The Trials of Max Q, page 20
“What now, boss?” Shep asks.
“Meet me at the office—we have no time to waste. We can’t lose the motion on the admissibility of the video or we’re finished.”
Chapter 50
Over the course of the next week, Shep and I work twenty-hour days locked in our offices. Empty Chinese containers and pizza boxes become our new decorative motif. Shep is tireless, but I am annoyed by her obsession with detail, which causes her to constantly miss the bigger picture.
There is only one motion that we must win. Without the sex video to connect Anderson to Laney Bang’s blackmail scheme, we have no case. The other motions, such as the admissibility of the police tape, are important, but secondary. I keep trying to get Shep to understand this.
She appears even more stressed than normal. At one point, noticing that her confidence is waning, I attempt to give her a boost. “You have the makings of a great lawyer. When we get in the courtroom trust your instincts and you’ll be fine.”
“Even though I make too many lists?”
“There is nothing wrong with being prepared, but remember—study too long and you study wrong … you know, paralysis by analysis.”
“You’re a poet and you don’t know it,” she says and strangely begins giggling. It’s as if the dam broke and all her pent up emotions emptied through that one laugh.
“I’ve been reading poetry lately,” I say.
This seems to really impress Shep, who declares, “I love poetry. I used to try to write it. I wrote some dandies about my parents and growing up in Rome, not to mention, my disaster of a marriage—they say a poem is best when the poet’s heart bleeds onto the paper.”
“I’ve actually been reading a dead poet named Laney Bang.”
She exhales an exasperated sigh and returns to the motion she was meticulously working on. The conversation is over.
It is typical of our relationship. Begins with annoyance, then she pleasantly surprises me, but somehow we end up back at square one.
Chapter 51
All eyes are on the two naked bodies.
I glance at Drew Anderson, just as his onscreen alter-ego elicits another scream of pleasure from Laney Bang. He shows no emotion.
I tap Shep on the arm and whisper, “This is my favorite part.”
“I told you if you ever said anything about Marissa again I’ll kill you!”
Marissa isn’t present in court today—not a coincidence—and I doubt she’d be impressed by her husband’s passionate defense of her on film. After five long minutes, the lights are turned on. Everyone, with perhaps the exception of Max Q, is feeling inadequate.
It is August 15, and we’re in court for the motion hearing—the most important one being the video we just witnessed. Even at this early stage, our case is hanging by a thread and a ruling against us will be a fatal blow. I feel like the law is on our side, but I can’t shake the feeling that there are people who want this thing to go away ASAP.
The courtroom is empty, except for lawyers, judge, and defendant. The tape is not for public consumption at this stage. It’s the first thing all parties have agreed on since the day of Drew Anderson’s arrest.
After the general public and media are allowed to re-enter, Kerri begins her quest to rule the tape inadmissible. “The evidence offered on the tape is irrelevant, or, if marginally relevant, its probative value is substantially outweighed by its prejudicial effect, and the confusing of the issue for the jury.”
I counter in English, “The prosecution contends that Mr. Anderson and Ms. Bang were having an affair, which we will prove is connected to an attempt by Ms. Bang to blackmail Mr. Anderson. The blackmail attempt is the motive behind her murder. Not only is the video proof of a relationship between the two, but it also shows the defendant threatening the life of the victim.”
Kerri is impassioned. “A reasonable person would have stopped the act if they felt threatened—they were obviously role-playing. Sex by consenting adults is not a crime, and we think this video could falsely portray something more sinister going on, which will obstruct my client’s right to a fair trial.”
“Your Honor—if there were video of Lee Harvey Oswald in the book depository role-playing how he was going to kill the president, I believe it would be considered valuable evidence.”
Figliomini reminds me that Oswald was never tried in a court of law, and therefore not relevant case law. He then puts the onus on Kerri to build a better case that the video should be inadmissible.
Up to the weekend, and then carried over into Monday, Kerri bores us with every psychologist who has ever done a study of the effects of television, film, and video games on society. They all agree that such a graphic video could cloud the jury’s cognitive abilities, and provide an unfair advantage to the prosecution.
Two days later, we assemble in Judge Figliomini’s courtroom to hear his ruling on all motions. But before he does, he lectures me about the leak of our witness list, which has caused quite a stir the past couple days. The judge knows I leaked it to Ira Montini—as do I—in defiance of his gag order. But he can’t prove it, which has made him surlier than usual.
The reason the list garnered so much publicity had nothing to do with legal mumbo-jumbo like gag orders and leaks, it’s because the list contained every A-list celebrity that Laney outed in her book. The media salivated at the thought of their favorite celebrities coming to town to add to the drama. The summer blockbuster of all blockbusters!
I probably should just take my medicine and keep my mouth shut, but I take the opposite path. I walk the fine line of not incriminating myself, yet defending the list. “Our witness list was created with intent to counteract the defense’s ‘semi-plausible OJ smorgasbord’ strategy.”
“Semi-plausible what?” Figliomini is losing his patience.
Shep looks horrified that I would tweak the judge with such important rulings pending, but I soldier on, “The defense is going to attempt to come up with a host of ‘hey you never know’ scenarios, throwing reasonable doubt against the wall until something luckily sticks, despite its lack of merit. It’s what happened in the first OJ Simpson murder trial. We think those mentioned in Ms. Bang’s book will be a focus of the defense’s semi-plausible theories, so we felt it necessary to call them to refute such tactics.”
“This is outrageous, Your Honor,” Kerri bellows, as if she is above such tactics.
Figliomini is fuming. “Let me be straightforward, because I guess I haven’t been able to make it clear to you two. My courtroom will not be a circus!”
Laughter ricochets throughout the room. Everyone knows this thing has passed the circus standard weeks ago. Figliomini bangs his gavel and glares at the gallery.
Without further ado, he delivers his rulings. The first one is technically a loss for us—ruling that the death penalty is excessive. It’s expected and what I had hoped for. It was just posturing on my part. We will settle for life in prison.
The next ruling is that any mention of the Tony Rivotti investigation is irrelevant to the case and therefore inadmissible. He does leave it open to relevant new information that might be brought forward, but since I don’t expect anyone to find Rivotti, it’s a moot point.
The police tape is up next. While not as crucial to our case as the “sex tape,” its admissibility is still important. It is not illegal to tape someone in New York without his or her consent. But you can’t do it when a suspect is in custody, unless you inform them that they are in custody and outline their Miranda Rights. It will come down to how narrow Figliomini’s definition of custody is.
After Roger Beneke’s performance, I am not feeling confident. But Figliomini rules that Anderson was not in custody during the initial meeting and the police reacted correctly. The tape is admissible.
A nice win, but our whole case is hanging on the video.
“I believe the majority of the video lacks relevance,” the judge starts and I feel the air being sucked out of the courtroom. He also states that he has “serious questions” about how we received the tape, which we claimed had been anonymously delivered to our office. We didn’t lie, but left out the part about George Herman, wild goose chases, and knives to necks.
“But the first five minutes that includes the alleged threats toward the victim, will be ruled admissible, and can be interpreted by a jury. This court is adjourned and will resume on September 5 for jury selection.”
Gavel pound.
Shep and I look at each other and are almost too flabbergasted to be happy.
We exit the court, and any excitement we might have felt is tempered when we witness Drew Anderson once again holding court with an adoring media—smiles, laughing, and slapping backs. In the background a group of fans chant his name.
We know that today’s victory was minor and it will take a miracle to find twelve people to agree to convict him.
Chapter 52
It’s Tuesday September 5—the first day of the latest installment of the Trial of the Century.
I am working meticulously on my tie. They can’t start without me—can they? But if you believe the reviews, it can be deduced that our case might actually have a much better shot without me.
Despite my nightly flogging over the airwaves and daily hate mail, my smile has returned. I attribute this to being able to block out the hoopla of the trial and concentrate on the law—my comfort zone.
The last few weeks, my office transformed into a fortress. Only occasionally did we venture out in my Adirondack guide boat on Otsego Lake, getting some much needed fresh air and change of scenery. Somewhere in the rummage of empty Chinese cartons and law books, our strategy developed. It was based on three simple parts: mortalize Max Q, give a few whacks of Lizzie Borden, and then make sense of the whole bloody affair.
The first is perhaps the most important. Right now, he is seen as superhuman. The Max Q brand name is synonymous with perfection. We have to change this perception. If we can’t, then we won’t be able to get him convicted for jaywalking, forget murder. The video will be our asset here—that’s why its admissibility was imperative.
The second part of our case is to prove that he was, reasonably, the only person who could have committed the murder. Kerri and the defense will try to bring up every half-cocked possibility of anyone with even the slightest motive who was within a three-state radius, as she foreshadowed with her accusations toward Beneke. The only way to combat this is to show that Drew Anderson was the only person between 6:05 and 7:30 that fateful morning, who could have done the deed. Simple Lizzie Borden.
The final part of our case will be to make sense of the whole thing. Even if we’re successful with the first two parts, a jury is still going to find it too surreal to pull the trigger on a guilty verdict. They will convince themselves that there must be some other explanation, even if they have to suspend their belief in reality to do so.
This is where the case against Lizzie Borden went wrong. Despite Lizzie’s contradictory statements and the overwhelming evidence pointing in her direction, it just didn’t make sense that this refined girl would commit such an act of savagery. It actually helped her that the murders were so violent—in 1892 it made sense that a woman would use poison to commit murder, but a brutish attack with an ax was unfathomable. In our case, we must show why these two wealthy, attractive people who had the world in the palms of their hands, would choose the nuclear option. Why would Laney go to such lengths to blackmail Drew? And what would make him respond with murder? It makes no sense, and remains a huge obstacle to a conviction.
I figure it isn’t in my best interest to fight the first day of the Trial of the Century on an empty stomach. Mac and Ashley are long gone for the day, but sitting in all her glory at the breakfast table is Amber Jazz. Not an article of clothing in sight.
I decide to eat my cereal at the counter, which I deem safer. We have had to hide Amber out, and preparing her for testimony has become a full-time job for Shep. Amber wants no part of testifying, and is craving a daily fix, making her more of a flight risk than Max Q ever was. Keeping her clean has been no picnic either. We keep a female security guard with her during the day because we know a male wouldn’t have a shot. We sometimes wonder about the woman, but we’re just playing the odds.
“Why don’t you come sit down—I don’t bite,” she says, as if she’s seducing the plumber in one of her movies. I slurp down my corn flakes, not taking the bait. I’ll bet she does bite.
I say my goodbyes from a safe distance, wondering how much longer we can keep her on the straight and narrow. Jury selection itself could take months.
“Are you sure, big boy?” she asks suggestively. She then stands and begins dancing like she is auditioning for the lunch-shift at Feel of Dreamz—even the strip clubs in Cooperstown have a baseball connection.
“I have to go get some justice for your friend,” I say, trying not to look directly at her.
The mention of Laney jets Amber’s persona from the tantalizing provocateur to a teary-eyed, somber child. Just another demon to add to her long list. “Your loss,” she says and wipes a tear, before announcing to nobody in particular, “I need a drink soooo bad!”
This is our star witness.
A mob scene of television trucks and reporters are lined up six-deep. Even blanketed by security, the instability of the situation has me worried for my safety. I look at Shep and think of the night we were attacked by Lansdale’s goon. She puts on her “tough guy” face, but I feel her trepidation.
The media is ready to pounce, and I can’t blame them. In the case of the State of New York versus Drew Anderson they have hit the jackpot. American hero accused of killing scandalous sex-siren. Brother and sister rival attorneys. Murder, mystery, sex, and romance—it has it all.
Intriguing—yes. A new phenomenon—no. The first Trial of the Century occurred back in 1908 with the case of Harry Thaw, who murdered New York architect Stanford White in plain view at Madison Square Garden. As is often the case, it was over a woman. The case was filled with a frenzied press and merciless character assassination. White, the victim, was characterized as a serial philanderer and a pervert.
Another so-called Trial of the Century took place in 1921. Leopold and Loeb. The Chicago Tribune wrote concerning the case, “To safeguard American justice there needs to be a drastic restriction of pretrial publicity.” The paper went on to call the trial, “an orgy of sensationalism” and “journalistic lynch law.”
As Shep and I walk briskly toward the safe-haven of the courthouse, I’m reminded of the old adage that says the more things change, the more things stay the same. And I wonder what that writer would think if he were alive to see this spectacle.
A long caravan, looking like a cross between a presidential motorcade and a funeral procession, arrives in front of the courthouse. Out of the limo emerges Kerri, side-by-side with Drew Anderson. He is wearing a confident smile and a spiffy beige suit.
I grab Shep’s arm and stop her progress. “Let them go first. It’s like a boxing match, the champion always enters the arena last.”
“And we’re the champ?” Shep asks.
I look at her with disappointment.
“We’re the champ!” she exclaims, this time with confidence.
I smile. “That’s more like it, partner.”
Chapter 53
I watch Max Q enter the courthouse. He looks at ease with the media, who are buzzing around him like gnats on a summer night. I’ve never liked bugs and have the urge to swat them away.
We take our usual places in the St. Anne’s courtroom. Shep and I sit at the prosecution table, facing the judge’s bench. To our left, Kerri is both scribbling furiously on a legal pad and biting her nails. A sign of nervousness that I remember from our childhood. She doesn’t show weakness often, so I take note whenever she does.
I’m a little confused by her opening day jitters, as she hasn’t met a camera she didn’t like since this thing started. But today she looks like she has the weight of the world on her shoulders.
Drew Anderson doesn’t appear to have any such anxiety. He turns to look at Marissa. She is dressed conservatively today with her dark curls neatly tied up. She mouths, “I love you” to her husband and he lights up.
James Lansdale comforts Marissa like a grandfather. He then gives Drew a supportive handshake.
I look for our support, but find none. Ashley and Mac were unable to make it. Gifford Brown gave me his support via telephone last night—he isn’t going to be seen near the courtroom. But they won’t be missing much. Everybody has been drooling over this September 5 trial date, but jury selection is about as exciting as watching grass grow. There’s a reason they don’t show voir dire examination on Law & Order.
But there are two people in the courtroom who find jury selection downright exhilarating. The attractive forty-something couple seated directly behind the defense table. Craig and Carla Robertson. The Robertsons are an industry famous husband and wife jury consultant team. Their job is to use their “intuitive gifts” to pick a sympathetic jury.
I think jury consultants are grossly overrated. Craig and Carla’s fee is over a thousand dollars an hour plus travel expenses, so only the wealthy can afford their services. The system has always favored the wealthy, anyway. I will be impressed when Craig and Carla pick a jury that will get off the poor, minority kid with a rap sheet. Shep pushed for us to hire our own jury consultants, but I vetoed it.
Judge Figliomini enters in his black robe. He takes his perch on the raised bench and reveals a thick, bound document. “I have reviewed the defense’s questionnaire for the jury. Does the prosecution have issue with the questionnaire?”
“Yes—it’s too long,” I respond. It is full of basic questions such as, how do you feel about the pornography industry? But also delves into psychological issues such as, what was your reaction when your first pet died? It is the creation of Craig and Carla, earning their thousand an hour.
