“Who is the judge?” Libby Saldana asked. We were standing on the twenty-second floor of the Justice Center. Each of the four courtroom doors were closed. The benches were empty. My client was pacing again. I was trying not to be infected by her anxious energy.
“Judge Essie Cox,” I answered. My voice was deliberately anchorman neutral.
“Have you had other cases in front of her? It’s a girl, right, this judge?”
I was starting to feel old because Essie was a familiar name to me, but obviously out of fashion for Saldana. After Casey, I’d gone back on the dating market and holding a conversation with twenty-somethings like Saldana was a bigger challenge than I’d imagined.
“I had a murder case in December,” I answered.
“Last December? Like three months ago?”
“Yep.”
“Did you win?”
“Absolutely,” I said. I’m not sure that was exactly the truth. But it wasn’t a lie, either.
“Justin! Imagine running into you here. Are you back in front of Judge Cox?”
I knew that voice. To Saldana, I said, “Speaking of the devil. Casey here was my co—”
The rest of whatever I was going to say died on my lips as Casey moved from my peripheral vision to standing in front of me.
She was really pregnant.
Like no denying there was another human inside Casey. I knew her due date was April, but if I didn’t know there was a whole month left, I’d have assumed it was possible that she could go into labor right here in the hall.
“Congratulations! You must be so excited,” Saldana exclaimed peering at Casey’s belly as if she had X-ray vision. “Are you having a boy or a girl? You’re carrying high. A boy, right?”
“I don’t know.” Casey paused. “I’m planning to be surprised.”
“Libby, please excuse me. Ms. Cort is an attorney I’ve worked with frequently. Since we’re waiting, I’d like to talk to her, if you don’t mind.”
Saldana—not frenetic for once—took a seat and flipped open a phone she took from a pocket.
Casey looked between me and my client, obviously confused. “Justin…what—”
I put my hand on Casey’s arm and steered her toward a quiet corner of the cavernous waiting area.
“You’re…really pregnant.”
“This is how all people are created, Justin.” Her hand swept up and down indicating her swollen frame.
I knew I shouldn’t…ask. That I’d given up the rights to this conversation, but I suspected the truth was something different than what we’d all tacitly agreed. Then I did…ask.
“Are you going to get him or her tested?”
“For what?” Casey’s squint was fleeting. “Genetic abnormalities? We’re all clear there.”
“To find out who the father is.”
“There’s no need, Justin. I really can’t see any reason to do anything like that.” She flashed the diamond on her left hand. “We’re engaged. As soon as I’m not as big as a house, Ron and I will plan a wedding. Get married. He’s going to sign the birth certificate as the baby’s father. You made one decision, Justin. I made another. Now that everything is settled, I will not upset the apple cart. What’s best for me and my relationship and my baby is certainty. For once in my life, I have that. I will not lose it.”
“When…are you due? You look very pregnant.”
“Nothing’s really changed. The doctor thinks sometime in the last full week of April. But babies aren’t airplanes. They don’t arrive on schedule. I’m prepared for anything from mid-April to sometime in May I guess. I’m officially going on leave in three weeks, though. You know what? I need to stop talking. I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”
“I asked.”
“Discretion would have served me better.” Her usually open face, closed. Her tone serious. “What case are you here on?” Her pivot was so smooth, I couldn’t think of any way to get back to what I really needed to know. Instead, I decided to take advantage of the fact someone with better “boots on the ground” knowledge in criminal practice was standing right in front of me.
“Weird case.” I tilted my head slightly toward Saldana who was still immersed in her phone.
“Tell me. Maybe I can help.”
I explained the overcharging of my client plus near silence from the prosecutor’s office.
“That’s new,” Casey said, her face gone pensive.
I was relieved that I hadn’t made some blunder in my assessment. Saldana should be home with her family, maybe in some kind of outpatient drug treatment program that would rubber stamp her attendance. Jail…prison made no sense here.
“New policy?” Her question was rhetorical. From working with her, I knew there was more. I waited. Thinking out loud, she continued, “Or legislating from the prosecutor’s office? Could be either. Talked to the APA yet to figure out which?”
“No, today will be our first time. Just got the three sheets of paper they call discovery. Otherwise, the office has been completely unavailable. Not even a call to see if my client would plea.”
“Curiouser and curiouser? There’s more to this story than what’s on the surface. I’d be careful on this one. Who’s the judge? Tell me you’re not back in front of Cox?”
“I wish I could tell you that. She seemed fair. But that last case was obviously a whole different kettle of fish for a whole different bunch of reasons.”
“Kettle is better than school, maybe?”
Just that reference to our old standing joke about the Book of St. Albans made me want to pull Casey in for a hug. Ask her to join me on this case and on Sunday nights in my bed like we used to. But all that was gone. Long gone. If she partnered with anyone in the future, in work or in love, it would be Ron. Although I was starting to think maybe I could help her with the first.
“What’s going to happen to your practice while you’re on leave?” I asked, ready to lend my help with keeping her existing clients happy. I never got to make that offer because in the next second I heard a shout from in front of Cox’s courtroom.
“State of Ohio versus Saldana. Justin McPhee for the defendant!”
I raised my hand, then waived a little to let the court officer know that we were present and accounted for. With a bit of a waddle, Casey walked back toward the courtroom doors with me.
“Can you come to the back?” That was from the bailiff. The fact that he’d shouted for me in the hall meant the judge wanted to bash my head against that of the prosecutor to get one or another of us to see sense. Outside of fundraisers, judges weren’t a chatty bunch. They usually let us lawyers do the dealing and come to them when everything was ready to be finalized.
“Casey, great to see you.” I didn’t know if I should kiss her or shake her hand, so I did neither. Waved awkwardly instead. Wanted to snatch my flapping hand back, but it was too late. I turned back to my client, my work, my solace. “Libby, please take a seat in the courtroom. The judge wants to see the lawyers alone.”
“What does that mean?” My client looked scared. I wanted to reassure her, but stopped when I caught Casey’s eyes from the corner of mine and like we used to—read each other’s minds. My former co-counsel nodded, confirming my suspicions. I took her cue and gave Saldana the lowdown.
“It only means the judge wants to talk to us. But it’s not bad news by any means.”
Casey’s slight head shake had kept me in check, and I didn’t promise anything more. Either way, as far as I could see, it was good news. The judge wasn’t ready to put her in jail if there was time to talk. Without Casey around to hear me be too optimistic, I’d probably have promised Saldana that she’d get probation for sure. Partnering with Casey had always been good. She’d always had street smarts I could only hope to get one day, hopefully soon.
“I know it’s not my place to say anything, but you should tell her,” Saldana said when Casey was well out of earshot having gone into a courtroom across the way.
“Tell who what?”
“Tell that pregnant woman that you’re in love with her.”
“I’m—”
My client’s sharp head shake stopped my protest in its tracks.
“The reason I’m here is because my best friend died too early. Life is short. You have to go after what you want. That’s all.”
After I got Saldana situated, I cut across the courtroom to its back door concealed by the hideous seventies-style slatted wood paneling.
The courtrooms of the justice center were like a mullet, the business in the front was nothing like the back. The front was all wood, a high bench, jury chairs, and formality. The back was a workhorse of a space with few frills. Just government issue furniture and civil service workers.
“Good, you’re here,” the bailiff said after the court officer handed me over. “I’m sure you know Valerie.”
I squinted because for some reason I think I did know her. Though here upstairs in General Division she was woefully out of context. I held out my hand, and she politely shook it.
“Juvenile court,” she said before I could ask the question.
My mind had to scramble to make sense of it. Then it hit me.
“Right. You worked in abuse, neglect, and dependency.” For years remained unspoken between us.
“Left for D.C. for a bit. I’m back,” Dodds explained.
“And in Major Crimes.” My eyebrow raise was deliberate. I wanted the backstory. She ignored my subtle ask.
“That’s right,” was her non-answer.
“Judge is ready for you,” the bailiff announced. I could see I wasn’t going to get the tale of the meteoric rise of Dodds. There was a story there, for sure. The inner workings of the county prosecutor was on par with a Spanish telenovela. Unfortunately from my position on the outside, I only got to see the equivalent of one episode a month.
I took the open invitation and stepped into the judge’s chambers after Dodd.
Judge Essie Cox was dressed in a bright blue suit. Her empty black robes were on a coat rack in the far corner of her chambers. The judge’s floor-to-ceiling windows had an excellent view of both the new football stadium and Lake Erie. Maybe I’d take my settlement money and upgrade my office. I’d always envied Casey’s full on lake view. I shook my head. I needed to stop thinking about Casey and get my head back in the game. Saldana’s charges couldn’t be any more serious.
“Okay, close the door,” Cox ordered. Her bailiff scampered out faster than a rat on the RTA tracks.
“Your honor, I’m Valerie Dodds from the prosecutor’s office.” Opposing counsel stood stiffly as if she was in the service. A salute wouldn’t have been out of place.
In the silence was my cue.
“Your honor, I—”
Judge Cox sliced a hand in the air.
“Mr. McPhee, no need to introduce yourself, you were in here just a few months ago. On a case we’re still talking about back here. You and your co-counsel did a hell of a job.”
“Thank you, your honor.” I tried to keep my chest from inflating too much. She invited us to sit. I accepted. Dodds did too, though reluctantly.
“So, Ms. Dodds, I have a big question I’m dying to get an answer to.” Judge Cox leaned forward.
Dodds leaned back from the judge’s intense scrutiny. “Yes, your honor?”
“What in the hell happened where you’re charging Ms. Saldana for…excuse me, I need to read this one more time to be sure I got it right.”
With a dramatic flair, Judge Cox pulled some turquoise reading glasses from her desk, shook open the temples, and slipped them onto her nose.
“We have tampering with evidence, possession of heroin, corrupting another with drugs, and the cherry on top, involuntary manslaughter. Now I had a look at all of this, then started looking at my calendar because surely someone charged like this is in jail and itching to get out of her orange jumpsuit and get to trial.
“Imagine my surprise when I open the file and find this woman made bond because Judge Marsh didn’t think this Libby Saldana was a drug cartel kingpin. She’s merely a nursing student at Tri-C. So, please tell me what I’m missing. Why is this woman facing twenty-three years in the care of the Ohio Department of Correction? Ms. Dodds?”
That was my exact question in a nutshell. It was more or less what had put Saldana into my crosshairs. Legal Aid didn’t send over everyone who was working poor. But those who really needed help got a swift referral.
Despite the dressing down from Judge Cox, Dodds didn’t even flinch. I’d have been cowering under the nearest piece of furniture if that had been directed my way.
“As you already know, Ohio is in the grips of something we’ve never seen before. Deaths from heroin overdoses had a sharp increase in 2006. The legislature hasn’t done much so far, so Ms. Pope has decided that in this year, she’s going to put a dent into this before we have an epidemic on our hands.”
Dodds rattled a stack of papers for effect. I didn’t remember her being as self-assured when we’d last gone up against each other. I wanted to butt in, to cough, “reelection” into my cupped hands, somehow slow her momentum, but I couldn’t think of an appropriate thing to say, so I just watched and learned.
“These charges,” Dodds continued, “are commensurate with the harm involved. I’d like to, your honor, point out that someone lost their life. That someone is a woman named Grace McNeill. Was a woman, was, your honor. Ms. Saldana isn’t some hero. She saw a woman who was an addict. Rather than give her help at best, or leave her alone at worst, she put the killer drugs in Grace’s veins.”
“There are three salient facts counsel seems to be ignoring, your honor,” I shot back, a sudden fire of indignation burning in my belly. Though I was skirting the edge of politeness, I couldn’t help myself and started ticking the facts off on my fingers. “First, Ms. Saldana is herself an addict. She may be six months sober, but at the time, she was as impaired as Ms. MacNeill.” Another finger went up. “Two, Ms. MacNeill consented to the drug infusion.” By the third finger, I was in a groove. When I peeked over at Dodds, she didn’t look very happy, but Judge Cox didn’t say anything, so I kept going.
“Three, the very skills that have pulled my client out of addiction, and poverty—her nursing skills—are the very ones that put her in this position. Everyone asked her to get them high because she knew her way around a clean needle, kept them clean, and there was little possibility of shooting in an air bubble, or worse, HIV.”
The judge took off the cheaters, then leaned into her high-backed swivel chair, a near carbon copy of the one in my own office. Money could buy the look of prestige, if not the thing itself. Cox rested the temple tips against her mouth. She looked deep in thought, as if she were doing a math equation in her head without the benefit of paper.
“So, in fact, Mr. McPhee,” Judge Cox said, “Libby Saldana…she saved more lives than she ended, if your facts are to be believed.” The judge cast her gaze on the assistant prosecuting attorney.
“That’s certainly one way to look at it, your honor,” Dodds conceded.
“What are you preauthorized to go down to?”
“Your honor?” Dodds’ intonation pretended misunderstanding where it didn’t exist. In the world of negotiation, the prosecutor’s office was no different than any other law firm. Everyone had a bottom line. It usually took longer than this to get to it, some pretrial conferences, trading of discovery, maybe some plea negotiations. Cox was short circuiting all that in just moments. When Dodds didn’t answer right away, the judge continued.
“There are three branches of the government,” Cox lectured. “I’m the third branch. My job is to interpret the laws, not to make them. If Lori Pope wants to make a stand or make some laws, then she needs to drive one hundred forty miles southwest and plead her case in front of the legislature. This”—Cox’s glasses took in her chambers—“is the wrong forum.”
“The law is a lagging indicator,” Dodds countered.
I looked between Cox and Dodds and kept my big mouth shut. The judge was pleading Saldana’s case in a better fashion than I could. For too long a moment my mind wandered to Casey and what my life would be like right now if I’d said yes to her. Maybe we’d have gone in to business together and she would be standing next to me right now filling in the gaps I’d probably left in my argument.
“So, Ms. Dodds, I ask you again, what’s your best offer?”
“I have no room to deal.”
Cox looked at Dodds. Squinted. I imagined the judge rarely heard that answer.
“Do you want to call your bosses?”
“I asked before I came here. Twice.” Dodds held firm. “There is no wiggle room.”
“Well, then, Ms. Dodds, Mr. McPhee, it looks like we’re going to trial.”
That stopped any thoughts I had about Casey or my life outside of this courtroom dead in their tracks.
“Can you be ready by the last full week of April?”
I wanted to say something about having a baby due, but I didn’t really have anything happening in my life that week. All of that was going to be up to Casey and Ron. Not me.
“Mr. McPhee. Don’t you need to check your calendar?”
The bailiff was back in the room. Dodds had her planner open on her lap. Obviously a good few moments had passed. I looked down, trying to remember where I’d set my briefcase.
“Your calendar is in your right hand, Mr. McPhee.” Cox pointed toward me. “Perhaps you’d like to open it.”
I took a deep breath and tried to bring all of me back into the judge’s chambers. I knew my calendar was clear. Had dialed down the number of clients I’d taken on when I’d finished handling the toxic tort case that had led to the huge payout. The one that allowed me to pick and choose what I’d take on. I wet my index finger and flipped the pages as if I were thinking hard.
“I can be ready, your honor.”
“We’re set, then.”
Casey had been right this time, like she’d always been. I’d have promised Libby Saldana the moon. It had looked good when I’d been walking into chambers. Now I had to deliver the worst news of Saldana’s day, year, or maybe even lifetime. Braced myself to tell my client that she was facing a jury in a month. I’d have to break the news that if twelve of her peers found her guilty of manslaughter, she may not be able to go home until the cusp of her fiftieth birthday.