(Haven't read chapters 6 and 7? Find them here.)
(Haven't read chapter 8? Find it here.)
(Haven't read chapter 9? Find them here.)
(Haven't read chapters 10 and 11? Find them here.)
(Haven't read chapters 12 through 14? Find them here.)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
I picked my parents up at
the airport at 7 o’clock the morning of Ryan’s trial. I was dressed for trial in my navy suit, which
had apparently become my first-day-of-trial suit—I had worn it the first day of
both of my previous trials. I had two
other suits, one black and one olive green. I realized that I would have nothing to wear
if the trial lasted more than three days.
“Look at our daughter,”
my mother said, hugging me at the baggage claim area. “Doesn’t she look just like a lawyer?”
“What’s this trial about,
Hon?” my dad asked.
“I think it would be
better for you to hear about it fresh at the trial,” I said. “So you’re not biased.”
“Good thinking,” my dad
said, giving my shoulders an affectionate squeeze.
When we arrived at the
courthouse, we met Matthew on the third floor.
My parents, unlike many of the people waiting in the courthouse
hallways, were extremely respectable looking.
My father was tall and thin, with distinguished gray hair. He wore ironed, pleated jeans and an
immaculate button-down shirt. His eye-glass
frames were stylish, but not too trendy.
My mother was equally elegant.
She wore wool pants and a silk blouse.
“Where should we sit?” my
mother asked, looking around the courtroom.
“Anywhere,” I said
dismissively. I needed to forget that
they were here.
“Actually,” I said, suddenly
having an idea, “maybe right here, behind our table.” Ryan’s mother hadn’t been able to get off
work to attend the trial. I thought
maybe my parents could substitute for Ryan’s parents.
Matthew and I spread our
notebooks and legal pads on our counsel table.
Ryan arrived looking sweet and vulnerable in new khakis and a bright
rugby shirt. Matthew and I had Ryan sit
between us, feeling a need to protect him.
Penny sat stiffly at the other counsel table, pretending she was the
only person in the courtroom. I felt the
now-familiar resignation that the trial was about to begin.
“All rise,” Judge
Stewart’s bailiff announced a few minutes later.
“Yes, we are,” I said. I didn’t hesitate or panic. Maybe I was getting better at this.
“Yes, we are,” I said. I didn’t hesitate or panic. Maybe I was getting better at this.
Judge Stewart began the
trial by asking the 50 potential jurors the standard general questions about
where they lived and worked. I scanned
the jurors’ faces, straining to see a clue to their personalities in their
eyes. Matthew and I had decided that we
wanted mothers of teenage boys on the jury.
I worried that the jurors would bond with Penny, mistaking her for the
trustworthy grandmotherly type. I had
heard of “jury consultants,” specialists who could tell lawyers which jurors
would be best for their cases. I could
have used one of these consultants, because I couldn’t tell a thing about these
people just by looking at them. I
doubted that an hour’s worth of questioning was going to give me any great
insight, either.
When the judge concluded
her initial questioning, I still had no idea which jurors would be the best for
Ryan’s case. Penny walked up to the
podium, buttoning her sky-blue cardigan.
“Good
afternoon ladies and gentleman,” Penny said as she placed her purple trial
notebook on the lectern. “My name is Penny
Pickens, and I represent the State of Washington in this case.” The potential jurors smiled at her, apparently
liking her homey appearance. “I am going
to ask you a few questions to help me determine who can be a fair juror in this
case.”
I wished I could do
something to keep the panel from smiling at her.
Penny cleared her
throat. “Who here has had sex in a
public place?” she asked the panel.
My
eyes grew large in disbelief, as did the jurors’.
One
cowboy-looking man in the front row half raised his hand, having taken his juror’s
oath to tell the truth a little too seriously.
“Tell
me sir, when you had sex in a public place, was it against the woman’s will?”
“Not
exactly.”
“What
do you mean, ‘not exactly’?”
“Well,
it wasn’t with a woman.”
I
looked down at my paper, afraid to look up.
“Let
me ask the panel this, who thinks it is OK for a man to force himself on
another person sexually?”
No
hands were raised.
“How
about this, sir,” she said, addressing another male juror in the middle row,
“do you think it is OK to slap a woman in the face with your penis?”
I
noticed that all of the jurors had their arms crossed over their chests.
“I
suppose that would depend on the context,” the man answered defensively.
I
couldn’t look at Matthew. I had a
feeling he would look panic-stricken, which would definitely make me laugh, I
was so nervous. I did relax a little bit, , though. I should have known that Penny would be as
obnoxious in trial as she was in person.
The
jurors eyed me suspiciously when I stood up to ask them my voir dire questions. After it became clear that I wasn’t going to
ask them any questions about their personal sexual histories, however, the
panel loosened up. I asked if they
remembered being teenagers. I asked if
they remembered how they thought about sex at that age, and if they thought
that teens still felt that way. One
elderly woman condemned all modern teenage girls as having more carnal
knowledge than the girls in her day. I
found out which women had teenage sons.
We kept the women on. We kicked
most of the men off.
I
had never seen Matthew in trial before, since I had never really seen anyone in
trial besides myself, Bradley, and Doug.
Matthew had more experience than I did, though, and I was relieved that
he would be giving our opening statement. Matthew stood up and carried a few crumpled
yellow pages to the lectern. He started,
“Ladies and Gentlemen of the Jury, I, um, and my friend, um, Kate, I mean
co-counsel, Kate, I mean, Ms. Hamilton, and I are here today, with Ryan, I mean,
our client, you know, because they say that he did something—not that he didn’t
do anything—that he isn’t guilty of.”
Matthew’s face was red to
his hairline. He wasn’t making any
sense; he wasn’t saying anything. Was
there anything I could do? I was about
to fake a coughing attack in order to divert attention from Matthew, when I
looked over that the jury. Every one of
the women were listening intently to Matthew and smiling at him. Whatever he was doing was working.
After opening statements,
the judge allowed a 15 minute recess. I
guided my parents to the courthouse hallway.
“Kate,” my mother said, “now what was this business about a penis?”
“Um, well …” I started. I had never discussed any kind of penis business with my mother before. I was surprised to see Don, Judge Piddle’s bailiff, coming up the stairs. “Matthew,” I said, “tell my parents about the penis incident.” I walked over to Don.
“Um, well …” I started. I had never discussed any kind of penis business with my mother before. I was surprised to see Don, Judge Piddle’s bailiff, coming up the stairs. “Matthew,” I said, “tell my parents about the penis incident.” I walked over to Don.
“Judge Piddle would like
to see you immediately,” he said.
“Why?”
I asked.
“Because
you have a trial scheduled with us.”
“But
I arranged for it to be continued. Bradley agreed, and José was covering for me
…”
“The
judge wants to see you right now.”
“Actually,
I am doing something else right now—a superior court trial. I can’t go to see him right now.”
“Is
that what you want me to tell the judge?”
I
considered the situation for a moment. “Yes,
it is.”
He
gave me a funny smile and left.
As
predicted, the girls came to court dressed in long flowery dresses with their
hair pulled back in demure ponytails.
Penny’s direct
examination questions ranged from “And then what happened?” to “What happened
next?” Kimberly described running into
Ryan at the park on the weekend. She said
her relationship with Ryan as friendly, but not close. She shed a tear when she talked about how
Ryan threw her to the ground, exposed himself to her, and slapped her in the
face with his penis. Her mother nodded
proudly at her little girl’s bravery.
Kimberly had apparently forgotten our conversation.
“Good morning, Kimberly,”
I said.
“Hi.” Her tone was a guarded, but still friendly.
“We’ve met before,
haven’t we?”
“Yes.”
“And
that was on March 15th.”
“Yes.”
“And
when we met before, it was at the prosecutors’ office.”
“Yes.”
“And
you were there, obviously.”
“Yes.”
“I
was there.”
“Yes.”
“Mr.
Nelson was there.”
“Yes.”
“And
Ms. Pickens was there.”
“Yes.”
“And
we were all taking notes.”
“Yes.”
“To
make sure we wrote down exactly what you said.”
“Yes.”
“After
we finished our conversation, I asked you to review my notes, to make sure I
hadn’t written anything incorrectly.”
“Yes.”
“You
agreed that my notes were accurate.”
“Yes.”
“You
remember the day you and Brittney met Ryan in the park.”
Yes.
“You
were in a happy mood that day.”
“Yes.”
“The
weather was nice.”
“Yes.”
“You
and your friend were going to enjoy an afternoon in the park.”
“Yes.”
“When
you ran into Ryan, you were happy to see him.”
“Yes.”
“He
wasn’t a close friend, but he was an acquaintance who you liked.”
“Yes.”
“You
both thought he was cute.” I was just
guessing on this one, but Ryan was pretty cute.
“Yes.”
“You
three walked through the park together.”
“Yes.”
“At
some point, in a joking voice, Ryan said, ‘Who wants to give me head?’”
“Yes.”
“You
knew what he meant by that phrase.”
“Yes.”
“Both
of you girls giggled in response to this question.”
“Yes.”
“You
didn’t mention the giggling to the police?”
“No.”
“Because
they didn’t ask?”
“Right.”
“After
he asked you for head, both of you kept walking with him, giggling and
flirting.”
“Yes.”
“He
asked you again, saying, this time, ‘Who wants to give me a blow job?’”
“Yes.”
“You
knew what this phrase meant as well.”
“Yes.”
“You
said, ‘no one,’ but you said this in a friendly way.”
“Yes.”
“You
were all still joking around.”
“Yes.”
“And
laughing.”
“Yes.”
“While
you were laughing, you and Ryan started wrestling.”
“Yes.”
“The
wrestling was friendly.”
“Yes.”
“Just
horsing around.”
“Yes.”
“At
some point, you ended up on the ground.”
“Yes.”
“The
situation was still friendly at that point.”
“Yes.”
“He
pulled out his penis.”
“Yes.”
“And
began sort of wagging it in your face.”
“Yes.”
“You
moved your head back and forth to get away from it.”
“Yes.”
“At
this point, you stopped laughing, because you didn’t want his penis in your face.”
“Yes.”
“And
you said, ‘Stop it.’”
“Yes.”
“And
he stopped.”
“Yes.”
“He
didn’t run away.”
“No.”
“Or
threaten you two.”
“No.”
“He
just helped you up off the ground.”
“Yes.”
“And
the three of you walked off the park grounds together.”
“Yes.”
Brittney’s
testimony was the same as Kimberly’s. I
felt satisfied, in a way, because I had exposed some important facts that had
not been in the police report. But what
did it mean? At what point did a
situation change from joking around to a sex crime? Was it when he exposed his penis? Or would it be only after she told him to
stop, and he refused? I just hoped the
jurors would think it mattered that the girls were giggling when the
penis-slapping occurred.
After
the testimony concluded, Judge Stewart took the morning recess. My parents and I left the courtroom, but
Matthew stayed behind to work on his closing argument.
Standing up from getting
a drink from the hallway water fountain, I discovered Don, Judge Piddle’s
bailiff, beside me. “Kate, Judge Piddle
says he wants you in his courtroom right now.
He said not to take ‘no’ for an answer.”
“I’m
afraid he’s going to have to take ‘no’ for an answer.”
“He
told me to bring you in handcuffs if you didn’t agree to come.”
I
rolled my eyes.
“He
was serious, Kate. I don’t want to do
it, but he was serious.”
Half
of me wanted to hold out my arms for the cuffs.
What a story that would make.
“Listen,” I said, “I’m
going to go back into Judge Stewart’s courtroom. She won’t let you take me out of her
courtroom. As soon as the trial’s over,
I’ll go over there. It’s about time I
had a word with Judge Piddle.”
Matthew blushed and
fumbled through his closing argument. No
trial skills class would ever instruct a lawyer to blush and stutter, but he
couldn’t have been more effective. Every
one of the 10 women on the jury wanted to climb out of the jury box and hug him
and tell him everything was OK. I didn’t
think it mattered what anyone said at this point. What mattered was how the jury interpreted
those seconds when Ryan and Kimberly were on the ground. I didn’t really know if it was a crime myself. It was obviously bad behavior on Ryan’s part,
but whether it was actually indecent liberties was another question. Technically, it may have been. The problem was that crimes are defined by
words, which by their nature mean different things to different people. I didn’t think Ryan should go to prison for
what happened. I hoped the one mother of
a teenage boy on the jury would help me out; I hoped she could see her own son
doing something this stupid.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
As
soon as the jury had begun deliberations, I knew I needed to deal with Judge
Piddle before he sent Don to fetch me in handcuffs.
“Mom,
Dad, I’ll be back in a minute. I’ve got
something I have to take care of.”
“Don’t
you want us to come?”
“No,
just sit out here in the hallway and look worried. If the jurors walk by on a break, dab you
eyes for tears.”
“Kate,
what are you talking about?”
“Oh,
nothing. Just sit there and look
worried, OK?”
“You
are starting to worry us now.”
“Good. I’ll be right back.”
Matthew
and I walked to Judge Piddle’s courtroom.
He was conducting pre-trial hearings, and the courtroom was packed.
As
soon as Judge Piddle saw me, he stopped in the middle of a guilty plea. “Ms. Hamilton, you were not here to answer
your cases. Tell me why I should not
hold you in contempt.”
Everyone
in the courtroom turned around to look at me.
I stood up straight. “Because I was
conducting a trial in superior court, and I had previously arranged for my
cases to be continued.” My tone was not
entirely appropriate.
“I
did not allow you to do that. You are
assigned to my courtroom. You are
required to be here.”
“I
am not your property, Judge Piddle, and I refuse to be treated as such.”
“Miss
Hamilton! I will not tolerate your
insolence! Meet me in chambers!”
“I
will not meet you in chambers,” I said, surprising myself. “I was assigned to work on another case. I made arrangements for Mr. Rivera to cover
my cases. I am not your chattel to order
around as you please. Private attorneys
have obligations in other courtrooms all the time, and you allow other lawyers
to cover for them. I will not allow you
to treat me differently because I am a public defender.”
Matthew
was pulling on my sleeve. His eyes
begged me to shut up. I ignored
him. I was in a zone.
The
judge’s head was as red as a tomato.
“That
is quite enough, Miss Hamilton!”
“No,
I have had enough.” Might as well go out
with a bang, I thought. “I have had
enough of you treating people differently because they are poor. I have had enough of you treating me
differently because my clients are poor.
I am a lawyer who had an obligation in another courtroom. I cannot be in two places at once. I am not asking for special treatment, just
equal treatment.”
The
courtroom was absolutely quiet. Judge
Piddle stood up, trembling with rage. I
walked to the steel door. Judge Piddle abruptly
turned and left the courtroom, slamming the door to his chambers behind him.
“All
rise,” Don said belatedly.
Someone
sniggered, and then José started clapping, and soon the whole courtroom joined
in, an ovation of scruffy misdemeanants. Doug was clapping too, but not
Bradley.
“Thanks
everyone,” I said, but I had a feeling I was going to pay for this
transgression.
My
parents, Matthew, and I waited for the jury to return in the courthouse
hallway. At 5 o’clock, Judge Stewart’s
bailiff announced that the judge was releasing the jury for the day. They would return the next day at 9:00 to
resume deliberations.
Matthew rode with us in
the car to my parents’ hotel. My mother
had not seen the charm in lodgings above a bar.
“Kate, why was that older
man talking about putting handcuffs on you?” my mother asked.
“Oh
it’s just this conflict thing I have with another judge.”
“I’m
not sure that this is a good job for you, Kate.
Some of it seems a little unsavory. And you know, those girls
today. I don’t think they were very
savory themselves. I certainly have to
question their virtue if they knew what all of those words meant. I didn’t know until your father told me.”
“Well,
I knew what ‘blow job’ meant,” my dad said, “but I wasn’t sure about ‘giving
head.’”
I
could see Matthew wishing that lightning would strike us dead.
The next day, we returned
to the superior court hallway. Matthew,
my parents, and Ryan sat on the wooden benches, waiting. I paced the hallway, unable to sit still. Matthew kept saying, “I guess I’ll go back to
the office now,” but wouldn’t leave.
After three hours, the
bailiff came into the hallway. “The jury
has a verdict,” he announced.
Here
we go again, I thought, my heart pounding.
“Matthew, I’ll just wait out here while you get the verdict. You can tell me what it is later.”
“You
have to go, Kate.”
“No,
you don’t understand. It makes me think
I’m having a heart attack. It’s for my
health.”
“Kate.”
“All
right, all right.”
Matthew
and I stood at the counsel table with Ryan as the jurors entered the courtroom
for the last time. Ryan was shaking. I put my hand out on his arm, and noticed
that I was shaking too. I watched helplessly
as the juror walked to their places in the jury box. When they were all in place, still standing,
the judge asked, “Has the jury reached a verdict?”
“Yes,
we have, you honor,” the apparent foreperson said. The foreperson was the woman who had teenaged
sons. I let myself hope.
“Please
hand the verdict form to the bailiff.”
I
felt the familiar slowing of time as the bailiff walked from the presiding
juror to the judge. I could feel my
heart pounding in my ears. To calm
myself, I tried to imagine that I was lying on a beautiful white sand beach.
The judge looked down at
the piece of paper.
I visualized
where the azure water met the white sand. I listened to the sound of the waves
against the beach and watched as the judge mouthed words in slow motion. I saw the judge’s lips moving, and then stop.
I saw a man sitting next
to me on the beach. He was tall and thin. I couldn’t see his face.
Suddenly,
Matthew was hugging me and Ryan was crying. Oh no, I thought, snapping out of my daydream. I turned and saw Penny’s angry face. Then, I turned and saw my parents, who were smiling. I looked at Ryan again. He was crying and smiling at the same
time. Tears of relief.
After
the verdict, we all gathered in the corridor, all hugging and happy. Penny stood stiffly, not looking at
anyone. “Why doesn’t she just go away?”
I asked futilely.
“She’s
waiting to talk to the jury,” Matthew guessed.
“Why
would she want to do that?” my mother asked.
“She’ll
want to lecture them.” I said. “It will
make her feel better, since they denied her the pleasure of sending someone to
prison.”
Jurors
started trickling out of the jury deliberation room. Penny was right on them. “How could you have possibly found him not
guilty?” she asked a female juror who worked in banking.
“We
thought it was the right thing to do.”
“Right
thing to do? He assaulted a young woman
with his penis! Are you just going to
let him get away with that?”
The
man standing next to the banking lady interrupted, disliking Penny’s tone. “We figured he had learned his lesson, and that
it wouldn’t happen again. And he has
those nice parents. He’s obviously from
a good family—they’ll make sure he stays in line.”
As
the two jurors walked away, Penny shouted after them, “But they were HER
parents!” The rest of the jurors scooted
past the yelling, crazy lady, afraid for their safety.
Penny
was livid. She grabbed my arm, “We are
going back into the judge’s chambers right now!
Did you hear them? They thought
he was guilty!”
I
kept my voice steady. “Penny, let go of
my arm.”
“You
have to go back in there.” Her tone was
strident. “They thought he was guilty. The verdict was wrong!”
“I
don’t have to go anywhere,” I said, prying her hand off my arm. “‘Not guilty’ is the end of it.”
“This
isn’t fair!” She said, stomping her foot.
I
shook my head. A grown woman having a
temper tantrum. How embarrassing.
That
evening, my parents and I went to dinner at a waterside seafood restaurant. I thought they would appreciate the locally-caught
fish, but, distrustful of the unfamiliar salmon and halibut, they ordered
steak. Not wanting to appear contrarian,
I ordered steak too. I winced at the
stereotype: three Texans eating steak in
a seafood restaurant.
“Kate,” my
father said, “we were very proud of you in that trial.”
“Thanks, Dad,” I said
through a mouthful of steak. I hadn’t
had steak since I had moved to the Northwest.
It was delicious.
“I’ve been thinking,” he
said. “You’ll probably be able to use
your trial experience to get a job in a law firm.”
I put down the luscious
piece of steak I was about to put in my mouth.
“I’m not sure that’s what I want.”
“Well, I’m sure you’ll
think of something. It’s not like you’ll
want to be a public defender forever.”
“I’m not really
looking that far ahead right now.”
“I’m sure Kate is keeping
all of her options open,” my mother said.
“Aren’t you Kate?”
I put the steak
in my mouth. I nodded because I knew she
hated it when I talked with my mouth full.
“That Matthew seems like
a nice boy,” my mother said.
I swallowed. “Matthew’s just a friend, Mom. I’ve been too busy to think about dating.”
“I guess you
still have time. But we would like some
grandchildren some day.”
Children? I could barely take care of myself.
The next morning, I drove
my parents to the airport. I prayed that
there would be no repeat of yesterday’s job or boyfriend discussion.
“What
if you have to go to trial with someone guilty?” my mother asked.
“Mom,
I hate to break this to you, but I think maybe Ryan was guilty.”
“I
didn’t think so. I think those girls
were promiscuous. He should have had a
spanking. Or been grounded.”
“That
may have been a moral reason to find him not guilty, but not a legal one.”
“I
still don’t understand what you do when someone is really guilty. What if someone is definitely guilty of
something horrendous? Like rape, or
murder?”
“If
someone is obviously guilty, you usually try to plea bargain, but if a person
wants a trial, he can have it.”
“Doesn’t
that seem dishonest? If you think he’s
guilty how can you get up there and say he’s not guilty?”
“‘Not
guilty’ means a lot of things, Mom. It
can mean a person is innocent, it can mean guilt can’t be proved by the state,
it can mean the prosecutor is an idiot and is bound to screw something up.”
“But
how can you defend a person you know is guilty?”
“That’s
like asking a doctor how he can treat a patient he knows is sick. I think you’re getting confused by the word ‘defend.’ Because it implies that you are defending
what the guilty person did. Maybe ‘public
attorney’ would be a better term. Or ‘appointed
counsel.’ Because it’s unlikely you
would ask, ‘How can you counsel someone you know is guilty?’ Because that’s what we do, we explain the
charges, give them advice, tell them about their rights.”
“But
aren’t you defending the person if you go to trial?”
“It’s not like I get up there
and lie for them. I just test the
state’s evidence. And let’s say I did
refuse to go to trial on any client I thought was guilty? So the person doesn’t get a lawyer if I think he’s guilty? That’s a convenient way to do away with the right
to a lawyer, isn’t it? I’m not the one
who gets to decide guilt or innocence, it’s the jury. My job, if I go to trial, is to challenge the
state’s evidence.”
“I guess that makes
sense.”
“You know, Mom, the
question should be: How can you defend someone
innocent? Because defending an innocent
person is about the most terrifying thing on the planet.”
My father and I carried
the luggage to the ticket counter while my mother checked her lipstick. We sat the bags down at the end of the line.
“You
know, Kate, I never would have chosen this public defender job for you. Wouldn’t choose it now, even. But keep up the fight. Those people need you.”
“Thanks,
Dad.”
Want to read more? Find the next chapters, 17-19, the Bomb Squad; Dinner with Matthew's Parents; and Bradley's Plea "Bargain," here.
Want to read more? Find the next chapters, 17-19, the Bomb Squad; Dinner with Matthew's Parents; and Bradley's Plea "Bargain," here.
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