"And according to Foltrigg and Fink, what are Mark's sins?"
Harry snatched two tissues from a drawer and blew his nose. He smiled at her again. "He can't keep quiet, Reggie. If he knows something, he must tell them. You know that." ,
"You're assuming he knows something."
"I'm not assuming anything. The petition makes certain allegations, and these allegations are based partly on fact and partly on assumption. Same as all petitions, I guess. Wouldn't you say? We never know the truth until we have the hearing."
"How much of Slick Moeller's crap do you believe?"
"I believe nothing, Reggie, until it is told to me, under oath, in my courtroom, and then I believe about ten percent of it."
There was a long pause as the judge debated whether to ask the question. "So, Reggie, what does the kid know?"
"You know it's privileged, Harry."
He smiled.-"So, he knows more than he should."
"You could say that."
"If it's crucial to the investigation, Reggie, then he must tell."
"What if he refuses?"
"I don't know. We'll deal with that when it happens. How smart is this kid?"
"Very. Broken home, no father, working mother, grew up on the streets. The usual. I talked to his fifth-grade teacher yesterday, and he makes all A's except for math. He's very bright, besides being street smart."
"No prior trouble."
"None. He's a great kid, Harry. Remarkable, really."
"Most of your clients are remarkable, Reggie."
"This one is special. He's here through no fault of his own."
"I hope he'll be fully advised by his lawyer. The hearing could get rough."
"Most of my clients are fully advised."
"They certainly are."
There was a brief knock at the door and Marcia appeared. "Your client is here, Reggie. Witness Room C."
"Thanks." She stood and walked to the door. "I'll see you in a few minutes, Harry."
"Yes. Listen to me. I'm tough on kids who don't obey me."
"I know."
He sat in a chair leaning against the wall with his arms folded across his chest and a frustrated look on his face. He'd been treated like a convict for three hours now, and he was getting used to it. He felt safe. He hadn't been beaten by the cops or by his fellow inmates.
The room was tiny with no windows and bad lighting. Reggie entered and moved a folding chair near him. She'd been in this room under these circumstances many times. He smiled at her, obviously relieved.
"So how's jail?" she asked.
"They haven't fed me yet. Can we sue them?"
"Maybe. How's Doreen, the lady with the keys?"
"A real snot. How do you know her?"
"I've been there many times, Mark. It's my job. Her husband is serving thirty years in prison for bank robbery."
"Good. I'll ask her about him if I see her again. Am I going back there, Reggie? I'd like to know what's going on, you know."
"Well, it's very simple. We'll have a hearing before Judge Harry Roosevelt in a few moments, in his courtroom, that may last a couple of hours. The U.S. attorney and the FBI are claiming you possess important information, and I think we can expect them to ask the judge to make you talk."
"Can the judge make me talk?"
Reggie was speaking very slowly and carefully. He was an eleven-year-old child, a smart one with plenty of street sense, but she'd seen many like him and knew that at this moment he was nothing but a scared little boy. He might hear her words, and he might not. Or, he might hear what he wanted to hear, so she had to be careful.
"No one can make you talk."
"Good."
"But the judge can put you back in the same little room if you don't talk."
"Back in jail!"
"That's right."
"I don't understand. I haven't done a damned thing wrong, and I'm in jail. I just don't understand this."
"It's very simple. If, and I emphasize the word if, Judge Roosevelt instructs you to answer certain questions, and if you refuse, then he can hold you in contempt of court for not answering, for disobeying him. Now, I've never known an eleven-year-old kid to be held in contempt, but if you were an adult and you refused to answer the judge's questions, then you'd go to jail for contempt."
"But I'm a kid."
"Yes, but I don't think he'll allow you to go free if you refuse to answer the questions. You see, Mark, the law is very clear in this area. A person who has knowledge of information crucial to a criminal investigation cannot withhold this information because he feels threatened. In other words, you can't keep quiet because you're afraid of what might happen to you or your family."
"That's a stupid law."
"I don't really agree with it either, but that's not important. It is the law, and there are no exceptions, not even for kids."
"So I get thrown in jail for contempt?"
"It's very possible."
"Can we sue the judge, or do something else to get me out?"
"No. You can't sue the judge. And Judge Roosevelt is a very good and fair man."
"I can't wait to meet him."
"It won't be long now."
Mark thought about all this. His chair rocked methodically against the wall. "How long would I be in jail?"
"Assuming, of course, you're sent there, probably until you decide to comply with the judge's orders. Until you talk."
"Okay. What if I decide not to talk. How long will I stay in jail? A month? A year? Ten years?"
"I can't answer that, Mark. No one knows."
"The judge doesn't know?"
"No. If he sends you to jail for contempt, I doubt if he has any idea how long he'll make you stay."
Another long pause. He'd spent three hours in Doreen's little room, and it wasn't such a bad place. He'd seen movies about prison in which gangs fought and rampaged and homemade weapons were used to kill snitches. Guards tortured inmates. Inmates attacked each other. Hollywood at its finest. But this place wasn't so bad.
And look at the alternative. With no place to call home, the Sway family now lived in Room 943 of St. Peter's Charity Hospital. But the thought of Ricky and his mother all alone and struggling without him was unbearable. "Have you talked to my mother?" he asked.
"No, not yet. I will after the hearing."
"I'm worried about Ricky."
"Do you want your mother present in the courtroom when we have this hearing? She needs to be here."
"No. She's got enough stuff on her mind. You and I can handle this mess."
She touched his knee, and •wanted to cry. Someone knocked on the door, and she said loudly, "Just a minute."
"The judge is ready," came the reply.
Mark breathed deeply and stared at her hand on his knee. "Can I just take the Fifth Amendment?"
"No. It won't work, Mark. I've already thought about it. The questions will not be asked to incriminate you. They will be asked for the purpose of gathering information you may have."
"I don't understand."
"I don't blame you. Listen to me carefully, Mark. I'll try to explain it. They want to know what Jerome Clifford told you before he died. They will ask you some very specific questions about the events immediately before the suicide. They will ask you what, if anything, Clifford told you about Senator Boyette. Nothing you tell them with your answers will in any way incriminate you in the murder of Senator Boyette. Understand? You had nothing to do with it. And, you had nothing to do with the suicide of Jerome Clifford. You broke no laws, okay? You're not a suspect in any crime or wrongdoing. Your answers cannot incriminate you. So, you cannot hide under the protection of the Fifth Amendment." She paused and watched him closely. "Understand?"
"No. If I didn't do anything wrong, why was I picked up by the cops and taken to jail? Why am I sitting here waiting for a hearing?"
"You're here because they think you know something valuable, and because, as I stated, every person has a duty to assist la
w enforcement officials in the course of their investigation."
"I still say it's a stupid law."
"Maybe so. But we can't change it today."
He rocked forward and set the chair on all fours. "I need to know something, Reggie. Why can't I just tell them I know nothing? Why can't I say that me and old Romey talked about suicide and going to heaven and hell, you know, stuff like that."
"Tell lies?"
"Yeah. It'll work, you know. Nobody knows the truth but Romey, me, and you. Right? And Romey, bless his heart, ain't talking."
"You can't lie in court, Mark." She said this with all the sincerity she could muster. Hours of sleep had been lost trying to formulate the answer to this inevitable question. She wanted so badly to say "Yes! That's it! Lie, Mark, lie!"
Her stomach ached and her hands almost shook, but she held firm. "I cannot allow you to lie to the court. You'll be under oath, so you must tell the truth."
"Then it was a mistake to hire you, wasn't it?"
"I don't think so."
"Sure it was. You're making me tell the truth, and in this case the truth might get me killed. If you weren't around, I'd march in there and lie my little butt off and me and Mom and Ricky would all be safe."
"You can fire me if you like. The court will appoint another lawyer."
He stood and walked to the darkest corner of the room, and began crying. She watched his head sink and his shoulders sag. He covered his eyes with the back of his right hand, and sobbed loudly.
Though she'd seen it many times, the sight of a child scared and suffering was unbearable. She couldn't keep from crying too.
24
Two deputies escorted him into the courtroom from a side door, away from the main hallway where the curious were known to lurk, but Slick Moeller anticipated this little maneuver and watched it all from behind a newspaper just a few feet away.
Reggie followed her client and the deputies. Clint waited outside. It was almost a quarter after noon, and the jungle of Juvenile Court had quieted a bit for lunch.
The courtroom was of a shape and design Mark had never seen on television. It was so small! And empty. There were no benches or seats for spectators. The judge sat behind an elevated structure between two flags with the wall just behind him. Two tables were in the center of the room, facing the judge, and one was already occupied with men in dark suits. To the judge's right was a tiny table where an older woman was nipping through a stack of papers, very bored with it all, it seemed, until he entered the room. A gorgeous young lady sat ready with a stenographic machine directly in front of the judge's bench. She wore a short skirt and her legs were attracting a lot of attention. She couldn't be older than sixteen, he thought as he followed Reggie to their table. A bailiff with a gun on his hip was the final actor in the play.
Mark took his seat, very much aware that everyone was staring at him. His two deputies left the room, and when the door closed behind them the judge picked up the file again and flipped through it. They had been waiting for the juvenile and his lawyer, and now it was time for everyone to wait for the judge again. Rules of courtroom etiquette must be followed.
Reggie pulled a single legal pad from her briefcase and began writing notes. She held a tissue in one hand, and dabbed her eyes with it. Mark stared at the table, eyes still wet but determined to suck it up and be tough through this ordeal. People were watching.
Fink and Ord stared at the court reporter's legs. The skirt was halfway between knee and hip. It was tight and seemed to slide upward just a fraction of an inch every minute or so. The tripod holding her recording machine sat firmly between her knees. In the coziness of Harry's courtroom, she was fewer than ten feet away, and the last thing they needed was a distraction. But they kept staring. There! It slipped upward another quarter of an inch.
Baxter L. McLemore, a young attorney fresh from law school, sat nervously at the table with Mr. Fink and Mr. Ord. He was a lowly assistant with the county attorney general's office, and it had fallen to his lot to prosecute on this day in Juvenile Court. This was certainly not the glamorous end of prosecution, but sitting next to George Ord was quite a thrill. He knew nothing about the Sway case, and Mr. Ord had explained in the hallway just minutes earlier that Mr. Fink would handle the hearing. With the court's permission, of course. Baxter was expected to sit there and look nice, and keep his mouth shut.
"Is the door locked?" the judge finally asked in the general direction of the bailiff.
"Yes sir."
"Very well. I have reviewed the petition, and I am ready to proceed. For the record, I note the child is present along with counsel, and that the child's mother, who is alleged to be his custodial parent, was served with a copy of the petition and a summons this morning. However, the child's mother is not present in the courtroom, and this concerns me." Harry paused for a moment and seemed to read from the file.
Fink decided this was the appropriate time to establish himself in this matter, and he stood slowly, buttoning his jacket, and addressed the court. "Your Honor, if I may, for the record, I'm Thomas Fink, Assistant U.S. Attorney for the Southern District of Louisiana."
Harry's gaze slowly left the file and settled on Fink, who was standing stiff-backed, very formal, frowning intelligently as he spoke, still fiddling with the top button of his jacket.
Fink continued. "I am one of the petitioners in this matter, and, if I may, I would like to address the issue of the presence of the child's mother." Harry said nothing, just stared as if in disbelief. Reggie couldn't help but smile. She winked at Baxter McLemore.
Harry leaned forward, and rested on his elbows as if intrigued by these great words of wisdom flowing from this gifted legal mind.
Fink had found an audience. "Your Honor, it's our position, the position of the petitioners, that this matter is of a nature so urgent that this hearing must take place immediately. The child is represented by counsel, quite competent counsel I might add, and none of the child's legal rights will be prejudiced by the absence of his mother. From what we understand, the mother's presence is required by the bedside of her youngest son, and so, well, who knows when she might be able to attend a hearing. We just think it's important, Your Honor, to proceed immediately with this hearing."
"You don't say?" Harry asked.
"Yes sir. This is our position."
"Your position, Mr. Fink," Harry said very slowly and very loudly with a pointed finger, "is in that chair right there. Please sit, and listen to me very carefully, because I will say this only once. And if I have to say it again, I will do so as they are putting the handcuffs on you and taking you away for a night in our splendid jail."
Fink fell into his chair, mouth open, gaping in disbelief.
Harry scowled over his reading glasses and looked straight down at Thomas Fink. "Listen to me, Mr. Fink. This is not some fancy courtroom in New Orleans, and I am not one of your federal judges. This is my little private courtroom, and I make the rules,-Mr. Fink. Rule number one is that you speak in my courtroom only when you are first spoken to by me. Rule number two is that you do not grace his honor with unsolicited speeches, comments, or remarks. Rule number three is that his honor does not like to hear the voices of lawyers. His honor has been hearing these voices for twenty years, and his honor knows how lawyers love to hear themselves talk. Rule number four is that you do not stand in my courtroom. You sit at that table and say as little as possible. Do you understand these rules, Mr. Fink?"
Fink stared blankly at Harry and tried to nod.
Harry wasn't finished. "This is a tiny courtroom, Mr. Fink, designed by myself a long time ago for private hearings. We can all see and hear each other just fine, so just keep your mouth shut and your butt in your seat, and we'll get along fine."
Fink was still trying to nod. He gripped the arms of the chair, determined never to rise again. Behind him, McThune, the lawyer hater, barely suppressed a smile.
"Mr. McLemore, I understand Mr. Fink wants to handle this case for the p
rosecution. Is this agreeable?"
"Okay with me, Your Honor."
"I'll allow it. But try and keep him in his seat."
Mark was terrified. He had hoped for a kind, gentle old man with lots of love and sympathy. Not this. He glanced at Mr. Fink, whose neck was crimson and whose breathing was loud and heavy, and he almost felt sorry for him.
"Ms. Love," the judge said, suddenly very warm and compassionate, "I understand you may have an objection on behalf of the child."
"Yes, Your Honor." She leaned forward and spoke deliberately in the direction of the court reporter. "We have several objections we'd like to make at this time, and I want them in the record."
"Certainly," Harry said, as if Reggie Love could have anything she wanted. Fink sank lower and felt even dumber. So much for impressing the court with an initial burst of eloquence.
Reggie glanced at her notes. "Your Honor, I request the transcript of these proceedings be typed and prepared as soon as possible to facilitate an emergency appeal if necessary."
"So ordered."
"I object to this hearing on several grounds. First, inadequate notice has been given to the child, his mother, and to his lawyer. About three hours have passed since the petition was served upon the child's mother, and though I have represented the child for three days now, and everyone involved has known this, I was not notified of this hearing until seventy-five minutes ago. This is unfair, absurd, and an abuse of discretion by the court."
"When would you like to have the hearing, Ms. Love?" Harry asked.
"Today's Thursday," she said. "What about Tuesday or Wednesday of next week?"
"That's fine. Say Tuesday at nine." Harry looked at Fink, who still hadn't moved and was afraid to respond to this. "Of course, Ms. Love, the child will remain in custody until then."
"The child does not belong in custody, Your Honor."
"But I've signed a custody order, and I will not rescind it while we wait for a hearing. Our laws, Ms. Love, provide for the immediate taking of alleged delinquents, and your client is being treated no differently from others. Plus, there are other considerations for Mark Sway, and I'm sure these will be discussed shortly."
Grisham, John - The Client Page 26
