Page 51 of The Right to Remain
“Hey, Jack, is it true your client is MIA?”
It was Michael Posten of theTribune, one of the reporters who’d called Jack after the indictment. He’d appeared out of nowhere and was suddenly walking alongside Jack, step for step, toward the courthouse.
“No comment, Michael.”
A crowd was gathering outside the main entrance, at the top of the granite steps. Cameramen jockeyed for position as TV reporters, microphones in hand, surrounded Julianna Weller. The prosecutor was holding an impromptu press conference. Jack stopped to listen.
“Today is the first step toward justice for the Pollard family,” said the chief prosecutor. “Mr. Stafford was arrested by MDPD this morning and taken into custody. In due time, the State of Florida intends to prove that Owen Pollard did not take his own life. This was a murder made to look like suicide.”
A reporter thrust her microphone forward. “Why murder in the second degree, not first?” she asked.
Jack stepped closer. It was a question he wanted answered.
“The charges in this case were brought by a grand jury. As prosecutor, I explained that if the killer acted with premeditation, the grand jury should return an indictment of murder in the first degree. If the killer acted with a depraved mind, the charge should be murder in the second degree. I believe the grand jury made the correct decision. This is a textbook case of murder with a depraved mind.”
“Is Mr. Stafford’s mind depraved because he’s trans?” someone asked pointedly.
The question seemed to catch the prosecutor off guard, but she didn’t answer. “Thank you. That’s all for now,” she said, stepping away.
A flock of reporters followed her toward the entrance. Jack went with them.
“Ms. Weller! Exactly what do you mean by a ‘depraved mind’?”
Weller hurried through the revolving door. Jack wasn’t far behind, until she breezed past security with a wave of her badge. Jack was stuck in line with the masses, first the x-ray machine and then the magnetometer. It took him ten minutes to get through the gauntlet, and then he hurried down the hall to Courtroom 1-5.
Felony arraignments started every weekday at 9 a.m., and by the time Jack entered the courtroom, the daily routine was already underway,with Judge Garrison presiding. A junior assistant state attorney was seated at the government’s table in front of the empty jury box, working his way through the stack of files one at a time as each case was called and disposed of in a matter of minutes. A parade of armed robbers, drunk drivers, and other accused felons met their counsel at the rail, proclaimed their innocence to the judge, and then were either released on bail or remanded to custody.
Jack found an open seat in the first row of the public gallery. Michael Posten, theTribunereporter who’d been hounding him all morning, squeezed into the seat next to him and whispered in his church voice:
“Your client pleading guilty today, Jack?”
Jack actually liked Posten, but he could be annoying.
“No spoilers from me,” said Jack.
“Gonna be a lot of media attention on this case, Jack. Get used to it.”
Jack knew he wasn’t blowing smoke. Arraignments were normally not newsworthy events, but this morning, several rows of public seating were full, and the media section was at capacity. It wasn’t Jack’s intention to court media coverage, but if Weller continued to make comments about a “depraved mind,” the case might well land in the national spotlight. Jack had to start thinking about how to use that to his advantage.
“Next case,” said Judge Garrison. He was moving quickly.
“Case number 250719,“ announced the bailiff. “State of Florida versus Elliott Stafford.”
“Depraved mind!” a woman shouted from the back of the courtroom.
Judge Garrison smacked his gavel. “There will be order in this courtroom—and absolutely no hate speech!”
Silence fell over the gallery. The “depraved mind” mantra was already getting traction.
The side door opened, and a deputy brought Elliott into the courtroom. He was wearing street clothes—jeans and a baggy sweatshirt—which meant that MDPD had arrested him and taken him to the station for booking, but he had yet to be processed into the county jail. The juniorprosecutor who had handled the first ten arraignments stepped aside. Julianna Weller assumed the lead post at the prosecutor’s table. Jack rose, pushed through the swinging gate at the rail, and met his client at the defense table. Jack had plenty of questions for his MIA client, but arraignment moved quickly, and there was no time to talk.
“Good morning, Ms. Weller,” Judge Garrison said cordially. “And to you as well, Mr. Swyteck. Always good to have two experienced trial lawyers in my courtroom. Ms. Weller, may I have the date and time of arrest?”
“Today at approximately eight ten a.m.”
That explained the way Elliott was dressed. The judge then addressed Jack’s client directly.
“Mr. Stafford, the purpose of the proceeding is to advise you of certain rights that you have, to inform you of the charges made against you under Florida law, and to determine under what conditions, if any, you might be released before trial. Do you understand?”