Directed Verdict (Failed Justice Book 1) Read Online Free PDF Page B

they had all filed out and signed the preprinted slip that would be given them when deliberations began. Guilty.
    Counsel knew his order of priority. His first hope was not guilty. If that was not in the cards, he would pray for a hung jury. His last hope was a mistrial. Someone had to screw up. The ADA was too smart and that was the last thing he wanted or needed. As for the judge, he was always a distinct possibility. Bob never knew what was coming out of Judge K’s mouth next. If all else failed, he would take one for the team, as long as it did not entail a contempt of court hearing. That was never part of his deal to get his client off.
    Clients should only know how far we go, how much we bend the rules, how close we walk the line, just to get an acquittal for them.
    “Ladies and gentlemen, I ask you one last time to look the accused in the eye. Does he look like a rapist? Does he look like someone who would intentionally harm a girl who volunteered to come to his room? If nothing else, this was simply a case of miscommunication. He did what he thought she wanted him to do. Please do not ruin his life over her fear of reprisal from her family, or maybe a case of changing her mind and not letting him know. Thank you.”
    Sugarman knew damn well the jury did not believe him. It was a load of crap and he knew it. It was not due to a lack of trying. Victoria made a good witness, a believable witness, a credible witness. And the fact was, she did say no. Loud, clear, and often, she said no. Anthony just was not listening.
    “Ladies and Gentlemen, have you reached a verdict?”
    “Guilty, Your Honor.”
    What happened next was a true miracle.
    “I simply cannot find her testimony to be credible.”
    Bob Sugarman did not believe in miracles. He also knew the system had its flaws. Judge Kolkolski was one of them. There was not one person in the courtroom, including Sugarman, who honestly believed the judge.
    Sugarman shot a quick look at No Neck One and No Neck Two. Neither said a word, they didn’t have to. Their expressions said it all. This matter was far from over.
    No Neck One had no choice. He walked outside and made a call on his cell phone. The party on the other end listened and with great restraint in his voice, gave No Neck his instructions and quietly hung up.
    The expression on his face remained blank but the wheels were turning – at one hundred miles an hour.
    There’s trouble, there’s trouble in River City, or in this case, Newark, New Jersey.
     
    ***
     
    The first incident happened only two days later. The judge’s car, a five-year-old Mercedes four-door, black sedan, not even close to the top of the line, was parked in the underground garage next to the courthouse. Walter had purchased it from one of those off-lease companies that buy used cars. The Benz already had 49,000 miles on it and had the smell of cigarette smoke that permeated from the front seats. Still it was a Mercedes and the judge wanted it.
    All four tires were slashed. The computer printed note on the windshield read:
     
    I was told my little pen knife could actually slice a tire but I didn’t believe it. Oops, I too was wrong.
     
    The message was loud and clear.
    The judge reported it to his insurance company.
    The company allowed him 25% of the replacement costs. The tires had less than 10,000 miles of tread on them. They were being generous. Judge K was pissed.
    A week later someone threw a rock through his windshield while it was parked in a local supermarket parking lot. No one saw a thing. Again, the damn printed note.
     
    Oops again. We all make mistakes.
     
    The insurance company was not pleased but had no choice but to replace the glass. They also raised his rates 32%. In Jersey on a Mercedes, regardless of year, it came to an additional seven hundred forty dollars.
    Walter was getting nervous. Maybe he had pushed the envelope a little too far this time. So far it was only the car.
    So