Running from the Law Read Online Free PDF Page A

“let’s get back to the birthday card. You allege in your complaint that this card was the beginning of a course of sexual harassment by Judge Hamilton, is that right?”
    “It’s only one piece of physical proof,” Julicher snapped. “Judge Hamilton sent her another greeting card, too.”
    Terrific. “Stan, are you the witness or is she?”
    I’ll be damned if I’ll sit here and let you confuse my client.”
    I turned to Patricia. “As I said at the beginning of this deposition, if you are confused, please feel free to ask me to clarify the question. Do you understand?”
    “Yes,” she said.
    Julicher sighed theatrically.
    “Now, Miss Sullivan, assuming this card is from Judge Hamilton, why do you think he signed it ‘Judge Hamilton’ instead of ‘Fiske’?”
    “If you know,” Julicher added.
    “I didn’t call him ‘Fiske,’” Patricia said. “I always called him ‘Judge.’”
    “You never called him by his first name?”
    “No.”
    Not even in bed? I bit my tongue. “I noticed that the only other greeting card you brought today, the Christmas card, was also signed ‘Judge Hamilton.’”
    “‘ Love , Judge Hamilton,’” Julicher broke in.
    “Stan, are you mistaking this for a conversation? Let her answer.”
    “I was.”
    “You were not!”
    “I was too!”
    Litigation can be so adult. “The record will speak for itself, Stan.”
    “Fine with me.”
    “Good. Let’s try to act like grown-ups, shall we?”
    He reddened even under his sunburn. “I will if you will!”
    Enough already. It was our first fight and it wouldn’t be our last. Julicher, a newcomer to Philly from New York, was trying to make a name for himself on this case. He’d hustled overtime to get it in the news and had even sent the complaint to the papers.
    “Now, Miss Sullivan, assuming that this card is from Judge Hamilton—”
    “He gave it to me himself,” Patricia said. “By the coffeepot.”
    “The coffeepot? Are you referring to the first incident of harassment in your complaint?”
    “Yes.”
    “Miss Sullivan, can you tell me what happened by the coffeepot that day? In your own words?”
    “Well, we had a birthday party in chambers, all of us. The two law clerks, the other secretary, and me. Judge Hamilton had ordered a cake and we all ate in his office around the conference table. At three o’clock.”
    “And what happened by the coffeepot?”
    “I was washing out the coffeepot at the sink next to the supply closet. We were alone and he handed me the card. When I was reading it, he touched my breast. Stroked it, kind of.” Three deep lines furrowed Patricia’s flawless brow and she seemed to withdraw into herself. The woman could sell an emotional distress claim, true or not. I thought I heard a jackpot in the distance, the quarters clanging into a metal tray.
    “Did you ask him to move his hand?”
    “Objection!” Julicher said. “What’s the difference if she did?”
    “That’s no basis for an objection. I’m entitled to know exactly what happened. Answer the question, Miss Sullivan.”
    “No, I didn’t,” Patricia said nervously. “I was too shocked to. I didn’t say anything, and he took his hand away and just walked out, into the office. And afterward, when I was taking dictation, he acted like nothing happened. I took a whole letter from him, two pages, and he didn’t even look at me. I still remember the letter. Every word.” She fell silent, looking upset.
    Julicher had enough trial smarts to let the moment sink in. Even the court reporter swallowed hard.
    “Did anyone see him touch you?” I asked quickly.
    “No. No one else was around. It was like that, in the beginning. He would just touch me, never saying anything, until the time he kissed me, in his office.”
    “Were the doors open or closed?”
    “Closed.”
    “You testified that he kissed you in his office. Did you kiss him back?”
    “No,” she said, her glossy mouth tightening. “I tried to tell him