by Wick Downing
There was something I should do, but my mind had frozen as I tried to thaw it out, then realized he was arguing! Would Grandfather let him argue during the opening statement, when you are only supposed to tell the jury what the evidence is? I started to object, but instead of standing like you’re supposed to in court, I put up my hand like a kid in school. The judge frowned at me with annoyance, and Mr. Thomas didn’t even slow down. Then it was too late to object, because he’d moved on to something else. “Now let me introduce the witnesses for the City. Mr. and Mrs. Pearsan, will you stand, please?”
A man and wife with television-perfect faces like Ozzie and Harriet stood up and smiled at the jury. They were dressed in simple but expensive clothes and holding hands. “The Pearsans are the mother and father of the four-month-old baby girl who was attacked by the dog.” Mr. Thomas spoke matter-of-factly, like a butler announcing that dinner was served, but the jurors were shocked. “Little Monica can’t be here with us today,” he continued, as though she couldn’t attend because of the horrible injuries she was healing from, “but you will meet her even so. The proud parents will show you photos of their child.”
They sat down as Mr. Thomas introduced the next person in the row. “This is Miss Ursula Jespersen,” he said as she stood up. “Ursula is a live-in nanny from Denmark who is employed by this hard-working couple,” and she smiled and blushed nicely like a princess in a fairy tale who smiles and blushes on cue. “She will tell you, among other things, of her feelings when she saw little Monica in the jaws of the animal.”
When Ursula heard Mr. Thomas say that to the jury, it was obvious that she knew exactly how she had felt . . . and an electric jolt touched off another shock, this one in my stomach. The big thing I knew I’d forgotten about flashed in my mind. The witnesses for Mr. Thomas were hearing his opening statement! No lawyer wants the witnesses for the other side to hear what that lawyer says he intends to prove, because then they’ll know exactly what to say and how to act. “Your Honor?” I said, jumping up. “I make a motion to exclude all witnesses from the courtroom!”
“You do what?” he demanded. “Approach the bench.”
My legs, strong enough to push me up the steep climb of Lookout Mountain on a bicycle, trembled like stilts in a windstorm as we huddled around the court reporter, our voices down so the jury wouldn’t hear us. “Miss Hope,” Steinbrunner whispered at me through his teeth, “I will grant your motion after Mr. Thomas’s opening statement, but not during it. If you didn’t want them here during his opening statement, you should have made your motion before he started.”
Mr. Thomas, in a big display of courtesy, let me go first, and I stumbled back to my chair with the wind completely out of my sails. I tried not to look at Ron Benson’s happy smile or the satisfied smirks on the faces of the kids in the spectator area—when I saw Mike in the middle of them, staring at the floor. He sat next to Sally Lipscombe, who was trying to hold his hand.
As Mr. Thomas got behind the lectern, where he stood like the president addressing Congress, Miss Willow clutched my arm, her blue hands cold with fear. “They won’t take Herman away from me, will they?” her tiny voice pleaded.
“We don’t know yet,” I whispered.
But I knew. Mom’s smile, so full of optimism and faith in the power of right to overcome wrong, deserted me. Justice was a joke in the real world of the legal system, I thought. It was nothing but tricks and tactics the lawyers used to keep the jury from finding out the truth. The truth about Herman had nothing to do with this case. All that mattered was which side had the slickest lawyer.
Kate, that don’t sound like you at all! a voice called out from somewhere I couldn’t see. I thought you was a lawyer! Don’t blame the system. Use it!
Grandfather? Had they let him out of the hospital? I twisted my head around, looking for the speaker, but all I saw was Mike, smiling at me with his thumbs up.
Had Mike tried to give me a stiff-upper-lip lecture from where he sat? Not like him at all. And I was certain the voice belonged to the Judge, my law partner. “Grampa?” I asked, forgetting where I was. “Where are you?”
Judge Steinbrunner stared at me. “Did you say something, Miss Hope?” he asked.
Mom’s smile was back on my face. “I guess I did, sir, to myself.”
“Well now. I won’t try to keep you from talking to yourself, but I will ask you to keep your voice down.”
Ursula wasn’t the only one who could blush prettily, I discovered as laughter washed over me like surf. The judge let it roil and swirl around the room for ten seconds, then whacked his gavel on the marble plate. It sounded like a pistol shot and was followed with total silence. “Listen to me, all you young people,” he said. “This is a court of law. You have the right to be here, but only if you conduct yourselves properly. I will not tolerate any foolishness. Do you understand me?”
They did. Mr. Thomas continued with his introductions. “Mr. Benson, would you stand up, please?” As Ron stood up, his flashing blue eyes touched mine with pity, then shined on the jury. He was all blond wavy hair piled on top of a Greek god’s body, with muscles bulging beneath a suit. “Mr. Benson may be known to some of you,” Mr. Thomas said, like he was the best friend the jurors ever had, “because of his high school athletic career and his prowess in football at Penn State.” Why not throw in the fact that the mayor wanted to change the name of Leetsdale Drive to Ron Benson Boulevard? “Today, however, you will meet him as a friend of Ursula Jespersen. Mr. Benson also witnessed the attack.”
After Ron sat down, Mr. Thomas put a large chart on an easel, angling it so the jury could see what was on it. A map of the sidewalks, streets, benches, trees, and shrubs along a piece of the shoreline at City Park Lake hung in front of them as big as a blackboard. Using a pointer, he described what Miss Jespersen and Mr. Benson would tell them, starting with wheeling little Monica around the lake and showing exactly where they’d stopped to rest.
My pulse banged around inside of me like a jackhammer as Mr. Thomas told the jury what Ursula and Ron had seen. How a large dog charged out of nowhere and attacked the sleeping infant in the buggy. How the animal had run off with the baby in his jaws. The jurors were paralyzed with horror by his description, but the story had a happy ending. Thank God for the presence of a gifted athlete, Mr. Thomas said, telling them that if Ron Benson hadn’t been there to stop the carnage, no one knows how the frightening scenario might have ended.
The cop who had been called to the scene of the crime stood up next, looking sharp in his uniform, and grim. Then the doctor who examined little Monica was introduced to the jury. “At the conclusion of our evidence, I feel certain you will arrive at the only responsible verdict there is in this case,” Mr. Thomas sadly proclaimed, like a preacher at a funeral. “The animal, the dog named Herman, is a dangerous dog.” He sat down.
Judge Steinbrunner peered down his nose at me as I did my best to look confident in spite of the odds. “You can talk to someone other than yourself now, Miss Hope,” he said. “It’s time for your opening statement.”
Chapter Twenty-three
I JUST KNEW SOMETHING AWFUL would happen when I tried to give my opening statement, and it did. I couldn’t stand up! I was frozen in an invisible block of ice! Stuck, are you, Grandfather’s voice said, followed by his low chuckle. Happens to the best of ’em. It still happens to me. Get up now, Pumpkin. Dazzle them with your teeth.
It had been years since anyone had called me Pumpkin, and it activated some reflexes I didn’t know I had. I jumped to my feet, feeling warm and gooey inside. My dad had called me that, telling everyone within earshot that it was his favorite name for his favorite daughter. I glowed with pride, until my brother pointed out to me that I was Zozo’s only daughter.
The damage had already been done, though, because I continued to glow with pride. “Your Honor, can the witnesses be excluded now?” I asked, Mom’s smile beaming at the judge with memories the judge didn’t know anything about.
Judge Steinbrunner peered at the six people in the row behind me who Thomas had introduced to the jury. “Miss Hope has made a motion to exclude witnesses,” he said to them. “Officer David Milliken and Miss Willow can stay, but anyone else who expects to testify in this case must leave the courtroom.” They shrugged like good sports and got up. “Please wait in the hall until you’re called,” the judge told them, “and don’t discuss the case among yourselves.”
Lawyers are supposed to stay behind the lectern when they give their opening statement, but when I stood behind it, the only part of me the jury could see was my smiling face. “I’m a little short for this,” I said to the judge, patting it. “Can I. . .”
“You may.”
Good start, I thought as the jurors watched me with expressions that said “Isn’t she cute?” For the moment, at least, they were on my side. “Thank you, Your Honor,” I said to him, then threw all my charm at Mr. Thomas. “And thank you too, Mr. Thomas, for asking the jury to listen to me carefully, because the defense evidence tells a very different story from the one you’ve told.” They weren’t exactly on the edge of their chairs, but they were listening, as I called myself Pumpkin to bring on the glow. “You see, we have an eyewitness who saw this whole scary incident, and he’ll tell you what really happened. It’s very, very different from what Mr. Thomas would have you believe.”
Mr. Thomas stood up. “Your Honor,” he said, “I had hoped this kind of thing would not happen. But I feel, sir, that I must interrupt.”
The judge stared at me with that awful expression he’d used on me before, as though I’d committed a crime. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, smiling with patience at the jurors, “something unexpected has occurred and I anticipate the need for a short argument. The bailiff will escort you to the jury room. These things happen in the course of a trial, and you should not concern yourselves over them or consider them in your deliberations.”
It was apparent to the whole world that I’d done something terrible again, but what? The bailiff led the jurors into the jury room and I wished the kids would leave too, but they didn’t budge. They were glued to their chairs, waiting gleefully for the ax to fall—except Mike, whose face was a deep, violent red.
“Miss Hope,” Steinbrunner said when the jurors were gone, “the Court file doesn’t show that your side had any witnesses, except perhaps your client, Miss Willow. Is she your eyewitness?”
“No,” I said, as my back stiffened on its own. Mom’s genes wouldn’t let me back down. “She wasn’t with Herman, sir, when this happened. She was being taken care of by a couple of paramedics.”
“Miss Hope, when you have witnesses, you must let the other side know who they are. Didn’t you get a witness list from Mr. Thomas?”
A witness list! “Yes, sir.”
“Well, why didn’t you give him yours?” he asked, doing his best to control himself, but close to losing it. “He doesn’t like surprises, and neither do I. That’s trial by ambush and has no place in a court of law.”
I had no explanation, other than that Grandfather had collapsed and all the clients had been dumped in my lap and a thousand things were on my mind and it was only the second trial I’d put together in my life. Should I make an excuse, like there was a power failure and Mrs. Roulette’s electric typewriters shorted and I thought she’d done it but hadn’t? Don’t make it worse than it is, Grampa said. “I have no excuse, sir. I just forgot.”
“Well. At least you’re honest about it,” he said, frowning. “You leave me in a very difficult position. Who is this witness?”
“His name is Spencer Phipps, sir, and he—”
“Spencer Phipps?” the judge asked as he and Mr. Thomas exchanged glances of recognition. “Is he out?” Out of what, I wondered, looking over at Miss Willow who had almost slid out of sight under the table. But enough of her remained visible to show an expression on her face like a squished lemon. “I’ll do this in the interests of justice, young lady,” the judge said. “You may call your witness in spite of the rule, but the trial will have to be delayed to give the city attorney time to prepare for him. I hope you have learned your lesson here and that it won’t happen again.”
“Thank you, Your Honor. It won’t.”
“Mr. Thomas, how much time will you need?” the judge asked him.
He and Officer Milliken smiled at each other, which wasn’t a good sign at all. “I can prepare for him during a recess, Judge,” he said. “No need to delay the trial. Mr. Phipps is well known in the city attorney’s office.”
The judge nodded. “Bailiff, go get the jury.”
As we waited, I asked Miss Willow what the deal was. “Spence acts crazy sometimes,” she whispered.
“How crazy?”
“He gets committed to the state mental hospital.”
My star witness, whose version of what happened was the one the jury had to believe if Herman was to have any chance at all, was looney tunes!
As the jurors filed back into the box, I considered my options. Was suicide an alternative? No, I thought, trying to cheer myself up. Mom would kill me. “You may continue, Miss Hope,” the judge said.
When I told the jury who my star witness was, two of them were surprised, but all of them listened patiently to every word. I outlined what I thought Spence would say, claiming that Herman was a hero who saved the infant, in spite of the way it might have looked—but it sounded like the figment of an imagination that needed fertilizer, even to me. None of the jurors would look at me after that.
The judge declared a recess for lunch.
Every kid I’d ever known in my life was in the courtroom, but I was invisible to them as they erupted with chatter once the judge and the jury were out of sight. They were laughing about the cranky old judge, the slick city attorney . . . and Kate, the Great Mouthpiece, whose head would soon be handed to the jury on a silver platter. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Mike disappear with Sally. He could at least have waved at me, I thought.
I took Miss Willow to the storage room in the basement, where she could eat with Herman and Spence. She’d packed food for them and offered me a sandwich too, but my stomach wouldn’t allow me so much as a bite. I should have tried to get more information out of Spence, but I couldn’t face him just then, and hurried to the office instead, smiling with confidence at everyone along the way, knowing I’d soon be able to lock myself in Grandfather’s room and scream.
Someone was following me. I felt eyes on the back of my head, so I stopped in my tracks and turned around, ready to confront whoever the offender was. A creep? I wondered, as two huge eyes focused on me through what could have been identical magnifying glasses on each side of his nose. “Hi,” he said. “Aren’t you Kate Hope, the lawyer?”
He wore a short-sleeved Hawaiian shirt with a row of pens in the left pocket, and he had a spiral notebook in his right hand. “Yes.”
“I’m Max Briar, Rocky Mountain News. How’s it going?”
“Busy,” I said, hoping he could take a hint.
“You’re involved in that trial that’s packing them in, aren’t you?” he asked, opening his notebook and pulling out a pen. “The one all the kids are watching?”
“Yes.”
“What kind of case is it?”
“It’s a jury trial for a dog.”
“No kidding!” He looked interested, which I didn’t need because any publicity it generated would not enhance my self-esteem. “Who’s the judge?”
“Steinbrunner.”
“He’s tough. Do you like practicing law?”
“Some days are better than others,” I said. “You’ll have to excuse me, Mr. Briar, but I’m in kind of a hurry.”
“Don’t worry about it. Say hello to your mom.”
There were two telephone messages I had to return at the office before I could close the door and be alone and cry. “Hi, Mom,” I said, my jaw quivering. She was at her office instead of the hospital. “How’s Grampa?”
“I
just left him. Sleeping soundly, but I’ve been instructed to stay near a phone. Otherwise I’d be down there, cheering you on. How are you doing?”
“Great,” I lied. “We’ve given opening statements and the evidence goes in next. I still have my head on my shoulders.” I wanted to tell her about Grandfather’s voice, but couldn’t.
“You’ll do just fine.” She went on to tell me I was to consider myself hugged and that she knew I must be exhausted. I was also to eat the roast beef sandwich she’d left with Mrs. Roulette and be home in time for dinner.
“Anything else?” I asked.
“Yes, honey. Break a leg.”
The other one was to Mike, who was waiting by a phone booth on Colfax and had to talk. He picked up the phone before it finished its first ring. “Kate?”
I hate it when I get emotional, but knowing he hadn’t deserted me after all to run off with Sally and get married put me on the edge of tears. “Hi. What’s up?” I asked in as professional a voice as I could manage.
“We found them.”
“We?”
“Sally and me.”
“Found who?”
“The kids who knocked Miss Willow down. I told Willis Suggs one of them was called Tomato Face, and he knew right away who they were. Do you know what else they did?”
“Gave the baby carriage a shove?”
“Right! How did you know?”
“It’s what Spencer Phipps told me. Mike, this is so great,” I said, coming back to life. “They can back up his story. Except . . .”
“Except what?” Mike asked. “We’ll get them to the courthouse and you can put them on the witness stand and the jury will know that crazy old Spence isn’t a total nut case.”
