“Which he currently uses to make deliveries for a local delivery company, Your Honor,” I replied. “At the time of the arrest, Mr. Perez was delivering the package. Other than the fact that my client was driving the car, there is no evidence that the drugs found in it were his. In addition, the prosecution has failed to provide any evidence that a jury could use to reasonably infer ownership. The drugs were not in plain view, but were in a bag in the trunk along with several other packages. My client was paid by someone using an app to deliver the package. My client had no idea what was in the package and didn’t see the need to ask. The only reason my client was stopped was because he was unfairly targeted by the police after a previous drug charge that was overturned.”
“Your client belongs to a gang,” Judge Thompson pointed out.
“He did, Your Honor,” I replied. “But he feels that he was given a second chance, and he wouldn’t jeopardize that by working with the gang again. I’d also point out that my client submitted to a drug test, which came back clean.”
I kept my gaze on the judge and tried to ignore my client’s tapping foot. For a moment, it was the only sound in the room as Thompson squinted at his file.
Judge Thompson was a no-nonsense man who could be harsh with his sentences, but he was also fair. If there was reasonable doubt, he would never convict, and if the state didn’t have the evidence, he’d toss the case before it ever made it to a jury.
Thompson’s brow furrowed now, and I knew I was close to winning the case. The man may have been a wonderful judge, but he was a terrible poker player. His face was far too expressive. He also tended to run his fingers across his mustache when he knew the defense was winning.
I finally moved my eyes away from him when I heard the irritated huff from the prosecutor’s bench. Allen could read the signs as well as I could, and he shot me an irritated look as Thompson scanned the indictment again.
“Objection, Your Honor,” Allen protested.
“Yes, Counselor?” the Judge asked.
His voice was bored and the microphone picked up the slight sigh. It was clear his decision was already made, and he didn’t appreciate this waste of his time.
“The defendant may have been contacted through this app, but it is still his vehicle, and he’s still responsible for anything he carries in it,” Allen pointed out.
Allen tried to keep his voice firm, but it warbled a bit at the end. He was losing, and he knew it. He rocked back on his heels and wiped his hands on his suit.
“Your Honor,” I interjected. “We don’t hold the postal service or FedEx accountable when someone uses their services to ship drugs. Why should my client be held to a higher standard? Is he supposed to check every package he’s handed before he puts it in his car?”
“Are you seriously comparing your client to the United States Postal Service?” the Judge asked with a hint of a smile.
“I am,” I said with a straight face.
Allen huffed again, but the Judge held up his hand.
“Your Honor,” I added. “My client is willing to cooperate with the police and turn over his client list.”
The client list from the app wouldn’t do much good. I’d taken a look at it myself, and the apartment where my client had picked up the drugs was a crack house that no sane delivery driver would go near, and the place where he was supposed to deliver it was a boat that was no longer at the docks. Allen already knew that as well, but he’d already been warned too many times by Thompson to risk speaking again.
Diego stiffened in the seat next to me, and his hands curled into fists as he fought against the urge to smile. He forced his lips back down into a repentant frown, though they were pressed together a little too hard for it to be natural.
“Your honor,” Allen tried again. “The car was in Mr. Perez’s custody when the drugs were found.”
“Even so,” the magistrate shook his head. ”Mr. Torres has a valid point. Do you have evidence that the drugs were part of a delivery he was making, Mr. Torres?”
“Yes, your honor,” I said as I pulled printed copies of the delivery request, the box label, and even my client’s delivery schedule for the day from my briefcase.
The bailiff tottered over to the table and accepted the sheets, which he then carried slowly back to the Judge. Thompson looked over the documentation and then turned to look at Allen.
“And do you have any evidence that Mr. Perez knew there were drugs in the package?” the Judge asked.
“I--” the middle-aged lawyer stammered as he shuffled through his files and then huffed as he looked back up. “No, your honor.”
“Alright, then,” Thompson replied. “I have no other option than to dismiss this case without prejudice. And Mr. Allen, I suggest next time you make sure you can prove that the drugs belong to the accused.”
“Yes, your honor,” the middle-aged prosecutor said as he began to pack up his briefcase.
The judge rapped his gavel against the block, and once again we all stood up. Thompson turned to his computer while his clerk quickly darted to his side to present him with the next case file.
“That was amazing,” Diego said as he grabbed my hand. “I’ve never seen a case dismissed so fast.”
“They didn’t have enough evidence,” I shrugged. “Honestly, they should’ve done more research before they even charged you.”
“Lucky for me, they didn’t,” the
