Savannah Law

by William Eleazer

  “Scott, would you stay? I guess I’m not as brave as I would like to be. I guess I’m still afraid.”

  “Of course. I’ll stay as long as you want.”

  He joined Jennifer again on the sofa, placed his right arm around her shoulder, and reached for her hand. She closed her eyes, let out a deep breath, and rested her head on his shoulder. Neither spoke. They remained there for a while. Jennifer seemed to be calm now, and he reached over and dimmed the lamp on the table beside the sofa. She was breathing deeply and soon was asleep from the physical and mental exhaustion. Scott did not move until he was sure she was sleeping soundly.

  Then he carefully picked her up from the sofa and took her to the bedroom.

  As he laid her on her bed and placed the bed covers over her, she briefly opened her eyes and softly said, “Thank you, Scott.”

  He turned out the lights and returned to the sofa to sleep. Before turning off the lamp, he looked at his watch. It was almost 2 a.m. He removed his shoes and placed a small pillow under his head, but he was not sleepy. His mind was racing with the events of that night. That terrifying ride in the tow truck should never have occurred. He was disappointed in himself for not seeing the danger. There simply was no excuse. It was 3 a.m. before he fell asleep.

  CHAPTER 4

  Saturday, August 19

  Scott awoke about seven. He looked in on Jennifer, and she was still sleeping soundly. He left a note and drove to his apartment. He reflected on the previous evening and wondered if he should take it upon himself to inform the police. But Jennifer wanted to put the episode behind her, and that should be her decision. He must concentrate on his work. The Vandera trial, his first felony trial, was scheduled for Wednesday. He had tried two misdemeanor jury trials and a half-dozen non-jury trials during his summer internship, but this was much bigger. He had a lot of preparation to do in the next three days.

  At 10 a.m. he checked the yellow pages and found the number for Marvin’s Foreign Auto in Garden City. Yes, they had the car; yes, it was the starter solenoid; and yes, it would be finished by noon. He waited an hour to call Jennifer. She was up and seemed to be in good spirits. She said she had been reading the assignment in Contracts, her first class on Monday morning. Neither mentioned the events of the previous evening.

  As planned, Scott picked her up at noon, and they drove to Marvin’s Garage. Jennifer insisted that he follow her home and come in for lunch.

  “I make great sandwiches.”

  Scott needed no urging. While Jennifer fixed the sandwiches, Scott carefully viewed his surroundings. Although he had stayed there the night before, he had not noted the uniqueness of the apartment. The house, built in the late 1800s, still contained the original wood floors, elaborate wainscoting, and stone fireplace. In addition to the living room, the apartment had one bedroom, a dining room, and a kitchen. Every room was oversized, with twelve-foot ceilings. Just as impressive was the decor. Scott knew little about interior decorating, but he knew this was a professional job.

  “Your apartment is beautiful.”

  “Thanks. I love it. I found it and moved in during my first year at SCAD. It came with some basic furniture, but my mother did the rest. I told you that I was spoiled.”

  They had a leisurely lunch and a relaxed conversation about school, family, and friends—anything that came to mind, except the harrowing tow-truck episode. That was never mentioned by either, as if it had never happened.

  Jennifer told Scott that Nicole Chapman, a first-year classmate, was coming in midafternoon and that they were going to review the assignments and discuss the cases for their Monday classes. Scott also had an afternoon of studying planned. When he left, he told her he would give her a call that evening.

  • • •

  When Scott called around seven, Nicole was still there.

  “We are just now going over the cases for our Civil Procedure class,” Jennifer said. “We finished the Torts assignment. I think I’m going to like that course. Wrongful death, negligence, fraud—it could have been a criminal law book the way those terms kept appearing. Nicole’s dad is a civil trial attorney. He told her that she had better master civil procedure and torts, and then get a job as a prosecutor for trial experience, if she wants to succeed in his line of work.”

  “Yeah, I’ve heard that’s a pretty good career path for a plaintiff’s attorney. My supervisor at the DA’s office told me he had that path in mind when he took the job in the DA’s office. He’s African-American; he says he doesn’t know if that’s helped him or hurt him in his career, but he’s had several job offers from Savannah law firms, both plaintiff and defense. Right now, however, he says he prefers prosecuting. He’s applied to the U.S. Attorney’s office in Atlanta. He went for an interview a month or so ago.”

  “Did he get it?”

  “I’m not sure. He says there’s more paperwork to submit. He says he doesn’t have any political pull, but I think he’ll get the job. He’s got experience.”

  Scott and Jennifer continued to talk, mostly about classes and campus events. Again, the Friday night truck ride was not mentioned by either. They just wanted to forget it.

  Eventually, Scott said, “I shouldn’t be wasting your time. I just called to see how you were doing. Sounds like you are doing fine. You are still planning on meeting me tomorrow, aren’t you?”

  “Of course. Thomas Courthouse, at four.”

  They hung up. Neither thought for a moment that the phone call was a waste of time.

  CHAPTER 5

  Sunday, August 20

  When Jennifer arrived at Thomas Courthouse Sunday afternoon, Scott was down front, practicing his opening statement before an imaginary jury. He stopped when he saw Jennifer.

  “So, this is where you hang out on the weekends?” Jennifer asked.

  “And on many weeknights as well. This is my second home— Thomas Courthouse,” Scott said. “Did you know that Justice Thomas was born just a few miles south of Savannah?”

  “No, but I assumed there was some Savannah connection.”

  “Yes, he was born in a very small community with a fitting name, Pin Point—it’s down near Skidaway Island. Founded by freed slaves right after the Civil War.”

  “Interesting. Are you Savannah Law’s ‘in residence’ historian?”

  “No, not their historian, but I am one of their PR guys. I’m proud of this courthouse and courtroom. They were completed at the beginning of my first year here. We’ve got a jury box big enough for twelve jurors, plus two alternates. And we can accommodate three judges on the bench. During my first year, a three-judge panel from the Georgia Court of Appeals came down from Atlanta and heard arguments in three or four actual cases—finally.”

  “What do you mean, ‘finally’?” asked Jennifer.

  “I mean the dean had repeatedly invited the court to visit and hold a hearing so the students could observe, but they always found a reason not to come—budget restriction, docket too heavy—always some excuse. The real reason, of course, was that we’re the newest law school in Georgia and don’t have much alumni influence. Do you know how we finally got them to come?”

  “Not a clue.”

  “Jaak. He overheard some of the senior members of the Moot Court Board complaining about the court not visiting Savannah Law. Turns out Jaak was the roommate of one of the court members. They roomed together for the entire two years Jaak was at the University of Georgia and had kept in touch. One phone call from Jaak, and voila! They set a date during the spring semester to coincide with Savannah’s big St. Patrick’s Day celebration. Jaak hosted a party at the Library that night and invited all the judges and what must have been half the legal community in South Georgia. It was a blast.”

  “You were there?”

  “Yeah, I was just in my second semester. The faculty and Moot Court Board members were invited, but not the entire student body. So I asked Jaak if I could help by drifting around with drinks and hors d’oeuvres. He said ‘sure,’ he could u
se some free help, so Jeff, who was my roommate at that time, and I dressed as waiters and pitched in. Jeff spilled a tray of drinks, some of it on a judge’s wife, but she thought he was cute, and they ended the evening laughing and dancing to one of Juri’s big-band CDs. The judge wasn’t amused. But that’s typical Jeff—you saw him in action Friday night.”

  “I did, and that makes three who think that Jeff is cute.”

  “Three?”

  “Yes. The judge’s wife, me, and Jeff. But is he as good in the courtroom as he is on the dance floor? And are you ready for that trial Wednesday?”

  “I’m getting there. I was practicing my opening statement when you arrived.”

  “Could you give me an idea what the case is about?”

  “Sure. It’s a burglary case. Involves a CVS store in Savannah— happened last April. The manager arrived in the morning and found the front door unlocked. Then the chief pharmacist opened the door to the pharmacy area and found all of the drawers pulled out, shelves open, and so forth. He looked up to where the skylight had been, and it wasn’t there—just a rope hanging down. Broken glass everywhere. On the floor, they found a metal chisel and a crowbar. Apparently, the burglar knew he would need tools to break into the narcotics storage area but hadn’t expected the safe to be so strong. It wasn’t a typical metal cabinet but a large commercial safe. The pharmacy crew inventoried all the drugs. Nothing was missing.”

  “So, if nothing was missing, do you really have a burglary?”

  “Sure, breaking into and entering the store to commit theft is enough. The burglar doesn’t have to succeed.”

  “How did they catch the guy?”

  “He worked at the store. His name is Charles Vandera— twenty-two years old. On the day they discovered the burglary, he didn’t show up and didn’t call in. He was away from work for two days. Said he had been ill. No alarms had sounded during the burglary, so the detectives suspected it might be an inside job. Charles was the only employee who was scheduled to come to work that day who didn’t show up. So he was already a suspect. And when he did return, an assistant manager noticed two minor cuts on his forearm, three to four inches long. The skin was red around the cuts, and they looked fresh. Once the detectives learned of the cuts on his forearm, they gave him a Miranda warning—maybe a bit early. He took the warning and refused to talk to the detectives.”

  “But you must have more evidence than that.”

  “We do. Of course, his refusal to talk isn’t evidence. We can’t even tell the jury that he refused to talk.”

  “How about fingerprints? On the tools, or the cabinets, or anywhere else in the pharmacy area?”

  “Nope, no fingerprints. The tools were wiped clean. They dusted for prints on the cabinet door handles and counters and found a few, but none matched his. All the usable ones could be traced back to one of the pharmacists. And they found no usable fingerprints on the front door, which he apparently used to exit the store.”

  “How do you know he left through the front door?”

  “I don’t. But it was unlocked—and I doubt he climbed back up that rope.”

  “Did they find the ladder? He must have used a ladder to get up on the roof. Any fingerprints on it?”

  “Yes, it was an aluminum ladder, and they did find fingerprints, some good ones. They belonged to a father-and-son painting crew that had just been hired earlier that week to paint the building. They left the ladder behind the building when they got word that the dad’s mother had passed away in Mississippi. They were attending her funeral that day. Detectives checked it out—solid alibi. They gave fingerprint samples, and all the identifiable prints on the ladder were theirs.”

  “Did they find any blood on the broken glass from the skylight?”

  “Nope, but a good question. No one saw any, but no one really looked. It was cleaned up pretty fast. The store hired someone to replace the skylight the same day the break-in was discovered. By the time Charles showed up for work with the cuts on his forearm, the glass had been placed in a garbage bin and carted off.”

  “So, all you have is his not showing up for work and cuts on his arm?”

  “No, we have more. They also found a retinoscope—a light that eye doctors use when examining eyes. It’s like a small halogen flashlight, but it can focus precisely with a small intense beam.”

  “So how does this light fit into your evidence, other than another burglar tool?”

  “The detectives were really curious. They had never seen one outside a doctor’s office. It didn’t belong to any of the pharmacists, so it must have been brought there by the guy who came down the rope. Makes a great tool for a burglar of a downtown store because it doesn’t light up the room, and the light would be difficult to see by someone passing by on the street. By the end of the third day, they were focusing on Charles. But they were playing it close to the vest. The detectives knew they had a key piece of evidence. It didn’t take them long to determine that Charles’s mother, Mary Vandera, worked for an optometrist in Savannah, a Doctor Talley.”

  “Don’t tell me his mother was involved in this burglary.”

  “No, not intentionally. Majewski, the lead detective on the case, stopped by Dr. Talley’s office. Majewski showed him the retinoscope and asked him if he had ever seen it. Dr. Talley said it looked like an old one he had once used. He said it had begun to show wear, and he put it in a storage closet until one day when Mrs. Vandera told him she could use that kind of light in her hobby. She’s a gem collector. She asked about buying it, but Dr. Talley just gave it to her. But he couldn’t be sure that it was the same one. He hadn’t seen it in a couple of years. It just looked similar.”

  “So, he couldn’t positively ID it?”

  “No, but Majewski wasn’t through. That evening, he went to Mrs. Vandera’s home. He showed it to her and asked if it was hers. She looked surprised. She examined it and immediately said yes, she was sure it was hers. It had the same markings and wear marks on it, including a small quarter-inch dent just to the right of the on-off switch. All Majewski told her was that they had found it, and they would eventually get it back to her.”

  “Did she know about the pharmacy break-in?”

  “Don’t know, but she couldn’t have any knowledge of the connection of the retinoscope to the burglary unless her son told her. The police haven’t released any info about it. Only the detectives and the pharmacists know about the retinoscope. Even the other clerks don’t know about it. And we don’t expect Mrs. Vandera to find out until we call her as a witness.”

  “You’re going to call the defendant’s mother to testify? Mrs. Vandera is going to have to testify against her own son?”

  “Yep. You have a problem with that?”

  “Well, I don’t know. Never thought about it.”

  “Personally, I do have a problem with it. But I have a bigger problem with not using that evidence. Charles Vandera committed this burglary, of that I have no doubt. It’s a serious felony. He can get up to twenty years. This is his first adult arrest. He’s young and perhaps he’ll learn from this and turn his life around. Maybe not. Who knows? I’m not exactly thrilled at calling a mother to testify against her son. According to Majewski, she lives in a small home in Port Wentworth, and Charles lives with her. From what I’ve heard, she’s a decent, hard-working woman. But I can’t let sympathy interfere with presenting the case. The right thing is for the son to plead guilty, accept his punishment, and get on with his life. We offered a reasonable pretrial. Jeff made it clear Friday night that Charles still insists on going to trial.”

  “Do you think Charles told his mother the truth about the burglary?”

  “I have no idea, but if he’s like most defendants, he will deny it to his mother. And if she is like most mothers, she will believe him.”

  “But won’t you have to reveal where the retinoscope came from to the defense? You’ve got to give the defense a list of all witnesses and your evidence, right?”

  “Right
—in most cases. But here in Georgia, the defendant has to request it in writing. Vandera and his attorneys, for some reason we can only guess, did not ‘opt in,’ as it’s called. So, no reciprocal discovery. He doesn’t get our evidence, and we don’t get his. We had to furnish a witness list, along with a copy of the indictment, prior to arraignment, but that’s about it. We don’t know anything about witnesses he may be planning to call. But he doesn’t know much about our case either.”

  “Isn’t that strange—that they haven’t opted in for discovery?”

  “Yes, I think it’s very strange. So does my supervising attorney.”

  “You mentioned him before—what’s his name?”

  “Grady Wilder. He’s been with the DA’s office about ten years. He’s a graduate of Georgia State Law School—pretty sharp guy. We work well together. Gives me enough rope to hang myself but keeps a strong arm on that rope. So far, he’s kept both of us out of trouble. And he’s better with the Socratic method than any of my professors. Questions me, gets my answer, sees where I am heading, asks another question to make me think and focus in the right direction, gets my answer, then another question and so forth—never gives an answer to any of my questions. He just lets me arrive at it myself. I’ve learned more in the Prosecution Clinic than any course I’ve taken in law school.”

  “Sounds like a cool guy. Why does he think Vandera hasn’t entered into reciprocal discovery?”

  “Grady says we can only speculate. Usually the defense wants all of our evidence. This is a rare case. Vandera apparently isn’t planning strictly an alibi defense. And we don’t know if he is aware of our finding the retinoscope and tying it to him through his mother. We don’t know if his mother told him about Detective Majewski’s visit. But she had to bail him out, so she’s well aware that he is charged with burglary. And she’ll have lots of questions. Will Charles tell her the truth? We don’t even know if Charles told his attorneys the truth. Defendants often lie to their attorneys and let them get ambushed at trial.”