The courtroom is silent. It’s the kind of silence that looms in the principal’s office as your less-than-exemplary conduct report is being reviewed. You could hear a pin drop. And if I had one, I’d drop it to prove just that. But I don’t. So I stand silent, biting my nails, while Judge Hideki Narita mulls over, with great displeasure on his face, the news he just heard.
Judge Hideki Narita, I’ve learned, is a former prosecuting attorney from the Big Island of Hawaii. A paunchy Japanese man in his midsixties, he has been on the bench for more than eleven years. His face is framed by short, jet-black hair, and he wears glasses three times the size of his face. Standing five foot five with the absurdly large spectacles, he would make a comic figure if not for his no-nonsense demeanor and quick trigger-finger when it comes to charging lawyers with contempt.
“Mr. Corvelli,” Narita says from the bench, “am I hearing this correctly? Your investigator, a Mr. Ryan Flanagan, befriended the victim’s mother under the guise of a grieving father in order to obtain from her information about the victim herself?”
I am in trouble. Jake was right. The practices that were acceptable in the Wild West courtrooms of Manhattan do not necessarily fly here in paradise. This is the serious problem Flan brought to my office two days ago. Luckily, we had forty-eight hours to devise some sort of strategy. Luckily, too, I am heavily skilled in the art of bullshit.
“Your Honor,” I say, “the issue is not as cut-and-dry as that.”
“Judge, if I may,” says the prosecuting attorney, cutting me off. “Ms. Carlie Douglas discovered in Mr. Flanagan’s wallet evidence of his true identity and his relation to Mr. Corvelli’s law firm in the form of business cards and telephone messages.”
The prosecuting attorney is Donovan Watanabe, a tall and lanky Japanese man in his late thirties, who is believed by many to be the most dynamic and effective prosecutor in the state of Hawaii. His meticulous style and superexpensive wardrobe have earned him the nickname Dapper Don in legal circles around the islands.
“How did Ms. Douglas come to observe the contents of Mr. Flanagan’s wallet?” asks Narita.
In New York, I often felt like an outsider not being Jewish. I was sure that judges were conversing with my adversaries in Yiddish behind my back. Here, now, I feel much the same way. The Japanese culture, I’ve read, is based largely on honor, something I know nothing about. And it seems unfair that my Japanese adversary and I have drawn a Japanese judge.
Dapper Don Watanabe takes a deep breath and pauses for dramatic effect. He exhales slowly, turns to me, and asks, “Would you like to tell the judge or shall I?”
“Be my guest,” I tell him. Although I’m not exactly sure what the hell he’s about to say.
“Mr. Flanagan,” Dapper Don says, “was taking a shower in Ms. Douglas’s hotel room, Your Honor, after he engaged in sexual relations with her.”
This Flan did not tell us. He told me he got made but nothing more. And, yes, I’m certain he said made, not laid. My poker face vanishes from the room, and my eyes dart to Flan, who is seated alone in the front row behind the defense table. Luckily, the judge cleared the courtroom for our appearance. I look at Flan in disbelief, mouthing the words, “You slept with her?”
Flan shrugs as if to say he’s guilty as charged.
I turn back to the bench, where the judge seems as shocked as I am.
“You mentioned ‘his true identity,’ ” says the judge. “You mean to say he lied to her about who he was?”
“Your Honor,” says Dapper Don, “he told the victim’s grieving mother his name was Benjamin Dover.”
Ben Dover? Are you shitting me? I look back at Flan, whose face seems to have contorted into a permanent grimace. That’s the last time I let an investigator choose his own fake name.
“Your Honor,” I say, trying to clean the shit from the fan, “even if these allegations are true, they have no bearing on this case. I submit to you that they are brought before the Court by Mr. Watanabe in an effort to cast dispersions on the defense, and on me in particular. Frankly, I am outraged by Mr. Watanabe’s conduct in bringing this matter to the Court’s attention. He knows as well as anyone that the defense has every legal right to hire investigators to interview witnesses and obtain information by any lawful means necessary. As Your Honor well knows, some witnesses are less forthcoming than others, and certain strategies must be employed in order to extract vital information that is crucial to the defense.”
Narita holds his right hand in the air. He’s heard enough bullshit. He wants me to reholster my shovel. If I get through this one unscathed, I’ll send a copy of today’s transcript to Milt Cashman in New York. He’ll get a real kick out of something like this.
“Enough, Counselor,” says Narita. “While the actions taken by the defense are appalling to this Court to say the least, they are not, to my knowledge, unlawful. The ethical issues concerning Mr. Corvelli’s so-called strategies are not for this Court to address. This Court will, however, remind Mr. Corvelli that this is not New York City, and that whatever tactics he employed on the island of Manhattan may not be well received here on the island of Oahu. If this charade is indicative of the way you practice law, Mr. Corvelli, then you not only risk becoming a fast outcast in the legal community here on the islands, but you risk becoming the subject of inquiry by the state’s ethics committee. Is that understood, Counselor?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“Good,” says the judge. “Then let’s move on to more pressing matters.”
Judge Narita leafs through his file, no doubt searching for the recent motion I filed.
“Mr. Corvelli, you have requested a gag order in this case. Tell me why I should grant it.”
“Your Honor,” I say, “cases of this nature are not news. The media exploits them not for the benefit of the public, but for the benefit of their own ratings. They are intended to appeal to the public’s voy eur is tic proclivities and serve no redeeming social purpose. This case in particular is being buoyed in the national news media by comparing this case with events in the Caribbean. In fact, much of the commentary on this case has been prefaced by videos and photographs connected to other island fiascoes. Before long, the commentators will be questioning the Hawaiian system of justice.”
“Mr. Corvelli,” interrupts Narita, “enough of the rhetoric. You said in your motion papers that this attention is negatively affecting your client’s ability to gain a fair trial. Tell me how that is so.”
“Firstly, Your Honor, the public here on Oahu will inevitably fear the backlash of the negative national attention that would come with an unpopular verdict. Simply put, the media’s continued coverage of this case will all but assure a verdict of guilty against my client.”
“Well, Counselor,” says Narita, “even a gag order will not prevent the media from covering this case.”
“Of course not, Your Honor. But it will prevent all parties involved from adding fuel to the fire. When defense attorneys, prosecutors, and victims’ families are permitted to give constant interviews, it allows for endless around-the-clock coverage that could not otherwise occur if everyone were ordered silent.”
“You said in your papers that there was specific information about your client’s associations that was in imminent danger of being released.”
“I did, Your Honor. Which brings me to my second point. Upon information and belief, Ms. Carlie Douglas is alleging that my client is associated with a northern New Jersey Mafia family. In fact, she alluded to this allegation in an interview with Gretchen Hurst two weeks ago. Obviously, this allegation would be highly prejudicial to my client, and should the allegation be made public, it would make it utterly impossible for my client to receive a fair trial.”
“Mr. Watanabe, what say you on this matter?”
There is little Dapper Don can argue. Clearly, he would love to try this case in the press. It is a prosecutor’s wet dream. A Mafia son accused of killing a bright, beautiful, young girl in a tropical setting. But Dapper Don can’t tell the judge that. All he can argue is that my allegations are unfounded.
“Judge,” Dapper Don says, “the prosecution has no intention of trying this case in the press.”
I haven’t heard a crock of shit like that since I last spoke.
“We are only vaguely aware of the defendant’s criminal associations,” Dapper Don continues, “and we do not intend to inform anyone about these associations, particularly members of the press. We, therefore, see no legal justification for the issuance of a gag order in this case.”
“Thank you, Mr. Watanabe,” says Narita. “As you know, I do not favor having cameras in the courtroom. If I wanted to be on television, I would have become an actor.”
“And you would have been a fine one at that, Your Honor,” I say.
The judge continues as if I hadn’t spoken. “As you also know, I am very opposed to having lawyers try their cases in the press, particularly when there is so much at stake. Although I have Mr. Watanabe’s assurances that the prosecution does not intend to do just that, I am still inclined to grant Mr. Corvelli’s request for a gag order. The details will be set out in my order. Any violation will result in a charge of contempt of this Court.”
I consider this a major victory on two levels. One, it will spare my client’s chance at getting a fair trial. Two, it will spare me the need to go on the record to defend the relentless allegations about my client’s family, and about his past. Not to mention, allegations about my own history. Of course, Milt would never have filed this motion. Neither would have the Kevin Corvelli of old.
“Now,” says Narita, “I understand there are some evidentiary issues that need to be addressed.”
“Yes, Judge,” says Dapper Don. “There is some newly discovered evidence, which we are prepared to hand over to the defense. This evidence would have been turned over in due course without the need for the Court’s intervention, but Mr. Corvelli seems to be a less-than-patient man.”
“Just proceed, Mr. Watanabe,” says the judge.
“There were two discoveries, Your Honor,” says Dapper Don. “The first is a latent print found in the abandoned lifeguard station at the scene of the crime.”
What the hell is this? I bite my nail and my knees begin to knock.
“How can that be?” I ask. “We were told there were no fingerprints found anywhere at the scene.”
“That is correct, Counselor,” Dapper Don says directly to me. “There were no fingerprints found anywhere at the scene.”
“Then, just what the hell are you talking about?”
“A lip print. Your client’s lip print was discovered at the scene.”