Misdemeanor Trials by Milton Schacter Read Free Book Online Page B

brown, and broke at her shoulders.  She had a face with a small nose, dark eyes, perfect mouth, and, to Trader's own sense of silliness, a beckoning smile.
    “Thanks.  I am,” said John.
    “In Crawford’s courtroom, it's probably a good idea to just keep quiet.  We will go to his chambers with a bunch of other lawyers.  He will call your case.  You spell out the proposal.  He will do the rest.  Usually he hammers us to change our offer, but it is the Public Defenders, and most of the private attorneys who will cave.  If they don’t, the Public Defender or the judge will continue the case.  You don’t really have to do much except note the results in the file.  If not, get set for a trial starting today.  Crawford moves fast.”
    Trader followed her out of the elevator as they walked to a courtroom.  When they entered, the room was empty except for the Bailiff.  He barely looked up from a book he was reading and said, “Go on back.  Most everyone is here.” They walked past the short wooden gate in the courtroom that separated the spectator’s area from the judg e s platform, and the empty jury chairs.  The wooden gate was in history referred to as “the bar”.  He was now a lawyer and had the right to pass the bar.  They walked through a door at the side and in the back of the courtroom, where a judge would typically enter the courtroom.  They turned down a short hallway where the inner sanctum of the Judge’s chambers was.  This was a new and mysterious place for John, and he felt that he was truly in the mix of where law and justice gathered in the backrooms of the courthouse.  He entered the judge’s chambers through a door marked with Judge Crawford's name.  There were seven or eight attorneys who sat, or stood, surrounding a long table where Judge Crawford sat, addressing an attorney on a case.  He looked up and nodded, “Good morning, Cody.” Well, at least Trader now knew her name.
    Cody said, “Good morning, Judge.”
    Trader sat down and watched as the Judge went through each case.  It was just as Cody told him.  Finally Crawford said, “Who has the Martinez case?” A smallish bearded lawyer responded that it was his case.  Trader said, “I have that case, Judge.”
    “Who are you?” asked Crawford.
    “I’m John Trader. I am from the D.A . s office.”
    “What is your offer, counselor?” said Crawford.
    Trader looked in the file and repeated the offer written in the margins.  “Six days in jail, three years probation, Level two DUI classes, and statutory fines and fees.”
    The Public Defender responded, “If you could reduce probation to two years we would take it.”
    Without thinking, Trader responded, “No.”
    Crawford said, somewhat sternly, “It is not uncommon for two years of probation in this kind of case.  Your objective here should be to settle these cases, get them off the calendar, so we can get to the cases that deserve to be in trial.” Trader did not know how to respond.  He disguised his inquiring look over at Cody, but she had her head in her file and the other attorneys had a glazed look in their eye, waiting only for their cases, or talking quietly among themselves.
    Trader thought for a moment.  The defendant, Martinez, had a blood alcohol content of .13 and was staggering when asked to “exit the vehicle” by the highway patrol.  He could not even come close on the Field Sobriety Tests, could not find the line to walk on, not to mention he could not walk it, and admitted he had several Long Island Iced Teas.  “Thank you, Judge, but that is the offer,” said Trader. 
    “Ms.  Jones,” said Crawford as he looked in Cody's direction.  “Mr. Trader needs some guidance on how to settle these cases.  Maybe you should give him some help.”
    “Your honor,” said Cody Jones, “Mr. Trader has decision making power over his own cases.  I have no influence.”
    Now John knew her name was Cody Jones.
    Crawford looked at the