Sweating profusely, she replied, “My lord, these are obviously documents that have been withheld. I need them to conduct the defense properly. The witness has just said there were missing documents. He just said that the entire file is not here. And I need to see everything in that file.”
“The rest of the file,” said McSheffrey with deliberation, “the rest of the file is in the other 100,000 documents in this case. It exists, somewhere in those forty-nine boxes. It simply has not been put together the way that she would like. She is trying to suggest that we suppressed documents when we did not. I resent the implication she is making.”
“You are playing games in my courtroom, Wittenberg,” said Judge Mordecai. “If you thought there was redaction or withholding of documents, it should have been dealt with months ago. In fact, there were many such motions in the month or so prior to the opening of this trial. You had the incredible power of Blankstein deFijter in acquiring documents, and now you want more, at this stage of the trial, throwing everything in a mess. You cannot question on these allegedly missing documents. If you provide me with an appropriate affidavit, I might change my mind. Now, cross-examination. Go.”
Dana turned around and looked at Lee Penn-Garrett, who almost imperceptibly nodded his head. Gritting her teeth, she pursued the point.
“Inspector Singh, can you turn to tab three of the documents, please?” The inspector immediately complied. “That meeting occurred in October 2017, shortly after the Colorado attack. What happened at that meeting, sir?”
McSheffrey stood up and objected. “She’s trying to sneak something in through the back door when you ordered her not to bring it in through the front. That’s contrary to the spirit of your ruling.” “It is not,” replied Dana.
“It is,” said the judge. “Don’t go there.”
Indy was sitting in the witness box listening to the ongoing war between the judge and Dana, and between Sheff and Dana. He was frowning more than the judge. When the court settled down, and Dana was looking at the computer to see what her next question would be, Indy spoke.
“The meeting was a joint meeting between senior members of MC division, the FBI, and TTIC . . .”
“Stop,” said Judge Mordecai. “I have ruled on that. We are not going there, Inspector. Didn’t you hear the last exchange?”
“I did, m’lord.”
“Okay, move on then.” Mordecai looked at Dana. “Continue.”
Dana took a deep breath. “Back to that meeting, it was clear to everyone—”
“Stop!” yelled the judge.
“Objection,” yelled both Archambault and Sheff. “She’s still doing it.”
“Ms. Wittenberg, you are still in contempt. Be very careful or you will leave the courtroom by the side door, and ushered into cells unless you respect my rulings.”
“But a person at a meeting can testify to what happened at the meeting,” she said.
“Not if I have ruled against it. A meeting between two agencies does not help me or the jury in understanding this case. And you’re actually not asking about the meeting. You are trying to show that somehow documents have been suppressed and I. Have. Made. My. Ruling.”
When things quieted down again, Dana, with an amazing sense of perseverance, continued. “Was there not a document produced at that meeting suggesting that Leon Lestage had little involvement in the conspiracy?”
Before the uproar, Indy said, “Yes.”
“The jury will disregard that. Ms. Wittenberg, if you persist, you will spend tonight in cells. Four times you have deliberately flouted my rulings.”
“But m’lord,” said Dana, looking at the jury, not at the judge. “A senior member of the police force has just testified that there is a document that states that Mr. Lestage played a minimal part in the conspiracy, NONE.”
Every one on the six-woman, six-man jury was smiling. Judge Mordecai was not. His face was turning purple. “You, you, you . . . I direct the jury to disregard your remark, and you then repeat a critical portion of that remark, with great emphasis to the jury? How much more in contempt can you be? You are done. At four o’clock this afternoon, you will not leave this courtroom through the front door. You will accompany the sheriffs to cells, and I instruct the sheriffs to hold you there until eight o’clock tomorrow morning.”
The day was hellish for Dana. She stumbled through cross-examination, lost her place and her train of thought countless times, and was watching the clock, now afraid of it. When it hit four, she would not go home to Chris and Bam-Bam.
When the clock reached four, Judge Mordecai, as he was leaving the courtroom, pointed to the sheriffs and to Dana. “Cells,” he said.
“Can I take my notes, briefs, and computers with me?” Dana asked. “I use them to prepare. I need to prepare for the continuation of Mr. Singh’s cross-examination.”
“I am not sure what kind of moronicity could be on those computers that provokes you to ask the questions that you do. Yes. You may take that junk with you. And sheriffs, get rid of those hundreds of binders. I do not want them cluttering up my courtroom.”
As McGhee was Googling “moronicity,” McSheffrey rose to his feet.
“Now what do you want, Mr. McSheffrey? We’re adjourned.”
“This case should be mistrialed. The jury has been hopelessly compromised by the remarks Ms. Wittenberg made. How can that possibly be corrected? The Crown has been deeply prejudiced by what she did, directly contrary and in the face of orders the court just made.”
“I knew you would rise to your feet and say
