The Resurrection File Read Free Page A

bench, and I mean now,” Judge Ramington snapped.
    Chambers and the smiling prosecutor approached the bench. Ramington gave a discreet nod to the court reporter and she stopped typing on her steno machine.
    â€œCounsel,” and with that the judge looked down at the file on the desk to remind himself of the name of the defense counsel. “Mr. Chambers. Yes. I’ve had you in my courtroom before. Would you care to explain your footwear to me?”
    Will glanced down at his woven leather sandals. He had forgotten to replace them with the dress shoes that he kept by his desk specifically for court appearances.
    â€œThese are imported, hand-tooled leather sandals from Italy, Your Honor.” And then he quickly added, “And I do apologize that in the rush to arrive at court on time—and I know that Your Honor is a keen observer of time—I apparently forgot to put on my dress shoes.”
    â€œYou ever come in here again with sandals, looking like a hippie, you’re in contempt, sir.”
    â€œIt won’t happen again.”
    â€œAnd get a decent haircut, mister,” the judge added.
    â€œYes, Your Honor,” Chambers replied. And then he added, once he noted that the court reporter was getting everything down on the record again, “And I do appreciate the Court giving me a critique on my hairstyle.”
    Judge Ramington shot a steely-eyed look at the court reporter, who then took her fingers off the keys again.
    â€œDon’t go there, Mr. Chambers. Don’t play games with me. I was doing you a big favor. You want me to put my opinions of you on the record, I will be glad to do that. You want everything on the record, be my guest. You’ve got some kind of chip on your shoulder, counselor. I really don’t care where it came from. You get it off. Now go back to the counsel table and take care of your client’s case.”
    Will nodded silently. The prosecutor, who had been standing as a mute witness at side-bar during the entire colloquy, was grinning.
    Will sat down at the counsel table next to Tiny. His exasperated client only had two words for him.
    â€œNice opening.”
    The prosecutor called, as his only witness, a police officer who had been on duty on the day that several dozen pro-life demonstrators showed up at the abortion clinic and sat down in front of the doors. Will knew that Tiny had been there that day. But he also knew that he didn’t block the doors.
    In fact, Tiny was there that day to serve a Summons and Complaint on one of the doctors for a medical malpractice lawsuit. In order to get closer to the front door and then to make his way inside to serve the papers, he had pretended to be one of the pro-lifers. That was when he was arrested.
    The officer methodically described the scene that day. The blocking of the doors. The fact that women could not get in to get abortions. The arrests.
    Then the officer described how one William Tinney Heftland had been there, in the midst of the protestors, and how he had been arrested as he was seated with them in front of the doors.
    â€œYour witness,” the prosecutor announced to Will after concluding direct examination.
    Chambers paused for a minute. The courtroom became silent. The officer shifted in his chair. Judge Ramington began tapping his pen on the bench.
    Then Will began.
    â€œAre you sure my client was there that day?”
    â€œSure.”
    â€œHow do you know?”
    â€œHe’s hard to miss.”
    The judge chuckled.
    â€œWhat was he wearing?”
    â€œRed suspenders, I think.”
    â€œHow do you know?”
    â€œI remember.”
    â€œYou don’t remember it just because he’s wearing red suspenders now?”
    â€œNo, of course not.”
    â€œYou are sure my client, Tiny Heftland, was sitting down in front of the doors —rather than simply standing up?”
    â€œI’m fairly sure.”
    â€œIs there some question in your mind