After lunch, I saw Cecil in the hallway outside the courtroom. He looked at me. “Any luck with the video?”
Shaking my head, I leaned closer so nobody could hear. “Afraid not, but we’ll keep working at it.” We walked back into the courtroom together and took our places. A few minutes later the bailiff rapped the gavel and ordered us to rise; then Judge Polansky came into the courtroom.
The judge waved us back down. “Please be seated.” He sat, then said to his court reporter, “Off the record.” Then back at us: “Don’t suppose that either of you were able to reach an agreement over the lunch hour.”
Cynthia Curtis stood, looked at me, and then looked back at the judge. “No, Your Honor. Since this is a misdemeanor, there really isn’t much room to negotiate.”
“Fine.” The judge rolled his eyes. “A man can hope, can’t he?” He turned back to his court reporter and told her that we were going back on the record. “Before we begin with opening statements, any objections or issues that we need to get on the record?”
Curtis and I responded with the same answer at the same time. “No, Your Honor.”
“Then away we go.”
The prosecutor’s opening argument wasn’t anything special. It didn’t need to be. The case was simple: My client was in a public park. A Saint Louis police officer saw him holding and drinking a bottle of alcohol. The end.
When Curtis finished, I stood and walked toward the jury. I introduced myself once again. “My name is Justin Glass, and I represent Cecil Bates in this matter.” I walked to the edge of the jury box, making eye contact with each juror before I went forward with the rest of my opening. “But what the prosecutor just told you is merely their side of the story.” I pointed at Judge Polansky. “You see, the judge will very clearly instruct you to keep an open mind and wait until the end of all the testimony and the receipt of all the evidence before making a decision.”
I stepped away from the jury box, giving them space. “The government has the highest burden in our entire legal system—beyond a reasonable doubt—and they have the burden to prove every single element. So I ask you to listen to what they have to say, but wait and also hear the other side of the story. After the prosecution rests, we will be given an opportunity to present our witnesses as well.”
The last bit was a gamble.
I wasn’t sure if Cecil was going to testify or not. If I was being honest with myself, I hoped to keep him as far away from the witness stand as possible. We didn’t, however, have many better options.
The police officer was going to be the first and only witness for the prosecution. I checked the time, hoping that the State would not rest too early.
I wanted to talk more with Cecil about whether he truly wanted to testify in his own defense, and I also didn’t want to be the defense attorney responsible for setting a world record for the quickest conviction by a jury in the history of criminal law.
Officer Butler waddled up to the witness stand. He was squat, a little over five foot eight and about thirty pounds overweight. The combination of his stature and the bulletproof vest made him look like a blue penguin.
He raised his right hand. The judge swore Officer Butler to tell the “whole truth,” and then he squeezed into the witness chair.
“Could you state your name for the record?” Curtis picked up her pen and checked off the first question on her list.
The officer stated and spelled his name, and then Curtis went through the first four questions that every prosecutor asks a police officer in a criminal trial:
Are you a licensed peace officer in the state of Missouri?
How long have you been a licensed peace officer?
Where are you currently employed?
How long have you been in that position?
When she was done with the preliminaries, Curtis nodded. “Very good.” By her patronizing tone, it wouldn’t have surprised me if she had added “Good dog” and offered the police officer a treat.
Having checked the initial questions off her list, Curtis then opened the file. She took a moment and then asked, “Officer Butler, were you working at approximately six thirty in the evening on July 17 of this year?”
“Yes.”
“And do you recall where you were on that date and time?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Officer Butler nodded. “I was on patrol, going east on Market.”
“Can you describe what you saw?”
“I can.” Officer Butler turned to the jury and started to describe the scene. His tone was clipped. His language was concise, and he sounded a little bit like a general describing a battle. “A mall or long park runs east-west on the north side of Market. As I approached Fifteenth, a man caught my eye.”
“And then what did you do?”
“I decided to park, get out, and approach the man.”
“Why?”
“I was concerned. He was slumped over on a park bench. He looked like he was homeless, and I thought he might need medical attention.”
Cecil nearly jumped out of his seat, and I put my hand firmly on his arm. I needed to keep him calm, and I also needed to scribble down every word that the officer was saying. None of that information was in his police report.
“Did you approach?”
Officer Butler nodded. “I did.”
“And what did you see?”
“I saw a man on a park bench, possibly passed out, with an open container of malt liquor.”
“Would you recognize that man if you were to see him today?”
Officer Butler nodded. “Yes, most definitely.”
“And do you see him in the courtroom?”
“I do.” Officer Butler pointed at Cecil. “He’s the gentleman at that table, wearing a blue sweatshirt.”
“Thank you.” Curtis smiled, then turned to Judge Polansky. “Let the record reflect that the officer has identified Mr. Cecil Bates, the defendant in this matter.”
Judge Polansky nodded. “So noted.”
Then Curtis continued. “And then what happened?”
“Objection.” I stood. “I believe that what occurred after this point is not relevant and will confuse the jury.”
Judge Polansky didn’t even wait for the prosecutor’s argument. “Overruled.” He looked at me with disdain. My interruption was not welcome.
Curtis encouraged the officer to continue.
“Thank you.” Officer Butler then turned to the jury. “I walked up to Mr. Bates. At that point, I knew who he was because most of the cops that work the downtown area are fully aware of Mr. Bates and his problems.”
I was on my feet. “Objection, Your Honor.” I put my hands on my hips. “The answer is nonresponsive and this officer is—”
Judge Polansky cut me off with the wave of his hand. “Stop,” he said. “Objection is sustained. The witness’s statement is struck. The jury is not to consider it. It is not evidence in this case.”