“No further questions,” said Frazier.
“Mr. Young?” said Judge O’Donnell, who was presiding that day.
Zack Young looked over the top of his glasses and thanked me for coming, as if I were doing his client a favor rather than helping to build the case of dishonesty against him. “Judge Knott, you said that was not your signature on the order. Do you know for a fact who signed your name?”
“No, sir.”
“Could it have been a clerk or a—”
“Objection. Supposition,” said Frazier.
“Sustained,” said O’Donnell.
“In fact,” said Zack, “you do not know that my client signed it, do you?”
“No, sir.” Mine not to add that it really didn’t matter who did the actual forgery. It was last in Russell’s hands before it was filed with the clerk of court’s office.
“Now, when you said you normally activate the original sentence, what does that mean?”
“It means that the more severe punishments that the original offense carried would now be put into effect.”
“And in the case of Mr. Moore’s client?”
“It would have meant that all of his driving privileges would have been revoked.”
“So that he couldn’t operate a motor vehicle under any circumstances?”
“That’s correct.”
“How was he supposed to get to work?”
“I’m afraid that’s not the State’s problem, Mr. Young.”
“It didn’t bother you that he might lose his job if he couldn’t drive to work?”
“It did bother me. That’s why I didn’t take away his license the first time he appeared before me. But I explained very thoroughly that he would lose it if he were charged with a second DWI.”
“I’m sorry,” Zack said with an air of innocent bewilderment. “I thought you didn’t remember this case. How can you know you explained it so thoroughly?”
“You’re quite right,” I conceded. “Spelling out the consequences of a second DWI is what I normally do, but I can’t say with certainty that I did so in this particular case.”
“No further questions,” said Zack.
I’m sure he hoped that some members of the jury would be so befuddled by my less than absolute memory about something irrelevant to begin with that they might think I’d somehow been lacking in my rulings that day.
“You may step down,” said Judge O’Donnell.
As I walked back to my own courtroom, I was dispirited to think of how hard Russell had worked, only to throw it away for that quick dollar.
If his secretary had been the one to open that unexpected insurance check, if his client hadn’t assumed his claim had been denied, would Russell be sitting there as a defendant now?
Because even though he hadn’t confessed, I was sure that his downfall must have began with that first sudden temptation, coupled with the knowledge that he could probably get away with it.
The pragmatist hesitated, weighing his options.
It’s my worst nightmare: that I will be faced with a choice like that and will come up wanting in that split- second decision that separates principle from self-interest.
Some judges, those who know they’ve driven with a blood alcohol level over .08, are apt to give middle-aged DWIs the benefit of any doubt. Judges with teenage kids tend to go a little easier on the teenagers who show up in their courts. Me? I can’t help empathizing with defendants who are there because they yielded to that first self- serving impulse, especially if they make me believe that they’re totally appalled by that yielding.
Grown men and women have stood before me with tears running down their faces, practically begging me to give them the maximum, anything to help ease the load of guilt they carry for doing something they’d always thought themselves incapable of doing.
In chambers, I hung my jacket on a peg and put back on my heavy black robe.
“All rise,” said the bailiff as I took my seat at the bar of justice.
We moved methodically through the calendared cases. Plaintiffs and defendants had their minutes before me, then left, as did their supporters and accusers. By midafternoon the whole courtroom had turned over at least three times except for a wiry young black man. Eventually I realized that he had been there since shortly after I
