The Judge Who Stole Christmas (13 page)

Great. Right in the middle of my UCC exam.

“You can't do that, Vince.” Jasmine tried to sound like a seasoned litigator, calling Harrod by his first name. “I've got a final from nine until noon.”

Harrod laughed out loud. “I'm not used to scheduling around someone's law school exams,” he said. “How about one o'clock?”

“How 'bout I just talk to my client and get him to agree not to go out there again.”

“One o'clock it is,” Vince responded. “Let your client know.”

“Merry Christmas,” Jasmine said.

“Happy holidays,” Vince said.

They hung up and Jasmine dialed Theresa's number.

Theresa answered on the first ring. “Hello.”

“I'm afraid I've got some bad news,” Jasmine said.

THURSDAY, DECEMBER 14

Jasmine struggled through her UCC exam, living proof that you should never take an arduous test on just two hours' sleep. So much for second in her class.

Thirty-five minutes later, exhausted and hungry, she was driving around downtown Norfolk near the federal courthouse, looking for a parking spot. The place was a madhouse.
They can't all be here because of our case. Can they?

She gave up looking for a spot near the courthouse and entered the parking deck for the MacArthur mall. This turned out to be another mistake, since the Christmas shoppers were out in force, and it took Jasmine nearly ten more minutes to find a spot.

She threw her backpack over her shoulder and raced toward the courthouse. The backpack would scream “law student,” but what could she do? She had too much stuff to just throw it in a file folder like she had yesterday. She had been intending to buy a briefcase these past few days, but when did she have time?

At least it wasn't raining, though the gusting wind was probably frizzing her hair big-time.

She turned the corner onto the sidewalk in front of the courthouse at about five minutes before one o'clock and nearly stopped in her tracks. The place was lined with camera trucks and news reporters. NBC. ABC. CBS. Fox News. CNN. Throughout law school she had dreamed of a high-profile case like this. But in her dreams she always had a brilliant legal argument or at least a good defense. Today she had nothing. She would have to throw her client on the mercy of the court while the entire nation watched.

Jasmine ignored the shouted questions as she elbowed her way into the courthouse. Once there, she waited her turn at the metal detector.

“Briefcases and overcoats on the belt,” the federal marshal said mechanically. He noticed Jasmine. “Backpacks, too.”

A few minutes later Jasmine checked her watch as she slipped into the seat next to Thomas. One o'clock on the nose. Ichabod still hadn't taken the bench.

She leaned next to the big man so that Ottmeyer and Frumpkin, seated on her right, wouldn't hear. “Here's the drill,” Jasmine whispered. “I apologize first. Then you promise to abide by the court's order in the future. Then I'll argue for mercy based on the fact that you've got a family to support. Our goal today is to avoid jail time. Got it?”

Thomas looked down at the table and frowned. “I can't promise not to go out there again, Ms. Woodfaulk.”

Jasmine felt her neck muscles tighten and leaned closer to him. She didn't have time for this—Ichabod would be on the bench any minute! “Thomas, you don't have a choice here. She's a federal judge. She has the power to keep you off that square. The only issue is whether she does it by throwing you in jail or whether you agree to do it voluntarily. Do you understand?”

“Oh, I understand. It's just—”

“Order in the court,” the clerk cried. “The Honorable Cynthia Baker-Kline now presiding.”

Ichabod gaveled the court into session—“Remain seated”—and stared at Thomas. To his credit, Thomas kept his gaze on the table. Ichabod then turned her icy gaze to Frumpkin.

“Mayor Frumpkin, I understand that Mr. Hammond set up a manger display on the town square last night. Was this display pursuant to a town permit or any other form of permission from the town?”

Jasmine looked at Frumpkin and thought the little man was trembling. “No, Your Honor.”

She turned to Harrod. “Do you have any evidence to the contrary?”

“No, Your Honor.”

She returned her ire to Thomas, and her pulsing neck vein picked up tempo. “Mr. Hammond, what do you have to say for yourself?”

Jasmine stood on weak knees. “Your Honor, Mr. Hammond would like to apologize to the court—”

“
Sit down
, Ms. Woodfaulk.”

Jasmine had never seen or heard of such a thing. A lawyer not even allowed to argue for her client? “But, Your Honor—”

“Sit down.”

Jasmine scowled and took her seat. She shook her head a little to show how ridiculous this was.

“You'll get your turn to argue the case,” Ichabod snapped. “But first, I want to hear from your client by way of testimony.” Again she glared at Thomas. “Now, Mr. Hammond, what do you have to say for yourself?”

Thomas hesitated, then rose to his feet.

Should I tell him to plead the Fifth?
Jasmine wondered.
Can you even do that when you're facing contempt of court, rather than an actual criminal charge?
This whole scenario was so far outside anything Jasmine had studied in law school. Thomas hadn't even been sworn in.

Thomas drew a deep breath and faced the court. “With all due respect, Your Honor, I answer to a higher power.”

Jasmine shifted in her seat.
What would Johnnie Cochran have done in a situation like this? What would Professor Arnold do?

“Did you set up a manger scene on the Possum town square last night in direct violation of my order?”

Jasmine jumped up. “Don't answer that.”

Ichabod turned on her. “What?”

“I'm instructing my client not to answer on the grounds that it might incriminate him.”

“Brilliant, Counsel.” Ichabod shook her head to show how stupid the tactic was. Then she turned to Mayor Frumpkin. “Did you go out to the town square last night?”

“Yes.” Frumpkin's voice was so soft that Jasmine could barely hear it.

“Did Mr. Hammond set up a manger scene on the town square in direct violation of my order?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you, Mr. Frumpkin.”

Now Jasmine felt like a complete idiot. She had angered the judge for no apparent reason.

Ichabod turned back to Thomas. “Do you intend to go out there and set it up again tonight?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Have a seat.” Ichabod tilted her head and gave Jasmine a nod. “You may argue now, Counsel.”

For five minutes Jasmine talked about Thomas and his family. She spoke of the American tradition of civil disobedience. She invoked Martin Luther King, Harriet Tubman, and Rosa Parks. She asked Ichabod to issue a stay of her ruling so that Jasmine could appeal to the Fourth Circuit and get a final word before Ichabod did something so drastic as send a man to jail. All the while Ichabod listened attentively, her eyes drilling holes in each of Jasmine's arguments.

When Jasmine finished, Harrod jumped up. “May I respond, Your Honor?”

“That won't be necessary,” Ichabod said. “The court finds the analogies to the civil rights protestors most inappropriate, especially since my colleagues on this very court, the Eastern District of Virginia sitting in Norfolk, paid such a high price for their courageous rulings against segregation at a time when it was most unpopular for them to take that stand. If anything, your client is more analogous to Judge Roy Moore, and we all know how that turned out.”

Ichabod's nose flared a few times as she considered her options. “Mr. Hammond, please stand.” Jasmine stood with him. “You may believe that you are subject to a higher authority, but you must learn that you are also subject to
my
authority. Though I am reluctant to take this step, your conduct leaves me no other recourse. I am hereby finding you in contempt of court and sentencing you to twenty-four hours in a federal holding cell. But I'm also putting you on notice right now, Mr. Hammond. Any further violations of my order after your release will result in a much longer sentence.” She paused, letting the gravity of her words sink in. “Am I making myself clear?”

“Crystal clear, Your Honor.”

Jasmine had heard that before.

Later that afternoon Jasmine received a call with a 212 area code. New York City. She tried not to sound nervous. “Hello.”

“Jazz, this is Pearson.”

“Hey, Mr. Payne.”

“Call me Pearson, please.”

“Okay, Pearson.”
Man, that sounded strange.
“What's up?”

“You're making quite a name for yourself down there, Jazz. You been watching CNN?”

Should she tell him she preferred Fox News?
“No. Why?”

“They've been running that story about the Possum manger scene every fifteen minutes or so. My partners are starting to talk.”

“Is that a problem?” She sensed that it was.

“Well, let's put it this way: Possum is not exactly coming off as the center of enlightenment here. And your involvement on the side of the religious Right has some of my partners concerned. Heck, most of 'em haven't been inside a church since their kids got married.” Pearson hesitated. Jasmine decided to wait him out. “I'm going to bat for you, Jazz, but help me out by keeping a low profile. These guys are afraid that word will leak out about your coming to Gold, Franks, and the New York press would have a field day.”

Jasmine wasn't sure what to say. In truth, she had already been thinking about withdrawing from the case. How could she represent a client who wouldn't take her advice? But on the other hand, she didn't like being pressured by a firm she didn't even work for yet.

“Thanks for your support, Pearson. But I don't understand why your partners don't side with the First Amendment on this one.”

Pearson chuckled. “Not my partners. They're on the side of billing clients. And they don't want this case to impact our hard-earned reputation with our decidedly liberal client base.”

“I understand,” Jasmine said, though the idealist in her didn't understand at all. “And I'll govern myself accordingly.”

“You're going to fit in just fine at Gold, Franks,” Pearson said. “And don't worry. I've got your back.”

That evening, in a grungy visitation booth at the federal holding cell, both Theresa and Jasmine tried to extract a pledge from Thomas that he would not set up another manger scene after his release.

Theresa approached it from a mother's perspective, begging Thomas to consider the impact on their children. She told Thomas how Hannah had cried when she learned her daddy would be in jail. “Tiger stuck up for you, blaming the judge,” Theresa said. “I told them both you were a hero, but all they could think about was the time you spent in prison when Joshie died—and how the court took them away from me for a few weeks.”