"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury. Over the last two weeks, you have witnessed something that is not supposed to happen in America: a political persecution. A politically motivated criminal prosecution brought by a politically ambitious district attorney. Mr. Dorkin, the Travis County District Attorney, desperately coveted the seat in the United States Senate that the defendant, Martha Jo Ramsey, now holds. Mr. Dorkin, a life-long Democrat, sought support for a campaign run from the leading Democrats in Texas. But he received no support. So he plotted his revenge. Not against his fellow Democrats, but against the defendant. Against a Republican. He took trumped-up charges to two grand juries, both of which declined to indict. But as they say, the third time's the charm.
"He finally got his indictments.
"Four charges of official misconduct. Second-degree felonies. He claims that Senator Ramsey, while serving as Texas Secretary of State, used state employees to conduct her personal and political business and then ordered them to destroy records evidencing such acts.
"Wow. That sounds pretty serious, doesn't it? A corrupt politician in Texas. We've seen a few of those, haven't we? We've had politicians who bought prostitutes with state money. Who used inside connections to make profitable stock and land purchases. Who even stole state welfare funds. So what was the felony crime Senator Ramsey is alleged to have committed?
"She had her secretary write thank-you notes."
Two jurors rolled their eyes. The senator was very well liked in the state of Texas. So Frank had tried not to alter that affection. Each morning on their way into the Travis County Justice Center, she had given interviews for the throng of reporters, smiled for the cameras camped out front, and signed autographs and taken photos with her constituents. She looked like a television mother, like the mom in that show Frank watched reruns of as a kid, Leave it to Beaver. Would June Cleaver intentionally break the law? Frank didn't think so. Neither would this jury.
"Thank-you notes, and now she stands before you, a sitting United States senator from Texas, indicted by a jealous prosecutor. Mr. Dorkin wants you to send her to prison for thank-you notes. To serve hard time with murderers, rapists, and drug lords. For thank-you notes."
Frank Tucker pointed at the district attorney.
"He has wasted your time and your money to seek revenge against his rival. He is a failed politician taking his political frustrations out on an innocent defendant. He's like the school bully, using his power to abuse a classmate. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, as American citizens, you are the senator's classmates. Are you going to stand by and let him bully your friend? Or are you going to stand up to the bully?"
Judge Harold Rooney charged the jury in the matter of The State of Texas versus Martha Jo Ramsey and sent the jurors to deliberate at 11:04 A.M. After the jury had left the district courtroom in downtown Austin, the judge motioned counsel to the bench.
"This could take a while, gentlemen. I'm thinking Thursday at the earliest."
He turned to defense counsel.
"Frank, if you want to go home to Houston, I'll hold the verdict until you have time to drive back up. The senator should stay in Texas."
"Thank you, Harold."
Frank felt the district attorney's eyes boring holes in his skull. Dick Dorkin and he had been classmates at UT law school twenty years before. Frank had graduated number one in their class; Dick had graduated number two-thirty-three. Out of four hundred. Frank had hired on with a large Houston firm; Dick had hired on with the district attorney's office. Frank was a good lawyer; Dick was a good politician. Twenty years later, Frank was a name partner in the firm; Dick was the elected district attorney of Travis County. Having failed in his attempt at a Senate seat, word was he now had his eyes on the Governor's Mansion just a few blocks from this courtroom. A high-profile conviction could shorten that distance.
Dick Dorkin had been Frank's rival in law school; he had never really known why. Today, Frank Tucker had made him an enemy for life. But that is what a lawyer must do when an innocent defendant faces the loss of her freedom. A lawyer must fight for his client, even if that means making enemies. A lawyer must be able to live with himself. With his own verdict. Of himself.
"So, Frank," the judge said, "I hear your son's quite the football player down there in Houston."
"He's twelve."
"Only six years till he's playing for the Longhorns."
The judge was also a UT law grad.
"Well, that's a long—"
"Excuse me, Judge Rooney."
The bailiff had walked up to the bench.
"Yes?"
"The jury has a verdict."
"A verdict?" He looked at the clock. It was 11:19. "In fifteen minutes?"
The bailiff shrugged. "Yes, sir."
The judge looked at counsel. His eyebrows arched. He turned back to the bailiff.
"Well, bring them in."
The jury acquitted the senator on all counts.