by Derek Blass
* * * *
Cruz stood behind a producer who was watching a small screen. The producer was about average height, had disheveled hair, black-rimmed glasses and a goatee. He wore a black shirt and pants so that he nearly disappeared in the dark viewing room. A seemingly infinite number of lights blinked around them. Red, yellow and green. Signifying things foreign to Cruz. Like stepping into the cockpit of an airplane and marveling at all of the switches, levers, knobs and dials.
“This video is fantastic,” the producer whispered as he turned two dials one way and pushed a sliding button vertically. It was a different mentality, to be able to look at loss of life and call it fantastic. A certain hardening to life which Cruz fought off, but at the same time saw its inevitability. People in the media would call the video fantastic. People viewing it would consume it as entertainment. Another roadside crash they pass by mid-gape. “I think we can use this whole thing, Sandra.”
She smiled, but not with the same depravity as the producer. “We'll be breaking this news, Eric.”
Mason had put it all on the line. He'd never actually checked the video into evidence—perhaps with some inkling that it wouldn't get to the trial. Cruz's plea and the injustice of Judge Melburn's ruling were enough to force Mason's hand, and he gave the original video to Cruz.
“I know, how fantastic! We haven't had a story like this in years. Let alone be the ones to break it. This is going to do wonders for your career.” A silver lining, buried deep beneath folds of bloodshed. Sandra looked at him and he gave her a supportive wink. What was actually fantastic? How Sandra looked, Cruz thought. In the time since their adventure in the restaurant bathroom, they hadn't come together that way again. There was no weirdness in the break. Both understood the attention the circumstances around them demanded, and both could subsume their desires for the time being. Although Cruz was finding that difficult as he stood there and watched Sandra in her element.
“I want to run this on tonight's six o'clock news,” the producer said, frenetically. “And I obviously want you to report it. Do you have any witnesses that you can roll into the piece? Any of the people in the video?”
“Cruz here.” Cruz looked at Sandra with surprise.
“Me?”
“Yeah, I think it's important to discuss the case as it currently stands. Plus, you have personal experience with how we got to where we are.” Cruz had never been on television before. He looked into the recording studio next to them. It was silent and dark except for the stage.
“Sure, I can do that.”
“Perfect!” the producer exclaimed. “Come back in two hours and we'll start the setup.” Cruz waited for the producer and Sandra to walk out of the room. He stood there, wondering how this chess move would be received. Worried it would fall on deaf ears, people already calibrated to violence.
He dropped his head and turned to walk out of the room. Sandra was standing just inside the doorway. She grabbed his hands and kissed him on the lips. “It's going to work. Don't try to let yourself down before the video's been given a chance.” He appreciated her insight. “Come on, let's go get a bite to eat.”
It sounded like a good idea.
* * * *
Shaver sat in the chair next to his hospital bed, watching a small television resting on a beat-up cart. He was completely zoned out, listening to weather reports and stories about local news that didn't matter to him. A “Breaking News” banner scrolled onto the screen.
The male anchor said, “For quite some time now one of our reporters, Sandra Gutierrez, has been following a story that we quite honestly thought had died. Turns out the story was alive and well, and the facts behind it only got more gruesome. What do you have for us, Sandra?”
Sandra appeared on a split screen and Shaver jumped up as stiff as a rod. “That's right, Rob, I've been following this story for several months now. If you recall, an old Latino man was allegedly shot in cold blood by a member of the city's police force gang unit. While the story did not get much press after that, the story has indeed been going on. In fact, the officer who shot the man was only recently arrested, and he is set to stand trial starting three days from now.”
“I understand that you have some breaking news on this case for us?” the male anchor inquired.
“I do Rob. We obtained a copy of a video shot at the scene of the murder. It was shot by a cameraman named Max Silverman who filmed for the popular show Police. He paid the ultimate price to see that this video was safe.”
“You mean he died?” the anchor asked, veritable surprise on his face.
“He was killed. In fact, I was trapped in a closet at his apartment when he was killed. I had gone to his apartment to get a copy of the video. Max was visibly nervous, too paranoid I thought to myself. It was justified though. Just a few minutes after I got to his apartment, someone else arrived. Max told me to run to the closet and hide with the video, which I did. Over the next few minutes I heard the assailant interrogate Max. Then he shot him.”
The anchor remained silent, stunned by these facts. “What happened next?” he managed to get out.
“There was a chase that lasted several weeks for the video I had. All of the officers that you will see in the video were killed with the exception of Sergeant Shaver and Officer Martinez. Most of them were killed in the initial days after the video was taken. After that, we were involved in our own chase to track down the original version of the video, which Officer Martinez had secured. The version I had was a copy of that original.
Sergeant Shaver was apparently taking orders from the Chief of Police to find the video at any cost, including killing us in the process. I'm sure Sergeant Shaver would have followed through if he had the chance.”
“You're fucking right I would have!” Shaver screamed at the television. “I still will, you bitch!” He hurled a paper cup across the hospital room.
“I see here that you were held captive yourself?” the anchor inquired while double-checking his notes.
“I was. The chief of police and a man who worked for the Chief kidnapped me and held me hostage in an attempt to get the video.”
“A man working for the Chief? So another officer?”
“This man certainly was not a police officer. I hate to use inflammatory language, Rob, but this man was an assassin. A heartless person, no semblance of emotion and wracked with sickness. Truly the most disturbing person I have ever confronted.”
“And this, this...monster...he held you captive?”
“He kidnapped me, and took me to a doctor's house.”
“I don't understand,” the anchor said. “Why did he take you there?”
“The doctor was also working with the Chief. We have not had the chance to determine exactly what his involvement with the Chief was. All I know is that this doctor had a subterranean, mini-hospital setup in his house. That's where this monster of a man took me and strapped me to an operating table. He pulled a light down to within inches from my face, and...” Sandra started to break up.
“You pussy!” Shaver spat. “Fuck this, this is prejudice!”
Elysa came running into the room. “What on earth is going on with you?”
“Watch this!” Shaver yelled while pointing at the television.
“Just take your time Sandra,” the anchor said. There were several seconds of silence while Sandra dabbed her eyes and regained her composure.
“I'm sorry, Rob. The man pulled a light down close to my face and left me there while the skin on my face started to burn. I thought there was no hope, I had lost all hope. I thought I was going to die in that place.”
“But, you're here today,” the anchor said, shaking off the impotence of his statement.
“I am, thanks to the efforts of Officer Martinez as well as this man.” The camera panned out and Cruz came into the frame.
“And your name, sir?”
“Cruz Marquez.”
“Cruz is a local attorney,” Sandra said. “He and Officer Martinez
rescued me from the doctor's operating room.”
“Sandra, I think this is a good place take a break,” the anchor said. “Viewers, do your best to absorb all of this, and we'll finish the story as well as show you the video that caused all of this when we return.”
The station cut to a commercial. Shaver sat in impotent anger. “They are poisoning the jury pool with this shit! I'll never stand for a trial here!” Elysa shook her head and slowly backed out of the room. Shaver was left alone, answer-less. After a few, seething moments, the anchor was back on the television.
“Back with your six o’clock breaking news,” Rob said. “Sandra, before the commercial break you were telling us about your kidnapping, and how the gentleman sitting with you, Mr. Cruz Marquez, was an integral part in saving your life.”
“That’s correct, Rob. As I mentioned, Cruz is a local lawyer who got wrapped up in the chase for the video.”
“Mr. Marquez…”
“Cruz is fine, Rob.”
“Cruz, how did you, a lawyer, end up chasing after fugitives to rescue Sandra? That seems far outside your regular job description.”
“Completely. I’ve never done anything like this. I had shot a gun once or twice before, but at a shooting range. Certainly never pointing one at an actual person. It's been a crash course.”
“From what I understand, Sergeant Shaver was apprehended and is in prison now?” the anchor asked.
“That’s right. Sergeant Shaver remains in prison while his case is pending. His trial begins in three days, and just like any other person charged with a crime, he is innocent until proven guilty.”
“Sure, but the video we are about to see is a relatively strong indicator that Sergeant Shaver is guilty.”
Cruz had to decide how to hedge his response. “It seems that way, Rob, but I’ll let your viewers draw their own conclusions.”
“Fair enough,” Rob said with a bit of dissatisfaction. “Let’s roll that video. But first, if you have small children present or if you don't like seeing violent images, it may be a good time for you to visit the kitchen, viewers.” Cruz looked at a monitor on the desk in front of them. After a couple seconds of black screen, the video started. He stared through the screen until the gunshots.
It was brutal. The old man died instantly. His face turned towards the camera. A slow stream of blood rolled out of his lower lip and over his chin. His eyes were wide open. The daughter became more visible as she lunged toward the old man's bed. Officers started to leave the room, arguing about what had happened. The cameraman did not move the camera yet. Instead, the camera caught the daughter weeping. Her tears fell on the feet of the old man as he lay cold in his bed.
The video went black.
“Fucking hocus pocus!” Shaver yelled, looking for something else to throw. “He wouldn't show me his goddamn hands!” Shaver punched at the air.
“I've never seen anything quite like that,” the anchor said. Cruz felt a tear well up in his eye. He willed away the rest of them.
“Now, hopefully, our viewers can see why it was so important to find and protect this video,” Sandra said. “This is the first time the video has ever been broadcast.”
“Why now, Sandra?”
“I think Cruz can explain that better,” Sandra answered, turning to Cruz.
“The criminal case against Sergeant Shaver has been ongoing for a couple of months. While your audience generally just catches the tail end of a case, or the trial, a lot goes into the case before that. Last week, as we neared the trial, the judge heard motions to exclude certain evidence. The video we just watched was one of the pieces of evidence that Sergeant Shaver asked to exclude.”
“For obvious reasons,” the anchor added.
“Yes, for very obvious reasons. At that hearing, the judge granted Sergeant Shaver's request to exclude the video. He did so on the grounds that the video did not have the proper chain of custody. Basically, it was mishandled as a piece of evidence before the case began. The real problem that we had with the judge was that he showed no inclination to take our side of the argument into account. He had pre-determined the ruling. While I won't speculate as to why he did that, the important thing here is that this video not be cached away in some evidence room. People need to see this video, and people need to react to this video.”
“In one sense then, the judge's ruling may have been a blessing, because it allowed you to show this video now?” the anchor asked.
“It would have been better used at trial, and then disclosed afterward. I guess you can call this a distant second.”
Shaver grabbed his hospital room's phone and dialed Sphinx.
“Answer, answer...answer!!”
“This is Sphinx.”
“Holy shit, Sphinx! Did you see that?”
“Of course. I think the whole city saw that. I've already gotten over ten calls from attorneys asking me what the hell I'm going to do. See, here comes another.”
“Well, what are you going to do?”
“I can move to change the venue, but I'm not sure how that helps you, Shaver. It's not something we'll be able to suppress. The effects will reach into the next city, the next county, the future. I'd suggest you just proceed here in town.”
“That's it? That's all you can offer me with what I'm paying you? There aren't any rules to enforce here?!”
“Rules? Shaver, breaking the rules got you here. If Judge Melburn had given the State a fair hearing, that video may be in evidence now. If that video came into evidence, who knows if it ever would have been released like this. If it was released, it would have been after the trial concluded, and possibly after you had been acquitted. The effects would have been minimized. Instead, the video is released like this and I assume the public will want your blood. Hold on, I've got to let you go. There's another call coming in.”
“Hold on!? What's next, Sphinx?!”
“Trial.”
F O R T Y-T H R E E
__________________________________________________
Cruz and Martinez looked at each other as the swell of people and noise grew outside the courtroom. Cruz wondered if the courtroom walls could contain both the people inside and outside. Outside, there had to be ten thousand people. Some people held picket signs reading, “Hang the Killer!!” Another read, “A Fair Trial for All!!” There were blacks, Latinos, Asians, whites, politicians, businesspeople, activists, construction workers, assistants, athletes, reporters. The crowd had split between those supporting Shaver and those not. People were shouting obscenities through a line of riot police organized for this occasion. More and more people gathered at the steps to the courthouse as time passed.
The inside of the courtroom was a microcosm of the outside, although slightly calmer. There were no picket signs and no riot police. Hushed but intense arguments took place. Then someone shattered the relative calm and screamed, “Convict this son-uf-a-bitch!!” A part of the crowd in the courtroom erupted with cheers. A bailiff promptly escorted him from the courtroom.
Cruz twisted around on his bench seat to look at the crowd. A few women were fanning their faces. The courthouse was old and stuffy without people, let alone filled to the brim. Plus, it was a pretty warm day for early spring. He saw some people taking notes on small pads of paper. The reporters took up the first two rows of seating. People were lined up along the walls of the courtroom. Some talked to one another. Others stood and shifted listlessly. Cruz heard one person ask when this was all going to start.
“This the most packed you've ever seen this courthouse?” Martinez asked Cruz.
“It's the most packed I've ever seen a courtroom, period.” Cruz saw Sandra come in and look for them. He held his hand up.
She hurried over and sat down. “You won't believe this. Look at all of these.” She handed them newspapers. They were from other states. Shaver was on the front cover of all of them.
“Wow, we've gone national?” Cruz said.
“That's just the start. Our station
had to hire a part-time person to help with the influx of calls. We're getting overwhelmed on the networking websites. I personally got over six hundred emails yesterday. I've never seen anything like this. It's the main story on almost every news website I've visited.” Cruz and Martinez flipped through the newspapers. Shaver's image was splashed across each of them. They all smiled at each other. “What's going on in here?” she asked, slightly out of breath from her excitement.
“It's been a madhouse. Took thirty minutes just to get through security.”
“Have you guys seen the crowd outside lately?”
“We've avoided getting up,” Martinez answered. “It's almost impossible to move around.” Mason and Sphinx came into the courtroom. It was a quarter past eight in the morning. Jury selection was supposed to start at eight-thirty.
“How come you aren't with Mason?” Sandra asked Cruz.
“With the videotape gone, and only having a few witnesses, they don't need my help. It's better to keep it separate anyway. One attorney working on it, knowing all aspects of the case as if it were his child. That's better. Besides, that leaves me free to testify if necessary.”
Mason threw his briefcase down on the counsel's table and pulled out a pad of yellow legal paper.
“Did you guys reach a plea deal?” Cruz asked facetiously. “Not that you'd want to disappoint the masses.”
“No, that shithead wants a dismissal of the charges or nothing. Amazing. He's only able to take that position because of what happened with the video. So, I told the press about it. Fuck'im.” Mason sat down and let out a long exhale. “Ten minutes.”
“They must have devoured that.”
“Yeah, they ate it up. It'll only stir the pot some more,” Mason said. “Listen, all three of you,” Mason said, turning to them fully. He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, his face looked tired, worn down. “I need your help with jury selection. This judge is a joke. No jury questionnaires. Twenty minutes per side for voir dire. It's unconscionable.”
“How can we help?” Sandra asked.
