Condemned (23 page)

“Case on trial,” announced a Marshal, coming out into the corridor. “The Judge is about to take the bench.”

“I'll talk to you about her later,” said Red as they began to drift toward the entrance to the Courtroom, “soon as we see what the Judge does this morning.”

Judge Ellis was already on the bench, watching the defendants and counsel return to the Courtroom. When Sandro entered, a thin smile spread on her lips. She nodded toward Sandro.

Sandro did not sit next to Hardie at the defense counsel table. Rather, he walked to the lectern near the jury box and stood, waiting. The Judge leaned forward, impatiently waving her arms like a school marm, herding her charges back from recess. When the last of the players were seated, the Judge smiled. “Mr. Luca,” she said, looking at Sandro.

“Your Honor.”

“I'm sorry to have interrupted your activities, Mr. Luca, but unfortunately, we have a situation here. Mr. Leppard, who has been representing Mr. Hardie—merely as a substitute in your place because you were actually engaged on another trial when this one began—that trial is over now, is it not, Mr. Luca?”

“Actually, Your Honor,” said Sandro, “at the time this trial was to begin, you indicated that you did not want to delay the proceedings on my account, and over the Defendant's and my vociferous objection, you assigned Mr. Leppard to represent Mr. Hardie in this matter.”

“Is the trial you were on is now over, or not, Mr. Luca?”

“The specific trial I was on at the beginning of this case is, in fact, over, Your Honor. But I am scheduled to begin another trial next Tuesday.”

“Then, I take it you are not on trial at this moment. Correct?”

“That's correct, Your Honor.”

“Fine. Mr. Leppard, as I'm sure you have heard, has been hospitalized. The Court has had Mr. Leppard examined, and, apparently, his malady is real. How the malady came into being is something I've asked the United States Attorney to investigate.”

Sandro stood silently. The audience, too, was silent, motionless. There was no jury present.

“There will be very serious repercussions in the event I find that someone purposely precipitated Mr. Leppard's ailment,” the Judge looked directly at Red Hardie. “I sent for Mr. Luca yesterday so that you would not be without a lawyer.”

“Your Honor, as I said yester—”

“No need for you to speak, Mr. Hardie,” said the Judge, raising her hand to quiet Red. “Mr. Luca is more than able to represent you.”

“Most respectfully, Your Honor,” Red continued, “I just want to say—”

“Let's see if I already know what you want to say, Mr. Hardie. Is it that you do not want Mr. Luca as your counsel, that you want Mr. Leppard to represent you?”

“That's right, Your Honor.”

“Now that you know I understand that, would you kindly take your seat.” Her eyes were fixed on Red until he was seated. “In any event, Mr. Luca,” said the Judge, turning to Sandro, “as of yesterday, Mr. Leppard's continued participation in this trial was very dubious.”

Continued participation was very dubious? Was dubious?
Sandro repeated her words in his head. Instantly, Sandro knew that something new was about to be added to the mix.

“At the time I sent for you, Mr. Luca, I had in mind that there was no way, no way in the world, that I would postpone this trial, or sever Mr. Hardie from his co-defendants.” Her gaze slid to Hardie, then back to Sandro. “This is a very important trial. Important to the Defendants, of course, but no less important to the Government and to the citizenry. They have rights, too, the citizens, although all too often they seem to be forgotten in this world of self-indulgence.”

When he had entered the Courtroom this morning, Sandro was sure that the Judge was going to put him back in the case. Now, from the careful way she was wending her way through a minefield of careful phrases, he realized that she was not. She was laying out her reasoning for the record and public consumption.

“Since you first became involved in this case right through the Discovery phase,” the Judge continued, “and knowing what a capable lawyer you are, Mr. Luca, how meticulously you prepare your cases, I was sure—particularly given that there are so many defendants in this case and much of the time was spent on testimony and evidence which did not directly involve or implicate your client at all—I was sure you could get up to speed in one day, two at the most.”

In part, the Judge was justifying her decision to send a United States Marshal to Watkins Glen, interrupting Sandro's mini-vacation, and putting all the lawyers and defendants through turmoil; now, for some reason, she was going to change course completely.

“When I had my staff check on Mr. Leppard's condition last evening, they were advised that he would, more than likely, be ready to proceed with the case in a day or two. Considering that tomorrow is my regular calendar day, meaning that we shall not be working on this trial tomorrow in any event,” the Judge glanced at the reporters in the audience, “and with the week-end starting the very next day, it may not be … perhaps, I should say, it would be in Mr. Hardie's best interests to continue with Mr. Leppard, and not to have different counsel step into the case at this juncture.”

“Most respectfully, Your Honor—”

“Don't tell me you're going to change horses and object to me not requiring you to step into the case, Mr. Luca?”

“Not at all, Your Honor. It's just that all of what Your Honor has just said was exactly the same yesterday, has been exactly the same from the very beginning of Mr. Leppard's personal difficulties. What has changed, however, has been ruined is more apt, is my long planned and personally costly sojourn in the upper reaches of the State of New York, for no apparent reason whatever.”

“That could not be helped, Mr. Luca. Anything else?” she said, glancing at the other lawyers and defendants.

The lawyers shook their collective heads.

“Oh, yes, one other thing that I am sure you may wish to address, Mr. Luca,”—her eyes returned to Sandro. “But, perhaps, I'd better bring out the jury and adjourn until Monday first. I'm going to remand Mr. Hardie today. Bring out the jury, Claire.”

The defendants, the lawyers, the media, the spectators were all visibly shocked, looking around at each other to be sure they heard correctly. Awgust Nichols watched Red quietly.

The moment the Judge made her announcement, Red Hardie's body jolted forward. Then he turned toward Sandro. Then back to the Judge. “What did that woman say?” he asked, looking at Sandro, then Money Dozier.

A babble of confused voices began to rise out of the audience.

“Quiet!” The Judge pounded her palm on the top of the bench.

Claire Trainor, the Courtroom Deputy Clerk, nodded to a Marshal who walked toward the jury room. Amidst the subsiding buzz of conversations, the Marshal announced loudly: “Jury entering.”

The Jurors glanced at the defendants, the lawyers, the audience, the Judge as they filed into their seats. They were trying to determine the source of the obvious agitation that roiled the courtroom.

“Ladies and Gentlemen of the Jury,” the Judge said slowly. The lawyers and defendants began to take their seats. “I want to apologize for the delay in bringing you into the courtroom this morning. We were engaged, you can be sure, on court business. For reasons that do not concern you, we are not going to resume today. Tomorrow, Friday, is our usual calendar day, so we are going to adjourn now until Monday morning at nine-fifteen, sharp. We shall start earlier than usual Monday to try to make up for the time we've lost yesterday and today as a result of Mr. Leppard's unfortunate illness. I am pleased to inform you that Mr. Leppard is well, and that we have every expectation of his being with us on Monday morning. Until then, remember my admonition: don't discuss this case amongst yourselves or with anyone else until the end of the case. You may retire now until Monday morning.” Reluctantly, the jurors began to file out. A Marshal urged them toward the jury room.

“As I said,” the Judge murmured softly toward the well of the courtroom, “there is just one more piece of business that has to be addressed before we adjourn. Will the lawyers and defendants please remain in the court room.” The Judge sat silently, arranging some documents on the flat of her desk. When all the jurors had cleared the courtroom, the Judge looked at Sandro, then Red Hardie.

“I am not at all convinced that what occurred yesterday was not precipitated by Mr. Hardie. I have asked the United States Attorney's office to investigate. If it is determined that Mr. Hardie had anything,
anything
, to do with Mr. Leppard's illness, I shall have quite a bit more to say on the subject. Meanwhile, but not for that reason, Mr. Hardie is remanded.”

The murmurs began to swell in the courtroom again.

“Quiet,” said the Judge, again slapping her palm on the top of the bench.

“Your Honor,” said Sandro's voice through the sounds of the courtroom, “may I be heard?”

“Very briefly, Mr. Luca. Please take into consideration that I have given the entire matter a great deal of thought, and it is my opinion that when events occur which appear to undermine the integrity of a trial, I have an obligation, on behalf of the Government and the citizens, to take steps to preserve that integrity. I am not convinced, not at all convinced, despite the impertinence of Dr. Acquista from Lenox Hill, that the difficulties we've experienced here, the delay caused by Mr. Leppard's nose-bleed, were not the direct result of activities perpetrated by Mr. Hardie. Nevertheless, I am going to acquiesce and permit this trial to be delayed an entire day in order to accommodate Mr. Hardie's request to maintain Mr. Leppard as his Counsel. I'll hear what you have to say, Mr. Luca. I want no outbursts from you or any of the other Defendants, Mr. Hardie. I want absolute quiet.”

The suggestion of quiet was totally superfluous. The courtroom was tomb-silent, the air still, the light from the overhead chandeliers beaming into the silent void of eternity. Dust particles could almost be heard wafting downward in the light from the chandeliers as the eyes of the audience turned toward Sandro.

“Your Honor, there is not an iota of evidence or proof that Mr. Hardie has had anything whatsoever to do with Mr. Leppard's distress. There were medical personnel here yesterday, I have read the transcript of the proceedings—”

The Judge cut him off. “Mr. Luca, don't tell me that the Doctor said that Mr. Leppard's condition was a severe and very real medical problem. I've already said I'm aware of what the Doctor said. We are well beyond that. Mr. Hardie is remanded. He is going to stay remanded, regardless of what you or he might say. Anything else?”

Hardie was watching Sandro anxiously; his eyes alternately glanced toward the bench.

“Let me add,” said the Judge, “that there is no need to worry about Mr. Leppard's access to Mr. Hardie. Mr. Hardie will be no further away than the M.C.C., hardly a stone's throw from this very courtroom, as you know very well, Mr. Luca, and he will be there, ready and willing to help Mr. Leppard all day long today, all day tomorrow, all week-end, with no meetings, no appointments, no social events, nothing to distract him from total dedication to assisting his lawyer. Anything else, Mr. Luca?”

“It is, most respectfully, Your Honor, arbitrary, capricious, and totally unnecessary to remand Mr. Hardie, to lock him up at this critical moment of the trial, when he's been out on bail throughout the pendency of this case, simply because his Counsel had a medical problem. Mr. Hardie has an absolute right to be able to confer with his counsel, and remanding him without sufficient cause is to deprive him of his inviolable constitutional privileges without due process of law at a critical moment.”

“I don't mean to curtail your statement, Mr. Luca,” the Judge cut in. “Ordinarily I enjoy hearing you speak. You are one of the better lawyers to appear before this Court. But in this situation, there is no point to it, none whatever, as Mr. Hardie is remanded, and is going to stay remanded. That said, is there anything else you wish to address, Mr. Luca?”

“You are depriving the defendant of his constitutional right to fair trial and equal protection of the law.”

“Don't leave out Due Process, Mr. Luca. Anything else for the record?”

“The availability of Mr. Hardie at the M.C.C. is no adequate substitute for the liberty and availability of Mr. Hardie at all hours in order to be of assistance to Mr. Leppard.”

“You are beginning to repeat yourself, Mr. Luca. We are going to recess now,” the Judge said to the rest of the lawyers. “The court will resume on Monday, at nine-fifteen, sharp, and I expect everyone to be here early, ready to proceed. Except for you, Mr. Luca, of course. Thank you for being so prompt to the Court's order.” The Judge rose from her seat.

“All rise,” Claire Trainor called into the hushed tomb.

“What in hell is this?” Red said with agitation as he turned toward Sandro.

A U. S. Marshal walked slowly toward Red Hardie. Red's eyes shifted momentarily to the Marshal. As they had all been in the courtroom every day of the ten weeks since the trial began, the Marshals and the Defendants, as well as everyone else who was present, knew each other well. The Marshal approaching Hardie was slightly embarrassed as he took out a pair of handcuffs to place them on Hardie's wrists.

“Let me check this out,” Sandro said to Hardie and the Marshal.

“I have to take him down,” the Marshal said. “Sorry, Red. It's not my idea.”

“I know that, Frank,” Red said to the Marshal. “Damn, Sandro,” Red put his hands behind his back at the Marshal's direction. “See what this is all about. Fast!”

“What's going on, J.J.?” Sandro said across the defense table to J.J. Dineen who was gathering papers from his prosecution table.