Chapter 26: Jury Summons

February 26, 2001, Chicago, Illinois

🎤 Steve

“Sometimes you push things too far, Pumpkin,” I said as we cuddled on Monday morning.

“You mean yesterday at breakfast?”

“Of course. I know your mom talked to you about it, and I wanted to make sure you understood I agree with your mom.”

“But I was just being silly!”

“I know, and there are times for that. Did Mom explain the reason?”

“That Don and Mary were responsible for Joy and her parents might be very upset with them for letting her sleep with Jesse.”

“Exactly.”

“Did you know they’re a couple now?”

“Jesse and Joy?” I asked.

“Yes! He asked her to be his girlfriend, even before they fucked!”

“I didn’t see THAT one coming,” I replied. “Well, the couple part. The other part was obvious to the entire planet. Well, except maybe Mary and Don! On a similar topic, do you know what was going on with Kelly?”

“No. I didn’t invite her and neither did Jesse. She asked MC if it was OK to come to the party, and MC said yes. Kelly told Jesse she’d sleep with him if he’d be her boyfriend again.”

“Bad move,” I said.

“No kidding!” Birgit giggled. “She STILL doesn’t understand Jesse. She’s listening to that stuck-up bitch Cynthia. But it’s so dumb because she broke up with Jesse because he had Libby as his best friend and Rachel was tutoring him! And Jesse wasn’t doing anything with Libby then because he promised Kelly to be a couple. And he won’t do anything with Rachel because he says he doesn’t need a high-speed train to crazy town!”

I laughed, “That’s probably a wise idea. Carla isn’t exactly stable.”

“Duh,” Birgit replied. “Rachel needs to get away from her. She told me she’s going to apply to schools in Florida, California, Oregon, and Washington. It’s only a question of how to pay for it.”

That was actually covered, and I wondered if it was time for that to be revealed. A simple phone call to the attorney who had set things up would be sufficient to set things in motion. I made a mental note to do that.

“I think she’ll find a way,” I said. “She’s very determined.”

“Determined to have sex with you again before she goes to college!” Birgit giggled.

“And you think I need a high-speed train to crazy town?” I asked.

Birgit giggled, “You’re already there! And Rachel says you REALLY liked it with her!”

“True,” I chuckled “And Rachel talks too much.”

“Just like Aunt Penny?” Birgit giggled.

“Just like Aunt Penny! We need to go eat breakfast so I can get to jury duty.”

“Fry ‘em!” Birgit said fiercely.

“I think you need to spend more time talking to Aunt Melanie or Patricia.”

“Josh Benton.”

“OK, you might have a point there,” I allowed.

“Two more minutes!”

As usual, she got three before we went to breakfast. After breakfast, the kids left for school, I kissed my wives goodbye and headed to the Cook County Courthouse. When I arrived, I checked in and was handed a twenty-page questionnaire. I sighed, because I felt filling out the packet could have been done at home, and probably would have saved everyone time and effort. I discovered, after the first few pages, why my thinking was off, at least somewhat.

The first part was personal information - name, address, birth date, employer, criminal history, whether I’d been the victim of a crime, any lawsuits I’d initiated or had initiated against me, marital status and kids, and so on. Given I was speaking to the government, as it were, I simply listed Jessica as my wife and listed the seven kids without any reference to the fact they had four mothers. Because of my status at work, I listed my role as ‘Principal Engineer’ and my duties as programming. I also added a note about being a senior karate instructor, because I was compensated by my personal students.

The next few pages in the packet probed for conflicts of interest - did I know any county prosecutors - no; did I know any of a list of judges - no; did I know any of a list of lawyers, surprisingly no; was I on any Boards of Directors - no; was I involved in financial planning - no; was I friends with any law enforcement officers - Pete, of course, and very slightly, Ally’s husband; did I associate with any known criminals - I listed Noel Spurgeon and noted he was a former business associate.

The next eight pages seemed to be about very specific cases, each page listing people involved in the case and asking if I knew them. The final two pages were basic questions ensuring I understood defendants were innocent until proven guilty (for the criminal cases), and ensuring I would follow the judge’s instructions, and verifying that I would do no outside research. The last question asked for any specific licenses or specialized education, and I simply listed my BS degree from IIT.

I handed in the packet and was directed to a large room where at least a hundred people were sitting, with more entering every few minutes. I’d brought a book, so I took a seat and started reading A People’s Tragedy by Orlando Figes, a book on the Russian Revolution. I figured it was safe, and unless someone was litigating claims against the Tsars, unlikely to be seen as something that might affect my judgment on the off chance I was chosen for a jury.

I sat all morning without being called, though I knew that was a product of randomized selection. I ate the provided lunch, and went back to reading. I was finally called, along with fourteen others, to go to a courtroom for voir dire - the process of selecting the jurors who would hear the case. We filed into the jury box and the judge greeted us, explained that the case was about possible violations of firearms laws. As the judge spoke, I wondered if my collection of licenses and gun ownership would be a surprise disqualification.

When the judge finished, he reminded the attorneys that the prosecutor had only one peremptory challenge remaining while the defense had two. That told me that there had been at least one group of fifteen called before us, and very likely two, as eleven of the fourteen total peremptory challenges had been used, and jurors could also be challenged for cause. I immediately saw part of the problem as the first juror admitted to being an NRA member, something I would have thought would have been asked on the forms. The prosecutor asked a few questions, then challenged the juror for cause, which didn’t surprise me as the juror had expressed an absolutist opinion on the 2nd Amendment, not dissimilar to my own.

The next juror to be questioned struck me as a ‘law and order’ type and it didn’t surprise me at all that the defense exercised a peremptory challenge. I began to wonder if my association with attorneys and the other issues would even come up. The prosecution used their last peremptory challenge on a college student with long hair and a beard, and who my gut told me was counter-culture, and as such, not likely to vote for a conviction. Of course, I was just guessing, but I felt my assessment made sense. That dismissal meant the only peremptory challenge left was on the defense. The next two jurors were seated, and the judge stated that there was one more regular, but that he was going to seat three alternates, given the difficulty in seating a jury.

I was a bit surprised by that, but having only seen five jurors questioned, I had no idea what the other issues might have been. There was one more juror to question before me, and I had to fight hard to not laugh when she sounded like she was purposefully answering in a way which would have her excused for cause. She was, and then it was my turn.

“Move to excuse the juror for cause,” the prosecutor said, before he asked any questions.

“Grounds?” the judge asked.

“His company provides legal software to nearly half the firms in Chicago and he is at least an acquaintance with many attorneys.”

“Mr. Adams?” the judge said. “Do you know any of the three attorneys in this room?”

“No, Your Honor.”

“Do you have an opinion about any of the three attorneys?”

I shook my head, “No, Your Honor.”

“Mr. Linkletter,” he said to defense counsel, “does your firm use software from,” he looked down, “NIKA Consulting?”

“No, Your Honor.”

“No dismissal on those grounds, Counselor, please continue.”

The prosecutor asked a number of questions which simply verified what I’d answered on the questionnaire, then got to the question I was waiting for.

“Mr. Adams, are you a member of the NRA?’

“No.”

“Do you have an FOID card? A Firearms Owners ID card?”

“Yes.”

“Do you own firearms?”

“Yes. Two handguns, both of which are properly licensed, and for which I have a concealed carry permit.”

“Why do you have the concealed carry permit?”

“I helped take down an Outfit-connected law firm.”

I wondered if THAT answer was going to get me dismissed by the defense.

“Are you, or have you been a member of the military, or is anyone in your family in the military?

“My dad served in World War II as a Navy Chief Petty Officer,” I replied.

“You mean your grandfather?”

I shook my head, “No. My dad didn’t marry until he was 44, which was in 1961. My mom is twenty years younger.”

There was soft laughter, and I heard a ‘Wow!’ from a male jury candidate behind me.

“I’m OK with this juror,” the prosecutor said.

“Mr. Linkletter?” the judge inquired.

The defense attorney asked a few questions about my education and work, then asked a question I expected.

“What was your involvement in, as you put it, taking down the Outfit-connected law firm?”

“It was limited to providing computer expertise, as they used our software, but it was public knowledge.”

“I see. You’re friends with a US Marshal?”

“Yes.”

“How long have you known him?”

I wondered if a bit of levity might save me, as I wanted to be on this jury. The fact that the defense had a single peremptory challenge left might make that happen if he couldn’t excuse me for cause, and he still had to seat three alternates. He didn’t know it, but I was probably his best juror if he was going to have any chance of success.

“About twenty-two years, I think it is. We went to the same High School. I fixed him up with his wife, so...”

There was soft laughter in the courtroom and even the judge cracked a slight smile.

“Are you close?”

“Not like we were before he joined the Marshals service,” I replied. “He’s much more aloof than when we were in High School and College.”

“Have you ever needed to use your handgun?”

I’d had to show the gun a few times, but never used them, so I felt I could answer ‘no’ to the question. And I certainly wasn’t going to discuss any OTHER use of handguns.

I shook my head, “No. In general, the precepts of martial arts require avoidance of the use of force, and I’m a generally non-violent person.”

“Have you had to use your martial arts skills?”

“On two occasions, both in self-defense.”

“You stated in the questionnaire that you were never a victim of a crime.”

“In the first instance, it was a misunderstanding with my High School girlfriend’s ex who took a few swings at me. In the second, it was a potential mugging, but I disarmed him and walked away. No charges were filed in either instance.”

I wasn’t going to try to explain the fight in Oguni, which there was no way he, or anyone else in the room, could know anything about. I waited for the next question, but the defense attorney remained silent for a moment.

“I’m OK with this juror,” he said to my complete surprise.

“We have a full panel,” the judge said. “Now we’ll seat three alternates.”

They managed to do that, just, with the fourteenth person becoming the third alternate. The excused jury pool members left, and the other selected jurors were brought in. It was a diverse group, nine men and six women, with eight non-Hispanic Caucasians, four blacks, two Hispanics, and one Asian. The age range was about twenty-two to about seventy. The judge spent twenty minutes going over the basics of the trial, and what we were to decide - was the accused guilty of illegally possessing a handgun, illegally possessing ammunition, and violating the City of Chicago firearms ordinances. The first two were potentially Class A misdemeanors and the second two, Class C misdemeanors.

I knew, but he didn’t say, that meant up to a year in prison on each of the first two counts, and up to six months on each of the second two counts, along with fines for all four. I felt that was extreme, but there was no way anyone living in Chicago could not know about the handgun ban unless they had been locked in a basement for the previous two decades. I took the time to look at the defendant, a black man of about thirty, and wondered what his story was. I knew from Melanie that I might never find out if they didn’t put him on the stand, which they were unlikely to do.

The judge finished his instructions, stated that he expected the trial to last no longer than two days, and to my surprise, asked the prosecution if they were ready to make an opening statement. The Assistant State’s Attorney stood up and said he was ready, and the judge gave him leave to begin.

“This is an open-and-shut case,” the State’s Attorney declared. “On the afternoon of July 14th of last year, officers of the Chicago Police department, in possession of a valid arrest warrant and a valid search warrant, served those warrants on the defendant, in his home. During the arrest and succeeding search, they discovered a loaded 9mm handgun in a nightstand next to the defendant’s bed, along with three boxes of ammunition. The defendant lived alone, so there is no confusion as to his possession of the firearm. Under Illinois law and the Chicago ordinances, that is sufficient evidence for a conviction. Thank you.”

I wondered why this case hadn’t been pled out, but I suspected that the prosecutor knew he held all the cards and wouldn’t budge. Melanie had run into situations such as that in the past, which had forced her to go through with a trial which seemed un-winnable, a few of which she had actually won, or at least created a mistrial which caused the prosecutors to later agree to a deal.

“Mr. Linkletter?” the judge asked.

“While the prosecution thinks this is an open-and-shut case, we do not believe it. My client, George Franklin, is a gainfully employed union electrician who lives in a high-crime area of the city of Chicago. He has been robbed at gunpoint twice, had his home broken into twice, and has been assaulted. He has, repeatedly, attempted to obtain an FOID card and Chicago firearm permit, but has been denied each and every time. You will notice, too, that he is NOT charged with anything other than the firearms violation. The police were looking for drugs and contraband, but found nothing because my client is neither a drug dealer nor has he ever used any narcotics. In other words, while the police may have had a valid search warrant and valid arrest warrant, he is NOT being charged with any of the allegations in either of those warrants. The State’s position is that he is not entitled to defend himself under any circumstances. Both the City of Chicago and the State of Illinois have groundlessly refused to issue him the necessary permits. Thank you.”

He was basing his defense on something Melanie, Liz, and Jamie called a ‘defense of necessity’ - that is, that his client’s actions were based on an attempt to avoid an even greater evil, and that there were no legal, reasonable alternatives to his ownership of the handgun. It was a longshot, but it was a longshot I was willing to consider.

“Is the State ready for their first witness?” the judge inquired.

“Yes, Your Honor. We call Detective Sergeant Allen Powel to the stand.”

As the detective made his way forward and was sworn, I contemplated the situation. I knew the laws, but I felt charging the defendant with four misdemeanors was excessive, especially as two of them were for mere possession of ammunition. In effect, he was being charged four times for a single ACTUAL offense - possession of the firearm. I knew it was two ‘sovereigns’ charging him, and they were separating the gun and the ammunition, which in my mind did NOT get past the ‘double jeopardy’ clause, no matter what the Supreme Court had said. I also knew that Chicago effectively refused to issue permits to anyone or allow new guns to be registered. My first gun had been grandfathered, and I was allowed to register the second one because I already had the necessary permits and licenses. But I only had those because I had strings to pull which the average citizen did not. Someday, and I hoped not too far in the future, the Supreme Court would solve the actual problem, but I wasn’t going to hold my breath.

The detective’s testimony was exactly what I expected - that he was on the anti-drug task force, had a valid set of warrants, conducted a legal search, and had found the firearm and ammunition while conducting the legal search. He identified the gun and ammunition which were in plastic evidence bags, and verified that his signature was on the evidence bags. There was literally nothing he said that contradicted anything in the opening statements. The State’s Attorney finished his questioning, and the defense attorney was given an opportunity to cross-examine the detective.

“Detective, did you find the particular things which were named in the warrant?”

“The defendant had no FOID card and no city permit, which made the gun and ammunition contraband.”

“Yes, I understand that, but the warrant listed specific items as well. Did you find them?”

“We found contraband.”

“Your Honor,” Mr. Linkletter said. “Would you direct the witness to answer?”

“Ask a very specific question, Counselor.”

Mr. Linkletter nodded, “Detective, did you find, quoting the warrant, ‘illegal narcotics, drug paraphernalia, scales, large quantities of plastic bags, chemicals, or large sums of cash’?”

“No,” the detective grudgingly replied.

“On your warrant application, you stated that you believed that Mr. Franklin was a major cocaine dealer, including both powder and crack. Did you find ANY evidence in his home of those activities?”

“No.”

“How did you become aware of these alleged activities?”

“Objection, Your Honor,” the State’s Attorney stated, rising to his feet. “This line of questioning is barred by Your Honor’s pre-trial protective order.”

“Mr. Linkletter?”

“Sidebar, Your Honor?”

The judge nodded and both attorneys went to the bench. I couldn’t be sure, but I was reasonably certain now that the warrant application was likely based on fabricated evidence, and I wondered why it, the warrants, and the seized items hadn’t been excluded from the trial. From the objection, I was also reasonably certain that the defense had tried to exclude the evidence, but had failed for some reason. The sidebar finished and the attorneys stepped back.

“The witness will answer the question,” the judge said.

“Through a confidential informant.”

“Thank you,” Mr. Linkletter said. “No further questions.”

I wanted to ask a question, but I knew that was against the rules. What I wanted to know was if they found ANY evidence of ANY kind before they applied for the warrant, or had simply relied on the statement of a single confidential informant. If the answer was ‘no, there was no other evidence’, then in my mind it was all bullshit. The problem was that George Franklin HAD been in possession of the firearm in violation of the law. The words ‘jury nullification’ formed in my mind, but I knew I could never, ever say them. And I couldn’t even hint at it during jury deliberations. Twenty years of Rap Sessions and ten years of mentoring attorneys gave me a distinct advantage in the jury room, and barring some new revelation, I was going to do my best to help George Franklin.