under-siege-31-32

Subject: Under Siege, Chapters 31 any resemblance to any real people or places is purely coincidental. This story is the property of the author and is protected by copyright laws. The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. If you enjoy this story, please support the Nifty archives today with a thoughtful donation. Chapter 31 The First Casualty of War is the Truth The harried public defender assigned to my case sat next to me at a conference table in the jail. We were alone. They were required to give us privacy, but we were talking in whispers anyway. "They have a very strong case," he warned me in hushed tones. "They have over twenty photos of you and Joshua Canton together." "Doing what exactly?" "Walking in the desert with your dogs. Sitting on the couch. At the computer. It clearly establishes that the two of you were spending a lot of time together." He opened a folder and showed me several pages with photos of the two of us, mostly hanging out at my house. No doubt the work of my good friend, Mr. William Murphy, private investigator. I looked through all the photos and said, "None of these prove we did anything other than spend time together. We weren't naked. We weren't having sex." "No," he reluctantly admitted, "but this one--" he pointed to a photo in which Josh was sitting at my computer and I was standing behind him, my hands on his shoulders, leaning forward while Josh's head was tilted back, looking up at me. We were both smiling. "--this one looks bad because it appears the young man has an erection. I'm sure it's not the case. Probably just the way his pants are poking out, but it APPEARS to be inappropriate." I looked at the photo again. I remembered the moment well. Josh did indeed have a boner in that picture. I knew because I remembered he was laughing and telling me how horny he was and begging me to suck his cock while he played a game. When I saw the photo, my heart ached because I missed him so much. My stomach churned because of what a disaster it would have been had I given in to his request. I had no idea Murphy was taking photos outside my bedroom window that day. "And these--" the lawyer pointed to a series of eight photos of Josh and me wrapped in a blanket, sitting side by side on my couch. We were in each other's arms. He was crying and I was wiping away his tears. I slapped my hand on the table. "He was upset for crying out loud. He had had a bad day at school and had come to me for comfort. What's wrong with that, for God's sake?" "Mr. Turnbull, please calm down. These photos show nothing incriminating per se, but I can hear the DA now. Why is this 38-year-old man hugging this 13-year-old boy? They aren't related, so why is he comforting the boy? Why is the boy crying? What did the man do to make the boy cry?" The lawyer closed the folder. "These photos aren't proof of anything wrong, but they allow the DA to create this image of you as a predator who spent a lot of time preparing the boy for molestation." I sighed with frustration. "That's still little more than gossip. You said they have a strong case." "Right. There's more." He opened another folder, pulling out pages of cell phone transcripts. "They subpoenaed text messaging on your cell phone. These are conversations you had with Joshua over the last few weeks. Once again, most of them are innocent exchanges that most people wouldn't think much about, but the DA will try to show that you were grooming Joshua, preparing him to accept your predatory attacks later." "You sound like you're arguing the case for the prosecution. I thought you were my lawyer." "I am your lawyer, Mr. Turnbull. But at this stage in the game, my job is to present the most pessimistic scenario, so that you can see how they're going to attack you. Now look at this text exchange. This one occurred after Marie Canton decided that you would no longer be seeing Joshua. But you and the boy are still exchanging text messages and pictures, and Joshua even states he is coming over to your house while his mother is at work." "Yessss. I remember that. I also remember that Josh was teasing and never came to my house. Look right here. I told him not to come over." I pointed to texts I had sent. "I said no, so Josh didn't come to my house, but CPS did. And they didn't find him there." The lawyer nodded. "Mr. Turnbull, you can be certain I will point that out in court, but the DA will still try to sow doubt in the minds of the jury regarding your intentions. She will ask how many times Joshua came over to your house, when his mother wasn't home, and no one caught the two of you doing it?" I was getting frustrated with all this talk. It was now November. I'd been in jail for a month and all the DA had was gossip and innuendo. My lawyer could see how irritated I was getting, so he put all the folders away. "There's one more thing, Mr. Turnbull. They're planning to have Joshua's therapist testify." "Dr. Moore?" "Yes. He claims Joshua has admitted during escort ankara therapy that you molested him, multiple times, and that Joshua has been so severely traumatized by it that he can't talk about it. The DA is using that as an excuse to keep Joshua off the stand. I won't be able to cross-examine the boy, and they'll be able to make you look like a monster on top of everything." "Wait a second! I thought I had the right to confront my accuser in court?" "Yes. You do. And you will be confronting your accuser, which in your case is the State of Texas. The boy hasn't accused you of anything. But the DA will be accusing you using the therapist's testimony and these photos and these text messages. She will also block every attempt we make to put the boy on the stand, justifying it by saying it will be traumatizing to expose him to any further questioning." The lawyer shrugged. "I can't do anything about it, Mr. Turnbull. This is a difficult case to fight. But I'll do my best for you." *** When I returned to my cell, I found a letter on my bunk. The return address was from somewhere in Ohio, neatly printed in what appeared to be a youngster's handwriting. But even though the return address said Canton, Ohio, the postmark was for our local post office. I opened the envelope with building excitement, because I suspected who the letter was from. Unfolding the letter, I read: I had to chuckle. I didn't have any nephews at all, and certainly not one named Jeramy. I continued reading. It was a great letter. It made me smile when I realized that Jeremy's name was spelled differently at the beginning of the letter. Still, I had to give the kid top marks for cleverness and guts. I borrowed some paper and a pencil and wrote a reply: I put the letter in an envelope, addressed it for El Paso, Texas, and dropped it in the outgoing mailbox. I couldn't stop grinning for two days. Then my lawyer mailed me a copy of a petition for a restraining order. It had been filed by Marie Canton. She alleged that I had sexually molested her son. As a result, she was petitioning the judge to block me from having any contact with Marie or her son Joshua. She requested that I be prevented from coming within 1000 yards of them at any time. She listed two addresses: first her place on Dogleg Road and the other her mother's house in El Paso, Texas. Furthermore, I was not to attempt to contact them in person, by mail, by phone, or through any other means of communication. Failure to comply with the restraining order could result in jail time not to exceed 30 days and/or fines not to exceed $1000. The judge wanted to know if I had any evidence to present to mitigate or stop the issuance of the proposed restraining order. They gave me two weeks to reply. I crumpled it up and threw it in the trash. Then I went to my cell and climbed into my bunk and cried into my pillow for half an hour. Chapter 32 Trials and Tribulations It was a pre-trial hearing. A chance for the DA to complain about how she needed more time to interview more witnesses and uncover more evidence. And a chance for my attorney to offer pathetic objections while searching ineffectively through the hundreds of folders in his briefcase for the information he wanted to present to the judge in support of his weak-ass objections. I was getting more frustrated by the minute, and the Honorable Braydon C. Birmingham the Third was too. I could well imagine his thoughts: these people are wasting precious minutes in my life, of which I can't possibly have many more to enjoy. Finally, my lawyer found what he was looking for. "In Claxton vs. Clayton County, the appeals court ruled that plaintiff cannot be awarded a delay simply on the assertion that new evidence may come to light over time--" The judge held up his hand, interrupting my attorney. "Sir, I trust you realize that Claxton vs. Clayton County was a civil lawsuit, not a criminal matter, and that guidelines for criminal cases adhere to different procedural criteria." The public defender gulped. "Well, yes. Uh, I am aware of that, your Honor. However, we have similar concerns in this case. It seems the State is dragging the matter out unreasonably and trampling on the rights of the accused." Gabrielle Mendoza shrugged and replied, "The State is following well established precedent in this matter. There is a reasonable expectation that other crimes may have been committed, so the State is obligated to continue following leads as they come up. We can hold the trial now, but if we find a cause to bring additional charges against the accused, it is in his best interest to wait and have all charges brought at the same time, in the hopes of receiving a lenient plea offer." The judge furrowed his eyebrows. "Is the State considering such an offer?" Gabrielle nodded. "We are, your Honor." "What do you propose?" Judge Birmingham asked. Consulting a paper on the table, she replied, "The accused will plead guilty to sexual contact with a minor, esenyurt escort age 13 to 17, third degree, with habitual sentencing for a repeat offense. The State will drop all other charges as well as future charges stemming from criminal contact with Joshua Canton." The judge looked at my lawyer. "You have a plea offer. I suggest you take your client to the conference room and discuss it." My attorney stood up and motioned for me to follow him through a door on one side of the courtroom. A bailiff followed us. My lawyer told the bailiff to leave, but he refused. "This is a private conference with my client. You can't be here," my lawyer said. The bailiff shrugged. "I don't leave prisoners alone anywhere in this building. That's my job." My attorney turned around and led us all back into the courtroom. We saw the District Attorney standing next to the Judge's bench and the Judge leaning down, talking in whispers with Gabrielle Mendoza. She, at least, had the decency to look embarrassed. The judge just appeared grumpy that we had caught him talking privately to the DA. "What?" he growled. My attorney blinked in surprise at what he'd just seen. I expected him to raise some legal objection to the two of them talking without us present in the courtroom. Instead, he pointed at the bailiff. "He refuses to leave the room so I can talk to my client in private." The bailiff shrugged again. "It's the rule, Judge. Prisoners aren't allowed to be alone without a bailiff present." The judge waved his hand toward the back of the courtroom. "Go find a spot back there where you can talk to your client. Bailiff, you stand here. You can keep an eye on things that way." That is what we did. My attorney led me all the way to the back of the room where we sat in two chairs, huddled over and whispering. My lawyer said, "I think you should accept the plea." "But they have no case," I objected. He sighed. "It doesn't matter. They will add a dozen more counts before this goes to trial. I've seen it happen before. Even if you're innocent, they'll somehow convince the jury that you must be a bad, bad man to have so many charges against you. And even if they don't prove the worst charges, the jury will still find you guilty on the lesser counts, and you'll do 10 or 15 years in prison for it. They might even believe you're guilty of the big counts and give you 25 years or more. With this plea bargain, you'll do 6 years max. It's a good deal. You should take it." I asked him to give me a minute. He nodded. I turned away and bowed my head and closed my eyes. Weeks ago, I had made up my mind to fight them. Hell, I was the one who started the fight, to be honest. I knew I was guilty of what they were accusing me of--not of hurting, Josh, I'd never do that, but I did had sex with him, and that's breaking the law. At first, my thoughts were spinning around in my head so fast I couldn't relax and listen to my heart, but then a gentle peace began to fall over me and I felt reassurance that fighting back was the right thing to do. Deep in my heart, I knew I had no choice. I had to fight them. Josh loved me and was never hurt by anything we did. But they had hurt Josh by their accusations and manipulation. I turned back to my lawyer and shook my head. "No. I won't take their plea. I want my trial." He grimaced. "You're making a big mistake." "Then it's my mistake to make," I replied. "The answer is no. Now, what are you going to do about the judge and the DA having their secret conference while we were out of the room." "That? Well, there's nothing I can do." "Are you kidding me? That was wrong and you know it. At the very least, you should demand a mistrial or something." "Mr. Turnbull, the trial hasn't begun, so there's no mistrial to declare. Maybe it was unethical, but there's nothing we can do about it." I looked at him and felt an urge to take an action that scared me to my core. But I had to do it. "You're fired," I said. "What?" "You're fired. I don't want you as my attorney anymore." I stood up and began walking back to the front of the courtroom. "Your Honor," I said, "I just fired my lawyer. He is no longer representing me. I'll be representing myself from now on." That woke up the judge. "Are you sure you want to do that, Mr. Turnbull? This is a very serious matter. I will not coddle you simply because you lack knowledge of legal procedure. You will be expected to follow the rules of the court, whether or not you have legal representation." "I understand, your Honor. I will be managing my own case." I glanced at Gabrielle Mendoza and saw undisguised joy. Time to see what I could do about that. "Your Honor, I have decided to turn down the State's plea offer. I want my trial, but not before you. I request that you recuse yourself." "On what basis?" snarled Judge Birmingham. "This court cannot be impartial, your Honor. I saw you and the DA talking while we were out of the room. This hearing was still in eskişehir escort session, so I think that what the two of you were doing was wrong, especially if you were discussing this case. At any rate, I believe I'll never receive a fair trial. I request a different judge." The DA started to splutter some nonsensical objection, but the judge stopped her. "Your motion is denied. I'll hear the case, and I assure you, Mr. Turnbull, it will be a fair trial. When will you be ready, Ms. Mendoza?" "The State needs another two months to prepare, your Honor." Braydon the Third glared at me. "Now that you've fired your lawyer, how much time do you need to get ready?" It didn't matter how much time I took to prepare. We all knew it, so I said, "I'm ready now, your Honor. I'd like to have the trial as soon as possible." The judge harrumphed and checked his calendar. "The court has an opening in 3 weeks. December 2nd. Be ready for jury selection." He slammed his gavel carelessly down, almost missing his desk, stood up and stomped out. I looked at Gabrielle Mendoza. I saw surprise mixed with anger. Well, I knew she was no friend of mine. No point in trying to make her happy now. Besides, surprise and anger might work in my favor. *** His name wasn't Bubbles, but that was what everyone called him. He giggled and flirted with all the men in the cell block, making no pretense of his sexual preference. I felt a bit sorry for him. He was around 25 years old and desperately trying to hold on to his youth. Most of us didn't talk about why we were in jail, but Bubbles didn't care. He bragged about giving a blowjob to an undercover cop in the mall bathroom. A part of me wanted to reach out to Bubbles, to offer compassion and understanding, but there was something about him that warned me to stay away. One night, I walked into the shower while the rest of the men were watching TV. As I shampooed my hair, I heard someone else walk into the shower with me. I wiped soap from my eyes and saw Bubbles under a nearby shower nozzle. I turned towards the wall and washed the soap out of my hair. Bubbles giggled. "So, Jake, how's your snake?" More giggles. I turned back to face Bubbles. He was washing his body, spending extra time rubbing soap on his groin. He was beginning to get hard, and he stared at my cock while he rubbed himself to an erection. "Hey, Bubbles. If circumstances were different, I might enjoy getting to know you better and maybe even being more than friends, but ..." I gestured at the jail shower. "Look where we are. This isn't my idea of a place to be friendly, you know?" Bubbles licked his lips. "We can still have a little fun. No one's gonna bother us, and you remind me of my first lover." Bubbles was fully erect now, slowly stroking his cock and watching to see if it turned me on. It didn't. There was something pitiful about what he was doing. It did nothing for me, except maybe to make me miss Josh even more. Here was a guy practically throwing himself at me, begging for attention, and that was something Josh never did and would never do. I gave Bubbles a sad smile and said, "Sorry, dude. This is just not for me." I turned around and began twisting the knob to turn off the water. I felt hands on my shoulders and a body pressing up against my back, with a hard cock sliding against my butt. I twisted away and placed one hand on Bubbles chest, separating us slightly. "The answer is no, Bubbles. I'm sorry." The intercom in the cell block crackled to life. "Everyone to your bunks. Right now!" Bubbles and I wrapped our towels around our waists and hurried out of the shower and back to our bunks. The door to the cell block buzzed and three guards came in. "Turnbull," one shouted, "come with us." I stepped forward and followed the guard into the hall while the other two went to my bunk and gathered my clothes. One of the guards handed me my clothes and ordered me to get dressed. I dropped my towel and put on my boxers and pants and top. "This way," he said. As I followed him down the hall, I noticed the other men in our cell block watching me. Bubbles was smiling. *** They took me to the Captain's office, where they pressed charges against me for sexual contact with another inmate while incarcerated. They warned me that any behavior like this in the future would result in solitary confinement for the duration of my time in jail. Then they took me to a different cell block. As we walked up to the door, I saw a giant letter J. When I walked in, I saw a lot of hate. Angry men full of rage. Every one of them looking for an excuse to lash out. I remembered then what I had heard about J-unit. This was the one all the inmates had nicknamed the Gladiator Pod. It was where they put you if you were a troublemaker. I guess that's what I was now. Later that night, as I lay in my bunk after the lights were turned down, I felt the first blow strike me in my ribs. The second blow hit my face. I'm not sure about the next few. I think I took several to the stomach and groin, but I couldn't be sure because at least one hit me solidly in the ear and I blacked out. It was a good thing, because then I didn't feel the rest of the beating. I learned later that it took the guards two minutes to enter the pod and stop the fight. What a way to run a jail! End of UNDER SIEGE, Chapter 32