The bailiff, obviously at a loss as to what he should do, especially after Kathy West shook his hand, allowed the mayor to further ignore the rules and reach across the bar rail to shake hands with both Hardy and her niece, while Harlen pulled Hardy a little closer and whispered, “This is Kathy’s spur of the moment inspiration. Maybe put our friend Stier over there a bit off his feed for his opening statement.”
“Couldn’t hurt,” Hardy said. The grandstanding, coming as it did after weeks of inactivity and silence from Maya’s extended family, was in fact far from unwelcome. A smile creased Hardy’s features and he glanced over in time to catch Stier, Glass, and Schiff in what were to him sweet expressions of disbelief and shock.
But the energy had no time to gather momentum as the door by the judge’s bench opened and the bailiff up there at the far end of the room intoned, “All rise. Department Twenty-five of the Superior Court of California is now in session, Judge Marian Braun presiding.”
And Braun swept in and up to her chair behind the bench, glanced out at the crowd, then glared as she became aware of her visitors. After a second’s hesitation she lifted and slammed her gavel and said, “Attorneys, my chambers, immediately!”
The judge, in her black robe, was standing waiting for both of them as they came in. She didn’t even ask the court recorder, Ann Baxter-sitting on the couch with her magic machine-if she was ready to take down every word that was said, as was required in a murder trial, before she started in. “Mr. Hardy. Because of our long history together, I thought I’d made clear that there wouldn’t be any show-boating in or around my courtroom. And now I come in here on the first actual day of trial and who do I see out in the first row but the mayor and one of our city supervisors, and if you think-”
“Your Honor,” Hardy said.
But she raised a hand. “I’m not finished talking yet, and I don’t want you interrupting me. Ever. Here or in the courtroom. Clear?”
It was unprofessional and might even be counterproductive in the short run for his client, but if Braun was going to insult him and act like a tyrant whose malice toward him might provide grounds for an eventual appeal, Hardy was going to be happy to help her along. So, knowing that decorum demanded that he respond aloud to her-otherwise the court recorder couldn’t put his answer in the record-he nodded with an exaggerated solemnity.
And waited.
It didn’t take Braun long. Her eyes went nearly shut as she squinted across at him. “I asked you a question, Mr. Hardy. I asked if it was clear that you were not to interrupt me.”
“Yes, Your Honor. Of course. I’m sorry. I wasn’t sure you’d finished and I didn’t want to interrupt.” Straight-faced.
She pointed a finger at him, schoolmarmish, her voice a hoarse and controlled rasp. “I’d like to know what you mean to accomplish by having the mayor and Supervisor Fisk sitting out there. This is exactly the kind of circus environment that I’ve cautioned you that I want to avoid, and here it is before we’ve even begun.”
Hardy stood at attention.
“Well? Are you going to answer me? Or not?”
Hardy canted his head slightly, leaning forward. “I’m sorry, Your Honor. I didn’t hear a question and didn’t know you required a response.”
“What are they doing out there?”
“I don’t know, Your Honor. Intending to take in the trial, or at least part of it?”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. I wouldn’t care to hazard a supposition.”
“I don’t believe you. I sense your hand in their presence here.”
“Your Honor, you flatter me to assign me such influence, but I assure you that I have no control over the movements of the mayor. Or Mr. Fisk. Their appearance here is as much a surprise to me as it is to you.”
“They are sitting on your client’s side. You don’t think this is going to influence the jury, seeing them sitting rooting for her?”
“I don’t know about that and I can’t help how the jury will react. Ms. West and Mr. Fisk are both related to the defendant.” He turned. “As Mr. Stier and, I believe, you, well know.”
Again the finger. “Don’t you presume to tell me what I know or don’t know.”
“Of course not, Your Honor. But regardless of your knowledge or lack of it, it’s only natural that as Ms. Townshend’s relatives, they should sit on the defense side of the gallery.”
Braun turned her angry eyes to the prosecutor. “Mr. Stier? Do you have anything to add to this conversation?”
The clean-cut and quite possibly cutthroat attorney, who had come in the door behind Hardy and remained slightly behind him until now, stepped up beside him, cleared his throat, but remained silent.
“Your Honor, with respect,” Hardy began, “first and primarily, this is a public courtroom. Anyone has a right to be here. We fought a revolution about this sort of thing. Further, there is an argument to be made that their presence might be calculated to combat the pre-trial prejudice that the prosecution has been abetting throughout the lead-up to this trial.”
“What are you talking about?” Stier snapped.
Hardy kept himself at attention, eyes forward.
After a satisfying five seconds Braun finally came at him. “Did you hear Mr. Stier’s question, Mr. Hardy?”
“Of course, Your Honor.”
“Well?”
“I’m sorry. Well what, Your Honor?”
“I asked you if you’d heard Mr. Stier’s question.”
“Yes, of course, but you’ve instructed me many times to address my remarks only to the court. I’m trying to hone to the court’s protocol, Your Honor. As to Mr. Stier’s question, I’m certain he knows full well what I was talking about.”
“Would you care to enlighten the court what that is?”
“Certainly, Your Honor. It’s no secret that for the past several months Mr. Glass, the U.S. attorney here in San Francisco, has been prosecuting a campaign in the civil courts, in the media, and with a federal grand jury, trying to link my client and her husband to her brother and to the mayor and trying to implicate all the families in a money-laundering, dope-dealing, and racketeering conspiracy. That’s why I submitted all the questions for your voir dire about which of our prospective jurors follow the news closely. I had assumed you were aware of this, Your Honor.”
For an answer Braun turned to the prosecutor. “Mr. Stier?”
“Nonsense, Your Honor. It’s true that Jerry Glass has been following his own trail of malfeasance that appears to lead through some of these same individuals, including Mr. Hardy’s client, but to imply that we’ve colluded to prejudice-”
“Excuse me, Your Honor. I didn’t mean to imply any such thing. I meant to state it as established fact.”
Stier wheeled on Hardy. “That’s absurd.”
“To the contrary,” Hardy replied evenly, facing Braun. “It’s demonstrable, Your Honor. Debra Schiff, the homicide inspector who arrested my client, has been designated a special agent for Mr. Glass’s federal grand jury. Some would call that collusion.”
Braun glowered.
“But more to the point, Your Honor, Ms. West’s and Mr. Fisk’s right to be here, and my client’s right to have them here, is absolute. Of course, if you or Mr. Stier would like me to pass along a message to the mayor and a member of the Board of Supervisors that you want them to leave, I’d be happy to oblige. I’d actually be kind of interested to hear what they had to say to that.”
A longish pause. Then, “All right”-Braun bit off her words-“that’s quite enough. I won’t condone this type of bickering, either here or in my courtroom.” Hanging her head for a second, she shook it in disgust, then came back to the attorneys standing before her. “This situation infuriates me, but I don’t see any help for it. You gentlemen are excused. I’ll be out there again in just a minute.”