Injustice Read Free Page A

pointed directly at the man sitting beside Kendall Vance.
    HENRY: You’re sure?
    WITNESS: Positive.
    Henry turned toward the court reporter and said, “Let the record reflect that the witness has identified the defendant, Jimmy Mailing, as the intruder he saw that night.”
    Kendall Vance cleared his throat and stood. “A technical point, Your Honor,” he said. Kendall wasn’t smiling openly, but from his posture and tone of voice, it was clear something had made him very happy, and suddenly I understood why the “defendant” was not in a suit and tie or sitting up, bright-eyed and involved.
    Judge Baxter looked over her glasses at Kendall. “Go ahead, Mr. Vance.”
    â€œYes,” Kendall said, “the record should reflect that the witness has failed to identify the defendant.”
    Kendall laid a hand on the shoulder of the man beside him at the counsel table. “This is not Jimmy Mailing but, rather, Derek Sykes. Mr. Sykes is an actor who generously agreed to come along and help me with my case this morning.” Kendall turned and looked into the gallery. “Jimmy, would you please stand.”
    Jimmy Mailing, the real defendant, stood up. He had been sitting in a small crowd in the gallery. He was in a suit and tie, impeccably groomed. He had prominent cheekbones, dark hair, and a long chin. Jimmy Mailing and Derek Sykes didn’t really look alike, but they were the same type, with the same elongate faces and the same slender, athletic physique. The most striking difference was that at themoment the imposter looked like a criminal, while the real Jimmy Mailing didn’t.
    â€œThere’s the defendant,” Kendall said, pointing at Jimmy, “right here with us in court as required. Apparently, the witness didn’t recognize him.”

C HAPTER 3
    T here was lots of shouting.
    I demanded that Kendall and the imposter and the defendant all be held in contempt.
    Kendall demanded an immediate dismissal of the charges against his client because the government’s witness had failed to identify him as the intruder.
    I tried to place the imposter under arrest for obstructing justice.
    The judge demanded we all just shut up. Then she glowered at Kendall over her glasses and ordered the jury be removed. “We’re in recess for fifteen minutes,” she said.

    Judge Baxter is a small and ferocious woman. I don’t always agree with her decisions, but I like her style of judging. She stays out of things as much as possible, and when she can’t stay out, you feel her anger at being dragged in. Unnecessary objections displease her. Foolish advocacy that requires objections displeases her. Lack of punctuality and lack of preparedness displease her. She believes much more strongly in the orderliness of trial law than in the games and antics of trial law. This means she is a prosecutor’s judge, not a defense counsel’s judge.
    When Judge Baxter’s predecessor had announced his retirement a few years ago, I was approached about putting my name in for the seat. But I had no interest in being a trial judge (do boys with baseball mitts dream of being the umpire?). No, the U.S. Attorney’s Office was much more appealing to me than the trial court bench. I did, however, want to be an appellate judge. I wanted to write lofty decisions that would stand for years or decades. In fact, I’d been nominated to the Circuit Court of Appeals several years earlier, but gridlock between theadministration and Congress had left my nomination stalled. Technically, I’m still a nominee, though I don’t expect much to come of it. Anyhow, I declined to be considered for the District Court judgeship, and Arial Baxter, a respected partner at a local firm, got the nod.
    The judge returned and gaveled us back to order. “Here’s what’s going to happen,” she announced. “I want briefs on my desk first thing Friday morning. The