by Adam Mitzner
Alex and Jonathan are already standing, as there’s no place to sit behind the podium, but the fifteen or so people in the gallery rise. Then Judge Turner comes into focus on the screen as he takes his seat in the leather chair.
He’s an older man, probably closer to eighty than seventy, with the whittled-away look that some men get at that age, as if he was once an imposing figure, and he’s the last to know that he no longer cuts that swath. Jonathan isn’t sure whether it’s a distortion caused by the monitor, but the judge appears to have an enormous head, which lacks a single hair on top, but thick white eyebrows dissect his forehead. There’s an unmistakable intelligence to his gaze, as if he’s already figured everything out and is waiting for the others to catch up.
“People versus Jonathan Caine,” an off-camera voice says. “Counsel, please state your appearances.”
“Assistant County Prosecutor Lydia Rodriguez, for the State of New Jersey,” says the woman standing behind the other podium. She’s young, probably no more than thirty, with a mass of long, curly hair that screams that she’s from New Jersey.
“Alex Miller, Peikes Selva & Schwarz, New York City, Your Honor.”
Judge Turner smiles. “You know, even through the monitor I can tell whenever you gentlemen from New York City enter my courtroom. Counselor, do you recall when you traveled here from the Big Apple that you went . . . I don’t know, over a bridge or maybe through a tunnel?” The judge doesn’t pause to allow an answer. “You might have even seen a sign that said Welcome to New Jersey, the Garden State? Does any of that ring a bell with you, Mr. Miller?”
“I’m well aware, Your Honor, that I’m not admitted to practice in this state. I was hoping that the court would hear me on bail, and then I would arrange to file for admission pro hac vice. I would have done so prior to today, but my client was only arrested this morning.”
“Oh, I see, Counselor. So you’re one of those New York lawyers who come to our great state and decide our rules are voluntary, to be applied only when they’re convenient. Unfortunately for you, my oath didn’t include any carve-outs for when clients are arrested in the morning. Which means I can’t accept your appearance.”
Jonathan doesn’t like what he’s hearing. Not one bit. Did the judge just say that Alex can’t be his lawyer?
“Your Honor—” Alex says, but he’s immediately stopped by the judge’s voice.
“Let’s not get on the wrong foot here, Mr. Miller,” the judge says. “I’m going to take a short recess. During that time, I strongly suggest that you go find yourself local counsel. With any luck, there are some fine lawyers who are admitted to practice law in this state sitting right there in the courtroom. And, to show you that we’re an accommodating bunch on this side of the Hudson River, I’m willing to take an oral pro hac application, under the proviso that you file the necessary paperwork within twenty-four hours.”
He strikes the gavel. Then the television screen goes black.
“What the hell was that all about?” Jonathan asks.
“New Jersey helping its own,” Alex mutters. “Mark . . .”
“Welcome to New Jersey,” Mark says with a smile as he approaches. Before leaving the gallery, he stops at the second row, in front of a young woman of Asian descent in a dark business suit, a leather briefcase beside her.
“We worked together before, right?” Mark asks her.
“Yeah. I second-chaired Jonah Gorski in that A&B thing two years ago,” she says. “The one with the executive over at J&J.”
“Right. So, you up for being co-counsel? At least for today?”
“Sure.”
Mark accompanies the woman over to the podium. “Alex Miller, from the wrong side of the Hudson, this is . . .”
“Mina Liu,” the woman says. “What’s the charge?”
“Murder-for-hire,” Alex says, shaking Mina’s hand. “This is our client, Jonathan Caine.”
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Caine. Sorry about the circumstances.”
Jonathan simply nods. He understands that he needs to let the lawyers handle things, especially because he has no idea what the hell is going on.
“All you need to do is move for my admission pro hac, and I’ll take it from there,” Alex says.
“Sure,” Mina says. “But Mr. Clean might not let that happen, so you need to give me some facts.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Clean?”
“Yeah, that’s what everyone calls Judge Turner. Part of it is that he kind of resembles the guy on the bottle, right? Without the earring. But the other part is that he’s a real stickler for the rules, like what you just witnessed. That being said, he’s the best judge we got here, even at his age. Although you need to look him in the eye when you’re talking to him, on account that I think he’s lost his hearing.”
“Shit. That’s just great,” Alex says.
“It’ll be fine,” Mina counters. “Like I said, he’s fair and very smart. But I need to know everything, just in case he makes me make the bail pitch.”
Alex grimaces, clearly not pleased with the idea that this woman he just met is going to make the bail argument. This, in turn, makes Jonathan equally uneasy.
“The fifty-thousand-feet version is that the victim is named Rick Williams,” Alex begins. “He’s the husband of Jacqueline Williams. It’s the prosecution’s theory that Mr. Caine and Mrs. Williams were having an affair and they conspired to hire a hit man to kill Mr. Williams. I suspect that this hit man is in their custody. As far as we know, there’s no evidence directly connecting the hit man either to Mr. Caine or Mrs. Williams. So the entire case is built on this hit man, and I imagine he’s getting a very nice deal for his cooperation.”
“Got it. Not the strongest case,” Mina says.
“Right. Now the bad news. Mr. Caine doesn’t really have any ties to East Carlisle. He grew up here, and has been living here for the past month to care for his ailing father, but his father recently passed. Mr. Caine is separated from his wife and has no children. His estranged wife now lives in the marital home, which is located in New York City.”
Jonathan can tell that Mina Liu is concerned. “So where’s home now?” she asks.
“My father’s place in East Carlisle,” Jonathan says.
“That’s good,” Mina says, looking hopeful.
“One more thing,” Alex says, which Jonathan knows is the preface to the disclosure that will eliminate whatever hope Mina was clinging to, “just so you’re not blindsided by this—you should know that up until about last September or October, Mr. Caine was employed with the investment bank Harper Sawyer. He was let go and the firm is claiming that he engaged in unlawful trading, and now there’s a criminal investigation out of the US Attorney’s Office in the Southern District. I don’t know whether the prosecution here knows any of that, but they might.”
“Okay . . .” Mina says, her tone indicating that she realizes that bail has just become a much longer shot. “Any prior convictions?”
“No,” Alex says quickly. “I guess you also need to know about me if you’re going to make the application. I’m admitted to practice in New York, and I’ve been admitted pro hac vice in New Jersey and elsewhere, although I don’t remember any of the case names offhand.”
Jonathan has surmised that pro hac vice must be the Latin term lawyers use for reciprocity permitting out-of-state lawyers to appear in court. Alex has just mentioned his Harvard Law School connection to Mark Gershien when the television monitor comes back on.
“All rise,” a voice says through the speakers.
The camera captures Judge Turner walking back into his courtroom a town away. He takes his seat on the bench, and once again his large head fills the monitor.
“So, I trust you all worked out your little difficulties,” Judge Turner says, “and I’m ready to take your appearances.”
“Mina Liu of Firestone and Associates, New Carlisle, New Jersey, Your Honor. If it pleases the court, I’d like to move for admission of my colleague
from New York City, Alex Miller.”
“Ms. Liu. I trust that you have a long-standing relationship with Mr. Miller, such that you are able to vouch for his bona fides before me?”
The judge says this with a knowing smile, but Jonathan is very uneasy about how everyone is having fun while his freedom hangs in the balance. Alex must sense his unease, because he grasps Jonathan behind the elbow, his way of saying that everything’s going to be okay.
“I just met Mr. Miller, Your Honor, but I was introduced to him by his co-counsel in this matter, Mr. Mark Gershien, who is in court today representing the defendant in the companion case to this one. I am acquainted with Mr. Gershien through previous matters, and he attended Harvard Law School with Mr. Miller. Mr. Miller has represented to me that he is a member in good standing of the bar of New York, and has been admitted pro hac vice in this state on numerous matters over the years.”
“Harvard Law School, eh,” Judge Turner says, not sounding very impressed. “I’m class of ’57 myself. I want it on the record that I’m accepting Mr. Miller’s application to appear pro hac vice on the basis of Ms. Liu’s proffer, but that his law school affiliation is actually a strike against him.”
Alex smiles at the judge’s attempt at humor, the kind of look you give your boss no matter how lame the joke. The gallery chuckles, too, as most of them are lawyers who will soon make an appearance, so the same suck-up principle applies.
“Thank you, Your Honor,” Alex says.
The judge slightly nods, and then says, “So now that that business is settled, Mr. Miller, does your client care to enter a plea?”
Alex turns to Jonathan. It’s his one and only turn to speak.
“Not guilty,” Jonathan says with a strong voice.
Judge Turner doesn’t seem to care. “What’s the state’s position on bail?” he asks, focusing his attention on the prosecution table.
The prosecutor has been a bystander to this back-and-forth until now, but the assistant district attorney—Rodriguez—stands and says, “Your Honor, the State seeks to have Mr. Caine held without bail. This is a murder-for-hire. Mr. Caine was having an affair with the victim’s wife. Together they paid a hit man ten thousand dollars to run down Richard Williams in cold blood. The State’s evidence is very strong, as the hit man is cooperating fully with law enforcement. The defendant has absolutely no ties with this community. He is a resident of New York City.”
“Ah,” Judge Turner says, “and that’s where you come in, right, Mr. Miller?”
“It is, Your Honor. I should also add that I’ve known Mr. Caine since high school, as I’m a graduate of East Carlisle High, class of 1991.”
Judge Turner smiles. “Much more impressive than the Harvard Law School.”
Like a tennis player watching a rally, the judge then turns back to the prosecutor and says, “Ms. Rodriguez, New York City is not exactly a place without an extradition treaty with New Jersey.”
“Your Honor, it’s not that we’re worried he’s going to flee to New York City. We’re worried he’s going to flee the country. We have been informed by the FBI that Mr. Caine is currently a person of interest in a multibillion-dollar financial crime that is being investigated in New York City. He has no job, no family, outside of a sister in Florida, and every reason to flee.”
“Your Honor,” Alex says loudly, trying to get back in the conversation. “I don’t know what the FBI told the prosecution, but the only charges against Mr. Caine are the ones here, and those have been brought on virtually no evidence. The indictment suggests that they have one and only one witness—a self-proclaimed hit man, no less—and it doesn’t take a vivid imagination to know that someone in that line of work will say anything to reduce his sentence. Also, given that the alleged hit man is, under the prosecution’s theory of the case, a co-conspirator, that means his testimony alone is not sufficient for a conviction. And that’s a big problem for them because we do not believe there is any evidence linking Mr. Caine to the crime.”
“How about that, Ms. Rodriguez. I appreciate the guy who did the crime is saying he was hired. Is he saying that Mr. Caine hired him?”
Rodriguez has lost the sharp look in her eyes; she now appears to be on the defensive. “He was paid ten thousand dollars to carry out Mr. Williams’s murder. While he does not name Mr. Caine specifically, we have additional evidence pointing to the defendant as a coconspirator.”
“Such as?” Judge Turner asks.
“The affair, to begin with. Phone records indicate that Mr. Caine and Mrs. Williams were having an affair prior to Mr. Williams’s murder. They both lied to the police about that affair, which we think speaks volumes. And if that weren’t enough, we have reason to believe that there was spousal abuse in the Williamses’ marriage. Only two days before the murder, Mr. Caine called the police to alert them to a disturbance at the Williams home.”
“Your Honor,” Alex says, “I’m not going to get into a discussion regarding the evidence or lack thereof, particularly because, as the court knows, at this early point, none of it has been shared with the defense. But taking the prosecution at its word, the so-called evidence they’ve cited actually supports the view that Mr. Caine is not involved in any plot. If there was spousal abuse, that would seem to indicate that the prosecution’s theory is that Mrs. Williams—not Mr. Caine—hired this hit man.”
Jonathan wishes that Alex hadn’t said this last part. He doesn’t want Jackie to know that any effort was made to put the blame on her. He thinks about what Mark Gershien will say when he argues for Jackie to get bail. The evidence points to Mr. Caine—a man who defrauded his former employer and investors out of billions. By contrast, there is absolutely no evidence that Mrs. Williams—a loving wife for twenty years, who has two children with Mr. Williams—would even want her husband dead, much less hire a hit man to do the deed. If she didn’t want to be married to Mr. Williams, she would have just gotten a divorce. No, only Mr. Caine benefits from Rick Williams’s murder.
The prosecutor attempts to rebut Alex’s argument, but Judge Turner tells her to stop with a wave of his hand. “Ms. Rodriguez, let me ask you this: What’s your position going to be when the wife—I should say, widow—comes up before me on bail?”
“The same, Your Honor. We’ll be seeking that she also be held without bail.”
“And is it the case that, at this point at least, you view both defendants as equally culpable? In other words, you don’t think one of them orchestrated this and the other is an accessory after the fact, or something of that nature?”
“That is correct. Our evidence points to both Mr. Caine and Mrs. Williams as equally responsible,” Rodriguez says.
Silence takes over the courtroom. Judge Turner’s chin rests on his fist, the very picture of contemplative justice.
“I’m going to hold Mr. Caine without bail,” Judge Turner finally says. “I’m frankly concerned about Mr. Caine’s lack of ties. He’s the poster boy for defendants who could flee without consequence.”
“Your Honor—” Alex says, but he’s stopped by the same judicial wave that stymied the prosecutor.
“No need, Mr. Miller,” Judge Turner says. “You’ve said all there is that can be said. You’re not going to persuade me. Can the bailiff spin the wheel? Let’s pick a judge.”
The wheel is actually a cage with Ping-Pong balls inside, each with writing. The clerk spins the wheel and then reaches inside to pull out one of the balls.
“Judge Paul Gottlieb,” the bailiff calls out, reading the name off the ball.
Judge Turner then says, “I’m going to set this down for a preliminary conference before Judge Gottlieb on Friday of this week. Mr. Miller, you can remake your bail argument to him at that time.”
With that, Judge Turner bangs his gavel and the screen goes black.
“I’m sorry, Jonathan,” Alex says. “I’ll come see you right after Jackie’s hearing, and I’ll tell you how that turns out.”
The guard quickly comes into vie
w, roughly grabbing Jonathan by the elbow. “Hands behind your back,” he commands.
Jonathan does as directed. As he’s being cuffed, his mind flashes on the movie referenced by Detective McGeorge. A young Kathleen Turner sipping a cocktail on the beach while William Hurt rots in jail.
38
The light is much brighter in the courtroom than in the holding cell. So much so that it takes Jackie a few blinks to adjust. Then she scans the room for Jonathan, but to no avail.
She does see Mark Gershien, however. He’s standing behind the podium.
Her police escort deposits her beside him, and then unlocks her handcuffs. Even before the cop leaves, Mark asks, “How are you holding up, Jackie?”
“I’ve been better. Did you see Jonathan?”
“I did. He was arraigned about an hour ago.”
“Is he out now?”
“No, I’m sorry. The judge didn’t allow any bail.”
“Damn.”
“Don’t worry, I don’t think that’s going to be our result,” Mark says. “Jonathan had no ties to East Carlisle. You have two children who need their mother. I can pull a lot of heartstrings with that.”
He’s missed the point entirely. Jackie isn’t worried about what Jonathan’s incarceration portends for her bail application. She doesn’t want him in jail. She not only fears for his safety, but can’t deny that she has selfish motives, too. She’s most worried that life behind bars will make Jonathan desperate to say what he can to get out.
“So what happens to him?”
“He’ll be held at the New Carlisle jail until Alex can make a bail application before the trial judge. Unfortunately, that won’t be until Friday.”
“What if I don’t make bail? What happens to my kids?”
“I think you will, but just in case, I called your mother. She’s on her way. I also spoke with your son and daughter and told them what’s going on. They were worried, of course, but I promised them that you’d be home tonight. That put them at ease. They wanted to be here, but I told them that wasn’t a good idea and the best thing that they could do for you was to go home right after school and you’d see them later tonight.”
