Mr. Stone” the bailiff said and gestured at the chairs before she pointed at Susanna. “You, follow me.”
They walked down the hallway, and my anxious client turned to flash her scared green eyes at me before she disappeared through a set of white double doors. I waited impatiently for about twenty minutes before she strolled back through the doors with a very different appearance. Her tacky orange jumpsuit had been traded in for skin-tight, light wash skinny jeans that hugged her ample curves and a white crop top with tiny yellow sunflowers on it that exposed her flat stomach. She had a small brown purse slung over her shoulder as she strutted toward me in tall, nude-colored pumps.
“Well, h-hi, Miss Jenkins,” I stuttered and jumped to my feet.
“Hi,” she replied with a coy smile. Her red curls now hung loose around her flushed porcelain face, and a slight shimmer of pink lip gloss glistened on her full pout.
“I see they got you all squared away,” I said and indicated to the black plastic and metal bracelet strapped around her left ankle.
“Yep,” she said with a sigh and shook her shackled foot at me. “I’m all set.”
