by A. L. DeNova
She turned back towards her counsel table and pushed through the swinging doors. She wrote on the yellow legal pad her goal. “GUILTY!” That was her prosecutor’s affirmation. Jo scribbled away until she was disturbed by a strong tanned right hand touching her shoulder. She turned to see Special Agent Jacobo Sanchez in aviator sunglasses and a suit.
“Don’t worry,” Sanchez said touching the aviator shades “I’ll lose these as soon as the jury files in.” He flashed his most devastating smile- a complete dud- for Jo. “But listen Lady D.A.- I see you brought your personal chic along and his smile grew even bigger. “Where’s Teeter, then?” “He’s with all of our witnesses in front of Courtroom 9 up the hallway. Guarding them from predators.”
“Good work, Jacobo. I didn’t want them creeping out the jury panel.” “No! Never,” Jacobo answered. “Nobody can touch ‘em. I put them down there because I wanted them safe from Vandeweghe, her Quasimodo defense investigator and those two crooks in the audience out there. Hey lady, don’t you dare stare at them,” Jacobo said.
“Which reminds me, Jacobo. Where is the cocaine, the 2000 kilos for this trial and did you get an I.D. on the crooks in our courtroom,” Jo said making sure to look only at Jacobo and smile.
“It will be here bright and early on a dolly- all 200 packages.”
“As far as I know, those two guys were probably sent here by their defense lawyer so they will know what a jury trial looks like. But I will get one of the court officers and stop and ID then on their way inside the courthouse. Or I will get a uniformed Border Patrol Officer do an immigration check,” Jacobo said.
“All rise, in the presence of the flag, and the Constitution for which it stands, all rise for Honorable Federal District Court Judge, The Honorable McKinley L. Mack, presiding,” declared the rotund and tightly girdled court clerk from her diaphragm.
Judge Mack, climbed the three steps to his perch on the federal bench. He was known by Assistant United States Attorneys and Defense Attorneys alike, as simply McJustice. Not a single human being ever speak that name to his face. But behind his back, it was widely whispered.
McJustice took a moment to absorb the grandeur of his position. After the Presidential nomination, and the rubber stamp by the Senate, he had gone back to the D.C. hotel. “Ah, lifetime tenure. Not a bad job. If you can get it. Reliability and connections were the essential prerequisites. Intelligence, equanimity and knowledge of the law were certainly added bonuses, but not always found in aspiring judicial candidates,” he said to his then wife after a quick two glasses of champagne and jumbled nerves.
McJustice savored his domain as he called his courtroom. Mack, when he referred to himself in the third person, which was not infrequent, knew that this was a lofty landing for a law enforcement major with a C- average from San Diego State. He was a reluctant writer, and not much of a reader, but he had infinite confidence instilled in him by his Basque mother, and his tougher Basque grandmother who always advised “Vengeance like water is best served cold.”
When he had nothing to say, he always pulled a wounding word from a well-stocked armory of insults. His deftness with demeaning slights at the perfect moment, catapulted him to his exalted position. His colleagues both loathed and feared him, for a one-two punch of a sharp tongue combined with a noteworthy work ethic.
Mack loved the fight. He was a trial lawyer in his prime, and he never let anybody forget this. These traits evolved from centuries of hard living in the Pyrenees, which is what he told the keepers of his legend.
His reverie ended as the jury panel, filed in. This is where he could really shine, lecturing these non-lawyer citizens. This morning, he told his new law clerk, Tom Urquidi “Pick a theme that encapsulates your theory on why your defendant is guilty. Not just facts. Themes. Not just reason. Emotion. Enthrall the jury from the first moment you step in the courtroom. Look at them directly in the eye. Rise when the jury enters and rise when they leave. Be a gentleman at all times. Display extraordinary courtesy towards the defense attorney, and of course, the presiding judge. To earn the letter of reference the law clerk was forced to gaze adoringly and listen. “The job of a prosecutor is older than the written word or the first ethical code etched in stone: the violator must be punished to keep our tribe safe. The only alternative is chaos and rule by those bestial violent few,” Mack loved to repeat.
“Good Morning Ladies and gentleman. My name is McKinley L. Mack. I am the Federal Judge presiding. Seated to my right closet to you representing the United States of America is the Federal Prosecutor, Assistant United States Attorney, Miss Josephine Gemma. Next to her is the case agent, the United States Federal Agent, a Special Agent with United States Customs, whose primary mission is to examine all items coming into the United States, with special interest in that which is contraband, forbidden by law.”
Jo started to rise up from her seat, but Judge Mack ordered her down with emphatic wave of his hand. Never one to miss an opportunity, Heidi sprang up before Mack could turn from the prosecutor greeting the dozens of citizens pressed into service for jury duty: “And good morning!” Heidi began with a sweet smile “Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Heidi Vandeweghe and I am the lawyer for my client,” and she gently touched her client’s shoulder, “Mr. Garuda Gordon Cordero, the owner of the Cordero trucking business. Judge Mack was left with “Why, thank you Miss Vandeweghe.”
Judge Mack, turned back to the jury “I would like to tell you a bit about this case.
This is a criminal trial. The Defendant, Mr. Cordero, has entered a plea of not guilty to all charges. He sits before you now an innocent man, unless and until the United States is able to meet its heavy burden of proof and prove the Defendant Guilty beyond a reasonable doubt.
This case involves the importation of controlled substances, commonly called illegal drugs, from Mexico into the United States. In a few moments, I will instruct the Assistant United States Attorney Miss Gemma to read to you the indictment. You are instructed that indictment is not evidence. Jo then read the indictment as Mack instructed.
Judge Mack continued, “I will now conduct a process called from the French voir dire.
It is a custom in our American jury system to ask the potential jurors questions. To make sure all who serve as jurors can do so fully, fairly and impartially. He then asked,
“You understand that you may be called upon to deliberate even after the trial has ended?” Mack asked, lowering his eyebrows to punctuate the solemnity of their answer.
“Does anybody have a felony conviction?” Judge Mack, with a smile and said, “I see no hands.” Judge Mack talked on for over thirty minutes with a list of his standard questions.
20
Life on the Installment Plan
Jo hummed to herself as McJustice rambled interminably on. “A Life sentence on the installment plan, boring,” Jo whispered to Jacobo.
Agent Sanchez let his thin lips curl slightly, but he was too seasoned to talk in front of the Judge, so he wrote in big letters on her long, empty yellow pad: “You know that they say about jurors-12 people too stupid to get out of jury duty.”
Jacobo had busted his tail for this case, personally subpoenaed all the witnesses, made the follow up telephone calls and organized the evidence. He never complained. He knew the score. He played his cards. He played to win. He listened to all the jail recordings, he made trash runs, and sifted through the suspect’s trash. He gathered the key circumstantial evidence that would convict Garuda. Jacobo wrote back, “Rack twelve, and shut up.”
Sanchez had seen this all before, about 1000 times. Typical for an experienced crook, Garuda proclaimed his innocence. Garuda owned the truck, but not the trailer where all the drugs were stored. Yeah, the defense would repeat the incantation “unknowing courier.” Jacobo could not even say the words without spitting, “unknowing courier.” Jacobo loved his job, because he hated what the cartels had done to his ancestral home. Teeter had asked questions about life in Mexico. Jacobo told his part
ner what he knew.
“It is just different. It is about family. And group gatherings, Catholic festivals, plentiful slow-cooked food, rhythmic music, lively dancing, and nurturing, loving women.“ Teeter listened. “Life is a struggle there for most, but the love and trust of my family made my boyhood stable, predictable and magical. We stood together through everything, “Jacobo said.
For this case, he had go to U.S. Customs HQ every day. He could not wait to get the evidence assembled for trial, and hear the jury say “guilty.”
Just that morning, Jacobo had told Agent Teeter about his border town. “Even now in Tecate, Tijuana, Mexicali, in the cities of Northern Mexico that bumped up to the California border, the sprawling rundown cardboard dwellings, filled with children who begged, and went hungry. Meanwhile, the drug business boomed. If this was not contained, what would be left?” Jacobo had said to Teeter. It was an easy sell to Teeter. Jacobo’s hardest opponent was apathy, in San Diego where relaxation was the number one priority.
Every Christmas Eve at family celebrations, Jacobo justified his job. “I am just trying to stop the bad guys from winning,” he explained to his cousins. All that mattered was that his wife understood. Jacobo had been an Army Infantry Officer. He received high ratings for physical and moral courage on his officer evaluations. His wife Myra understood that underneath Jacobo’s cologne and the swagger, was indeed a man who would brave danger to chase down the bad guy.
But this civilian work was different, Jacobo had learned. He was not a man who had the stomach to focus on writing memos and kissing up to the bureaucrats. This behavior prevented him from acquiring the title “supervisor” to his badge and office name plate. He chose to forgo promotion and instead to focus on catching crooks, and kicking ass.
Finally, the old man in black said,” Ladies, approach the bench.” The attractive court reporter, Amber, scooped up her grey steno reporter machine and carted it over to a side of the high judge’s bench.
In a stage whisper, Judge Mack told the lawyers: “I don’t believe there are any grounds to challenge the jurors for cause, you agree?” Heidi Vandeweghe grinned from ear to ear, and squeezed a response in a soprano, “The Defense is satisfied.” “Your honor,” Jo, began “Your honor, further questions for juror number 8, who appears faltering in the English language but fluent in Tagalog, the major language of the Philippines.”
“Denied!” Came the booming response, loud enough to startle the jurors. Without taking a breath, McJustice asked, “Preemptive strikes?” Unfazed, Jo ran through her checklist of judicial error and Judge Mack expediently denied each of Jo’s objections.
McJustice had reached his goal of twelve jurors and one alternate selected for trial well before the noon lunch break. As the appointed ringmaster, Mack advised the impaneled jury, “You will now hear an opening statement by Miss Josephine Gemma, Assistant United States Attorney. “
Jo rose up quickly, and steadied herself with help from the podium. McJustice declared that she had to be within an arm’s length of the podium. She decided that touching it was the safest place, like touching first base with her foot in softball, before trying to steal second.
Jo flipped the bangs out of her eyes, and earnestly, told the Garuda’s story of guilt, the man in the driver’s seat. “When you review the evidence, the value, the methodical, professional nature of the packaging, you will come to the only conclusion consistent with the law and the evidence, that is that the Defendant is guilty of importing 2000 kilograms of cocaine,” Jo concluded.
Garuda stared pleasantly at the muscular United States Marshall to his right in his peripheral vison. “Don’t worry,” Garuda wanted to tell those big men. He had no intention of going anywhere, but home.
JC had heard and seen enough. He motioned to his bulky babysitter, and the two men slipped out of the courtroom. “That’s her, that’s the girl who drove Carmen to the Chevelle. We got to tell El Chiño.” The bigger man nodded. Together, they left Courtroom 10 to find a payphone. El Chiño would place his order now, before lunch.
21
Dress Like a Lady
Judge Mack, gave the jurors a five-minute break between opening statements.
When court was reassembled, Judge Mack gestured to Heidi, and she energetically accepted. “On behalf of my client, Garuda Gordon Cordero, I want to deeply thank you in advance for entering this courtroom with an open mind, so you can then render the only verdict consistent with the law and evidence and that is a verdict of not proven, not guilty. Let me explain the acts of this case, and then provide you with the road map to reach the only just decision in this case: Not Guilty.”
Petite, pretty and flirty with every curve of her 33-year-old body, manicured, creamed, and scented, Heidi presented a fragrant case for the eight men and four women on the jury. They stared and stared at her smiles and gestures as did Mack. He was going to throw that puppy a bone. He liked Heidi, her deference, her unshakable good humor, her Columbia Law Degree, her penchant for flirtation and fun. She was a pleasure to see, she relieved the draining monotony of the endless Border Cases.
As soon as the last juror exited the courtroom, the judge dropped his veneer of common courtesy. “Ladies,” Mac said, “I will see you both at 7:50 am. Sharp. I am instructing Ms. Littleton, my deputy clerk, to have the courtroom doors open at 7:50 a.m. All final motions and motions in limine or potential issues will be presented at that time, or shall not be raised. The court will not entertain any sidebars.” Jo wrote in block letters, large enough for Jacobo to read, “McJustice has spoken.”
“Is that clear Miss Gemma?” Judge Mack asked.
“Excuse me, your honor,” Jo answered. Mack’s thick neck whipped back from his gaze at the well-coiffed head of Heidi. He stared back at Jo. She was, and it took oh so little imagination to surmise, a h-o-m-o-s-e-x-u-a-l. She dressed so mannish. He was going to try this boring case fast.
Let the defense have a fighting chance. Tonight, as he dined with the President of the Point Loma Yacht Club, he would mention “Yes.” to any opportunity to join the 9th Circus, and ascend to an even higher bench. After a few scotches, they would agree about the advantages of federal judges Mack to know the next step. Yes, a career politician would select the best judge to move his, and then appoint a judge for life. Mack knew he was in position. This pleasant path now interrupted by the cloddish AUSA.
Jo took a stab at freedom, and opened her mouth. “Your honor, we believe we cannot possibly anticipate every possible circumstance that may arise...”
“Denied,” Mack said. His favorite, ubiquitous response, second only to “Bring in the jury.”
McJustice continued, “Miss Gemma, this hearing is over. Time for your beauty sleep. You may consider wearing a dress, a traditional form of clothing for the female gender of homo sapiens. As you no doubt have observed, the Defense Attorney shows her respect for these proceedings by being properly attired.”
Mack rose from his opulent leather chair. Ms. Littleton trumpeted” All rise.” Both the Defendant and Special Agent Jacobo Sanchez rose, as both lawyers had remained standing.
“If we had any other judge in San Diego, in the Southern District of California, we would have had at least another two months to investigate this case,” Jo said to Jacobo as she packed up the case file and carefully loaded it in a large trial brief case.
Jacobo said “Wow, that is a big file case. I don’t think I had a suitcase that big when I left home.”
“Thanks for your sympathy, Agent Sanchez,” Jo replied.
McJustice interrupted the conspiratorial whispering of the short-haired prosecutor, “Miss Gemma, tomorrow morning, with a dress.” Under his breath, “Antidote to dykes, like garlic to a vampire- a dress,” McJustice chuckled as he entered his spacious chambers.
When the door to McJustice‘s chambers was closed, Jo looked at the court clerk and the dapper, muscular U.S. Marshall staring at her. Jo now answered the empty bench “Well, I am off to buy a dress and prepare for my
cross examination of the Defendant. I really can’t decide what is the best use of my time.”
Pulling a cigarette from a gold case and tapping the cigarette with her pink, painted nails, Heidi paused and in a genuinely sympathetic voice said, “Jo, you can swing by my office and I bet you could find a conservative skirt to borrow.”
Jo grinned. She shook her head no. “Thanks for the gesture Van, but I don’t think this would be right, to borrow clothes from opposing counsel, even if it’s just for the day, and well, for this judge.”
Heidi stared at Jo for a moment, asking her to reconsider with her look. “Thanks, really we’re good. I admit it, I am a fashion felon in the eyes of Judge Mack. But I just have to say no.”
“See you tomorrow, Jo,” Heidi said, as she pushed open the swinging “attorney’s bar” doors.
“Mrs. Littleton, can I leave my exhibits in the courtroom, at least until tomorrow. I have about ten really large exhibits.”
Mrs. Littleton, who absorbed the authority and approach of Judge Mack, said simply and solidly: “No.”
