Rough Justice

'Yes, Your Honor.'

'Will you shut up? Will you just shut up?'

Joey nodded. He thought about saying 'yes,' but decided against it. It was a confusing question.

'Did you research the legal issue at least?'

'Yes. There's no case directly on point, but I found a good law review article and researched analogous cases on the Manson trial, and—'

'Don't write me a book, Joey. This Carrier broad filed a motion for a mistrial. I want to deny it. Will I get reversed?'

'Not if the defendant opposes the motion, which he does in his letter.'

Judge Rudolph stared at Joey in disbelief. 'What did you say? The defendant wrote a letter, opposing?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Steere himself?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Christ! Why didn't you say so, you moron?'

'You were yelling—'

'Give me that letter! Christ! What's the matter with you?'

The judge snatched the paper from Joey's outstretched hand and slapped his reading glasses back on. The letter was handwritten and the judge read its contents aloud, his voice full of wonder. ' 'My lawyer filed a motion for mistrial in this matter without my knowledge or authorization. I oppose this motion for a mistrial… hereby ask the Court to consider it withdrawn… I expressly do not wish a mistrial… I wish to proceed as my own counsel… Signed, Elliot Steere.' ' The judge pulled his chair out and eased into it in amazement. What luck! It was almost too good to be true. 'How did we get this?'

'One of the sheriffs brought it up from the lockup.'

'So it's really from Steere.'

'Yes, Your Honor.'

Judge Rudolph shook his head, his eyes glued to the letter. He'd never had a case like this one. Had never read a case like this one. It had a life of its own.

Joey cleared his throat. 'I found cases saying that a defendant has the right to proceed pro se in a criminal case, even if he fires his lawyer in the middle.'

'Of course he does.' Judge Rudolph skimmed the letter over and over, incredulous as a lottery winner. 'It's the defendant's right to counsel. It's a personal right. He can exercise it or waive it.'

'Yes. True. I knew that. I found cases saying the rights in a criminal trial are personal to the defendant, analogous to those cases where the defendant wants the state to execute and the courts won't let the lawyers intervene.'

'That's not on point.'

'Well, in the Manson case—'

'Shut up, Joey.'

'Yes, Your Honor.'

'You're embarrassing yourself.' Judge Rudolph looked up from the letter. 'Has this letter been served on the D.A.?'

'I don't know. Ms. Carrier told me she served the motion on the D.A., but I don't know about the letter from Steere.'

Judge Rudolph paused. He wasn't in the clear yet. 'Get me the D.A. Think you can handle that?'

39

Judy had only one lead to follow and it brought her back to the Twenty-fifth Street Bridge. She had grabbed a lone cab at the courthouse and the ride took only a half hour through plowed streets. There was no traffic because nobody but Judy was crazy enough to brave the blizzard.

Grays Ferry was deserted and Judy felt uneasy as soon as the cab turned onto Twenty-fifth Street. The scene chilled her. Mary had been shot here only hours ago, yet no sawhorses or yellow tape marked the spot. Bennie had told her at the hospital that the cops were shorthanded, but what would become of whatever evidence was at the crime scene? Judy found herself staring at the spot where Mary had been shot. Fresh snow buried Mary's blood, concealing what had happened. Even Judy's skis were lost in the snow or long gone.

'Miss? The fare?' said the cabdriver.

'Sorry.' Judy fumbled in her zipper pocket for a bill and handed it to him. 'Keep it, okay?' She stepped out into the cold and walked up the street to the house.

Judy climbed the familiar, snowy stoop next to the brown living room curtains and knocked hard with her good hand. She didn't expect an instant answer, it was the middle of the night. Judy knocked until a light went on inside the house and kept knocking until she heard voices near the front door. Then she started shouting. There would be time for apologies later. Now she had to get in and get answers.

* * *

Judy sat across from the mother in her living room, telling her the whole story. The room was cramped and its furnishings old, but clean and simple. A worn couch, an old TV, and a radio-cassette player on a table with some cassette tapes beside it. Children's books and X-Men comics were stacked on metal tray tables that served as end