Little Boy Lost

“What do you mean you’re not going to watch it?” I kept my demeanor calm. I didn’t need to get mad. I had all the leverage. “This is the video footage that I had requested. Remember? It’s the video that you told the judge didn’t exist. I want to give you an opportunity to see it before I show it to the jury this morning.”

“You’re not going to show it to the jury.” Curtis continued to shake her head. “You can’t lay foundation for it. You need a witness to authenticate it, and you don’t have one.”

“The subpoenas went out this morning,” I said. “Whether the city staff show up, I don’t know, but I do know that I’m going to get them here one way or another. I’ll ask the judge to issue a warrant if I have to.”

Curtis turned and stepped away from me. “I don’t think so.” She wasn’t going down without a fight. Prosecutors are like that. They hate to lose, even if the case is over nothing.

“Fine.” I began walking down the hallway. “Just going to go talk to the judge.” I pointed at the hallway that led toward Judge Polansky’s chambers. “You coming?”

“I’m not going to talk to the judge.” Curtis didn’t move and refused to look at me. She was in full-tantrum mode, reminding me of a younger Sammy.




I rang Judge Polansky’s chambers. The intercom beeped, and his clerk said, “Chambers.”

“Yes.” I bent over, getting closer to the old wall speaker. It had all been state of the art about fifty years ago; now it was quaint. “This is Justin Glass. We’ve had a development in the Cecil Bates case. I need to talk to the judge before we call the jury in.”

“Fine.” The door buzzed. The lock retracted, and I was able to enter a long, narrow hallway. At the end, there was another hallway with two judicial chambers and direct entrances to the courtrooms.

I followed the signs, and eventually found Judge Polansky’s chambers. His law clerk looked up from her desk, then got up and led me back to the judge. “He’s waiting.”

“Thanks.” I walked into the formal chambers. Then to Judge Polansky, I said, “Good morning, Judge.”

“Good morning.” His back was turned to me. The judge was hacking away at his computer. “One second. Got all these e-mails, like Whac-A-Mole. I get one out and two more come in.”

Judge Polansky pressed “Enter,” and then turned. “What’s going on?” he asked, but before I could answer, he held up his hand. “Where’s Ms. Curtis?”

I wanted to tell him that Ms. Curtis was pouting in the hallway, but thought better of it. “She didn’t want to come in, Your Honor. I wanted her here, but I wasn’t going to force her.”

Judge Polansky grew suspicious. “Why doesn’t she want to come back?” Judges are always concerned about having conversations with attorneys without the opposing party being present. It’s against the rules, although some judges follow the rules better than others.

“Well”—I paused, thinking about the best way to phrase it—“we have an evidentiary issue. It’s a big deal. I don’t want the jury to hear the arguments and cause a mistrial. I’d like your advice as to how to proceed.”

“Seems fair.” Judge Polansky nodded. “I’ll send my clerk to get her.” He pointed back to his outer chamber. “Have a seat out there until she comes.”




If I thought that the prosecutor’s mood would improve upon further time and reflection, I was wrong. Cynthia Curtis shot me a look that I wouldn’t soon forget as she entered the judge’s chambers. I was going to pay for this.

Upon seeing her, Judge Polansky smiled. “Good, I’m glad you could make it, Ms. Curtis.” His sarcasm was clear. The judge pointed at the chairs in front of his desk. “Now please have a seat.”

We both sat down across from him.

Once settled, Judge Polansky took control. “We have a jury waiting, and Mr. Glass has something that he’d like to discuss.” He checked his watch. “I hope we can get this resolved quickly, because we’ve already wasted a lot of time.”

“Yes, thank you.” I sat up a little straighter and moved to the edge of my seat. “As stated prior to trial, we have been seeking out a security camera video from the City of Saint Louis. It was part of my formal discovery request, and also my client, without my knowledge, sent an open records request to the city on his own prior to trial.”

Judge Polansky nodded. “I remember.”

“Ms. Curtis insisted that no recording existed, and I believe that she sincerely thought that what she was telling the court was true.” I reached into my briefcase and pulled out the large envelope. “But my client received this in the mail yesterday.” Instead of handing it to Judge Polansky, I handed it to Cynthia Curtis. I wanted to force her to touch it and acknowledge that everything about it was authentic. “As you can see, it was sent in an official envelope from the city and postmarked last week, but just arrived. Inside, there is a letter from a city clerk acknowledging receipt of my client’s information request, as well as a digital recording of the evening in question.”

The judge’s eyes narrowed and he leaned back in his chair. “And I suppose you’ve watched this video?”

“I have, Your Honor, and it’s exactly what my client has been saying all along. In short, it directly contradicts the officer’s sworn testimony. There was no bottle. There was no drinking.”

Judge Polansky nodded, absorbing everything that I had said. He wasn’t simply thinking about Cecil Bates. I could tell that his mind had started to contemplate other repercussions. A police officer had lied under oath. How many other cases had he testified in? There was potential civil liability for the city and more bad headlines.

The judge turned to the prosecutor. “Ms. Curtis, thoughts?”

“It’s a completely unfair surprise, Your Honor. We are in the midst of trial, and I have already rested. This is prejudicial and not timely, not to mention that this so-called video hasn’t been authenticated. It may be altered.”

“Altered?” Judge Polansky had become irritated. “You are digging a deeper hole for yourself, Ms. Curtis. So I suggest you take a different approach. Humbleness is a virtue, and so is admitting when you’re wrong.”

Ms. Curtis ignored Judge Polansky’s advice. “We don’t know what’s on this recording. We don’t know anything.”

“You don’t know, because you don’t want to know. Mr. Glass offered to show it to you this morning.” Judge Polansky’s voice was rising. “Unless you’re honestly arguing that a homeless man stole an envelope from the City of Saint Louis, forged a cover letter from a city clerk, and digitally altered security footage. Is that your position?”

“I’m saying we don’t know.” That was the best Curtis could do, and Judge Polansky wasn’t going to push her any further. He didn’t need to. He was the judge.

“Well then, why don’t we all watch the tape together and go from there.”





CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE


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