Trial by Egotism

The Honorable Judge Harold Bribar strode to the bench bearing a coy smile. The court knew that smile well, as did millions watching on viewscreens all over Mars. As did tens of millions back on Earth who wouldn’t get the feed for another hour or so. They also knew the arch of his thick gray eyebrows, the well-trimmed salt-and-pepper hair he’d gracefully let recede, the petite spectacles he wore when reading, and the mild way he cleared his throat to bring the whole courtroom to attention. In offense to all known theories of jurisprudence, Judge Harold Bribar was a celebrity judge, and there was nothing anyone could do about it.

As Bribar sat down, he produced his legendary gavel from the folds of his cloak. It was the gavel that had sent General Sabrina Gallo to the slammer. It was the gavel that had brought justice to The Ungrateful Eight. It was the gavel that had, so mournfully, let The Scarlet Assassin walk on a series of technicalities. Years ago, a rookie reporter dubbed it “The Cinematic Hammer of Justice” and the moniker stuck, though Bribar only laughed and shook his head ruefully when asked about the moniker. Chekhov would have surely side-eyed this fabled instrument of law and order.

“This should be the final day of the trial,” Judge Bribar said after customarily clearing his throat, “if Miss Tautle’s statement runs long, we’ll cut for lunch at 11. How long do you think you’ll go?” He flashed a smile at the defendant.

“An hour should do it,” Marissa Tautle flashed a smile right back between lips stained dark red. She came to court in a maroon pantsuit with a long, matching jacket that almost reached the ground, and dark lipstick and fingernail polish to match. Stylish but, for her, understated. Earlier in the trial she’d favored brighter colors, including a pastel blue skirt that drew immense attention, much of it mockery, in the press. She’d been on trial for previous burglaries and had proven as much a celebrity as the judge overseeing her case. That she’d taken to defending herself only heightened the circus atmosphere. You couldn't wish for a more theatrical combination of defendant and judge

“Excellent,” The Judge said, “That would mean the jury can deliberate over lunch. A smooth running ship at last.”

The assembled audience, standing room only, laughed nervously, revealing how much tension the courtroom held. In theory, Tautle should be guilty as a labrador by a demolished birthday cake. She’d been caught red-handed in the most elaborate and movie-like theft in the history of the planet after all. But many speculated Tautle had a trick or two up her sleeve: gambling websites gave her a fifteen percent chance of acquittal… and even a five percent chance of escape.

The third prime participant in this drama feels ordinary by comparison. Veronica Brief charted a conventional path as she rose through the prosecutorial ranks: top grades, hard work, schmoozing, ambition and a photographic memory. There’s little reason to elaborate on her story. Veronica had aimed for calm, efficient and professional as her persona. She let Marissa and Judge Bribar provide the entertainment. The stately prosecutor drew little mention in the tabloids despite overseeing the “Case of the Millennium.”

And she’d presented a good case, which was easy in one sense because of how strong the evidence was. Someone had stolen The Twin Pins of Mars, diamond-encrusted spikes that ceremonially finished the oxygen dome of the first Martian city. Marissa Tautle was a known high-stakes burglar and ex-con, she’d been present at the benefit concert from which the pins were stolen, she’d purchased the chemicals needed for the distracting foam bomb that had gone off at the concert, and most damningly, one of the diamond pins had been found in her very apartment. The list of witnesses and items in evidence is so long that, again, there’s little need to go into much detail. The most troubling possibility was that if the jury liked Marissa too much, that they were simply so entertained, they might ignore the evidence and vote for acquittal.

Today the defendant would make her last appeal. Today, Marissa Tautle, who’d fired her lawyers after just four days into the proceedings, would make her closing argument. She wasn’t a lawyer, had never been to law school, and committed innumerable mistakes of law throughout the trial, but she still possessed the supernatural confidence of a legendary burglar, so she’d plowed ahead, learned from each mistake of process, always found a way to laugh with the audience as she suffered a series of sustained objections against her. The red planet stood entranced, listening to how she would make her final plea.

Marissa Tautle rose, she was quite short, but cut a dramatic figure nonetheless. She strode to the center of the room to address the jury:

Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, my honored peers, good morning to you. Also good morning to everyone watching in the live audience, in this wonderful city of New Olympus, and all across Mars and our sister planet of Earth. Also, a quick shout-out to anyone reading the transcript in the future, that's serious dedication.

*laughter*

The prosecution has done a thorough job presenting the evidence against me. And I would be foolish to claim no fear. They found one of the diamond pins at my apartment! Can you believe my incredulity? Without that one piece of evidence, all they have is hearsay and circumstance. And who hasn’t been hurt by hearsay and circumstance? I was sorely mistreated on the day they overturned my home!

Veronica had decided early in the trial not to be surprised by anything Marissa said. Here she was, starting her final defense by bringing up the single strongest piece of evidence against her, submerging it in a strange cocktail of jokes and grievances. Still, she was as oddly compelling as she’d been the whole trial.

Have I mentioned how good you look, jury? The fall weather has really brought out your fashion sense, such lovely browns and greens. I’m going to miss you all when this trial is finally over. And soon it will be over won’t it?

Oh, I don’t know if this is legal. Is it legal to compliment and reminisce with the jury?

“It is if there’s no objection from the prosecution.” This was the judge, now looking in Veronica’s direction with a raised eyebrow. All around the court, Veronica felt all eyes suddenly on her. And it was true, she could object for relevance or ingratiation (which Mars had added to the legal code fifty years ago.)

“No objection,” Veronica said after a pause worthy of a sitcom, to titters and laughter from the audience. She hadn’t intended to object at all, no matter how wild the defendant got. It’s considered poor form to object during closing arguments, unless the faults are egregious. Plus ordinary folks see through flattery and immaterial wanderings most of the time.

And that should be especially so in this case. Marissa wasn’t just on trial for grand theft, but also for assault. When she’d set off the foam bomb at the dedication ceremony, three people had been injured, and many dozens more might have been. These charges alone could add up to decades behind bars. A jury might excuse burglary if they liked a defendant, but harming innocent spectators? No way, Veronica thought.

Marissa had avoided lengthy prison sentences from previous burglaries through clever negotiating and because she’d always been careful to avoid violence. Now, she might be mere hours from a lifetime in prison. How was she so calm?

At this point, Marissa had moved on to a powerpoint presentation, with a selection of quotes projected onto the large screen across from the jury, with certain words highlighted for effect:

“The rotten witch made all the plans, and said it would be an easy score without any risk of harm to anyone.”

That’s what one of my supposed henchmen said about me, if you’ll remember. I don’t see why that insult was necessary. Read the next quote, this time from a witness who supposedly saw me outside the concert hall:

“She was laughing like a hyena, or like some evil witch. With the shouting inside I could barely hear her, but I was close enough I could just make out the cackle.”

I could read each and every one of these quotes, each more demeaning than the last, but you can look over the full list if you’ve got the stomach for it. So many horrible things said about me, which I don’t mind. I can accept taunts and jeers. But it is certainly interesting that so many of these witnesses couldn’t help but include spiteful, disparaging remarks. And you’ll notice how many bring out the “w” word. It almost feels like they were coordinating their testimony somehow…

Veronica caught a glimpse of the jury. She read ambivalence on their faces: scowls, smirks; narrowed, focused eyes, and furrowed brows. They were all paying attention, but none appeared sympathetic, and only a few seemed amused.

She found it galling that Marissa would imply misconduct from the prosecution. Early in the legal process, Marissa had tried to trade the location of the 2nd diamond pin for legal protection, which Veronica would never have agreed to, not leastwise because the police were convinced they could lean on her conspirators to produce the 2nd pin, an assumption which, seven weeks later, had not come true. Those negotiations were inadmissible at trial, but made Marissa’s attempts to cast the prosecution as corrupt all the more preposterous. Marissa knew she was guilty, and knew the prosecution knew she was guilty.

And then there’s the matter of the Diamond Pin of Peace, found in my apartment, right under my very bed. It’s the linchpin of the case against me. But do you find that likely? That a supposed master criminal would conceal the single most damning evidence in the most obvious and cliched place to hide something? Ha!

And that underscores my next point. That the Diamond Pin of Prosperity is yet to be found. If I had stolen them both, why hide one in an obvious place, then another where the police have yet still to find? I’m not going to accuse anyone else of being the real thief, and therefore the person who planted the evidence while keeping half the spoils for themselves, not right at this moment anyway. I don’t have the resources of the police or prosecutors to chase leads and likely suspects. But how can you not be suspicious of these circumstances?

Marissa had raised her voice by this point. Despite her grandiosity, she’d kept her tone civil, even playful. But now she strode about the floor, her jacket swirling in great red arcs. She turned to the prosecution table and approached Veronica, though even with her heels, she stood barely a few inches taller than her adversary sitting up straight.

Marissa leaned over the table between them. Veronica held her gaze in as steely a manner as she could muster. She wasn’t intimidated, but feared smiling at this bit of theatrics, which might send the wrong message to the jury.

They’ve stacked things so thoroughly against me. A huge team of cops and prosecutors all working to dig up evidence. Three of my friends called to testify against me. Hundreds of hours of security video. Reams of texts stolen from my phone. All this effort searching for any slip-up, inconsistency, or wrong-place wrong-time circumstance.

And in the end their whole case rests on a single, dubious discovery.

Marissa whirled on Veronica, her jacket-cape swirling like a tornado. She approached the judge, held his eye contact for many moments. Veronica couldn’t read her face with her back turned, but Judge Bribar’s eyes narrowed, turning from amused to suspicious to… worried.

Only then did worry enter Veronica’s own mind. Could Marissa really have a grand plan to turn the trial on its head or even to escape?

“Everyone in this courtroom stands against me. I’ve been fighting every official and advocate aligned for a single purpose. These whole seven weeks I’ve fought!” She stood right before the judge now, a dark red fingernail pointed but a meter from his face.

“Control yourself,” the judge warned, his voice steady. Marissa slowly retreated her hand to her chest, but kept the finger out. Then she approached still further, and placed her hands on the edge of the bench. Judge Bribar screwed his face up in an apoplectic grimace.

“I kindly ask you to back away,” the judge said with barely concealed rage.

And Marissa did so. She turned slowly, her jacket an eddy rather than a hurricane. The whole audience appeared to exhale at this draw-down in tension. The calm wouldn’t last.

“The true thief, the true mastermind, is in this courtroom right now.” Marissa raised her hand, extending that damning index finger clad in crimson, thrusting it high in the air like the barrel of a smoking gun. The courtroom turned deathly quiet. Marissa twirled her finger in the air, once, twice.

A woman screamed in the audience. Several people stood. Veronica noticed the judge fumbling for his gavel. Why was his gavel not to hand? Veronica’s photographic memory went to work, rewinding to a minute prior. The gavel had disappeared from the moment Marissa had placed her hands on the bench. When she’d made that dramatic turn she must have…

“Approach, your honor?” Veronica called out, but was drowned out by the growing tumult of the audience. She stood and shouted. “Approach, your honor? Your gavel. She has your gavel in her sleeve.”

The chaos intensified. Cries and laughter mixing together. Judge Bribar’s eyes were wide as Phobos and Deimos in the Martian night sky. The bailiffs stood frozen for a moment, but one caught Veronica’s eye. They nodded at each other and sprung into motion. 

Veronica charged. She couldn’t say why, necessarily. But the thought entered her mind that perhaps this was a grand distraction to allow Marissa some clever escape, and that was just too much of an affront to the seasoned prosecutor. It was a breach of decorum to get involved in bailiff duties, but Veronica had been a track athlete in college, and had taken basic police training. And there was so much energy in the courtroom…

The bailiff, a stocky woman with a tight ponytail who’s expression almost never changed (her name was Lawrence, Veronica wanted to say) got there first, and held Marissa under the arms. Marissa was making a show of struggling without really struggling, calling her capture a “brute.” Veronica held Marissa’s eye contact while she riffled in her sleeves, producing the lost gavel within seconds.

“I believe this belongs to you,” she said with what she hoped was cinematic showmanship as she cast the gavel onto the bench.

“Adjourned. Adjourned. Take the defendant into custody.” The judge had retrieved The Cinematic Hammer of Justice and was banging it on the bench like a woodpecker. Slowly the veins in his forehead receded as the bailiffs took Marissa away. Next the judge leaned down to whisper to Veronica. “Meet me in chambers. I fear we’re looking at a mistral.”

Of course. Of course a mistrial. Was that Marissa’s plan? But how would this help her? More chances to escape maybe, but then she’d surely earned tighter security from this fiasco. She’d wait in prison for the next trial, and the evidence against her would be as strong as ever. Why had she done this? Why had she made such a scene?

But then, she’d so loved playing the lawyer, stirring up drama and having all eyes on her. These last seven weeks may have been the most exciting of an already legendary life. With this performance, Marissa Tautle hadn’t earned her freedom, but she’d earned another shot at being the center of the known universe.