Never Alone

NEVER ALONE

by Doug Dorsey

published by Studio 15, Inc.

www.Studio15inc.com

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2013 Doug Dorsey

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

All Rights Reserved. This book may not be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission from the author.

Editing contributions by Robyn Zomorodian, Grace Nealis and James Nealis.

Never Alone is also available in print edition.

*****

This book is lovingly dedicated by my wife and I to our

two kids, Austin and Madison. We are so proud of both

of you!!! You can do all things through Christ who

strengthens you.

In memory of Dr. James G.T. Nealis. We miss

you Pop and all your irreplaceable wisdom!

Don’t eat the yellow snow!!

To learn more about Dr. Jim, visit

www.onemanbooks.com.

Chapter One

Danny O’Neal felt inescapably alone sitting in the quiet expanse of the empty courtroom. He was at the end of an aged, wooden table. The courtroom was severely outdated as well, smelling of inmates and stale bologna sandwiches. There was no one else in the room, but just outside the door a uniformed bailiff stood dutifully on guard. Danny could see him through a murky window in the double doors. In a few more minutes, the Judge would be walking in. So would the jury. So would opposing counsel. Danny was more nervous than he had ever been in his life.

The time passed slowly. Danny watched the circular clock on the wall ticking away. Eventually, the bailiff walked in and took a post at the front of the room. Moments later a clerk walked in together with the court reporter. They both took their places just in front of the Judge’s bench. Neither acknowledged Danny’s presence. The clerk instead opened a yellow file and rifled through some of the documents inside. The court reporter hurriedly assembled her archaic stenography machine. Danny felt surprisingly detached from the almost ritualistic proceeding. The stark realization only heightened his apprehension.

All rise! The bailiff called out in a commanding manner. Courtroom Number 7, Division G, is now in session. The Honorable Christine Wexler presiding.

There was a pause as Judge Wexler entered through the secured back entrance and took her place at the bench. She then surveyed the courtroom, unable to hide her displeasure at what she saw - or didn’t see.

You may now take your seats. The bailiff concluded.

Where is Mr. Dale? The Judge immediately asked. Her question posed to Danny despite knowing full well he likely could not answer it. Didn’t my judicial assistant get in contact with the two of you so we could get the trial started early?

Danny stood respectfully before giving his unwelcome response. I have not seen him yet this morning. I am sure he will be here any minute. We have already handled most of the pretrial matters and should be able to proceed with jury selection as soon as he arrives.

The Judge looked even more displeased now. Her face literally took on a reddish hue as she sat back in her chair and crossed her arms over her black robe. The Judge wore thin-rimmed glasses and she took those off as well. Her fierce gaze never left Danny the entire time. It was piercing in its intensity, and Danny had no idea how to deflect it.

Judge Wexler was notorious for her temper. A very wise judge in general, her one significant flaw was an inability to remain self-constrained at the slightest hint of perceived disrespect in the courtroom. It wasn’t that she felt she was owed that respect - it wasn’t about the person she would constantly remind the courtroom staff and attorneys - it was about the robe and what the position itself commanded.

Danny had been warned repeatedly by his contemporaries about the random fury that came one’s way while assigned to Division G, but this was Danny’s first trial - and he was getting firsthand knowledge of that fact much quicker than even he had ever expected.

The discernible tension in the courtroom continued for another five minutes (although it felt like an eternity to Danny.) Finally, the double doors to the courtroom swung open and in walked a disheveled and panting defense attorney. He quickly raced over to the extended counsel table, took a seat directly across from Danny, opened a briefcase and began pulling out what appeared to be an utterly disorganized file. Never once the entire time did the defense attorney make eye contact with the Judge; although, it was unmistakable that the Judge had turned her ire-consumed leer directly at him. Once the defense attorney got his act together and took his seat, he looked up at the Judge - and at that moment Danny felt as though he could have heard a pin drop.

Was this jury selection set at a time that was inconvenient for you, Mr. Dale? The Judge finally directed her loaded question to the defense attorney.

Um, well, your honor ... I, um ... The defense attorney began his fumbled mitigation, only to be instantly cut off by the Judge.

Please stand when you address the court. The Judge explained in a stern tone.

Felix Dale was no novice attorney. He had been practicing law for over two decades. Danny understood this and was shocked that a veteran practitioner could become so unraveled so quickly - yet Felix Dale sounded more like an embarrassed school boy than a seasoned litigator as he did his best to address the court properly.

I’m sorry your honor. I should have been here ...

As Felix continued on, his words fell on deaf ears. Despite his contrite, apologetic tone, it was clear that the Judge’s temper persisted.

From now on, I want all attorneys here at least 15 minutes in advance of trial time. The Judge interjected cooly.

Yes ma’am, your honor.

Because I want to make this clear ... The Judge paused, her arms still crossed to convey her significant frustration. For two centuries this is how our system of justice has operated ... it only works if everyone shows deference to the process ... and you, as an officer of the court, have a particular obligation to uphold those ideals.

When the Judge was finished, there was silence again. The color in the Judge’s face had morphed into a torrid shade of red. Suddenly, the unexpected happened. Unable to control her anger, the Judge got up from her full-grain, leather chair and walked out of the back door to the courtroom. All she muttered as she walked out was we’ll be in recess for five minutes and I expect everyone to be prepared for trial when I return. It happened so quickly that no one - not even the bailiffs - knew quite what to do next.

Danny looked over at Felix. Felix was back to pulling out his trial paperwork from the briefcase. Felix had been subjected to the worst of the Judge’s outrage, but amazingly was apparently still able to refocus on getting ready for the trial itself. Danny felt bad for him and finally broke the silence.

That was a rough start to the morning.

Felix looked up. An unfortunate hazard of our occupation. He returned, while simultaneously shrugging his shoulders as if to completely dismiss the uncomfortable experience. I’ve certainly suffered through worse derision over the years. This isn’t the first time ... and it certainly won’t be the last.

Didn’t your secretary warn you about the early start?

No, she called in sick this morning. Must have forgotten to mention that on her voicemail. Can’t blame her though as she sounded quite ill.

Danny was caught off guard by Felix’s matter-of-fact answer. Why didn’t you just tell the Judge that? Danny posed the obvious question.

I’m not a big fan of excuses. Felix returned as he fished through the briefcase in search of more documents. Besides, it’s always best to fall on your sword in this business.

Wow. Was all that Danny could muster up. He was both surprised and impressed that Felix had taken such a fierce lashing from the Judge without redirecting the blame, especially considering the understandable circumstances behind the mistake. His impression so far was that Felix was a quirky, but relatively likable adversary. He was also equally aware this was early on in his dealings with Felix and impressions could turn quickly.

Do you have the photos from the crime scene? Felix changed the subject.

Um, well sure ... yeah okay, here they are ... Danny handed three 8 x 10s over to Felix, recognizing he too needed to get his focus back on the trial itself. I also need to know if your client is going to stipulate to his prior felony convictions. He has two of them ... both theft related crimes ... and I have his certified criminal record with me if you want to go over it with your client.

No need. Felix immediately responded. He’ll stipulate that he is indeed a two-time convicted felon.

Great ... thanks. Danny was surprised at Felix’s quick acquiescence to verify his client’s prior record (a critical and sometimes contentious sticking-point in a trial.)

Bailiff, can you bring my client out please? Felix turned and asked the uniformed officer. I need to go over some of this evidence with him one more time.

The bailiff was an older gentleman. Danny guessed maybe in his late 60s, with a salt & pepper mustache. On his left arm was a faded tattoo of an eagle draped in the American flag; beneath it was the quote Semper Fidelis. Danny had talked with the bailiff a couple of times, and found that he was a former Marine and had recently retired from the police force. 25 years fighting crime - many of which had been spent in the Department’s homicide unit. The bailiff had seen it all over those 25 years. The stories he told Danny almost belonged in the realm of fiction. The realities of daily crime fighting were quite an eye-opener.

The bailiff pulled out a thick bronze jail-key and walked down a side hallway. A few seconds later, Danny could hear the clank of a heavy metal door as it swung open. Next, the echo of footsteps heading back towards the courtroom. Felix got up from the table as his client walked into the courtroom.

Hello, Charlie. Let’s talk over here for a minute. Felix motioned his client over to some nearby chairs.

As Charlie moved over to the chairs, a distinctive rattling noise could be heard from the chains on his ankles. He was a younger man, 22 years old. His face was clean shaven and his hair meticulously cut. He looked surprisingly well groomed at this point, which was shocking to Danny because he looked far more thuggish in the booking photo taken on the day of his actual arrest. Apparently Felix was a master at helping his client’s assume an air of innocence come trial time.

Danny couldn’t help but feel a tinge of disappointment. He had naively believed that the unkempt defendant who came to pretrial after pretrial hearing would be the same person who appeared for the actual trial itself. It had been a mistaken assumption. Charlie Tremble now looked the part of a clean-cut, honest man - anything but the hardened criminal he clearly was. This, Danny knew, was a first impression that would be difficult to overcome.

As Felix talked to his client, the Judge suddenly walked back in unannounced. The bailiff was caught off guard. All rise. He recovered quickly to make up for his oversight.

You may be seated. The Judge interjected in a surprisingly pleasant tone. Her brief stint away from the bench had been productive - she was now much more calm and composed. Are we ready to bring the jury in? She asked as she sank down in her leather chair.

Commonwealth is ready. Danny answered back.

So is the defense. Felix agreed as he led his client over to a seat at the counsel table.

Thank you. For the record, there has been a previous finding by the Court that this particular defendant did indeed commit the crime alleged in the Commonwealth’s charging document. Now that there has been a court finding that the Commonwealth has met it’s burden, the case can proceed to a jury trial on the matter. Judge Wexler replied. Bailiff, please bring in the jury.

There was a moment of pause as the bailiff went out in the hallway. Danny could hear the faint echo of the names of prospective jurors being called out. Then, one by one, they began to file in through the double-door entrance to the courtroom. Each juror took a seat along the row of creaky, wooden benches. Danny watched them all intently as they came in - sizing each one up individually - trying to figure out who would be a good juror and who wouldn’t.

Danny had been taught early on that jury selection was where trials were won or lost. If a juror distrusted law enforcement or had a negative past experience with police - well, it was almost impossible to overcome that predisposed sentiment in just a short trial. Knowing this made Danny even more nervous. There were 21 jurors filing into that courtroom and he needed to be at his best to make sure the six who ended up on his jury could follow the law and render a verdict that justice demanded.

The first 20 jurors had already entered the courtroom and had taken their seats when the last juror walked in slowly. She was older and moved at a very deliberate pace. Her clothes were dirty. Her hair looked straggly. Danny’s first thought was that she had the appearance of a homeless bag lady. Definitely not the model juror he would allow on his perfect, first jury. Fortunately she was in the back row. No way would they be getting to her.

Thank you ladies and gentlemen. The Judge started after all 21 jurors were seated. Today, we are here to pick a jury on the case of Commonwealth of Virginia v. Charlie Tremble. Case number 11-73820. Charge ... Petit Larceny - Theft of Less Than $200. In just a few moments, the attorneys for the Commonwealth and the Defense will be asking you a series of questions. Please answer verbally so the court reporter can take down everything that is said. Also, please do not think these questions are meant to pry into your private lives ... each side is just trying to pick a jury that can impartially serve on this case.

Judge Wexler paused, shuffled through a few papers in front of her, then looked up and continued. Okay, everything looks to be in order. Mr. O’Neal, you may proceed first.

Danny stood up from his chair and walked over to the nearby podium. On the front of the podium was the gold-colored seal for the Commonwealth of Virginia. Danny took hold of the microphone base attached to the podium. It made an uncomfortable static, cracking noise.

The questions Danny asked were standard during voir dire and routinely posed to prospective jurors as part of the selection process. He had borrowed them from one of the more experienced attorneys in the office. His style was nothing remarkable either. Doing his best to conceal his apprehension, Danny got the answers he felt he needed and then sat quickly down again. As soon as it was over, a sense of incredible relief came over him. First phase of the process and nothing had gone overtly wrong, at least not yet.

Now it was Felix’s turn. He had no notes. He just walked with a sense of purpose over to the podium and rested his arm casually along the side of it. Felix’s style was immediately charming. Danny was impressed at how quickly he disarmed the jury and got them talking. He asked them if any of them had been falsely accused by anyone of anything. Some answered genuinely that they had. He asked if they thought the standard of proof should be extremely high for someone accused of a crime - because, after all, that person’s freedom was at stake. All the jurors agreed. From time to time, he made a quip or two that even had the jury smiling and laughing. He had them eating from the palm of his hand. It was too late for Danny to do anything. Instead, he was a captive audience as Felix worked his magic. The trial had not even technically begun yet and already the balance of persuasion had shifted dramatically in Felix’s favor.

Finally - mercifully - Felix ended his questions. The Judge then asked the jury to step out for a minute so they could select the jurors that would serve at trial. Once the jury had exited the courtroom, Judge Wexler began the selection process. They went through each and every juror one by one in numerical sequence. Danny likened it to engaging in a vigorous chess match. He tried to anticipate which moves Felix would make ... which jurors Felix would strike. After a combination of several cause and peremptory (or strategic) strikes, they only needed one more juror to complete the panel. They had reached juror number 20. Danny was now completely out of strikes. Felix had one left.

Okay, Mr. Dale. You get to make the final call. Are you going to use your last strike on juror number 20, Mrs. Pike?

Felix sat there contemplating his next move. Danny, meanwhile, put on his best poker face. He wanted desperately for Felix to forgo using that last strike. He was acutely aware of what would happen if Felix did exercise it; it would mean juror number 21, the presupposed bag lady, would be on the panel trying the case. And that, in Danny’s professional opinion, was not a good thing. In fact, the only thing he really knew about jury number 21 (since he had essentially ignored her during the questioning phase) was that the bank had recently foreclosed on her home and she received her jury summons in the mail just two days prior to vacating the residence.

Despite Danny sending over his most compelling vibes to prevent what appeared to be a certain catastrophe, Felix struck Mrs. Pike.

Okay, so that gives us juror 21, Ms. Rachel Shamira, as our last juror. We now have six, gentlemen. Let’s call them back into the courtroom and I’ll swear them in to serve as our panel. The Judge motioned to the bailiff as she spoke.

Danny had suffered yet another crushing blow. A recently displaced woman, who likely harbored a level of understandable contempt towards society, would be on his jury. The good news, well, at least the other five jurors - all men - seemed to be a respectable bunch. They would be pro-law enforcement in nature, Danny surmised, based on the answers they had given during the questioning process. In fact, he was rather surprised that Felix Dale had made the tactical mistake of leaving these five apparent, law-abiding citizens on the panel.

The Judge swore the jury in with an oath that they must follow the law in the case. She then explained that they were excused for the day, but would need to arrive promptly the next morning so that the evidentiary stage of the trial could commence. The jurors filed out of the courtroom. Felix Dale packed up his things. Charlie Tremble was led back to the holding cell by the bailiff. Judge Wexler exited the bench. Meanwhile, Danny O’Neal remained sitting in the courtroom all alone, mentally exhausted and contemplating the results of his first ever jury selection. He hoped it had been good enough to prevail in the end.

Chapter Two

On the 37th floor of the Locke & Rothstein Tower, in a meeting room reserved for events of the highest priority, Joseph Donovan sat in awe of his surroundings. In front of him was a lavish, mahogany table with a glass covering over it. Shined to near perfection, Joe could just make out his reflection on the top of the table. What he saw disturbed him greatly.

His eyes were tired; his face ashen. It seemed as though he had aged mightily over the last few months. Precious time was passing away right before his eyes, and he hadn’t the slightest clue how to get his life back on track again.

Are you paying attention Mr. Donovan? A callous voice pressed Joe. Your firm boasts of your remarkable legal insight. I think it’s time we got a glimpse of that. Don’t you have anything of great import to add on this subject?

Joe looked up to see a man with featureless, dark eyes staring mockingly at him from across the table. The man was dressed sharply in a gray-pinstripe, designer suit and a perfectly starched dress shirt. He was a lawyer just like Joe. A different type of lawyer, but a member of the Bar, nonetheless. I don’t feel comfortable with what we’re doing. Joe finally answered, his eyes meeting the challenging stare of the man across the table. Reporters come to my door daily trying to dig up something new. This case has taken on a dangerous life of its own. I don’t think it’s in our client’s best interest to proceed to trial. The bad publicity alone is reason to plea-bargain, maybe to a lesser offense like Felony Assault.

We didn’t hire Locke & Rothstein to settle. I expected far better results by this point in the process. The man across the table started off harshly, then suddenly changed to a less aggressive tone. I believe you can do much better. Take whatever steps are necessary to clear up this unfortunate situation. You continue to have our unlimited resources and associations at your disposal. We have already spent a small fortune on experts. I assume you are quite happy with their corresponding opinion that the victim in this case is simply fabricating the incident; a coping mechanism for consuming far too much alcohol that night and ultimately blacking out. With such a persuasive argument in your back pocket, we hoped you could make this matter go away by now.

Make it go away? What do you expect me to do? I’m already in way over my head. We all know that the prosecution is starting to smell a rat ... it’s just too obvious what’s happened so far ..."

Enough! The sudden boom came from an imposing voice at the head of the table. Max Sunder slammed his fist down resolutely, causing Joseph Donovan and the rest of those present to fix their attention on him. I’m not interested in excuses. I’ve paid your firm an exorbitant retainer, Mr. Donovan. I am expecting greatness in return. I didn’t do so to hear excuses - I did it because I fully expect you to protect my son from an overzealous prosecutor on an all-out witch hunt. Max’s sudden interruption was forbidding and businesslike.

My hands are tied. What else can I do?

Talk to Judge Tribe. Make him understand. Make him realize that you’re not going to allow my only son to spend even one day in prison. That is not an option. I will not allow that to happen.

And if I can’t persuade him?

Then you have a real problem, don’t you?

Joe felt a desperate sinking feeling in his gut. Max Sunder was an intimidating man in both appearance and stature. He wielded an incredible amount of power. Joe immediately regretted the fateful decision to accept the firm’s assignment to represent Max’s son.

Again Joe’s mind wandered away from the conversation. Only months earlier, his future was seemingly at a pinnacle. For 23 years, Joe had served as counsel at the law firm of Locke and Rothstein. This was certainly a high-status position. Any top-tier law student would have gladly sacrificed a right arm just to get in the door at such a prominent (and lucrative) firm. Of course, a graduating law student would have no idea what the actual demands of working at a law firm could be like.

For the first five years, Joe spent much of his time doing research and writing memos on ostensibly meaningless legal issues. Occasionally, the firm would hand him a noteworthy case or two, but even that involved mostly unrewarding, behind-the-scenes work. After graduating from the bottom rung, Joe increasingly realized that the life of a senior associate wasn’t much better. He rarely got to choose his own cases. In addition, he always felt like he was being scrutinized. Joe just wasn’t willing to put in the 70 plus billable hours a week that the other attorneys would work to prove their sacrificial worth. Joe had a son - he was a single father - and finding time for his son was ultimately his top priority.

Joe found himself caught in a rut. It lasted through the next decade and beyond. In fact, Joe had simply accepted the inevitability of his middle-rung status in life. Then, out of the blue, Joe received word that he was being nominated for partnership in the firm. He had finally, unexpectedly, arrived.

To celebrate, the firm threw him a party. Everyone was there.