“Did you?”
“I did not. I asked Frank and Marv what the hell was going on. Frank said there’d been a robbery. Marv said he knew I didn’t do it, but would I please cooperate with the detective and help clear it up.”
“Did they tell you what had been stolen?”
“Not then.”
“What did you do?”
“I emptied my purse.”
“What happened then?”
“The detective went through my billfold. I had eighty some dollars in it, mostly twenties. The detective whipped out a notebook, started comparing the twenties to that. He whistled, called Frank over, Frank took a look and called the cops. They came and arrested me.”
“On what grounds?”
“Two of the twenty dollar bills from my purse matched the serial numbers the detective had written in his notebook.”
“And the detective had planted those bills in the petty cash drawer?”
“That’s right?”
“When was that done?”
“Friday afternoon. I’m accused of taking a hundred dollars out of petty cash when I left Friday night. The forty dollars I had Monday was supposedly what I had left.”
“I see,” Steve said. “On the basis of that you’ve been bound over for trial?”
“That’s right.”
“That’s tomorrow morning?”
“Yes, it is.”
“I believe you have counsel? A court appointed lawyer?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Then why do you need me?”
“Because I don’t trust my lawyer.”
Steve Winslow put up his hand. “Just a minute. That’s what I was afraid of. Let me tell you, it’s perfectly natural not to trust a court appointed lawyer. Happens all the time. But just because a lawyer’s doing pro bono work doesn’t mean he isn’t any good. I’ve done it myself. So I could just as easily be that lawyer you don’t trust. You see what I mean?”
Amy shook her head impatiently. “Don’t be dumb. I’m not a prejudiced moron. I was perfectly happy with my lawyer up until this morning.”
“What happened then?”
“He called me up. I thought it was just to prepare me for court tomorrow. But no. Seems he’d had a call from the A.D.A.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah,” Amy said. “My lawyer’s all pleased with himself. Said we wouldn’t have to go to trial at all. The prosecution was willing to settle.”
“For what?”
“Plead guilty to a misdemeanor and they let me off with a thirty day suspended sentence, no probation, no fine.”
“I see,” Steve said. “Miss Dearborn, why are you here?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You have a very capable attorney who’s gotten you a very advantageous deal. The attorney isn’t costing you a dime. The deal isn’t costing you a dime. And here you are, trying to hire me. I don’t work for nothing. Even if you had the money to retain me-which you don’t-I’d be hard pressed to come up with a better deal than you already have. All in all, I don’t see why you don’t take it and tell yourself you lucked out.”
Amy’s eyes blazed. “Oh, is that your opinion? Great deal, huh? Gee, I thought you’d be different. Guess not. You know the problem with the deal? I didn’t do it. I didn’t take the money. Now, maybe it would make everybody’s life a lot easier if I just said I did. But why should I? And why should I be grateful that someone’s not gonna fine me and send me to jail? What sort of bullshit is that? If I lie and say I’m guilty, I’ll be forgiven and I won’t be punished? Great. I’ll have a nice blot on my record. Have a hell of a time getting another job. Unless I lie on the application, say I’ve never been convicted. That would be pretty neat, huh? Two lies adding up to the truth. Until they find out about it and I’m out on my ear.”
Amy paused for breath, looked up at Steve Winslow. “Well, how about it,” she said. “Is that what you think I should do.”
Steve sighed. “No, I guess not.” He chuckled, shook his head ruefully. “Oh dear, what a mess. It appears the only stumbling block here is you’re innocent.” He shrugged. “Too bad. Be a hell of a lot easier if you were guilty.”
3
Judge Dalrymple could feel a headache coming on. He looked down at A.D.A. Pearson and frowned. He had understood this matter was going to be settled. Yet here before him stood the prosecutor. And at the defense table sat the defendant, with not one but two attorneys, her regular court appointed lawyer and a long haired young man in corduroy jacket and jeans.
Judge Dalrymple rubbed his brow. “People vs. Amy Dearborn,” he said. “Mr. Pearson. Do I understand you are ready to proceed?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“Is the defense ready?”
Amy Dearborn’s lawyer, a clean cut, earnest-looking young man stood up. “Your Honor, I am as you know the attorney appointed by the court to represent Miss Dearborn. At this time I ask to be relieved of that responsibility.”
“On what grounds?”
“Miss Dearborn no longer wishes my services. She has discharged me and retained another attorney.”
“And who would that be?”
“Mr. Steve Winslow, present here in court.”
“I see,” Judge Dalrymple said. “Miss Dearborn?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“Have you heard what your attorney said?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“Is what he said substantially true?”
“Yes it is, Your Honor.”
“You no longer wish him to function as your attorney?”
“No, Your Honor.”
“You wish to be represented by Mr. Steve Winslow?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“Very well,”,Judge Dalrymple said. “You are excused.”
The attorney nodded his thanks, gathered up his briefcase, and left.
Judge Dalrymple smiled. Maybe this wasn’t so bad/after all. “Mr. Winslow,” he said. “May I ask when the defendant first approached you in this matter?”
“Yesterday afternoon.”
“I see. I would assume you would need time to prepare. Under the circumstances I would be inclined to grant any reasonable continuance you might ask.”
“I don’t want a continuance, Your Honor.”
Judge Dalrymple frowned. “You don’t?”
“The defendant has been accused of a crime. There is no foundation for the charge whatsoever, and I see no reason for her to walk around with a cloud over her head. I want her vindicated now. The defense position is, call the jury and let’s go.”
The dull ache behind Judge Dalrymple’s temple was becoming more pronounced. He turned to the prosecutor. “Mr. Pearson?”
The A.D.A. frowned. “Your Honor, I had anticipated the defense would want a continuance.”
“Well, they don’t,” Judge Dalrymple said shortly. “So let’s get on with it. Bailiff, bring in the jurors and let’s go.”
There was a brief delay while fifty prospective jurors were brought up from the assembly room downstairs, ushered in, and seated on the benches in the back of the courtroom.
At the defense table. Amy Dearborn turned to look. She whispered to Steve Winslow, “So many. Why so many?”
“We need sixteen jurors,” Steve told her. “Twelve regular jurors and four alternates. They expect the prosecutor and me to fight over them, throw most of them out, trying to get people favorable to our side. It’s a long process.” He jerked his thumb. “They don’t even expect to fill the jury from what they’ve got back there.”
Amy frowned. “You mean it could take days?”
“Absolutely.”
“That’s awful.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t let it.”
When the jurors had been seated the bailiff shuffled up their ballots, and drew sixteen at random, filling the jury box. As the jurors took their places, the bailiff attached their ballots to a rectangular board which was numbered according to the seats in the box. When he was finished, A.D.A. Pearson took the board, approached the jury box. Referring to the board, Pearson addressed each juror by name, asking them personal questions about their education, their jobs, their marital status, their hobbies, their likes, their dislikes, and finally their opinions about crime in general and theft in particular.