You've Been Served

   My wife and I enjoy watching many of the overseas crime thrillers and mysteries, series such as the BBC's Shetland and the Icelandic Case, as well as France's No Second Chance and the Finnish Bordertown (apparently becoming the most highly watched series in Finland).  Seeing how detectives' minds work might not be quite as exciting in real life but summed up over eight hours or so, the writers of such mysteries keep you guessing.  And yes, we know that the majority of these tales are fictionalized and a case going to trial on television is likely no more real than a court appearance in Silk.  So imagine my education when I plopped myself down in the seats of my first preliminary hearing (I was not required to be there but one of the suspects from my robbery was making her appearance before the judge) and got to watch the minutiae of cases being processed almost as quickly as those items flying by a checkout line at Costco.  This was real...real lives, and real time and quite an eye-opener, at least for me.  And in line with those many television shows that show you the end first and then pop up a title that says "one year earlier," let me go back a bit and start from the beginning.

   About a year ago, I was at my local rec center and discovered that the lock on my locker had been cut open with bolt cutters and all of my things stolen,,,this meant house keys and phone, credit cards and yes (because they now had my keys) my car, all of which I wrote about as if to help defray the shock of having yet another ordinary day turn so topsy-turvy.  But the police and detectives were quick and before long, both my car and driver's license had been recovered and a suspect captured.  A court notice arrived some six months later regarding a scheduling hearing (what??).  No, they said, this was primarily for the attorneys to decide when a court date could be set.  Phew, the paper looked very official and who really wants to get anything in the mail that says "district attorney" and is  stamped with your state's government seal?  Then came another notice and another as another suspect was caught (or at least identified) and charged, and getting these "official" letters was becoming not such a big deal...until one letter arrived and I saw the words You Are COMMANDED To Appear.  Gulp.

   Having been on several juries, I remember reading something official as if "failure to comply" or "your presence required."  But commanded?  Who uses that term anymore?  As it turns out --my police friends all nodding their heads as if I were in grade school-- that is a common term when one is issued a subpoena.  Fail to comply and I would be charged with a felony (serious stuff which could mean jail time, a fine or both...and a police record that would follow me into every job and bank and voting booth).  Okay, I'm not even close to a legal expert so those of you who are indeed attorneys and such, please bear with me as this was my version of how I saw the law work, at least from my view as an outsider.  So, the subpoena (worth reading the link to discover how complicated things are)...since I didn't actually witness the robbery (missed it by 4 minutes, said the police), I was excused from appearing if I signed the proper paperwork; I appeared anyway at the scheduled time of  8 AM and was amazed to find quite the crowd there, from witnesses to attorneys to police officers, each mingling about and waiting as if a press conference was soon to happen.  Then I heard my name and was greeted by an already-harried state prosecutor (wasn't the morning just beginning??) carrying a bundle of files and directing me to a seat while telling another person that he'd be there as soon as he was done with me.  A quick glance at my case, his eyes seemingly darting over the papers as quickly as possible, and a quick rehash of what happened.  The male suspect was still loose with 3 felony charges issued along with his warrant; my hearing was for the female accomplice, a minor charge, he said (possession of my credit cards and my driver's license), and she'd likely get off since the testifying police officer had yet to arrive (in which case the charges would be dismissed and he would have to refile the charges)...oh, he nodded, it's her fourth time caught with drugs so she might get jail time.  He was quite bored and quite likely flooded with hundreds of similar cases as a state prosecutor; no elaborate headline or celebrity cases here, just the daily dozens of drug and traffic offenses, for I was yet another victim and he another attorney working for the government and trying to do his job and probably hoping to move on to something more rewarding.  Upon leaving the offices some 15 minutes later, I felt that had I been more severely affected (say, beaten up or threatened at gunpoint) I would have felt victimized again...where was the sympathy or empathy or emotion that I had witnessed in those television series?

    Back home I go and before long, another letter to appear at the preliminary hearing; your presence is not required.  I went.  I didn't know what to expect, perhaps a grand courtroom with polished mahogany pillars and brass courtroom seals and a Morgan Freeman-like judge staring grandly over the packed crowd as if a ruler on the throne.  Ha...walking into the grandiose court building itself, I discovered that it is a building filled with courtrooms, the judges all sorted into separate wings and sections as if parceled out into a classroom.  Mine was in the west wing, south side, room 431-B.  Walking in, the tiny room had about 40 of us civilians, jammed into pew-like benches and separated by a wooden barrier, beyond which stood what seemed another 30 or so legal people, each tightly holding their 13-inch Macbook and shuffling papers as if a wind storm had disrupted them and they now had only a few minutes to get it all together.  I sat in the front, went to the corner, and leaned over to one of the legal people to ask what the order of the cases and proceeding would be; there is no order, I was politely and dismissively told.  So the court began, the judge looking as a neighborly and stern as my neighbor next door, a proper mother, mid-40s perhaps, the only one in the room with a larger computer screen off to the side.  Case 21, someone said, as if the people on the other side with those Macbooks knew the order (in other words, none of the "you first" motions of politeness as a prosecutor made his or her way to one side and the defending attorney to the other).  Some witnesses were called, some inmates were called (all brought in in handcuffs from another door and all wearing some sort of coverall that said jail, inmate, corrections or prisoner), and some were merely a solo request for a scheduling change.  The evidence didn't arrive until this morning, your honor; shall we reschedule in two weeks, she would ask; that would be fine, was the reply; a few taps on the judge's computer, a nod to the clerk to record it and done...next.  The cases were sailing through and mine would appear shortly, or so I hoped since my 2-hour parking meter was running low.  After all, how many cases could there be?  As it turned out...a lot. 

    Being in such a courtroom for such "preliminary" hearings is indeed an eyeopener.  Among the people attending are friends and mothers there to back their sons and daughters, the witnesses meekly humbled in front of the judge who seemed to allot just a few minutes time to each story.  So what do you have to tell me, she would ask of the person charged, this after hearing the back and forth of the differing views of the attorneys.  One woman, admitting she had bilked the unemployment office for several months of payments, listened politely to the slow removal of her rights to a trial, that by admitting guilt she would accept the judge's sentence and had no further recourse, no trial, no appeal, no nothing (this would be the pattern for many of the people I saw approach the stand, perhaps a resignation of the drawn-out process, perhaps a coddling from the attorney to just get this over with, who knew).  Some legalese followed, her payback of the $6000 she took (at $100 a month), probation for 2 years and a ding on her record, all with the stern warning that basically should any of this happen again, the sentencing that followed would be almost retaliatory.  Thank you, your honor (this was also the ending phrase uttered by each defendant, followed by the standard head-down, slow backing away from the witness stand); for the attorneys, it was on to the next case.  The judge looked a bit bored as if in a let's-get-on-with-it mode. 

   And so it went, my 2 hours up as I rushed out to refill the meter and hoping that I would still get to see and hear what my accused robbery suspect both looked like and what she would have to say.  After all, what does one expect a thief or a drug-addict to look like?  One inmate arrived covered in tatoos from head to exposed arms, eloquently pleading his case that given a chance he would prove that he had reformed as exemplified by his time already spent in prison; the judge glanced over his file then unemotionally replied, "Given your record of prior probation violations I have my doubts that anything has changed" -- denied.  Another inmate arrived with a smirk to those of us in the crowd, one that quickly vanished as he faced the judge -- denied.  Another inmate, appearing as out-of-place as you or I, pleaded his need to return home, his family and kids waiting and he being the sole provider.  "I'm not going to be the judge who lets a DUI (driving under the influence, be it alcohol or drugs) go so that you can possibly do it again and kill a person" -- denied.  One inmate said that he was "flabbergasted," and that he had only now heard the new charges placed against him; his attorney kept nudging him and telling him not to bring up the past and to only speak about the new charges -- denied.  And so it went.

   I did get to meet my robber, a girl really, early-30s, normal-looking (that is, not strung-out and haggard or whatever image I was expecting).  She admitted guilt, took the probation sentence and fine, and walked out.  In the hallway, I called her name, identified myself as the person robbed, and heard her apologize profusely as she told me of her 4 months jail time, her time in a halfway house, and her version of what happened and of hanging out with the wrong people.  "Haven't seen him since," she told me, to which I surprised her by telling her that he was never caught but faced serious jail time with a warrant out for his arrest.  He just gave me $100 and told me to follow him in your car and off we went, she said; we threw everything out.  She seemed sincere, I wished her well and told her what a long process it was for me to cancel and correct all of my credit cards and checking and such, changing locks and the rest.  She nodded, apologized again, and was off.  She was earnest...and judging from what the police had told me, lying.

   It's difficult to accurately judge people, even those with a record.  I empathized with the judge, for in her years of seeing the same revolving door of witnesses and criminals, it was likely ever more difficult to separate the sincere from the con artist.  My police friends all told me the same story, that after a certain point you can see right through people, that for folks like me it was easy to get "taken."  Being in that courtroom (my female robber was there for just one of the three charges filed against her, her now 5th ding on her record), I saw the crowd that mingles among us, the everyday people who perhaps made a mistake or perhaps knew what they were doing.  For some it was likely easy money, or perhaps it was frustration or stupidity.  For the other side, those following the rules of the law and turning those people into little more than a bit of data on their Macbook, society must seem a bit different, perhaps a bit better or perhaps a bit worse for their cases only multiplied.  It was a world that occurred each day all over the world, our jails full and our outside world moving along as if little had happened, all in a law-abiding world.  For me, I left the courtroom and walked the four long blocks to my car...there was still time left on the meter.