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Present Day
Dan knew a defense lawyer’s primary goal in any trial, and especially a bench trial, was to elicit the judge’s sympathy. That was crucial—and exceptionally challenging in the present case, since his client was an alcoholic homeless man with 174 priors. The first time he saw that on the rap sheet, he thought it must be a typo, but it wasn’t. Henry Bates had been arrested on 175 occasions. This time he’d been brought in for the usual misdemeanor—disturbing the peace—but also on a felony charge—resisting arrest. Judge La Costa made it clear he’d had enough, and if the defendant were found guilty, the sentence would not be merely another night in jail. Henry would get a lengthy prison stay. One Dan knew Henry probably wouldn’t survive.
To people on the outside, this might look like a minor case. But he knew the stakes were as high as they came.
He knew the prosecutor assigned to the case was a young man named Brad Phelan, barely out of law school. He’d hoped his friend Jazlyn Prentice would be assigned the case, but these days she only handled major felonies. The sole witness for the prosecution was the arresting officer, James Voight, as young as the prosecutor and about as experienced. They wanted Henry Bates out of the way, but never once considered the personal consequences to the troubled man they manipulated. They were a bunch of bullies, albeit bullies with the official sanction of the US law enforcement system.
He hated bullies. He’d spent most of his life fighting them.
Today would be no exception.
Before he rose from the defendant’s table and started his cross-examination, he patted Henry on the back—showing the judge he liked the man. “Keep your hands under the table.”
He strode to the witness stand. His Air Jordans always put a spring in his step, not to mention an additional half-inch in his height. “Officer Voight, did you consider escorting my client to another location?”
“No. The owner of the restaurant preferred charges.”
“Did you attempt to talk him out of it?”
“That’s not my job.”
“Did you offer to get my client help?”
“Also not my job. He appeared to be intoxicated.”
“So take him to an addiction treatment center. Or at least an AA meeting. They were holding one at the Methodist church just a block away.”
“Our protocol for dealing with public disturbances is to place the offenders in custody and take them back to the station. Unfortunately, when I attempted to arrest the defendant, he became violent.”
He watched the officer testify. Many years before, a law professor had trained him to watch people carefully, observing everything. Even if the details meant nothing at the time, they might later. That advice became the foundation of his success. Many a case had been resolved favorably when his subconscious finally “connected the dots” and put those observations together in a meaningful way.
Current observations? Officer Voight didn’t seem able to sit still. He shifted his weight from one side to the other constantly. Perspiration on the back of his neck. Rumpled collar. Visible tan line across his right wrist.
“You claim he became violent. What did Henry actually do?”
“He made loud and aggressive remarks.”
“That’s not resisting arrest.”
“He fought with me. Threatened to hit me.”
He allowed himself a small smirk. Voight outweighed Henry by at least thirty-five pounds. Henry looked like he hadn’t had a non-liquid meal in years. “You must’ve been terrified,” he deadpanned.
“That’s not the point. The man threw a punch at me. I was forced to restrain him.”
“Henry tells me he didn’t resist at all, except to say that you had no right to arrest him because he hadn’t committed a crime.”
“He’d been asked to leave. He wouldn’t.”
“It’s a public place, isn’t it?”
“For customers.”
“Does it say that on the door? Paying customers only?”
“It’s understood. I was forced to remove him.”
“You were forced, or you were asked?”
Voight hesitated. Still shifting. “I don’t understand the question.”
“I’ve eaten at Chez Guitano, Officer. Great Lobster Thermidor. It’s a nice place. Henry’s clothes are dirty and he smells a little, and I think the managers didn’t want him hanging around the front lobby. They ugly-shamed him, basically, and called the police. I think they invented the disturbance to get rid of him, and I think you invented the resistance because you’re sick of hauling him downtown.”
“You’re right about the last part,” Voight muttered. “You’d think even a drunk could learn a lesson.”
“Unless of course he has a disability. Does the defendant have a disability?”
“Well...I know he drinks a lot.”
“Anything else?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’ve arrested him eight times and you don’t know if he has a disability?” He glanced at the judge. “Seems like that might be worth finding out.”
“Not my job.”
He walked back to the defense table and pulled a file folder out of his backpack. He preferred backpack to briefcase—less strain on the shoulders and more manageable when you’re moving fast.
He glanced at the papers in the file. “So you don’t know that his disability payments were interrupted by his constant visits to jail. You don’t know about his head injury, his history of mental illness, his addiction issues, or the fact that he’s homeless and has no one to look after him. And the worst part is—you don’t care.”
Phelan finally got in the game. “Objection, your honor. This is not relevant.”
“I think it’s keenly relevant, your honor. It’s the whole reason we’re here. Everything I just said my investigator learned in less than an hour—and he doesn’t have access to police databases.” In truth, Garrett did—but he wasn’t supposed to. “If the police had taken ten minutes to investigate, they might have ended this pointless and expensive pattern of arrest, jail, out in twenty-four hours, arrest, jail, rinse and repeat.”
Judge La Costa cleared his throat. “The objection concerns whether your question is relevant to the charges of disturbing the peace and resisting arrest.”
“And I say it is. These people don’t wait for Henry to disturb the peace anymore. They arrest him on sight. The police are supposed to serve and protect, but they’ve become bullies clearing Henry out of the way to appease wealthy businessmen who have political influence and make contributions to the police pension fund.”
The judge looked at him sternly. “I sense you’re arguing the case, not the objection.”
He shrugged. “Might as well save some time...”
“Let me make a different objection,” Phelan said, pressing his hands together. Phi Beta Kappa tie pin. French cuffs. Furrowed brow. “That last question wasn’t even a question.”
“Sustained. New question, counsel.”
He turned back to the witness. “Did you see the alleged disturbance my client made at the restaurant?”
“No, but the manager told me—”
“That he wanted Henry gone. But did he describe an actual disturbance?”
“I...don’t recall.”
“So we have no witness present who can testify about disturbing the peace and hearsay isn’t good enough. Your honor, I move to dismiss that charge. That leaves us with resisting arrest. You claim my client threw a punch at you?”
Voight leaned back a bit. “Yes.”
“Which hand did he use?”
“Uh...sorry?”
“Stop stalling for time. Which hand did he use when he allegedly took a swing at you?”
“What difference does it make?”
“All the difference in the world. Which hand?”
Voight thought for a moment. “His right.”
“Bad choice. Henry’s right hand was injured when he served in Iraq. He lost two fingers. He can’t clench that fist and he can’t raise that arm above his waist. That’s documented in this file, which I will be happy to make available to the court. What you just described is physically impossible.”
“I guess it was his left—”
“No, sir, you do not get to change your testimony after I’ve proved you’re lying. Your honor, I’ve got a medical report that will confirm everything I just said. I move to dismiss all charges. And I respectfully request that in the future, instead of this revolving door non-justice, the police be asked to perform perfunctory background checks. Almost half of all homeless people are veterans and they deserve better. We should take care of our people who have served.”
Judge La Costa nodded. “I don’t have the power to set police department policy. But I do have the authority to rule on this case. The charges are dismissed. Mr. Bates, you are free to go. And—” he added, pointing, “I hope I don’t see you again.”
The judge left the courtroom. Phelan looked as if he were about to vomit. Was this the kid’s first time in court? He hoped so. Everyone’s first time in court should be disastrous. Toughens you up.
He clasped Henry’s hand. “Did you hear that? You’re free.”
Henry did not seem elated. “Free to go where? I appreciate what you did for me, but—”
“Hold that thought.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket. He had a text from Camila Pérez—the mayor of the city and, as of last weekend, his official girlfriend.
Found him a place at the Crislip shelter. Ready when he arrives.
He texted back. Thx luv. C U at prty.
“Got a place for you to stay, Henry. It’s billed as a women’s shelter, but their approach is non-binary these days. They’re specifically planning to offer services to vets, and addiction services to people dealing with opioids and other addictive substances. You can stay there as long as you need to. Get back on your feet and get back to work.”
Henry looked incredulous. “Really?”
“They’ll get you the help you need. You won’t have to loiter in restaurants or get arrested just to get a meal.”
Henry’s eyes widened. “I—don’t know how to thank you.”
“Thank me by putting your life back in order. I know you’ve seen some hard times. But you have to move on. This is a golden opportunity—so I’m expecting you to make the most of it.”
Henry squeezed his hand. “I won’t let you down.”
He squeezed back. “I know you won’t.”