Special Circumstances (49 page)

“Me too.” I look out at the auto-body shops and bail bondsmen.
“I
know I’ll regret saying it out loud, but I just can’t see how they canvote to convict.” Even superstitious people have moments of weakness.And moments of wishful thinking, perhaps.
“Juries are funny,” she says.
“They make decisions for different reasons. I had one jury vote toacquit because they didn’t like the way the prosecutor dressed. Inthis case, they might vote to convict just because Joel is a lawyer. Orthey may not like guys who cheat on their wives. You just neverknow.”
A dozen white TV minivans are parked bumper-to-bumper on the north sideof Bryant in front of the main entrance to the Hall. At least twodozen TV reporters from the local and national media have staked outspots on the front steps and are broadcasting live. There’s barelyenough room for all of them.
Mobile satellite transmitter trucks line the south side of Bryant. Iheard that one enterprising bail bondsman is renting his tiny drivewayto a cable station for a thousand bucks a day.
The horde surrounds Rosie and me as we walk through the police linetoward the front door.
“Mr. Daley, how do you think the jury’s going to decide?”
“Mr. Daley, doesn’t it seem like the jury was out for a very shorttime?”
“Mr. Daley, do you plan to appeal?”
“Mr. Daley, do you think your client got a fair shake?”
“Mr. Daley? Mr. Daley? Mr. Daley?”
We push our way inside. Joel and Naomi are waiting with Rabbi and Mrs.Friedman by the metal detectors. Naomi gives me a hug.
“This is it,” she says.
“Everything’s going to be all right.”
Rabbi Friedman and I shake hands, but we don’t speak. We take theelevators.
They seem even slower than usual.
We huddle outside the courtroom.
“Listen,” I say, “no matter what happens in there, we’ll have nocomment today. There’ll be plenty of time to talk to the reporters.”
As we’re about to walk into the courtroom, Rosie touches my arm andmotions down the hall with her eyes.
“Check this out, Mike,” she says.
I see Skipper and his entourage. McNasty is at his side. A few printreporters follow them. For some reason, Art Patton and Charles Sternare with him. Moral support from his old partners, I suppose. Theylook grim and I get an uneasy feeling in my stomach.
“What do you make of that?” she whispers.
“Beats me.”
Skipper sees me and nods. Chuckles’s face is unreadable. Patton looksdaggers at me.
We walk into the courtroom. The bailiff escorts us to the defensetable. Naomi and the Friedmans sit in the first row of the gallery.
“Mike,” Joel says, “I guess this is it. What do you think?”
“They haven’t been out very long. That’s usually a good sign.Remember, the O.J.
jury was out for only a few hours.”
“And they made the wrong decision.”
I don’t respond.
“What’s your gut?” he asks.
I look him in the eye.
“Innocent.” There’s no point in telling him the truth. I just don’tknow.
We take our places. The court reporter is already seated. We rise forthe judge. She recites we’re on the record. She asks Harriet Hill tobring in the jury. Time slows down.
Joel looks at the jury as they walk in. They aren’t looking at him.Not a good sign. Naomi is wearing her sunglasses. Rabbi and Mrs.Friedman hold hands.
Rosie sits perfectly still. I’m glad she’s here. My stomach churns.
Judge Chen turns to the jury.
“Have you reached a verdict, Madam Foreperson?”
The phone company supervisor stands.
“Yes we have, Your Honor.”
We watch the ceremonial passing of the paper from the phone companysupervisor to Harriet Hill to the judge. She looks at the verdictimpassively. No discernible sign either way.
“Will the defendant please rise.”
Joel, Rosie and I stand. So does Skipper. McNulty stays seated. Outof the corner of my eye, I see Naomi and the Friedmans. Their eyes areclosed.
Here we go.
Judge Chen turns to the jury.
“What say you?”
I can hear myself breathing.
The phone company supervisor takes a deep breath. Time stops.
“Not guilty on all counts, Your Honor,” she replies without emotion.
Pandemonium in back of me. Reporters sprint to the door. Joel fallsback into his chair. Judge Chen pounds her gavel.
“The jury is excused with the court’s thanks. The bailiff isinstructed to release Mr. Friedman at once. We’re adjourned.”
Joel turns to me with a bewildered look.
“Does that mean what I think it means?”
“Yeah. It’s time to go home, Joel.”
When a client is acquitted, the defense lawyer becomes an extraneousobserver in a matter of seconds. Joel, Rosie, Naomi and I get togetherin the front of the courtroom for what Grace likes to call a group hug.Naomi is sobbing. Then Joel climbs over the rail and hugs hisparents.
The reporters have already left the courtroom. I give Rosie a big hugof her own.
“Thanks,” I manage to say. I barely notice the tears in her eyes. Ifeel the tears in mine. I pause for a moment before I gather mypapers.
“What the hell just happened?” I say.
“You won, Mike.”
Skipper strides toward me, the threemillion-dollar smile plastered onhis face. He shakes my hand forcefully.
“Nice job, counselor,” he says.
“Yeah. Thanks, Skipper.” Let’s go out for a beer sometime.
He turns and addresses the gallery.
“Obviously, we’re disappointed with the result. However, we believe inthe system and we must accept the jury’s verdict. I’ll be holding apress conference in my office in twenty minutes.” I tune it out.
I turn and see Bill McNulty sitting at the prosecution table, shakinghis head.
He hasn’t moved. He’s looking straight ahead, and he’s muttering overand over, “Jesus fucking Christ.”
CHAPTER 58
MY LAST CONFESSION
“We still have faith in the criminal justice system.”
—skipper gates. lasry king live. thursday, april 16.
There are no victory laps or trips to Disneyland for victorious defenseattorneys. A few get interviewed by Larry King. Some get bookcontracts. Most are held up to universal scorn and are cited as thereason for the collapse of the justice system and, by extension, themoral fabric of our society.
I seem to be one of them. As Rosie and I drive from the Hall to Joel’shouse for an early-evening celebration, the Monday-morning quarterbackson the radio are already proclaiming I’m a social pariah.
“In local news, in a stunning conclusion to the trial of the decade,accused double murderer Joel Mark Friedman was found not guilty.District Attorney Prentice Gates expressed his disappointment with theverdict, but said he would abide by the result.
Friedman’s attorney, Michael Daley, said he was pleased and had nofurther comment. KCBS news time is six-ten.”
Rosie turns off the radio.
“Enough,” she says.
“This case will be held up as a textbook example of what’s wrong withthe justice system.”
“And the American way of life,” I add.
“Actually, Rosie,” I wax, “I doubt anybody will be thinking about it ina couple of days.”
“You’re probably right. By the way, did the judge have anything tosay?”
“Skipper and I talked to her for a few minutes right after the verdictwas read. She said it was the most disgusting display she had everseen in a courtroom. It seems she isn’t real fond of lawyers who hideevidence and bring witnesses back from the dead. It violates her senseof fair play.” I smile.
“She said she hopes she’ll never see any of us again.”
“You’re running out of judges, Mike.”
“I know. Well, you know the old saying.
“So many judges, so little time.”
” Rosie grins.
“Actually, I thought she did a good job.” I agree.
“She did. She’s going to be a good trial judge.”
“Did you interview the jurors?” After a trial is over, the lawyers arepermitted to ask the jury about the case and how they reached theirdecision.
“Briefly. They thought it was a suicide. They didn’t buy Beckert’stheory that Bob was knocked unconscious.”
“What did they think about you and Skipper?”
“They said Skipper was arrogant.
And they thought I was whiny.”
“Sounds about right,” she replies.
“What about Joel?”
“That’s interesting. They were impressed that he had the guts to getup on the stand.” I look out at City Hall.
“And they didn’t really believe a word he said.”
“Why?” I grin.
“He’s a lawyer.”
“Got it.” She chuckles.
“Did you get anything out of Skipper or McNasty?”
“Not much. I talked to them after we interviewed the jurors. Skipperwas extolling the beauty and wisdom of the criminal justice system.McNasty kept saying he couldn’t believe it.”
“He’s such a jolly guy.”
“You know, he may be a sourpuss, but at least he’s an honest one.”
“You’re not going soft on prosecutors in your old age, are you?”
“I’d take a hundred Bill McNastys ahead of Skipper Gates anytime.” Wedrive in silence north on Van Ness and turn west on Geary and headtoward Joel’s house. We’re reversing the route I took in January whenI made my mad dash to the Hall of Justice the night he was arrested. Itwas only four months ago, but it seems like years.
We find a parking space in front of Joel’s house. You know the starsare really lining up right when you find a place to park on the streeton a weeknight.
It’s warm and the sun is still out. Winter may be ending.
The news vans are parked in every driveway on Joel’s street. Theneighbors will be furious. Rosie pushes me toward Rita Roberts.
“Go ahead,” she says.
“Say something nice about Joel and your renewed faith in the criminaljustice system.”
Rita sticks the microphone in my face and asks me how it feels. Iutter banalities about how pleased I am that justice has been served,that a good and innocent man was set free and how the criminal justicesystem worked. I also prattle on about how proud I am to be a lawyer.I take the obligatory gratuitous swipe at the press for attempting totry the case in the media. I make a plea that they respect Joel andNaomi’s privacy and give them an opportunity to put their lives backtogether. Rita nods solemnly. To me, it sounds like “blah blah blahjustice, blah blah blah legal system, blah blah blah media, blah blahblah privacy.” Rosie grabs my arm and we push our way toward thedoor.
The party is already in full swing when we enter. Joel gives me a bighug and puts a cold beer in my hand. Naomi kisses me. Alan andStephen come running down the hallway. Alan leaps up and gives me abear hug. Doris has a glass of champagne in her hand and we toast eachother. High fives and more hugs. The owners of Shenson’s deli onGeary are members of Rabbi Friedman’s temple. They have sent over hugetrays of corned beef, pastrami, roast beef and turkey.
Naomi gives me a sandwich and I devour it. I’m hungry for the firsttime in weeks.
I see my mother in the living room. Her eyes sparkle.
“I’m proud of you, Michael,” she says.
I’m glad she’s having a good day.
“Thanks, Mama. It means a lot to me.”
About thirty people jam into Joel and Naomi’s living room to watch theearly news. There’s wild applause when the announcer gives theverdict. I get an odd feeling when I see myself on TV. Rosie screams,“Mike, you look like shit.”
Roars of laughter.
I see myself talking to Rita Roberts. Then I’m talking to the serious-looking Vietnamese reporter from Channel 5. The anchors on Channel 7joke that I must be having a great day. I watch myself on threedifferent channels. Then I catch Mort interviewing Skipper on Channel4.
“So, Mr. Gates,” Mort says, “do you feel like Marcia Clark?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mr. Goldberg. We’redisappointed with the result, but we respect the process and the jurysystem.”
Mort rolls his eyes. I watch him spar with Skipper for five moreminutes before I leave the throng in the living room and make my way tothe back porch, where I find Joel sipping a beer.
“Getting some air, Joel?” I ask.
“Yeah.” He pauses.
“By the way, thanks for everything. I don’t know if I would have madeit without you.”
“You’re welcome. You would have been okay, one way or another.”
He looks unpersuaded.
I look out at the small patio. The garden has fallen into a state ofdisrepair.
“Joel,” I say, “if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to ask you something.Man to man, attorney-client, just you and me.”
He takes another gulp of beer.
“Sure.”
“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”
“Fair enough.”
“You probably know what’s coming.”
He nods.
“Well, here goes. Was justice served today?”
He takes a long draw from his Samuel Adams. He looks me in the eye anddoesn’t blink.
“Yeah, justice was served today.”
“I thought so. I just wanted to be sure.” Then I ask, “How are youand Naomi doing?”
“One day at a time, Mike.”
“Maybe you could get some counseling.”
“That’s probably a good idea.”
“I know some people who might be able to help you.”
“I thought I’d call Dr. Kathy Chandler.” A pause.
“Just kidding. Give me a few days, I’ll call you.”
I wonder if he will. I take a deep breath of the unseasonably mildair.
“Thought about what you’d like to do next?”
“I haven’t given it much thought. I’ve had a lot on my mind. I thinkmaybe I’d like to try teaching for a while.”
“You’d be good at it.”
“Maybe. Naomi thinks I should write a book.”
“Really? A law book?”
“Nah. I’ve always wanted to write a novel. Legal thriller. You know.John Grisham.”
I laugh.
“Forget it. It’s harder than it looks. And every lawyer I know iswriting a novel. It’s been done to death.”
He grins.
“You’re probably right.” Then he says, “What about you and Rosie? Youguys are so good together. You’re more married than most marriedpeople. Why don’t you try it again?”
Tough question. No good answer.
“We talk about it every once in a while. I think we finally figured itall out. We work great together. We love each other very much. Wehave a great time when we’re together.” And, Lord knows, the sex isterrific.
He interrupts me.
“There’s a big ‘but’ coming, isn’t there?”
“Yes. Do you know any people who are really nice, wonderful people,but when they get together with somebody in particular, they becomeobnoxious jerks?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, the same concept sort of applies to Rosie and me. We’re nicepeople and we get along great. But when we try to live together, welose it. I can’t explain it. We’re fundamentally incompatible. Andwe take it out on each other.
She’s careful about money. I don’t have a clue. I’m neat. She’s not.She likes everything to be scheduled. I don’t. We drive each othercrazy.”
“Maybe the status quo isn’t so bad after all, Mike.”
“I guess. One of these days, she’s going to find a guy and I’m goingto get really jealous.”
“Maybe not for a while. You never know. People change.”
Rabbi and Mrs. Friedman walk onto the back porch. They each give Joela hug.