AFTER THE LUNCH break, as soon as the judge was seated, Micki rose to her feet. “Your Honor, Mr. Massie is still in the witness room. May I ask him a few more questions?”
Marshall looked at Sam, who shrugged. Massie returned to the stand, and the clerk reminded him that he was still under oath. Micki smiled pleasantly.
“Mr. Massie, during the recess, I realized I forgot to ask you a question. After Mr. Cole purchased the weapon, did anyone come into the store to ask you about Mr. Cole’s purchase?”
Massie answered, “Yes, after the shooting, I called the police and they came pretty quickly. I told them my story, and they took my records.” He also reminded Micki that our investigator had interviewed him as well.
“No, I’m sure the police and our people interviewed you, but did anyone else?”
Massie looked confused, then a light bulb seemed to go off. “Oh, you’re asking about the ATF?”
Micki encouraged him to explain.
“Two guys from the Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms Bureau came by the day after Mr. Cole bought the gun.”
Now Micki had everyone’s attention. “Can you describe what happened?”
“Two guys in suits came into my store Wednesday morning, said they were with the ATF, flashed their badges real quick-like, and said they were doing a random audit. They wanted to look at my sales records for the day before. It’d been a slow day, so it was easy to produce the receipts and records. They asked me specifically about the sale to Mr. Cole, took copies of the paperwork, and left.”
In a series of short questions, Micki got him to give a vague description of the two guys. He didn’t remember much. It was the first random audit he’d ever experienced. Hadn’t seen the guys before or since.
As Massie left the courtroom Micki whispered, “You’re not only good, you’re lucky.”
My turn to smile.
“Ms. Lawrence, that was all very interesting,” said Marshall, “but I’m not sure what it has to do with this hearing.”
Micki was ready. “Your Honor, I find it interesting that people claiming to be with the federal government were already investigating the purchase of the alleged murder weapon the day before it was allegedly fired.”
This created a hum. I knew it would bother Marshall’s logical brain. Hell, it bothered mine. I could tell it bothered Sam too, probably because he’d been caught off-guard. The carefully prepared testimony of his witness had gone off script.
His deputy went off script as well. “Your Honor, must we hear ‘allegedly this’ and ‘allegedly that?’ Is defense counsel really going to put us through these word games?”
Micki almost jumped up to engage, but thought better of it. The question had been addressed to Marshall.
“I believe that defense counsel made it perfectly clear to the prosecution and to this court that they intend to hold the prosecution to strict proof. At this stage of the proceeding, I find Ms. Lawrence’s reference to a gun that has yet to be introduced in evidence as ‘alleged’ to be appropriate language. I suggest the prosecution leave the conduct of counsel to me.”
The deputy sat down heavily, and Sam got the prosecution back on track by calling several state troopers to describe what they had seen the morning of the shooting. Each was more descriptive than the last. They all expressed regret at not stopping Woody. They’d all protected Russell when he was governor, and they were used to Woody giving Russell last minute changes to his remarks. They’d seen nothing unusual in Woody’s mannerisms, his clothing, or where he was standing. Nothing, that is, except the shooting itself.
Micki and I had made a conscious decision not to cross-examine any of them until we came to the trooper who actually wrested the gun away from Woody. Despite the testimony being repetitious, it was riveting. Each trooper described how Woody’s gun was first pulled from his coat pocket and then “jammed” against Russell’s head. Their accounts of the gun’s blast, the blood, and the mayhem that occurred afterward was gruesome.
At long last, Sam instructed the bailiff to play the video of the shooting. A large screen had been set up in the courtroom so everyone, including the judge and the gallery, could see. Afterward, he asked the testifying officer the magic question—the one that gets photos or videos introduced into evidence: “Is this video a true and accurate representation of what happened that day?”
The officer said it was, and without objection from the defense, it was admitted into evidence.
To rub salt in the wound, Sam had the bailiff play the video again, this time in slow motion. He asked the officer to walk through what was happening right before the shooting.
I had to admit that Sam’s performance was extraordinary, especially with so little time for preparation. He didn’t stop with the shooting. He showed Russell dead on the floor, blood oozing from what was left of his brain. He questioned the trooper repeatedly about the struggle for the gun. The trooper said he believed Woody was trying to hold onto the gun in order to kill others.
Sam sat down, looking grim. You could have heard a pin drop. You’d have to be made of crocodile hide not to sense the hostility. I scanned the gallery without seeing a soul who had any sympathy for Woody, except maybe Helen and Beth. After that scene, I wasn’t even sure about Maggie or Micki.
Marshall called for a recess. People fled the courtroom in droves to get some fresh air. Micki and I tried to breathe normally. Woody wouldn’t look at me. Peggy was nowhere to be seen. Only Rodney remained, looking green around the gills.
Maggie leaned across the table. “I know you’re loyal to your friend, but what a horrible thing …”
Sam’s presentation with the video had hit me hard as well. The slow motion and the repetition were devastating. The horror experienced by everyone present that day was palpable. How could I overcome what I’d just seen? The only positive was, I felt much more certain that what I’d thought I’d seen in the video was really there. What it meant was another matter.
Fortunately, Woody was returned to the holding area during the recess. I was relieved not to have to face him. I had to remind myself that I had a plan: Now wasn’t the time to give up.
My folks were about the only people left in the courtroom. I took a deep breath and said in a voice they could all hear, “Okay—we’ve taken their best punch. Let’s be ready to get back in the ring.” They all looked at me like I was crazy. “Let’s leave this witness alone. I’ll take the next one.” No responses, so I quietly told them what I planned to do.
When court resumed, Micki stated that we had no questions for the previous witness.
Sam rose, calling Trooper McSherry to the stand. The trooper was tall and intimidating. He’d been part of Russell’s security detail and had been closest in proximity to the senator on the day of the shooting. Sam moved him quickly through the lead-up to the shooting, but didn’t dwell on the details. McSherry described how he’d thrown Woody to the ground and that they’d wrestled briefly before he was able to pry away the gun. Woody wasn’t strong enough to put up much of a struggle.
Sam introduced a series of still pictures of Woody on the ground, the gun, and Russell. Sam took McSherry through identifying the gun. He had him compare the records of the gun Woody had bought on Tuesday against the gun the trooper had taken from Woody and asked if they were identical. They were. He asked the trooper how many rounds were left in the gun, and the trooper answered five. Only one bullet had been fired.
Sam said, “Your Honor, we ask that the gun the trooper has identified be marked and admitted as People’s Exhibit 13—the murder weapon.”
I stood. “Your Honor, we have no objection to the gun coming in as an exhibit but do object to it being called ‘the murder weapon.’ It’s People’s Exhibit 13.”
Sam threw his hands up in mock surrender. “Okay, alleged murder weapon.”
I came right back. “No, it’s simply Exhibit 13.”
Marshall stepped in. “All right, you two. Exhibit 13 is admitted into evidence. Let’s move on.”
Nobody got it yet, but they would soon.
Sam turned to McSherry. “Officer, is there any doubt in your mind that Exhibit 13 is the same weapon that is shown in the video beside the head of Senator Robinson?”
McSherry shook his head. “No, sir—no doubt.”
“And is there any doubt in your mind that Exhibit 13 was the gun used to murder the senator?”
Again McSherry responded with, “No doubt.”
“Pass the witness.”
I felt charged up, but I didn’t want to appear to be in any hurry, so I measured my steps and paused before speaking.
“Trooper McSherry, did you know the defendant before the day of the shooting?”
Following that question, I took the trooper through a series of questions designed to establish that Woody was more than just a “hanger-on” around Russell’s office. The trooper was happy to confirm that Woody and then-Governor Robinson had conferred with each other all the time. They had argued in front of troopers or office staff on many an occasion, but never before had their arguments gone beyond raised voices. I also established that, during the year Russell was running for the Senate, Woody was the candidate’s constant companion. The trooper admitted that his security detail met with Woody often to go over Russell’s schedule and fine-tune security details. At least I was debunking the media myth that Woody was a “nut job.”
Sam was getting tired of McSherry beefing up Woody’s status, so he objected, saying that all this was nice, but getting away from the matter at hand.
Marshall agreed, to a point. “I’m inclined to give counsel a little latitude given the fact he’s not questioned any other defendant.”
A light rap on the knuckles. It was time to move to the day in question. I moved closer to the witness stand and asked, in a conversational tone, “Trooper, why were you there the day Senator Robinson died?”
The trooper explained that since he had been a part of Russell’s detail when he was governor, he had been assigned to guard him whenever he was back in the state.
“No, I understand that you were protecting the senator. I’m asking why you were there. Why was he there? What was going on?”
A rumble came from the gallery.
McSherry looked puzzled and struggled for an answer. “I think he was about to hold a press conference to announce something about the Townsend Arts Center.”
Woody looked up.
“Do you know what he was going to announce?”
McSherry looked blank and didn’t answer.
Sam shot to his feet. “Your Honor, counsel is asking this witness for hearsay that’s irrelevant to boot.”
Before Marshall could admonish me, I said, “I just find it interesting that we have all this hoopla going on and this big press conference, and I can’t find a soul who knows what it was about. Not the Arts Center, not the senator’s office, not a press release—no one can tell me what Senator Robinson was going to announce. It’s a mystery.”
Marshall banged his gavel throughout my short discourse. “Enough speeches, counsel.”
McSherry shrugged at me. “Can’t help you there, I guess.”
“All right. Let’s move on. Trooper, you were the person standing closest to the senator and my client. Can you tell me what they were arguing about?”
McSherry was better prepared for this question. “No, sir. I could tell they were having a disagreement, but I didn’t hear what they were saying.”
“So nothing you heard or saw alarmed you at first.”
He responded no, and stated again that he had seen them argue before, and that it wasn’t until the gun came out of Woody’s pocket that he became alarmed. He also said that when he and Woody were wrestling with the gun, Woody kept saying, “Give it to me” and “I need it.” The fact that Woody struggled for the gun cut both ways. If you believed that Woody wanted to kill more people, it worked against him. If you believed that Woody wanted to kill himself after accidentally shooting Russell, it worked in Woody’s favor.
Walking back to the defense table, I realized there was another question I hadn’t asked because I didn’t know the answer. I decided to violate the cardinal rule again.
“Trooper, when Senator Robinson was governor, was he guarded at all times?”
McSherry sat up a little straighter and said with pride, “Yes, sir. We protect any sitting governor wherever he is, twenty-four-seven.”
I asked a series of questions: Was he guarded when he was out of town? Asleep? On vacation?
Then I came to the key question: “Was there anywhere Governor Robinson went where he just wanted to be alone, with no protection?”
McSherry paused for a moment. “Well … oh—you mean his duck club?”
I asked him enough questions to establish the basics of “his duck club” and then asked, “Did you provide security when he was at the duck club?”
“Technically, yes. We drove him there and were always on call, but he didn’t want anyone but his guests on his property. When he was through hunting, we’d come pick him up, but it was his personal retreat. He said he had plenty of guns at the club, and he and his friends could protect themselves. He let us patrol the perimeter to look for poachers, but he was on his own inside the property line. He was very insistent.”
“Did he go there often?”
“Almost every day he could during duck season, and on occasion he’d go for a long weekend.”
“Your Honor,” Sam cut in, “we’re straying quite a bit now.”
Marshall was about to agree, but I said, “I’m through with this line of questioning.”
It was a little after four o’clock, but I couldn’t stop yet. If I stopped now and Sam decided to rest his case, I’d risk losing before we’d gotten started. Marshall wasn’t the type to let court recess early for my convenience. I looked at Maggie and Micki, who both understood my dilemma. I needed to buy some time. What the hell. Everyone watching thought I was a sleazy lawyer who’d do anything to get his client off—I might as well prove them right.
I turned back to McSherry. Picking up the gun marked Exhibit 13, I asked, “Trooper, you say this is the gun you wrestled away from my client. It holds six bullets?”
He agreed.
“And, after you wrestled the gun from my client, it only had five bullets in it?”
He acknowledged that I was right again.
“Trooper, where’s the sixth bullet?”
McSherry didn’t answer immediately. Sam stood, but also said nothing.
“Perhaps you didn’t understand my question. Was the gun fired?”
“Yes, sir, it was.”
“Then where is the bullet?”
Looking at Sam, the trooper frowned and spoke haltingly. “Um … in the senator’s head, I guess.”
“You guess, but you don’t know, do you?” Before he could answer, I started firing questions. “Did you find a slug anywhere? Did you do a ballistics test on the gun? Why don’t you have the bullet?”
McSherry was literally speechless. I wanted to take him apart, but my instinct told me to back off. Last night, I had noticed that the bullet wasn’t on the exhibit list. Nor had Sam produced a ballistics test or a report from the medical examiner on the cause of death. These reports are routine in any murder case. I figured that, in their hurry, Sam’s deputies had accidentally left the coroner or medical examiner off the witness list and forgotten about the bullet and lab work. Now, Sam would have to admit the mistake and produce them tomorrow, but I would gain the precious time I needed.
Oddly, Sam remained silent. With no other plan in mind, I decided to continue, rethinking my approach slightly.
“Trooper, I apologize. I know it wasn’t your responsibility to secure the crime scene or to search for clues or bullets. You performed a heroic act, and I’m sure you were in shock. But the truth is—you don’t know where the bullet is, do you?”
He shook his head no.
“I’m sorry—is that a no?”
“Yes, sir. That is … no, I don’t.”
“And the truth is, you don’t know whether a bullet exited the senator’s head, whether the bullet is still lodged there, or whether a medical examiner removed it. Is that right?”
He agreed again. “I didn’t find a bullet. I didn’t run any tests, but I did take the gun away from the defendant. It had been recently fired, the barrel was warm to the touch, and only five bullets were left in the chamber when I examined it.”
“You’re not a doctor, correct?”
“No, sir, I’m not.”
“You’re not a medical examiner?”
“True.”
“You didn’t examine the senator’s head?”
He gave me an uneasy grin. “God, no.”
I had what I wanted, but I’d pay for it. “Pass the witness.”
Sam looked thoughtful and said he had a few questions.
“Trooper, you saw the defendant put the gun identified as Exhibit 13 up to Senator Robinson’s head and pull the trigger, didn’t you?”
Surprisingly, the trooper didn’t agree. “Well, to the head, yes, but I didn’t actually see him pull the trigger.”
“But the gun went off, and he died almost immediately, right?”
I could have objected for leading but didn’t.
McSherry said, “Yes, sir, the senator was definitely dead.” He sighed with relief, as if to say, ‘I finally got it right.’
“Any more questions, gentlemen?” Marshall asked in a frosty tone.
Looking worried, Sam asked if counsel could approach the bench. Marshall put his hand over the microphone so our conversation couldn’t be overheard.
“Your Honor, we believe we’ve established probable cause right now, but Jack’s questioning leads me to believe that he might argue we haven’t proved that the bullet from the gun was the cause of death. To go forward with such proof will take additional time and is, frankly, absurd.”
Having bought the day I needed, I said helpfully that I had no problem waiting a day for the medical examiner’s testimony.
Sam didn’t look happy. “A day is not the issue.”
Marshall realized there was something going on that required more than a bench conference. He dismissed the witness and brusquely ordered us back to his chambers.
Marshall had barely closed the door when he snapped, “Okay, Sam. What’s the problem?”
Looking at his deputies, Sam took a deep breath. “Your Honor, as you know, I opened my mouth yesterday and announced I was ready to have the preliminary hearing today. I believe we have produced sufficient evidence to establish probable cause to bind Mr. Cole over for trial on all charges. But from Jack’s questioning of Trooper McSherry, it’s clear the defense is unwilling to stipulate to the obvious fact that Exhibit 13 is the murder weapon or even the cause of death. Normally, I’d enter into evidence the bullet and a ballistics test, and put a medical examiner on the stand to testify that the bullet from Mr. Cole’s gun caused his death. However, last night, I learned that the bullet hasn’t been found in the rotunda, assuming it exited the senator’s head. Unfortunately, we don’t have a report from the medical examiner. It turns out that an autopsy was not performed on Senator Robinson.”
“I’ll be damned,” I whispered under my breath.
Marshall dropped his pen and rumbled. “You can’t be serious.”
I noticed Micki literally sitting on her hands, her right leg jiggling up and down. Sam’s deputies were doing their best to be invisible.
After what must have seemed an eternity to Sam, Marshall said, “Well, what do you propose?”
“I’m reluctant to close my case at this point, unless the court advises, prior to my resting, that I’ve met the burden of proof.”
Marshall remained silent.
“If, for purposes of this preliminary hearing only, Jack would stipulate that the bullet fired from Exhibit 13 killed the senator, we could avoid the third alternative.”
“The third alternative?” Marshall asked.
Sam looked apologetic. “I continue to put on eyewitness accounts of what happened that day, while I ask this court to give me an order to exhume the body of the senator. I’ll have to notify the family and give them an opportunity to be heard. I’m sure nobody wants to be the one to tell Lucy Robinson we need to dig her husband up. Investigators and crime scene specialists are still scouring the rotunda for the bullet as we speak. We’re searching the funeral home that handled the body and have requested their records, but unless something has been found in the last hour or so, I’m out of options. I can’t afford to rest my case without the benefit of the court’s ruling or Jack’s stipulation, because I don’t want an appellate court to find that a dismissal is appropriate and double jeopardy applies. But I’d really like to avoid an exhumation.”
Marshall kept his judicial demeanor. “Before I comment on your suggestions, I’d like to have as much information as possible. Normally, you wouldn’t have to tell me or defense counsel what happened, but it might help me to decide what to do next. It also might help the defense as well.”
Sam cleared his throat. “From what I can understand, there was a mad scramble for the exits after the shooting. The crime scene was badly compromised, but the investigative team arrived and did their best to preserve the evidence. No bullet was found, and the investigators figured that the bullet was lodged in the senator’s brain. Hundreds of photographs were taken, and the senator’s body was taken to the hospital where he was officially pronounced dead. His body was then sent to the morgue for an autopsy. That evening, after most everyone had gone home for the day, Lucy showed up with her lawyer. She demanded that her husband be released to the funeral home, and whoever was on duty was so intimidated he allowed the release of the body. The next day, when the pathologist couldn’t find the body, he assumed the police or some higher-up had intervened. We all know that Russell was buried Monday, and on Tuesday evening, I was told we didn’t have a report from the medical examiner, a ballistics report, or the bullet.”
I could easily imagine Lucy intimidating someone on the graveyard shift of the morgue. Why had she been in such a hurry?
Marshall sent the clerk out to tell the gallery that court was adjourned for the day. Maggie offered to go out as well and tell our crew not to wait. I asked that Woody remain in the holding area so I could consult with him later. I knew Helen would be upset, but I trusted Beth and Jeff to take care of her.
Marshall waited patiently. The silence was uncomfortable, to say the least. He took off his robe and loosened his tie, but he sure didn’t look relaxed.
I whispered to Micki, “I’ll do the talking.” I knew what she wanted me to say, but I wanted to hear what Marshall had to say first.
When everyone was back and seated, Marshall said, “Sam, I appreciate your candor and your willingness to accept responsibility for the mess we’re in. I have no doubt that whoever is responsible appreciates your taking the blame as well.” He glared at Sam’s deputy who had blustered earlier about Micki’s use of the word “allegedly.”
“I wish this matter had been brought to my attention this morning when I asked if there were any problems, but as my grandmother used to say, ‘If wishes were fishes, we’d all be kings.’”
I smiled to myself—more grandmother wisdom.
“I’m reluctant to advise either side where the evidence stands right now relative to probable cause. The appellate court in this state frowns upon an advisory opinion, and until we hear from any witnesses the defense may call, such a request is premature. No matter how much I’d like to ease your office’s conscience, I’ll not give you any indication, one way or the other, as to whether you’ve met your burden.”
Fortunately for Sam, Marshall wasn’t through. “Jack and Micki, I also can’t tell you what to do. You’re not responsible for what happened or for the prosecutor’s mistakes; nor do you have any obligation to make his life easier. You can tell me right now that you won’t stipulate, and I suspect Sam will make a motion for a continuance. I’ll hear that motion sometime in the distant future as my calendar permits.” Marshall looked at me pointedly. He was telling me that Sam would have all the time he needed to dig up the body and do the autopsy before he ruled.
“The other thing I’d like both of you to consider is this: No matter how private these discussions are, at some point, the fact that an autopsy doesn’t exist, and that the senator’s body must be dug up, is going to get out. I can’t sign an exhumation order without a hearing or without giving the family an opportunity to be heard. If you think this hearing is a media circus, can you imagine what an exhumation will be like? It’s your turn, Jack.”
I knew what Micki would say. She’d say dig up the body; maybe they’d screw up the autopsy as well. It was the right position to take in most cases. But this wasn’t most cases, and I had to trust my instinct.
“I want to be sure what the prosecution is suggesting. Woody would stipulate that a bullet from Exhibit 13 entered the senator and caused his death. The stipulation would be for the purposes of the preliminary hearing only. At any other proceeding, including a trial, this stipulation would not bind the defendant, and the prosecution would have to meet its burden of proving the cause of death, even if it means an eventual exhumation. That’s it—nothing else.”
Sam said, “That is correct.”
“We’ll have to work out specific language, but I’m willing to take the basics to my client.” I could see that Sam didn’t like leaving it up to Woody. I shrugged. “I don’t think anyone here wants to go through all this again. If I were to stipulate to something as critical as the cause of death, even for a preliminary hearing, without consulting my client, even Les Butterman could get the verdict or plea deal overturned. Besides, you know Woody Cole. He might surprise you.”
Micki wasn’t happy—she wanted to tell the prosecution to stick it.
Sam wasn’t happy—he’d have to wait until tomorrow to know whether he’d need to exhume the body or not.
Marshall wasn’t happy—he didn’t like uncertainty.
But they all knew I was right: I had to consult my client.
“I’ll see Woody as soon as we’re through here. I’ll try to give you his response tonight. If he wants to sleep on it, we’ll meet with him in the morning. Either way, you’ll know as soon as the decision is made. One more thing …” I looked at Sam. “I take it that if we agree to stipulate, you’ll rest your case in the morning. Your Honor, I don’t know if this needs to be in the form of a written motion. If it does, we’ll file it first thing in the morning under seal. Either way, as soon as the prosecution rests, I’d like to make a proffer of proof in the court’s chambers, away from the eyes and ears of the media.”
Sam’s annoying deputy muttered, “What the hell?”
Both Sam and Marshall gave him a look that would have shamed a better man.
Marshall asked, “What do you mean by proffer? Do you mean an oral presentation of what you intend to prove? If so, why not just put on the proof?”
I took a deep breath, knowing I’d reached the Rubicon. Once I crossed it, there was no going back. “On occasion, the US government has evidence that it believes should be sealed for national-security reasons. I’m not saying national security is involved here, but I do believe I have certain evidence that casts light on my client’s actions—evidence the court and even the prosecutor may want to consider not making public, at least at this time. I propose to make a proffer so the court and the prosecution can give it full consideration before I present it in open court.”
Both Marshall and Sam were frowning.
I pressed on. “What have you got to lose? I’m merely presenting what I intend to prove. Think of it as an opening statement with exhibits not yet introduced.”
“What you’re asking is very unusual,” Marshall said. “There may be precedent for national-security reasons, but you admit that’s not the case here. The real problem for me is credibility with the media, and more important, with the US attorney. He’s going to holler that we’re up to no good behind closed doors.”
“I’ve thought about that. Micki told me that the US attorney is a bit of a loose cannon, but his deputy, Rodney Fitzhugh, has been in court from day one. According to Micki, he’s a straight shooter. I’d suggest you ask him to observe. I also noticed that the chief deputy of the Justice Department’s Criminal Division was in the courtroom today. Perhaps you could invite her to sit in as well.”
Marshall seemed agreeable to the idea, but not Sam. “I’m not so sure. Sounds to me like you’re up to something. I don’t want this preliminary hearing to become some cabal of international intrigue involving spies and spooks. It’s a straight-forward shooting of a senator, not some terrorism trial.”
I said, “I hear you, Sam. But let’s deal with first things first. If Woody won’t agree to the stipulation, the matter is moot. But if he does, all I’m doing in chambers is giving you a preview of my case. I’ll even provide you my exhibits. I’m just asking you to listen to me make a fool of myself before I do it in front of a national audience.”
Marshall interjected, “I think it has to be on the record. If I don’t think there’s a reason to keep it from the media, I can release a transcript.”
“Your Honor, let me suggest you authorize a video recording of the proceeding and release it if you desire. If at any time the court thinks I’m wasting its time, you can shut it down.”
Sam sighed. “I have a feeling I’m going to regret it, but no objections to a proffer, Your Honor.”
His deputies were as unhappy with Sam as Micki was with me. Sam didn’t have to tell me I’d used my last bit of capital. If what I did tomorrow was a trick or a scam, we were through, both professionally and as friends.
Marshall thought for a moment. “All right. I’ll extend the invitation to Mr. Fitzhugh as well as the visitor from DC. If Mr. Blanchard shows up, he will not be allowed in my chambers. My fellow judges on the federal bench may have to put up with his histrionics, but I don’t.
“If your client agrees to the stipulation, I want to see it in writing signed by counsel. I will personally ask the defendant if the consequences have been explained to him. Do both parties understand?”
We did.
Maggie gave our exhibit list and copies of the exhibits to Sam’s deputies. Of course, the exhibits would make absolutely no sense to them.
Micki, Maggie, and I headed downstairs to see Woody. I didn’t know yet exactly what would be in my proffer tomorrow, but first things first … Woody.
“I hope you don’t expect me to convince Woody to stipulate,” Micki said forcefully. “I won’t do it. I simply won’t do it.”
“I don’t want you to.”
She stopped and looked at me like I’d just flown in from Mars.
“In fact, I want you to convince him not to.”