Molon Labe! (8 page)

Krempler's carotid arteries are clearly pulsating from across the room. What was an open-and-shut case J.K. is turning into an indictment of federal gun laws. How he hates this woman. He hates her springy step, her insouciance, her parody of the law, her lovely musical voice. He hates the fact that she has his own initials, and uses them. And he really hates that goddamned Laura Ashley dress she had the nerve to wear in court this morning, taunting everyone — especially that old goat Fleming — with her femininity.
Why can't the little bitch wear a power suit like other women attorneys?

Krempler tries to snap out of it, sensing that he is glowering. He considers objecting to Kramer's line of defense, but decides that it would likely come across to the jury as yelping.

The tide of Juliette's closing argument continues to swell. "Henry David Thoreau had something to say on this point in his classic work titled
On Civil Disobedience
:"

Must the citizen even for a moment, or in the least degree, resign his conscience to the legislator? Why has every man a conscience then? I think that we should be men first, and subjects afterward.

"Does that sound relevant to these proceedings? It certainly does to me." Juliette pauses to gauge the jurors' mood. They are still with her. Good. Time to bring it all home.

Smoothly, she continues, "Think of it another way: If Bill Russell's muzzle brake had
fewer
holes or
smaller
holes, it might not have reduced the flash at all. It would still be the muzzle brake as advertised and all of us here — especially Bill Russell — would be at home or work. So, what we're
really
talking about is an amount of metal less in weight and less in value than . . . a couple of pennies."

From her palm, Juliette drops two pennies onto the table. They bounce on the walnut veneer Formica, surprisingly loud. One penny dies quickly but the other is made of more thespian stuff. Sensing the significance of its performance it bounces hard and sharp into a fast roll, veering to the left at the very last possible moment — as if humanly piloted — missing the table edge by an angstrom's whisker. Having achieved the court's rapt attention it then requires about a week and a half to cease languidly rolling around in infinitesimally decreasing counterclockwise circles, finally collapsing into the prolonged death diapason of a tiny manhole cover. Even by slow-acting poison, Hamlet expired more quickly.

Juliette has the presence of mind not to move or speak until the penny has finished its brilliant cameo. By suspending the matter of
US v. Russell
for nearly half a minute — and for just two hundredths of a dollar — she has made her point. It is one of those clever courtroom tricks impossible to foresee —much less preempt — and inadvisable to interrupt once in motion.

Krempler is beside himself, a mute retaining wall of fury.

In a solemn, quiet voice, Juliette resumes the stage. "Two cents. Most of us lose more than that in the sofa every time we sit down."

Krempler angrily whispers to his assistant, "
This
is the kind of crap she's really good at. Just look at that jury. They're mesmerized."

"Two lousy cents," Juliette continues.
"That's
what Mr. Krempler and the Government think Bill Russell's reputation and freedom are worth. But they need
your
rubber stamp to do it. Don't collaborate with this, ladies and gentlemen. Bill Russell would like to go back home to his family, his job, and his community. He's been through quite enough already."

Juliette pauses briefly to let this last point sink in. Then she very quietly says, "Only
you
have the power to do the right thing here . . . and I am trusting you to do it. Thank you."

Strong applause fills the courtroom, forcing Judge Fleming to bang his gavel. Juliette delivers that blinding smile of hers, returns to her table and sits down. Bill Russell has tears in his eyes and can only nod his thanks. A buzz of whispered conversations floats up from the gallery. The controversial trial had attracted a large audience, most of it in support of Russell. The locals did not appreciate the ATF's harassment of a long-standing citizen.

"Mr. Krempler, are you ready to close?" asks Fleming.

"I am, Your Honor," Krempler stiffly replies. He stands, clears his throat, and begins. "Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I'm sure we all found Ms. Kramer's performance most entertaining. But it doesn't really change the issue at hand, does it? And that is the guilt or innocence of Mr. Russell. It is Mr.
Russell
who is sitting in the defendant's chair, not Title 18 of the United States Code or the ATF. Do not be deceived; what Ms. Kramer wants from you is a recipe for anarchy. Without laws, we get lawlessness. Ignore the laws you don't
like
? Well, then what's to prevent serial murderers and child rapists from ignoring laws inconvenient to
them
?"

They already do
thinks Juliette as she rolls her eyes.

"Justice can be found only in a courtroom, not in the random, individual mind.
That
is why we are all here today. William Russell committed an offense under federal law. The video plainly proved that. But what about the opinion of Mr. Krassny, some may wonder? Yes, what about the opinion of an elderly man who may or may not be sympathetic with a fellow gun owner? Mr. Krassny expressed his
opinion
, but in the video we have all seen
fact
. Objective, scientific, measurable
fact
. And it is facts which must form your verdict, not mere opinion.

"We cannot, ladies and gentlemen, pick and choose which laws to uphold. We must uphold them
all
, as a house divided cannot stand. This case is one of thousands of load-bearing beams in that great house of Law and Order. As you uphold this particular law, you uphold law in general. Decent society requires it. Please do your duty as good citizens and return a verdict of Guilty."

Several hisses are heard as Krempler returns to his table. Wyomingites have never had any love for the US Government, especially when it chose to prosecute a well-liked, upstanding, long-time local citizen.

Judge Fleming turns to the jurors.

Juliette leans over and whispers to her assistant, "Here it comes."

"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, your duty is solely to determine the guilt or innocence of the defendant based on the evidence. You do
not
have the right to consider the fairness of the law found in Title 18 of the US Code. Laws can be repealed only by the legislative branch of government, which is Congress. If you find beyond a reasonable doubt that the defendant indeed violated the federal statute in question, then you have a duty to convict — regardless of any and all other considerations which are irrelevant to your sworn duty. If, however, you have a reasonable doubt that the defendant is not guilty as charged, then you have a duty to acquit. Do you all understand the law as I've explained it to you?"

The jurors nod.

"About what I expected," whispers Juliette.

"Fine," says Judge Fleming. "The bailiff will show you to your deliberation room." With that, the jury quietly files out.

Sunlight is the best disinfectant.

— Justice Louis Brandeis

While the jury deliberates, Krempler and his team wait in his office. He cannot contain his excitement. "I have to tell you, Lorner, that video was a winner! I was really concerned about proving a significant reduction in flash signature, but
damn
! That footage will get Russell five years!"

"Hey, counselor, the camera never lies," boasts Lorner.

Something about the way he said it makes Krempler faintly uneasy for some unknown reason, but the feeling quickly passes. The case was solid, and not even Krassny's testimony or Juliette's powerful close could subvert the video. It was in the bag.

"The muzzle brake cut down on the flash by at least half," says Dorothy Witherspoon. "That's
'significantly'
without a doubt." Ms. Witherspoon, a doughy 61 years of age, had been an elementary schoolteacher her entire life. Being the eldest juror, she was just short of throwing a tantrum for not having been chosen jury foreman.

Several jurors murmur their agreement. They had been deliberating for 50 minutes, and saw the chance to reach a Guilty verdict in time to return home for supper. The case really was clear cut.

"Shall we now poll for a verdict?" asks foreman Robert Slater.

"Not just yet," says the quiet man at the far end of the table. "Something about that video bothers me. I'd like to see it again." James Preston, a well-known rancher, is a self-described target shooter. He is the only shooter who made it past
voir dire
.

Witherspoon exasperates, "Is that
really
necessary? One flash was bigger. It seemed obvious to all of
us
!"

"Perhaps," manages Preston. "But it'll only take two minutes to watch it again. I really need to see it before I cast my verdict."

"Very well," agrees Slater, glancing at Witherspoon.

The bailiff rolls in the TV/VCR cart, and leaves the jury room to wait outside. Preston takes the remote and pushes "Play." Side by side the two muzzles fired. Clearly, the barrel with the muzzle brake had much less flash.

"Well,
now
are you satisfied?" challenges Witherspoon.

"Yes, I am satisfied," says Preston.

"Good," says Witherspoon. "Maybe
now
we can — "

Preston cuts her off. "I am satisfied that I now have irreconcilable reasonable doubt."

"
Whaaaaat?
" bellows Witherspoon. The room is instantly abuzz with the other eleven jurors all demanding an explanation.

"Not only do I believe Mr. Russell innocent, but I now believe him to have been the victim of criminal fraud. That video was rigged."

"
Rigged?
Rigged
how
?" demands foreman Slater.

Preston says calmly, "Let's watch it again. I'll show you."

As the video began to play, Preston pauses it during the peak of muzzle flash. The 4-head VCR still frame is magazine photo sharp.

"OK. On the left side is the bare barrel. Look at its flash plume."

"Yes, it's about twice as large — we've already seen that," chirps one of the jurors who works in the county tax assessor's office.

"I'm not talking about the size difference. Ignore that for a moment," replies Preston. "Look at the difference in
color.
The bare barreled flash is orange, but the muzzle braked flash is a bright yellow."

"Orange, yellow, bright yellow — what
difference
does it make?" blurts Witherspoon.

"It makes the difference between a guilty man and an innocent one. Those flashes are different colors because of different gunpowders. I handload for my target rifles, and I know how powders ignite differently. Gunpowder comes in three different shapes: ball, flake, and stick. Their muzzle plumes are all different. Also, if a handloader wanted to for some reason, he could load to create a huge muzzle flash, or nearly none at all."

Robert Slater ponders this carefully. Several of the jurors now regard Preston with open respect. Ms. Witherspoon simply glares at him, her arms rigidly crossed.

Finding his pace, Preston continues. "Handloaders experiment with many combinations of bullet, case, powder, and primer to discover the most efficient load for their rifle. Powders vary tremendously in burning speed. Some are extremely fast. Others are very slow. For example, ball and flake powders are usually faster burning than stick powders, which burn much more slowly to provide a longer pressure curve for heavier bullets."

"Thank you 'Mr. Science,' but this isn't conclusive at all," sneers Witherspoon.

"May I remind you that we do not have to 'conclude' that Mr. Russell is innocent — only that reasonable doubt exists. If a lab had examined the spent casings from the ATF's so-called 'comparison,' I'm convinced that different gunpowders would have been proven."

"Do the different colors of flash really mean different powders?" asks Slater, now quite concerned.

"Indeed. Those flash plumes are clouds of gunpowder still combusting past the muzzle. The slower the powder, the less is burned within the bore, and the larger the plume. The bare barrel ammo not only has a larger plume, its darker color of orange indicates far less combustion. That, and the streamers."

"Streamers? What are
streamers
?" demands Witherspoon. "Streaming bits of unburnt powder. You see them in fireworks displays all the time. When they occur in firearms, the gunpowder burns too slowly for the barrel length. Look at the still frame. Only the bare flash has streamers. The braked flash doesn't."

Most of the jurors subconsciously nod their heads in agreement. "Ladies and gentlemen, different powders were used to convey the false
impression
that the muzzle brake reduced the flash signature. I'm sure of it. And it could not have been done accidentally. This comparison test is a fraud designed to throw Mr. Russell in federal prison for five years. Once he got out, as a convicted felon he'd never be allowed to vote or own a gun or have a professional license. The Government doesn't seem to like this man, and after Mr. Russell was falsely arrested by the highway patrol the ATF framed him on a felony charge for something as harmless as hanging two ounces of metal on the end of his rifle barrel. With all the violent criminals on the loose,
this
is the kind of thing that should preoccupy law enforcement?"

"What if you're wrong? What if it
was
a flash suppressor?" asks a woman, an office secretary heard for the first time.

"Even if Mr. Russell
had
put a flash suppressor on his rifle, so
what
? Who here doesn't wear sunglasses to reduce daylight glare? If somebody wants to reduce the night flash of his rifle, that's
his
business. It's certainly not worth five years in the pen, much less
framing
somebody for it. This whole thing stinks and they want us to rubber stamp Mr. Russell as a felon. The wrong person was on trial here. It should have been ATF Agent Lorner. I'd bet that guy had something to do with this."