LITMIR.BIZ

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To the trained attorney, a person who had been fingerprinted the day before is easy to spot. Following the fingerprinting Elizabeth was photographed. This can honestly be said to be the only picture you could ever take which will make your driver’s license photo look good. Of course after being interrogated for several hours and enduring several bouts of tears no one would expect to be magazine cover material. Some people believe this is done purposely as the arrest photograph is always the one given to the media. Even Mother Teresa would look guilty if an arrest photograph of her was shown on the evening news.

      The final stage in the booking process is the strip-search. Elizabeth bowed her head as she slowly undressed until she stood before the female officer with one arm covering her breast and the other her crotch. “Hold your arms out to the side.” The instruction was cold and direct. Elizabeth grudgingly raised her arms out to each side as the officer ran her hands up and down her body. The plastic gloves worn by the officer were the same as the ones used by Elizabeth’s doctor, but the feeling was not. Walking behind her, the officer placed her hand on Elizabeth’s back and while giving a push directed her to bend over. Elizabeth felt nauseous and thought she was going to be physically sick when she felt the officer’s hand slide down her back and between her cheeks. She could not help but flinch when the first finger went inside her anus followed by the second entering her vagina. No one can understand the complete humiliation felt by someone having their insides searched for contraband. Elizabeth could not hold back the tears as she dressed in the normal orange jump suit and flip-flops of the county facility. She felt as violated as if she had been raped and left in a ditch to die.

      As she was being led to the holding cell Elizabeth was told the words all arrestees long to hear: “You can make a phone call now if you want.” Looking back at the female officer in whose custody she was placed, Elizabeth slightly smiled when she was motioned to the pay telephones against the wall. Dialing a number she waited for the prompt from the automated operator and gave her name. When the phone was answered and the call accepted at the other end, Elizabeth stated she didn’t know whom else to call and turned closer to the telephone so as not to be heard by anyone. “What? I don’t know.” Turning back to the officer Elizabeth asked how much her bail was. “Bail will be set in the morning by the judge,” was the reply. Relaying this information to her caller, Elizabeth said she would be all right and would see them in the morning. She then hung up the telephone and turned back to the officer. “Thank you, I’m ready to go now.” As she resumed her walk toward the holding cells Elizabeth fought back her tears. No matter what happened from now on she was determined to be strong, at least on the outside.

      The courtroom of Judge Jessica Smith was packed with reporters. The constant murmur was centered on who was Elizabeth Blaine. The District Attorney walked into the courtroom from the front door and was immediately mobbed. Stopping just inside the door to allow for more room around him, Jeffrey Taylor took center stage. “Ladies, Gentlemen, please I need to get through to counsel table.” Jeffrey’s voice sounded sincere but everyone knew he had no intention of going anywhere. “Who is Elizabeth Blaine?” The question echoed in the auditorium styled courtroom. Jeffrey did not know where the question came and addressed his response to the crowd. “Elizabeth Blaine is the secretary or more than likely the former secretary of Harrison Michaels, husband of the deceased.” “What’s the charge?” This question came from Mark Baker, writer for the National Gazette, a newspaper in the metropolitan area, which was known for its accuracy and integrity. “The charge ...,” Jeffrey paused for effect and to insure everyone was focused directly upon him. “The charge is capital murder.” “Will you be seeking the death penalty?” The question hung in the air and brought a silence to the room. Jeffrey smiled slightly as he prepared to answer relishing every moment of attention this case was bringing him.

      “All rise,” the bailiff’s voice boomed and all eyes immediately were directed to the side of the courtroom. “The District Court of Washington County is now is session. The Honorable Jessica Smith presiding.” Jeffrey’s chest deflated as if he had been poked with a pin. From the look on his face it was evident that Judge Smith had upstaged him and he wasn’t happy. “Be seated.” Judge Smith was moving with speed and purpose as she ascended the steps and reached her bench. “It is the district attorney’s office …” Jeffrey Taylor had attempted to regain the spotlight he felt only he deserved. The reporters again turned back to Jeffrey and prepared their notepads and pens. “Mr. Taylor, certainly you are not holding a press conference in my courtroom, are you?” The District Attorney looked like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Your Honor, I was attempting to inform the press of the current situation.” Jeffrey was approaching the prosecutor’s table as he spoke. “I know exactly what you were intending to do Mr. Taylor and it won’t be done in my courtroom. Do you understand?” Judge Smith’s eyes remained on Jeffrey until he had reached the table. It was at this time she addressed the rest of the room. “I expect the individuals of the press to conduct themselves in a proper manner in my courtroom. I refuse to have the sanctity of my court diminished because of one case. If this becomes a problem I will not hesitate in closing the courtroom and expelling everyone. Understand?”

      The silence in the courtroom accompanied by reporters, lawyers, and all others scurrying for seats answered the Judge’s question. No one dared challenge Judge Smith in her court. She had been on the bench for years and had a reputation for being a no nonsense judge who feared nothing; a result, perhaps, of being a woman in what certainly was, when she entered it, considered a man’s world. In order to succeed on the bench, a female judge had to be twice as hard as a man and twice as sure of herself or at least appear that way to the public. Jessica Smith was such a woman. When she attended law school Jessica Smith was one of only three women. Ostracized from the beginning, Jessica quickly learned she had to be the best to get any respect from her professors. The problem was, the more she excelled scholastically the more she was resented by her fellow male students. What resulted was a woman who finished in the top ten of her class and had a healthy disdain for all male attorneys. She practiced only a short time before she was elected to the bench. Jessica Smith was first elected due to an inept sitting judge everyone wanted to remove from office. The only serious contender was Jonathan Hobson who everyone knew would win in a landslide until he was caught “campaigning” with a twenty-year-old supporter. Jessica won the election and had been on the bench ever since. No reporter would risk missing the story of the year and possibly the story of the decade because he or she was thrown from the courtroom for defying Judge Smith.

      Turning to her bailiff, Judge Smith instructed him to retrieve Elizabeth Blaine. The bailiff, a robust individual of about 240 pounds, disappeared through a side door and quickly returned guiding Elizabeth to the row of chairs behind counsel table separated from the audience by the bar. Elizabeth was still dressed in the orange county jumpsuit. Her hands and feet were shackled and although the bailiff was being extra patient it was clear Elizabeth had not yet learned to maneuver in chains. Reaching her seat Elizabeth sat momentarily looking like a sideshow attraction on display. When summoned forward by Judge Smith she rose immediately and approached the podium placed directly in front of the Judge. The bailiff never strayed more than two feet away from her. “Elizabeth Blaine, you have been charged by the State with capital murder. Do you understand the charge leveled against you?” “Yes ma'am.” Elizabeth’s voice was surprisingly strong given the situation in which she found herself. Although she answered the Judge’s question directly, Elizabeth never looked up at the judge instead staring down at her feet.

      “Ms. Blaine.” Judge Smith’s voice was noticeably softer. She was not suddenly experiencing an awakening of her sensitive side or feeling a bout of pity on the defendant standing before her. Not Judge Jessica Smith. No indeed. She was making positively sure there would be no mistakes that could overturn a conviction on appeal. “Do you have an attorney?” “No ma’am, I have not had the opportunity to hire anyone yet.” “Well, Ms. Blaine, I am going to enter a ‘Not Guilty’ plea on your behalf. Mr. Taylor, is there a recommendation on bond?” The District Attorney did not hesitate at this opportunity. He leapt to his feet and began an oration on the strength of the State’s case. As he spoke he would periodically turn toward the reporters in the audience. He was just coming up to speed, informing the audience of the great work done by the police and his office when Judge Smith broke in. “Mr. Taylor, the question was for a recommendation on

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