The Resurrection File Page 2

  Will Chambers stopped in his tracks. “No. It doesn’t count for anything. Ethically, a lawyer can’t split fees with non-lawyers for case referrals. And that’s what it would be if I give up a fee from you because you send me a case. Give me a break, Tiny.”

  “Okay, well, hey, I’m trying here. You know. Just give me some time. You’ll get your money.”

  “Look, Tiny, my partners are putting pressure on me about my receivables. I know you and I go back a long way. I wouldn’t be hammering you unless it was important. We have to get your fee collected, okay?”

  “Sure, Will, okay,” Tiny reassured him, wiping some of the sweat off his brow. As they turned the corner in the hallway they heard the echoes of voices ahead of them from the area outside the courtroom. There they saw several protestors with signs denouncing abortion. They were being lectured by two federal marshals. With news of the New York City truck incident spreading, security at federal buildings in the District was on full alert.

  “Protest signs inside the courthouse. That would be a big no-no. Judge Ramington is going to have their heads on a platter,” Chambers said as they approached the group outside the courtroom doors.

  Heftland grabbed Will’s arm and stopped him short.

  “Look, Will. I really need you to do some magic here. I know you can do it. If I get convicted, my license is going bye-bye. I’m done. You’ve really got to get me off on this one.”

  “Tiny, I don’t do magic. I do law. I’m not Houdini.” And then Will looked at Tiny’s panicked expression and patted his big shoulder. “I’m going to do my best. I promise.”

  They skirted the group of protestors, and as they entered the courtroom Tiny grabbed Will’s arm one more time. Looking down at Will’s feet, he began muttering something.

  “Look, Tiny, it’s going to be alright,” Will said, brushing him off and pointing for him to sit with the large group in the audience section. Will turned and made his way to the front row.

  A thin, plain-looking young woman with long brown hair grabbed Will’s coat sleeve as he walked by the rows of benches. He noticed a little brass pin on her blouse in the shape of tiny baby feet.

  “I am praying for you,” she said quietly.

  “My client is not part of your antiabortion group,” Will said, trying to pull away from her grasp.

  “That’s okay, I am praying for you anyway.”

  “Sure,” Will said. “That’s good.” He quickly sat down with his briefcase and tried to catch his breath.

  A few seconds after Will had sat down, the side door swung open violently, with a bang. Judge Roger Ramington strode out, his black robe flowing. The bailiff barked out with a loud voice, “All rise, this court is now in session, the Honorable Roger K. Ramington is presiding, silence is commanded, God save the United States and this Honorable Court.”

  “Be seated,” Judge Ramington called out, and he perched himself behind the bench. He was completely bald, with a head that had a shiny, even polished, appearance. His eyebrows were dark and bushy, and he carried a square-jawed look that let you know he was rarely amused, always in control, and relished presenting himself as the veteran Marine that he was.

  “I have been informed by the clerk that all of the defendants on the docket today are here on Complaints alleging violations of federal law, namely 18 United States Code section 248, the Federal Access to Clinics Act, otherwise known as F.A.C.E.

  “These Complaints all apparently have to do with alleged antiabortion protest activities three weeks ago at the Tri-County Women’s Health Center,” the Judge continued.

  “Now listen carefully, each and every one of you. I am about to explain why you’re here. I want absolute silence. This is not your day of trial. This is only a preliminary hearing to determine whether there is probable cause to continue your case forward toward trial. That means that merely enough evidence need be presented by the prosecution to show that a crime was probably committed and that you probably committed it. That’s all. Nothing more is needed.

  “I am informed that all of you, except one, are defending yourselves and do not wish to have lawyers representing you. That is your right. On the other hand I’ve always believed that, as they say, anyone who is his or her own lawyer has a fool for a client.

  “Now, the prosecution will present its witnesses and evidence. You may then cross-examine those witnesses, but your right to ask questions will be extremely limited. It will be limited by the rules of evidence, of which you may know very little. It will also be limited to the issue of probable cause—not guilt or innocence. And in all likelihood you won’t know the difference there either, because you’re not lawyers.

  “You need not testify on your own behalf—in fact you have a Fifth-Amendment right not to. If you decide to testify today you are running a great risk because, A) You may say just enough to hang yourself, and B) I’m not your lawyer. Don’t ask me what you should do. And C) if you start telling me about your pro-life views and beliefs, I don’t want to hear them because they have nothing to do with these charges against you as far as the law is concerned. If you violate this rule and start telling me why you are against abortion I will cite you for contempt.

  “Now, with that, let’s all have a nice day here in the United States District Court.” Judge Ramington capped off his speech with a smile. Though it was not exactly a smile. It was more like the grin that a Doberman pinscher gives you when it pulls its lips back to bare its teeth.

  The clerk called Will Chambers’ case first, as it was the only one with a defendant who was represented by an attorney.

  “Case number 01 CR 657, United States of America vs. William Tinney Heftland.”

  Will Chambers and Heftland approached the bench.

  “Are you William Tinney Heftland?” the judge asked.

  “Yes, Your Honor—but my friends call me ‘Tiny.’”

  “Don’t mistake me for one of your friends, Mr. Heftland. That would be a serious error. Are counsel ready?”

  Will and the prosecuting attorney both nodded.

  “Before you call your first witness,” the judge said to the prosecutor, “does anyone want to make a short opening statement?”

  But then something caught the eye of the judge. He lunged forward and leaned over the bench to get a better look.

  The judge was staring at Will’s feet. Will looked down and his heart sank.

  “Counsel, approach this bench, and I mean now,” Judge Ramington snapped.

  Chambers and the smiling prosecutor approached the bench. Ramington gave a discreet nod to the court reporter and she stopped typing on her steno machine.

  “Counsel,” and with that the judge looked down at the file on the desk to remind himself of the name of the defense counsel. “Mr. Chambers. Yes. I’ve had you in my courtroom before. Would you care to explain your footwear to me?”

  Will glanced down at his woven leather sandals. He had forgotten to replace them with the dress shoes that he kept by his desk specifically for court appearances.

  “These are imported, hand-tooled leather sandals from Italy, Your Honor.” And then he quickly added, “And I do apologize that in the rush to arrive at court on time—and I know that Your Honor is a keen observer of time—I apparently forgot to put on my dress shoes.”

  “You ever come in here again with sandals, looking like a hippie, you’re in contempt, sir.”

  “It won’t happen again.”

  “And get a decent haircut, mister,” the judge added.

  “Yes, Your Honor,” Chambers replied. And then he added, once he noted that the court reporter was getting everything down on the record again, “And I do appreciate the Court giving me a critique on my hairstyle.”

  Judge Ramington shot a steely-eyed look at the court reporter, who then took her fingers off the keys again.

  “Don’t go there, Mr. Chambers. Don’t play games with me. I was doing you a big favor. You want me to put my opinions of you on the record, I will be glad to do that. Yo
u want everything on the record, be my guest. You’ve got some kind of chip on your shoulder, counselor. I really don’t care where it came from. You get it off. Now go back to the counsel table and take care of your client’s case.”

  Will nodded silently. The prosecutor, who had been standing as a mute witness at side-bar during the entire colloquy, was grinning.

  Will sat down at the counsel table next to Tiny. His exasperated client only had two words for him.

  “Nice opening.”

  The prosecutor called, as his only witness, a police officer who had been on duty on the day that several dozen pro-life demonstrators showed up at the abortion clinic and sat down in front of the doors. Will knew that Tiny had been there that day. But he also knew that he didn’t block the doors.

  In fact, Tiny was there that day to serve a Summons and Complaint on one of the doctors for a medical malpractice lawsuit. In order to get closer to the front door and then to make his way inside to serve the papers, he had pretended to be one of the pro-lifers. That was when he was arrested.

  The officer methodically described the scene that day. The blocking of the doors. The fact that women could not get in to get abortions. The arrests.

  Then the officer described how one William Tinney Heftland had been there, in the midst of the protestors, and how he had been arrested as he was seated with them in front of the doors.

  “Your witness,” the prosecutor announced to Will after concluding direct examination.

  Chambers paused for a minute. The courtroom became silent. The officer shifted in his chair. Judge Ramington began tapping his pen on the bench.

  Then Will began.

  “Are you sure my client was there that day?”

  “Sure.”

  “How do you know?”

  “He’s hard to miss.”

  The judge chuckled.

  “What was he wearing?”

  “Red suspenders, I think.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I remember.”

  “You don’t remember it just because he’s wearing red suspenders now?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “You are sure my client, Tiny Heftland, was sitting down in front of the doors—rather than simply standing up?”

  “I’m fairly sure.”

  “Is there some question in your mind about the suspenders, though?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Do you have pictures in your file there that could refresh your recollection?”

  The prosecutor jumped to his feet.

  “Your Honor, I think we know where this is going. Mr. Chambers is trying to go on a fishing expedition here. He is using the preliminary hearing simply to get discovery about the prosecution’s case. He just wants a look at the police photos.”

  “Oh, so you do have photos,” Will snapped at the prosecutor sarcastically.

  “Where are you going, Mr. Chambers? You’re wasting our time,” the judge barked out.

  “Your Honor,” Will replied, “the federal rules of evidence permit me to have a witness refresh his recollection with anything that can revive his memory on a material point.”

  “How is this ‘red suspenders’ thing material? I’m not going to let you endlessly test the credibility of the witness—that’s not what you do at a preliminary hearing.”

  “It is material,” Will continued, “if we can show that a large man—and I think that we can all agree that Mr. Heftland is large—that a large man wearing red suspenders who was a private investigator and a process server—and who matches my client’s description—was not seated on the ground obstructing the clinic doors, but was in fact trying to get into the doors to serve lawsuit papers on one of the doctors when he was arrested.”

  Judge Ramington stared at Chambers. Then he pulled out the charging document from the court file and started reading out loud.

  “Alright. The violation here is that the act was done with obstruction… or that he intimidated or interfered with someone trying to get reproductive health services…because that person…who is obstructed is trying to get those services. In other words, a process server…may or may not be part of an obstruction—and I suppose he would not be there because people are trying to get in to get abortions done. He would be there for some other reason. Objection overruled. Officer, answer the question.”

  “Yes, the police photos would probably refresh my memory.”

  The officer glanced through the pack of photos in his file.

  “I can’t tell.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because your client—Mr. Heftland—is not in any of these photos.”

  “Your Honor, I would like to see those photos.”

  The judge glanced over at the prosecutor.

  “At this point I guess I don’t have an objection,” the prosecutor deadpanned, “if Mr. Chambers wants to help prove the government’s case by identifying his own client in the photographs and placing him at the scene of the offense.”

  Will took the pack of photos and quickly spread them out over the counsel’s table. He began staring at several of them, but none showed his client.

  “Okay, counsel, proceed,” the judge said.

  But one of the photos had caught Will’s eye, and he lifted it up to look at it more closely.

  “Now, Mr. Chambers,” the judge said.

  Will did not flinch, but stared at the photo—transfixed by something he thought he saw.

  “I will be terminating your cross-examination, Mr. Chambers,” the judge said, his voice rising.

  Now Will was holding only one photograph in his hand as he turned to face the witness.

  He looked the officer directly in the eye. The officer shifted a little in the witness chair.

  “Is it a fact, officer, that my client—rather than sitting down in front of the doors of the clinic and obstructing patients from getting in—was actually standing up, in his bright-red suspenders, and waving the lawsuit papers that he was trying to serve on one of the doctors inside the clinic—in fact, waving those papers over his head?”

  “No, I don’t believe so. I would have remembered.”

  “Would it refresh your memory to look at a picture that shows that very thing?”

  “No. Because I just looked at those pictures. They don’t show that.”

  The photo in Will’s hand was taken to the clerk and marked as an exhibit and handed to the officer on the stand.

  “Look at the picture. Look very closely. Look through what is on the surface and look deep into the picture…deep into the photograph,” Will said.

  “I’m sorry, but this is absurd, Your Honor,” the prosecutor blurted out. “This is starting to sound like some kind of cheap parlor trick—maybe defense counsel would like to hypnotize the officer into seeing something that isn’t in that picture.”

  But the judge was not looking at the lawyers, he was looking at the witness. And the officer had changed his expression as he was looking at the photo.

  “Does that photo portray something different than your recollection, officer?” the judge asked.

  “Not exactly, but…” the officer responded.

  The prosecutor was on his feet again, but before he could say anything the judge reached over and grabbed the photograph from the witness and looked at it himself.

  “There’s nothing here, Mr. Chambers,” the judge said, “that shows your client at all. All I see is a group of the other protestors sitting in front of the doors of the clinic.”

  “Your Honor,” Will said, and now his voice was calm and deliberate, “look at the glass—the reflection in the plate-glass window of the clinic—not at the people sitting in the foreground of the photo, but into the glass…”

  The judge stared at the photo, and then silently passed it back to the witness. The officer’s shoulders slightly slumped. There was a little turning-up at one corner of his mouth, as if he were trying not to smile nervously.

  “Officer,” Will continued, “an
overcast day that day?”

  “Yes.”

  “A lot of reflection on the glass—almost like a mirror?”

  “Yes, counselor, that would be one way to describe it.”

  “And that reflection in the glass of the window shows—faintly perhaps, but clearly enough—it shows my client, red suspenders and all, standing off in the distance with his hands held over his head, and papers in them?”

  “Yes.”

  “And there is someone else in the reflection of that glass, approaching him?”

  “Yes, counselor, there is.”

  “Who is that?”

  “That’s me, I think, in that reflection, coming up behind him…I guess to arrest him. While he was standing up.”

  “And certainly not obstructing the doorway?”

  “No. To be honest, I guess not.”

  The prosecutor wisely decided not to attempt the hopeless task of trying to rehabilitate his witness. He waived any redirect examination.

  That is when Judge Ramington gave a short and dispassionate explanation for his decision to dismiss all of the criminal charges in the case of United States of America vs. William Tinney Heftland.

  Will and Tiny walked out of the courtroom together. Tiny gave him a huge bear hug while Will fought back a little embarrassment in front of the court personnel walking by in the halls.

  “Oh, man, I owe you big-time,” Tiny said. “I don’t just mean paying my bill. I will do that. But if there is some way I can repay you. Some favor—anything.” He was beaming.

  “Sure,” Will said. He was smiling too. Then Will hooked one of Tiny’s suspenders with his finger and pulled on it. “Lucky suspenders.”

  “You got that right!” Tiny said and strode off with a big wave.

  Will turned around to leave. He noticed the fragile-looking woman with the little baby’s feet pin, standing in the hallway, smiling at him and waving. He thought he heard her say something like “praying for you” again. Will gave her a half-wave as he walked out of the courthouse toward his car.