EQMM, June 2012

by Dell Magazine Authors

  Like I said, the case Julius was sitting on was open and shut, there being no question that the defendant, Bill Chase, had murdered Dale Wilcox, who was both his boss and the man his wife might've been having an affair with. The police might not have actually seen him toss away his gloves, but it didn't much matter with everything else they had, including that his credit card was used to purchase the same brand of gloves recovered in the vicinity of the crime.

  But a trial that should've been over in two days had ended up stretched into a fourth day, and it still wasn't done. They had finished cross-examining their witnesses, with Chase declining to testify, and at that moment the prosecutor and defense attorney were in hushed discussions with the judge. They were talking low enough that no one else in the court could hear them, but I could. It was seven past three in the afternoon and they were discussing whether to go ahead and give closing arguments so they could hand the case to the jury, or adjourn for the day. I could've told Julius what was being said, but I didn't bother. From the way things were going, it was clear that they were going to be sequestering the jury for yet another night. Julius had already resigned himself to that, and as annoyed as I was by his behavior, I wasn't about to rub it in.

  Yeah, I know. I didn't have to make that crack about the macaroni and cheese, especially since I had arranged for one of Julius's favorite restaurants, Le Che Cru, to bring dinner to his hotel room each night, but as I mentioned, I was more than a little annoyed by his behavior over the past few days. I was sure a combination of having to serve jury duty, being sequestered in a hotel room, and knowing he would be missing this once-in-a-lifetime dinner contributed to his childish petulance, but what had him giving me the silent treatment was my refusal to play Stephen Hawking's latest audio book over his ear receiver when he gave me a hand signal to do so during the first day of the trial. If he wanted to ignore his civic responsibility, that was his business, but I wasn't about to aid him in it. Since then, not a peep from him and no acknowledgment to anything I said to him, not that I said much. For the most part I had been playing along and ignoring him too.

  I was surprised that Julius hadn't simply turned me off. That was what he usually did when he was sufficiently irritated with me. At first I thought he didn't do it because he knew at some level that he was in the wrong; then I thought it was that he was hoping I'd try to arrange a new date for this eleven-course dinner, which I did, but Julius must've known that there was no real chance of me being successful with that. Eventually I understood why he kept me turned on. In his utter childishness, he wanted me to suffer through this trial every bit as much as he was.

  You're probably confused right now, at least if you only know about Julius Katz through newspaper and TV accounts and haven't been following my other transcriptions of Julius's cases. Yes, I'm Julius's assistant, Archie; although I also perform a long list of other duties for him, including being his accountant, his unofficial biographer, his secretary and all-around man Friday. But you'd have to be puzzled over why I'm talking as if I'm sitting in the jury box with Julius at this very moment. It's because I am, although nobody but Julius knows it. The newspaper reporters who write their stories about Julius and the TV anchors who report on him have no idea what I really am, and as I'm writing this, really nobody does other than Julius and his girlfriend, Lily Rosten. Years from now, after Julius retires, I'll be releasing these case transcriptions, but for now I'm pretty much a mystery to the public, with Julius's explanation to the media being that my appearance is being kept guarded by him so I can be sent out on assignment without being recognized, which is pretty much a big fat white lie on Julius's part. But a necessary one.

  While I usually drift into thinking of myself as human, and more specifically, a short, heavyset balding man in his late thirties, I'm not any of those. What I am is a two-inch rectangular piece of advanced technology that Julius wears as a tie clip, and when I say that I'm made up of advanced technology, I'm not kidding. Any lab outside of the one that made me would be astounded at what they found if they were allowed to open me up, especially my visual and audio components, which simulate sight and hearing, and my fully functional self- adapting neuron network which, among other things, simulates intelligence and consciousness. Julius likes to joke that I've got the heart and soul of a hardboiled P.I., and there's quite a bit of truth to that, since many of what are considered the great detective novels and short stories of the twentieth century were used to build my personality and experience base, including the complete works of Dashiell Hammett. My self-image comes partly from the fact that Julius wears me as a tie clip that puts me at only five feet from the floor when he stands, but a good part of it is also my identifying with Hammett's fictional short, heavyset nameless P.I., the Continental Op.

  The judge, prosecutor, and defense attorney had finished their conferencing, and it wasn't good news as far as Julius was concerned. As I had expected, they decided to sequester the jury for another night and continue with closing arguments the next day. Given Julius's mood, I didn't want to be the bearer of any further bad news so I didn't relay this to him, but before the judge could dismiss the jury for the night, Julius was on his feet and addressing the judge, telling her that it was urgent that he talk to her in private.

  She turned an incredulous stare his way, her mouth dropping open. The defense attorney did the same, as did most of Julius's fellow jurors. The prosecutor, a tall bony-looking man, gave Julius a look brimming with hostility. Me, I just groaned inwardly. I couldn't believe that Julius would stoop to this. To try to beg off the jury so he could attend his dinner. The thought of it was humiliating.

  “If you're doing what I think you're doing, then I quit,” I told him. He ignored me, as he had for the past three days, and said to the judge, “I know this is highly unusual—”

  “What it is is highly inappropriate,” the judge cut him off, her face reddening in anger as she regained some of her composure. “It's also borderline contempt.”

  “I suppose it is,” Julius acknowledged. “Your Honor, you're well aware of my reputation, and you must know I would not be making this request if it wasn't urgently important.”

  The judge was well aware of Julius's reputation since she had presided at six criminal trials where Julius testified, and in each of these, the guilty party was revealed by Julius. Her eyes narrowed and her mouth seemed to shrink as she studied him. Finally, she nodded.

  “This better be every bit as urgent as you're saying, Mr. Katz,” she said. “I'll give you five minutes in my chambers.” She then pointed at the nearly epileptic prosecutor and then the defense attorney. “Mr. Sanders, Attorney Zoll, you'll join us.” With that she nodded to the bailiff, asking him to keep order until she returned, and led a small procession through a doorway in the back of the courtroom while all eyes remained fixed on Julius. At first I felt more excess heat burning—which I knew was embarrassment—but as Julius stepped into the judge's chambers, it was almost as if my processing had slowed to an uneasy crawl, and I realized I was experiencing a sensation similar to dread. I couldn't help groaning again, this time so that Julius could hear.

  “You're going to get yourself locked away in jail for contempt,” I said miserably. “Forget Antoine Escopier's dinner, this stunt of yours is going to get you jailhouse gruel tonight.”

  Julius once again ignored me. Normally the man is brilliant, but he was too pigheaded to think of anything right then but making his way to that dinner. The unease I was feeling only intensified as Julius took a seat across from the judge.

  “I am giving you exactly five minutes, Mr. Katz,” the judge warned, her demeanor letting Julius know that what he had to say had better be damn good. The prosecutor, Henry Sanders, looked angry enough to chew nails, and his eyes nearly bulged as he glowered at Julius. The defense attorney, Mark Zoll, had an eager, almost wistful look, as if Julius was handing him a mistrial, which would allow him to escape for now what was clearly going to be a guilty verdict.

  “
Thank you, Your Honor,” Julius said with a grim smile. “I know how unusual this must be, but I had little choice. The defendant is innocent.”

  The sputtering coming from Sanders was almost as if he had swallowed his tongue. The defense attorney muttered the same expletive that came to me. The judge gave Julius an icy look. In an even icier voice, she asked, “And why did you feel so compelled to tell me this as opposed to fulfilling your sworn duty as a juror?”

  Julius shrugged. “That was my original intent. I had planned to sit quietly until the end of the trial, and then convince my fellow jurors of the defendant's innocence. But if I do that I am convinced the real murderer will never be brought to trial. So that was my dilemma, my obligation as a juror or my moral obligation to society to see a murderer punished.”

  “I see,” the judge said, although she didn't look very convinced as she peered coldly at Julius with her slate-gray eyes. The Honorable Margaret Henshaw was fifty-eight, and even with her thick glasses, strongly resembled photos I found on an online TV database of Barbara Stanwyck from The Big Valley. “And why is that?”

  “I believe the window for catching this murderer is quickly closing,” Julius said. “And if I don't act soon, that window will be closed forever.”

  Throughout the trial I kept myself busy building and fine-tuning simulations and analytical models that calculated the probability of Bill Chase being the one who murdered Dale Wilcox, and found that it was a near certainty Chase was guilty, the probability being 99.9985 percent with a margin of error at 0.0014 percent. Once Julius announced to the judge that Chase was innocent, I reexamined my models and simulations and found no reason to change my calculated probability of Chase's guilt. Almost in a flash, though, I understood what Julius was up to and I could hardly believe it. He was so desperate to go to his dinner that he was willing to sabotage a jury trial. The realization of that left me speechless for twelve milliseconds, and after that I was too angry to want to say a word to him.

  The judge looked at Julius suspiciously, but not suspiciously enough to show that she had caught on. “And I suppose you know who the murderer is?” she asked.

  Julius nodded, his lips forming an even grimmer line than earlier.

  “Well?” the judge said.

  Julius shook his head, his expression turning severely solemn. Damn, he could put on a hell of a performance when he wanted to. As I was expecting, he told the judge that he couldn't give her the murderer's name. “This is a matter of extreme subtlety,” he said. “If this isn't handled in the precise manner I have in mind, this murderer will go free.”

  I knew the game Julius was playing, and that was exactly what I expected him to say. Henry Sanders was livid, his cheeks coloring to a bright pink. He couldn't help himself from cutting in.

  “This is preposterous!” he nearly shouted, his voice high-pitched and cracking. “What type of nonsense is he trying to sell us? Telling us he knows who the murderer is and then refusing to give us a name? Judge, enough of these games. Order him to tell us what he knows!”

  Julius turned in his seat so he was facing Sanders. “Sir, what I know is exactly what was said in court over the last four days, and I believe the court stenographer would be able to give you that verbatim. How I've been able to digest the same information that you have heard and discover Wilcox's true murderer is my knowledge and mine alone.”

  Judge Henshaw cleared her throat to draw Julius's attention back to her. “What do you propose?” she asked stiffly.

  Without hesitation Julius made his proposal. Julius is an excellent poker player with no “tell” as far I've ever been able to discern, so there was nothing in his manner to indicate that he was bluffing, but still, I knew it was all one big bluff.

  “There are five people I would like to question,” Julius said matter-of-factly, as if he actually meant it. “It should take no more than twenty minutes, but I believe if I'm allowed to do so I'll be able to trap the murderer.”

  “And if you fail?” Judge Margaret Henshaw asked.

  Julius sighed softly and let his shoulders move up and down as much as an inch. “If I fail, then I fail,” he said. “It's not likely, but it's also not impossible. If that ends up being the case then the murderer will most likely escape justice, which is not acceptable to me. As far as the trial goes, if I fail, then you can replace me on the jury with one of the alternate jurors, and the trial could continue as if my questioning of these five people never happened.”

  “The nerve of this man!” Sanders burst out, clearly exasperated. “He tries to hold us hostage with this ludicrous claim, all the while creating a mistrial!”

  Julius sent Sanders a withering stare. “I don't see how,” he said curtly.

  “He doesn't see how!” Sanders exclaimed as he threw up his hands in a further display of extreme exasperation.

  “Have you voiced your suspicions to other members of the jury?” the judge asked Julius.

  “Of course not.”

  “They'll all need to be questioned!” Sanders demanded.

  “Possibly,” the judge admitted.

  “What?” Sanders asked, his skin paling to a milk white as he stared incredulously at the judge. “You're not actually considering entertaining his proposal and turning this trial into a circus?”

  Zoll had remained quiet through all this, but I guess he was mulling things over and was realizing he might not get his mistrial after all, and worse, might lose the one juror who might believe in his client's innocence. Of course, that would only be if Julius was leveling with them, which I knew he wasn't.

  “I have to agree with my colleague,” Zoll said sternly. “We should return Mr. Katz to the jury and continue with the trial.”

  “But not with Katz on the jury!” Sanders argued, an angry red once again mottling his cheeks.

  “Not another word from either of you.” The judge's tone was severe enough to stop both of them. “Both of you have finished your examination of your witnesses and are ready for closing arguments, correct?” Neither of them contradicted her. “Then I don't see any risk for a mistrial,” she added, her mouth pinched. She turned to Julius and fixed her slate-gray eyes on his. “I will take your proposal under advisement.” After that she picked up the phone, talked briefly, and a bailiff soon came to escort Julius to a waiting room. I remained quiet until we were alone before voicing my feelings about what Julius was doing. I was too angry at him not to do so.

  “I never would've believed you'd pull something like this,” I said, the words spilling out of me. “I know how much you want to attend this dinner tonight, but to lay waste to a murder trial to do so? Because of you and these shenanigans, a guilty man might walk free. Did that even occur to you?”

  “And what shenanigans might those be, Archie?” Julius said, finally breaking his silence towards me.

  “What shenanigans?” I sputtered, feeling every bit as exasperated as the prosecutor, Henry Sanders, had looked. “You're kidding, right? You knew full well that if you told the judge you wanted off the jury so you could attend this dinner tonight you'd have been held in contempt and sent away to jail, so instead you came up with this cockamamie story about Chase being innocent. And you did it knowing full well that it would lead to one of two results—an immediate mistrial or you being removed from the jury.”

  A thin smile pulled up slightly on Julius's lips, which at that moment annoyed me to no end. “And what makes you think my story is cockamamie?”

  “Why? Other than knowing how desperate you are to attend Antoine Escopier's dinner? Because I calculated the odds of Chase being innocent, and statistically it's impossible!”

  “I see. So I'm so desperate that I'd be willing to subvert justice. Interesting. Of course, Archie, there could be a third result from my cockamamie story. I could be given the opportunity to expose the real murderer.”

  “Yeah, right. Feed that story to someone who doesn't know your tricks. I have half a mind to call Judge Henshaw and explain to her the reason yo
u're pulling this stunt—”

  And blast it, before I could say another word, my world went black as Julius turned me off!

  * * * *

  Julius doesn't turn me off often, and it's always disorienting afterwards when I'm turned back on. This time was no different. After a few woozy milliseconds, I was able to get my bearings. Eighteen minutes and forty-three seconds had elapsed since Julius put me out of action, and he was standing in front of a mirror in a washroom. I checked the GPS coordinates, and saw that we were still in the courthouse.

  “I apologize for my behavior over the last three days,” he said somberly. Julius's eyes narrowed as he gazed into the mirror, his features hardening as if he were sculpted out of marble. At forty-two, Julius was a good-looking man. I would've known that simply from the way women reacted to him, but comparisons I've made of Julius with Hollywood stars who were considered heartthrobs also confirmed it. At six feet, a hundred and eighty pounds, and with an athletic build that barely held an ounce of fat, Julius wasn't what you'd expect from a devoted epicurean and wine enthusiast. A fact that we keep out of the papers is that Julius holds a fifth-degree black belt in Shaolin Kung Fu and spends two hours every day in intensive training, and that allows him to work off the rich food that he so loves. Even while spending the last few days in a cramped hotel room, Julius was able to modify his training so that he could stick to his routine.

  “It's been a trying few days, as you can well appreciate,” Julius continued, “but I had no right taking my frustrations out on you, and I sincerely regret that. You were well within your rights in refusing my request to play me an audio book during the trial.”