Legally Wasted

by Tommy Strelka

  “Oh I know, Mr. Monroe,” said Wendy. “Burglary, destruction of property, theft, these are not shenanigans. They are felonies.”

  Larkin shook his head, but smiled all the same. Trevor was getting under her skin.

  “Well you don’t know him like I do, ma’am,” said Trevor. “And I tell you what, I bet that in under thirty minutes, Larkin is going to not only free himself and me, but that he’ll most likely prove who did murder that law clerk.”

  Wendy laughed. Larkin could not tell if she was genuinely amused or simply laughing for show. The dynamics between examiner and witness had flipped end over end. It was a most extraordinary writ after all. Anything could happen. “That’s a bet I would take,” she said. People shifted in the gallery. Wooden benches sighed. This was sweeps week material.

  Trevor looked to Larkin. He sat wide-eyed and paralyzed. Trevor nodded as if Larkin had suddenly made some intentional gesture to instill confidence in his friend, but he had done no such thing. “Fine,” said Trevor as he smacked the wooden railing with the palm of his hand. The press jumped. “If he doesn’t fix all of this in the next thirty minutes, I’ll plead guilty in state court. No trial. Nothing. Dead to rights.”

  Wendy paused. She stared at Trevor. With his toothy grin, it was truly impossible to gauge his sincerity. She opened her mouth, but Trevor cut her off.

  “And if he works his magic, I get to take you out to Michael’s on Friday, say, eight o’clock. We’ll meet for one drink at the bar. Your bet is for that one drink. It will be your choice after that drink if you want to stay and have dinner with me, but I’ll make an 8:30 reservation for a table for two just in case. ”

  The courtroom burst into laughter. It took minutes to subside. The Judge pointed to her bailiffs who all raised their arms as if quieting a grade school classroom. “Objection, your Honor,” said Larkin as the rolling laughs began to finally subside, “flirting.” More Laughs.

  “Sustained,” said the Judge. “Mr. Meeks? You are in a court of law not the Pine Room at the Hotel Big Lick.”

  Trevor continued to look into Wendy’s eyes. “Or we could go to the Pine Room,” he said. “Lady’s choice.”

  “Your Honor,” said Wendy after staring at Trevor for a moment too long, “I think I’m done with this witness.”

  “Do we have a bet?” asked Trevor.

  Wendy returned to her table.

  “Don’t chicken out on me, McAdams. You should feel strongly about your case and such. I know you do. You have passion in your toes. Am I right?”

  “Mr. Meeks - -” began the Judge.

  “I want an answer,” Trevor said to Wendy. “You get quite a headline if he doesn’t pull it off.”

  “Fine,” she said. Her head shook in seeming disapproval to what her mouth had just uttered.

  Trevor nodded and smiled. “Am I excused, your Honor?”

  “Immediately,” said the Judge. “Bailiff?” The nearest bailiff hurried to the witness stand. “Mr. Meeks, I am remanding you to the custody of the United States Marshal’s service. They will be returning you to the city jail.”

  “Thanks, Judge,” said Trevor as he headed unescorted to the holding cell door. Larkin felt that if one person - - one single brave soul - - clapped their hands together, a social dam would burst and the whole courtroom would applaud. What an act.

  “Your next witness, Mr. Monroe?”

  Larkin stood. “Your Honor, I would like to call Ryan Meeks.”

  The Judge whispered something to the deputy clerk who in turn whispered something to a bailiff. Not a minute later, the back door of the courtroom opened and Ryan Meeks, escorted by Trevor’s ex-wife, stepped into the courtroom. Despite being dressed in her Sunday best, no amount of pink lace could conceal the nuclear energy wound tightly within that child. Ryan gazed with wide-eyed excitement at every angle of the courtroom. She smiled broadly and literally ran toward the witness stand. She was in Disney Land.

  “Can I testify?” Ryan asked as she leaped into the witness stand.

  “You Honor,” said Wendy. “How young is this girl? She can’t possibly - -”

  “I’m eight,” said Ryan. She grinned at Wendy. “Are you going to ask me questions now?” Though seated, she managed to still hop up and down repeatedly on her chair. Her excitement was too great to contain.

  “Please raise your right hand, Miss Meeks,” commanded the Judge. Ryan did as she was told and the Judge swore her in. For a moment Ryan stood, eyes misted with tears at her good fortune. She jumped from foot to foot until sitting back down in the witness stand. Her little blond head barely peeped over the wooden railing.

  “Your Honor,” said Wendy, her voice weakened by her very public defeat in Meeks v. McAdams. “I’m going to object to this witness being called at this time. I have concerns for her best-interest, I have concerns regarding her capacity to testify, and I renew my objection that all of this is merely to act as some spectacle.”

  “Mr. Monroe?” asked the Judge, “what do you say?”

  “Hello, Mr. Monroe!” Ryan shouted.

  “Please be still, young lady,” said the Judge.

  “Oh,” said Ryan. “Sure thing, your Honor.”

  Larkin stood. “Your Honor, Ms. Meeks is an integral fact witness. She certainly has the capacity to testify and the Court can look out for the child’s best interests.”

  “Your Honor!” shouted Wendy.

  The Judge waved her hand. “You can voire dire her as to capacity, Ms. McAdams. The Court will look out for her best interests.”

  Wendy shook her head. She pointed to the witness stand where Ryan bobbled and wiggled like a champagne cork in a shaken bottle. “May I?”

  “You may,” answered the Judge.

  Wendy approached the stand. “Ms. Meeks,” Wendy started, “are you related to Trevor Meeks?”

  “He’s my daddy,” said Ryan. She looked back to Larkin. “This is so cool.”

  “What grade are you in school, Ms. Meeks?”

  “I’m in third grade. I love your hair. It’s big and curly and blonde. My hair’s straight. Are you the prosecutor?”

  “Yes, I am. Now, Ms. Meeks - -”

  “Did you get your man? Because if it’s him,” she pointed to Larkin, “it’s the wrong one. And just say, ‘Ryan.’ Are you going to object?”

  “That depends, Ryan, if I - -”

  “Objection!” Ryan shouted. She melted on the stand in a pink pile of lace and giggles.

  “Your Honor!” said Wendy.

  “Ryan?” asked the Judge.

  “Yes?”

  “Can you do your best to answer everyone’s questions and only the questions that are asked of you?”

  “Oh, sure,” she answered.

  “Do you know the difference between the truth and a lie?” the Judge asked.

  “Of course,” said Ryan. “Doesn’t everybody?”

  “Can you make sure that your answers are only truthful?

  “They always are,” said Ryan.

  The Judge shook her head and smiled. “I’m going to allow her to testify, Ms. McAdams. The Court is both aware of the witness’ age and the fact that the acorn does not fall far from the tree. Please continue, Mr. Monroe.”

  “Thank you, Judge,” said Larkin. “Ryan, do you remember having a soccer game late last week?”

  “Yep. I got yellow-carded. But I didn’t do it.”

  “And do you remember riding home after the game?”

  “Yes, sir. My daddy and you picked me up.”

  “Was there anyone else in the car?”

  Ryan made a face as if she bit into a lemon. “Oh yeah,” she said. “A real stinker. My daddy yelled at him for being mean to me. He said he was a lawyer, but not a real one. Not like the blond lady in the boots.” Ryan raised her hands in the air as if to indicate the entire courtroom. “This is real lawyering.”

  Wendy stood. “Your Honor, I’m going to object to hearsay again.”

  “Overruled,” said the Judge. “I�
�m going to allow a little latitude with this witness given her age.”

  “You say that this lawyer wasn’t a real lawyer?” Larkin asked.

  “Nope,” said Ryan.

  “Do you remember his name?”

  “Anthony,” said Ryan. “Anthony the Loser Not Lawyer.”

  “Do you know where he’s going to work next year?”

  “Yes! He said he was going to work in New York and I was like, ‘all cool,’ but he was like not doing real lawyer stuff so it turned out it wasn’t cool.”

  “Do you know where he was going to work?”

  Ryan nodded. “I wrote it down on this piece of paper,” she said. She withdrew a purple square of construction paper from her pocket.

  “Objection,” said Ms. McAdams, “this is highly inappropriate and is only meant to slander some poor man and now possibly ruin a prospective professional relationship. And Mr. Monroe is drowning in hearsay.”

  “Your Honor,” said Larkin, “the truth will out today. Ms. Meeks is allowed to refresh her memory with her note. And though this might be hearsay, it falls under the hearsay exception of excited utterance.”

  “Excited utterance?” asked the Judge, “how so?”

  “Allow me, your Honor,” said Larkin. He pointed to the witness stand and the Judge nodded. “Ryan,” said Larkin, “was this stinker, this Anthony, was he upset when he talked to you?”

  “Oh yeah. Like all red in the face. A big tomato face with glasses.”

  “How mad was he?”

  “Super mad.”

  “And did he tell you where he was planning to work?”

  “He more or less screamed it at me,” said Ryan. “He was so mad. My daddy slammed on the brakes and yelled at him because he got so mad.”

  Larkin looked to the Judge and raised his eyebrows. “Excited utterances,” he began, “survive the hearsay rule with credibility intact.”

  The Judge nodded. “I’ll allow it,” she said, “for what it’s worth. Please read your note, Ms. Meeks.”

  Ryan smiled. “It says, ‘Havish Cromwell’.” She placed the paper back in her pocket. “And I looked that up on the internet, your Honor,” she said. “There’s never been a lawyer from that firm on Law and Order. Not one.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Meeks,” said Larkin. He looked to Wendy. “I have no further questions for this witness.”

  “Ms. McAdams?” asked the Judge. “Questions?”

  “None.” Wendy scribbled some notes on her legal pad.

  “Aww!” said Ryan as she made her way down from the stand before the Judge had even excused her. “You could have asked me something!” She winked at Larkin before heading back to the gallery to sit with her mother.

  “Your call, Mr. Monroe.”

  “I call . . . Justice Lloyd Byrd, your Honor.” The courtroom buzzed with excitement.

  “Calm down, everyone,” said the Judge, “or I’ll remove every single person from this room.” Judge Wexler had more or less allowed the tittering during the Meeks family revue, but with Justice Byrd entering the show, a new tone was needed. She whispered into the deputy clerk’s ear again and after a full minute, the doors opened and Justice Byrd walked briskly into the courtroom. His countenance appeared deadly serious, his face carved of granite.

  “Please approach the witness stand, Justice Byrd,” said the Judge. “Do you promise to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth so help you God?” The Justice gave the federal Judge a peculiar look before answering “yes.” He took his seat.

  “Please state your name for the record,” said Larkin.

  “I am Lloyd Harrison Byrd, III, Justice of the Supreme Court of Virginia.”

  “As a Justice of the Supreme Court,” said Larkin, “are you appropriated a staff?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can you describe your staff to the court?”

  The Justice sighed. “Yes. I’m presuming that your question was not engineered to provoke a list seriatim of my support staff, but rather that of my judicial clerks.”

  Larkin raised his eyebrows and nodded. “Uh, yes, your Honor.”

  “I have, or I had, two law clerks. Each Justice may select two law clerks to assist in legal research and so forth. This year I had been working with Anthony Swain and Alex Jordan.”

  “And Ms. Jordan was killed recently, isn’t that correct?”

  Wendy stood as if to object to Larkin’s leading question, but the basilisk glare from Justice Byrd sent her back to her seat. She leaned forward from her chair and stared at the Justice, utterly confused.

  “Yes,” he said sadly. “She was murdered. Her body was found at the lake. A beautiful and talented young person.”

  “A tragedy,” said Larkin.

  “The greatest kind,” said the Justice.

  “Are you familiar with the case of Bedford County v. Tans-Appalachian Rail?”

  “Yes. It involves the creation of a large train terminal in Bedford. The court,” the Justice turned to Judge Wexler, “the supreme court,” he said as he looked at Judge Wexler, “was split on this case.”

  “Who was charged with writing the opinion?”

  “I have that charge,” said the Justice.

  “Did you have your law clerks help you with this case?”

  “Initially, the case was sent to Alex for a draft opinion. She drafted an opinion and provided it to me for my review. But she was killed before we ever discussed her work. I then assigned the work to Mr. Swain.”

  “Your Honor,” said Larkin, “at this time I would like the bailiff to publish to the witness the two draft opinions that have already been filed with this Court.” The Judge nodded and handed the draft opinions to the bailiff. The bailiff placed them in front of Justice Byrd. “Are these the opinions that your law clerks created?”

  “Yes.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because you stole these from my house. You smashed my Stickley roll top.”

  “Apologies, your Honor.”

  “For what?” asked Judge Wexler.

  “Oh,” said Larkin, “not you, Judge. Apologies to the Justice for smashing his roll top.”

  “Which one did Alex write?” asked Larkin.

  “This one,” said Justice Byrd as he held up the smaller opinion.

  “What is the result of that opinion?”

  The Justice sighed again. He looked to Judge Wexler for a moment. “I was having difficulty weighing this one. I truly was. The issues were complicated. But Alex drafted this very simple opinion that clearly advocated for the County.”

  “I see,” said Larkin. “And the other?”

  “The other Anthony wrote. He expressed great disdain to me for initially assigning the case to Alex. When I asked him to supplement her work, he gave me this.” He tapped his long finger against the larger opinion.

  “What is the end result of that opinion, your Honor? The one that Anthony Swain wrote.”

  “It’s for the railway. I had initially leaned toward the railway, but Alex’s logic was both persuasive and coherent. After I read her work . . . it was difficult to make the call.”

  “Would it be safe to say that you were on the fence?”

  “I wouldn’t put it like that,” said the Justice.

  Christ, thought Larkin. Time to speak lawyer. “Would it be safe to say that your final decision was pending, under advisement, until further analysis?”

  The Justice paused. “I would say that.”

  “So you were on the fence,” said Larkin, but he asked his next question too quickly and the Justice could not respond to his remark. “Do you see the written words on the back of Alex’s draft opinion?”

  The Justice flipped the document over. “Yes.”

  “Is that Alex Jordan’s handwriting?”

  “Yes. I’ve seen it many times.”

  “What does that language say?”

  “It says ‘Trans-App Atty’s: Havish Cromwell – BIG BNS.’”

  “Who were the att
orneys representing the railroad in this case?”

  “Havish Cromwell,” said the Justice. “New York office.”

  “So, the law firm of Havish Cromwell had been retained to make sure that the Supreme Court would allow this multi-million dollar rail station to be constructed in Bedford?”

  The Justice nodded. “Yes.”

  “You currently have a home at Smith Mountain Lake, don’t you, your Honor?”

  “I do.”

  “Do you have a security system in place?”

  “Yes, I do. I pay for a very nice security system at my home.”

  “Does this system have a pass code?”

  “Yes it is does.”

  “And does Mr. Anthony Swain - -”

  “Both of my law clerks know the pass code,” said the Justice. “I frequently do work out there in the summer months and it is necessary from time to time to have my law clerks enter my property.”

  “Thank you, Justice,” said Larkin, “I don’t have anything - -”

  “Aren’t you forgetting something, counselor?”

  Larkin paused. “Am I?”

  “Yes,” said the Justice. “Ask me about the letters, ‘BIG BNS.’”

  Larkin turned and looked at Wendy, but both she and everyone else in the room seemed frozen. “Do you know what that language means?” Larkin asked.

  “Yes” replied the Justice. “Now ask me how.”

  “How?”

  “After we spoke earlier today, I had a conversation with an attorney from Havish Cromwell. I wanted to confirm the bonus structure being offered to Anthony Swain. It seems that Mr. Swain had been hired by Havish Cromwell, a fact that I did not know when I asked for his assistance on this case. Mr. Swain never reported that to me. I also learned that Mr. Swain was to be given a $175,000 bonus.”

  “You learned all of that with a phone call in the last few minutes?” asked Larkin.

  “It helps when your title is Justice.”

  “I see,” said Larkin. “Is that amount,” Larkin looked to the Judge, “$175,000” he repeated before turning back to the Justice, “out of line for a normal clerkship bonus?”

  “Far out of line,” said the Justice.

  Larkin turned to the prosecutor’s table. “Questions, Ms. McAdams?”

  Wendy slowly stood and shook her head.