Exculpatory Evidence
May. 14th, 2011 09:57 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hwrnmnbsol"I'm glad you could make it at such a late hour," said Pete Fontaine, smiling. The Sherriff held his coffee cup in one hand and opened the door to the courts building with the other. Jimmy Thibodaux grunted and shuffled through the door. His slippers and pajama bottoms were visible under the long hem of his overcoat.
"I sure hope this is something especially good, Pete," said Jimmy, eying Pete's coffee with envy. "I'm getting to the age where falling asleep doesn't come so easy. No matter what happens, I'm not getting any more shut-eye tonight."
"Oh, I think you'll like this," replied Pete, ushering Jimmy into the New Wing. "You're the attorney for Simon Beudot in the Hopley murder case, right?"
"I was," said Jimmy. "Well, I suppose I still am, technically, but we're out of appeals and he's not eligible for parole, so I haven't had to do anything on the case in, oh, twenty years almost." He cocked an eye at Pete suspiciously. "You had better get to the point, Sherriff."
"Forensics has advanced a lot in the past two decades, counselor," said Pete. "There are technologies available now that weren't on option when Simon was arrested. Well, Fate dropped a gift in our laps tonight, Jimmy. Remember Louie Primaux, the guy you argued should have been the prime suspect in the case instead of your client?"
"Sure, the guy Simon saw hanging around the Hopley house." Jimmy stopped dead in the hall. "He confessed?" he asked, his heart suddenly racing.
"Well, sort of," said Pete. He took Jimmy's arm. "Best for you to just see for yourself."
Pete guided them into Court Nine. Judge Foster and some of his staff were there, all of whom looked at least as sleepy as Jimmy. There was also Doctor Voigt, the county medical examiner, and Eunice Cross, the district attorney.
"Pete, what say we get this show on the road so we can all get home in time to watch the last of the infomercials, hmm?" said Judge Foster tartly.
As Jimmy slipped into a seat, Doctor Voigt and Sherriff Fontaine puttered around a cart. It had a power pack and a processor array on a bottom shelf, and a large box sitting on the top. The lid of the box was glass, frosted over with condensation. Doctor Voigt wheeled the cart into the middle of the court, checked the power leads, and opened the lid. Inside was a human head, its eyes closed, its neck submerged in a shallow bath of dark fluid.
The few people in the court gasped. Judge Foster leaned forward. Pete picked up a microphone.
"Are you Louie Primaux?" he asked.
The throat of the head worked, and the mouth opened. "Yes," it croaked, its eyes still closed. Its voice had a kind of mechanical wheeze.
"It's a very reliable, proven method," Doctor Voigt said. "The technology is proven; we can access everything in the brain of the deceased, provided we get the head hooked up to the machine in time, and since lying is a higher function, the desire to do it dies with the body. The head will truthfully tell what it knows."
"Why haven't we seen this yet?" demanded the Judge. "Why keep this thing a secret?"
"The technology is ready, but the case law isn't there yet," said Eunice. "Whenever new forms of evidence first appear, there are all kinds of challenges to them. We wanted to be ready for those challenges first. I didn't want good cases getting thrown out because Direct Cerebral Discovery wasn't set in stone."
"Your honor," said Pete Fontaine, "we have a special situation here. Mister Thibodaux's client, Simon Beudot, is doing life without parole up the road. I already asked Louie a few questions that I think could impact that situation in a positive manner, and I'd like to get those questions on the record."
"Well, this is a new one on me," said Judge Foster, leaning back in his chair. "But by all means, you should proceed."
"By all means you should NOT, Your Honor," said a man as he breezed into the court, his suit disheveled and his hair mussed. "Fenton Plessy, here to represent the deceased and his estate. Your Honor, as my client is clearly in no shape to make decisions for himself, it falls to me to protest this line of questioning."
"On what grounds?" asked Judge Foster, faintly amused.
"Your Honor, for one thing, I do not believe this witness has been sworn in," said Fenton.
"Small wonder, as he has no hand to put upon a Bible," quipped the Judge.
"And I also doubt that he has been Mirandized," continued the attorney.
"He's not under arrest," said Pete. "You can't arrest the dead."
"In that case, my client refuses to answer any questions, and I will be taking him into the custody of his family for immediate interment," said Fenton triumphantly.
Judge Foster sighed. "I think he's got you, Eunice," he said.
"Your Honor, this isn't a living person anymore," argued the district attorney. "This head contains information that may exonerate an innocent man. It's now evidence."
"Nonsense!" said Fenton. "Any information you can extract from my client are medical records and are subject to privacy restrictions."
"We can subpoena those records," said Eunice.
"In which case the grounds for the subpoena, Sherriff Fontaine's questioning of my client, are illegal and everything else is fruit of the poison tree! Your Honor, a person's head's contents are clearly personal and private!"
"When they take steps to keep things private, yes," said Eunice. "If he had buried himself on a private plot, we couldn't go harvest his brain for questioning. But, your Honor, Louie was in a car crash that decapitated him. It's as if a criminal took his personal journal and threw it through the door of the police station!"
"First, my client is not a criminal!" shouted Fenton. "And second, violating the privacy of my client's brain is must more invasive than innocently picking up and reading a book!"
"Folks," said Jimmy, "Please." He stood up and waved his arms for attention. The others turned to look at him.
"Fenton," said Jimmy, "your client's dead. You don't have to defend his interests in the same way."
"Nonsense," said Fenton. "Attorney-client privilege survives death; so should my defense."
"But your client can't go to jail anymore," pleaded Jimmy. "Even if he gives evidence against himself, what can anybody do to him?"
"My client has standing in this community," said Fenton. "The reputation of his loved ones…"
"Those things may be important to your client after his death, or they may not be," said Jimmy. "Why don't you ask him? He's right over there."
Jimmy pointed at the head on the cart. Fenton swallowed. Judge Foster leaned forward.
"Do you need a private room to confer with your client?" he asked.
"N-no," replied Fenton, shivering slightly. "I'll just ask him right here." He cleared his throat and stepped up to take the microphone from Pete.
"Louie," he said, "do you remember Simon Beudot?"
"Yes," wheezed the head.
"And do you recall that Simon Beudot is in jail?"
The adam's apple of the head worked twice. "Yes," it said hollowly.
Fenton covered the microphone with his hand. "How can I cut him off if he starts to answer outside the scope of the question?" he asked.
"You can't," said Doctor Voigt. "Unless you use your hands." Fenton blanched and uncovered the mic.
"Do you recall why he's in jail?" he asked.
Louie's mouth opened and closed. His tongue was turning blue. "For the murder of the Hopley twins," he said.
Fenton licked his lips. "Now I want you to think about this, Louie," he said. "If I start asking you questions and we hear something that makes you sound guilty, then you might be in trouble but Simon might possibly go free. Would you want that?"
"That's too complicated a question," argued Doctor Voigt. "His higher thinking is gone. You can't ask him to think, only to relay thoughts he already had when he was alive." Indeed, Louie's mouth was working, but no sounds were coming out.
"Well then, I think we're at a standstill here," said Fenton. "Without specific direction from my client indicating a desire to act as a material witness, I cannot authorize continuing to participate in this hearing."
"Now just hold on," said Pete disgustedly.
"No, you hold on!" Fenton shot back.
The eyes of the head flew open. "GUILTY!" it shouted. The whites of the eyes were dark with clotted blood. The people in the court froze, shocked beyond the ability to act or respond. Only Jimmy kept his wits about him. Standing up, he took the microphone from Fenton's numb fingers.
"Do you think Simon is guilty?" he asked.
The eyes stared sightlessly, fixed on a point in space. "Simon is in jail forever," it said.
"Do you think that's right?" Jimmy asked.
Louie's mouth opened. "Noo-oo-oo," it moaned, drawing the word out.
Jimmy paced behind the cart. "How do you feel about that?" he asked.
"Guilty," said Louie. A thin stream of fluid seeped from one nostril and both tear ducts. "Always guilty."
"Louie," said Jimmy, "do you realize you're dead?"
The eyes closed and then opened again. The mouth made smacking noises. "Yes," said Louie. "Now."
"Do you want to die guilty?"
More fluid poured down Louie's face. "No," he said. "No no no no no."
Jimmy looked at Fenton. Fenton looked at his shoes. Judge Foster's eyebrows rose.
"Eunice," he said, "I think you'd better turn that recorder back on."
"I sure hope this is something especially good, Pete," said Jimmy, eying Pete's coffee with envy. "I'm getting to the age where falling asleep doesn't come so easy. No matter what happens, I'm not getting any more shut-eye tonight."
"Oh, I think you'll like this," replied Pete, ushering Jimmy into the New Wing. "You're the attorney for Simon Beudot in the Hopley murder case, right?"
"I was," said Jimmy. "Well, I suppose I still am, technically, but we're out of appeals and he's not eligible for parole, so I haven't had to do anything on the case in, oh, twenty years almost." He cocked an eye at Pete suspiciously. "You had better get to the point, Sherriff."
"Forensics has advanced a lot in the past two decades, counselor," said Pete. "There are technologies available now that weren't on option when Simon was arrested. Well, Fate dropped a gift in our laps tonight, Jimmy. Remember Louie Primaux, the guy you argued should have been the prime suspect in the case instead of your client?"
"Sure, the guy Simon saw hanging around the Hopley house." Jimmy stopped dead in the hall. "He confessed?" he asked, his heart suddenly racing.
"Well, sort of," said Pete. He took Jimmy's arm. "Best for you to just see for yourself."
Pete guided them into Court Nine. Judge Foster and some of his staff were there, all of whom looked at least as sleepy as Jimmy. There was also Doctor Voigt, the county medical examiner, and Eunice Cross, the district attorney.
"Pete, what say we get this show on the road so we can all get home in time to watch the last of the infomercials, hmm?" said Judge Foster tartly.
As Jimmy slipped into a seat, Doctor Voigt and Sherriff Fontaine puttered around a cart. It had a power pack and a processor array on a bottom shelf, and a large box sitting on the top. The lid of the box was glass, frosted over with condensation. Doctor Voigt wheeled the cart into the middle of the court, checked the power leads, and opened the lid. Inside was a human head, its eyes closed, its neck submerged in a shallow bath of dark fluid.
The few people in the court gasped. Judge Foster leaned forward. Pete picked up a microphone.
"Are you Louie Primaux?" he asked.
The throat of the head worked, and the mouth opened. "Yes," it croaked, its eyes still closed. Its voice had a kind of mechanical wheeze.
"It's a very reliable, proven method," Doctor Voigt said. "The technology is proven; we can access everything in the brain of the deceased, provided we get the head hooked up to the machine in time, and since lying is a higher function, the desire to do it dies with the body. The head will truthfully tell what it knows."
"Why haven't we seen this yet?" demanded the Judge. "Why keep this thing a secret?"
"The technology is ready, but the case law isn't there yet," said Eunice. "Whenever new forms of evidence first appear, there are all kinds of challenges to them. We wanted to be ready for those challenges first. I didn't want good cases getting thrown out because Direct Cerebral Discovery wasn't set in stone."
"Your honor," said Pete Fontaine, "we have a special situation here. Mister Thibodaux's client, Simon Beudot, is doing life without parole up the road. I already asked Louie a few questions that I think could impact that situation in a positive manner, and I'd like to get those questions on the record."
"Well, this is a new one on me," said Judge Foster, leaning back in his chair. "But by all means, you should proceed."
"By all means you should NOT, Your Honor," said a man as he breezed into the court, his suit disheveled and his hair mussed. "Fenton Plessy, here to represent the deceased and his estate. Your Honor, as my client is clearly in no shape to make decisions for himself, it falls to me to protest this line of questioning."
"On what grounds?" asked Judge Foster, faintly amused.
"Your Honor, for one thing, I do not believe this witness has been sworn in," said Fenton.
"Small wonder, as he has no hand to put upon a Bible," quipped the Judge.
"And I also doubt that he has been Mirandized," continued the attorney.
"He's not under arrest," said Pete. "You can't arrest the dead."
"In that case, my client refuses to answer any questions, and I will be taking him into the custody of his family for immediate interment," said Fenton triumphantly.
Judge Foster sighed. "I think he's got you, Eunice," he said.
"Your Honor, this isn't a living person anymore," argued the district attorney. "This head contains information that may exonerate an innocent man. It's now evidence."
"Nonsense!" said Fenton. "Any information you can extract from my client are medical records and are subject to privacy restrictions."
"We can subpoena those records," said Eunice.
"In which case the grounds for the subpoena, Sherriff Fontaine's questioning of my client, are illegal and everything else is fruit of the poison tree! Your Honor, a person's head's contents are clearly personal and private!"
"When they take steps to keep things private, yes," said Eunice. "If he had buried himself on a private plot, we couldn't go harvest his brain for questioning. But, your Honor, Louie was in a car crash that decapitated him. It's as if a criminal took his personal journal and threw it through the door of the police station!"
"First, my client is not a criminal!" shouted Fenton. "And second, violating the privacy of my client's brain is must more invasive than innocently picking up and reading a book!"
"Folks," said Jimmy, "Please." He stood up and waved his arms for attention. The others turned to look at him.
"Fenton," said Jimmy, "your client's dead. You don't have to defend his interests in the same way."
"Nonsense," said Fenton. "Attorney-client privilege survives death; so should my defense."
"But your client can't go to jail anymore," pleaded Jimmy. "Even if he gives evidence against himself, what can anybody do to him?"
"My client has standing in this community," said Fenton. "The reputation of his loved ones…"
"Those things may be important to your client after his death, or they may not be," said Jimmy. "Why don't you ask him? He's right over there."
Jimmy pointed at the head on the cart. Fenton swallowed. Judge Foster leaned forward.
"Do you need a private room to confer with your client?" he asked.
"N-no," replied Fenton, shivering slightly. "I'll just ask him right here." He cleared his throat and stepped up to take the microphone from Pete.
"Louie," he said, "do you remember Simon Beudot?"
"Yes," wheezed the head.
"And do you recall that Simon Beudot is in jail?"
The adam's apple of the head worked twice. "Yes," it said hollowly.
Fenton covered the microphone with his hand. "How can I cut him off if he starts to answer outside the scope of the question?" he asked.
"You can't," said Doctor Voigt. "Unless you use your hands." Fenton blanched and uncovered the mic.
"Do you recall why he's in jail?" he asked.
Louie's mouth opened and closed. His tongue was turning blue. "For the murder of the Hopley twins," he said.
Fenton licked his lips. "Now I want you to think about this, Louie," he said. "If I start asking you questions and we hear something that makes you sound guilty, then you might be in trouble but Simon might possibly go free. Would you want that?"
"That's too complicated a question," argued Doctor Voigt. "His higher thinking is gone. You can't ask him to think, only to relay thoughts he already had when he was alive." Indeed, Louie's mouth was working, but no sounds were coming out.
"Well then, I think we're at a standstill here," said Fenton. "Without specific direction from my client indicating a desire to act as a material witness, I cannot authorize continuing to participate in this hearing."
"Now just hold on," said Pete disgustedly.
"No, you hold on!" Fenton shot back.
The eyes of the head flew open. "GUILTY!" it shouted. The whites of the eyes were dark with clotted blood. The people in the court froze, shocked beyond the ability to act or respond. Only Jimmy kept his wits about him. Standing up, he took the microphone from Fenton's numb fingers.
"Do you think Simon is guilty?" he asked.
The eyes stared sightlessly, fixed on a point in space. "Simon is in jail forever," it said.
"Do you think that's right?" Jimmy asked.
Louie's mouth opened. "Noo-oo-oo," it moaned, drawing the word out.
Jimmy paced behind the cart. "How do you feel about that?" he asked.
"Guilty," said Louie. A thin stream of fluid seeped from one nostril and both tear ducts. "Always guilty."
"Louie," said Jimmy, "do you realize you're dead?"
The eyes closed and then opened again. The mouth made smacking noises. "Yes," said Louie. "Now."
"Do you want to die guilty?"
More fluid poured down Louie's face. "No," he said. "No no no no no."
Jimmy looked at Fenton. Fenton looked at his shoes. Judge Foster's eyebrows rose.
"Eunice," he said, "I think you'd better turn that recorder back on."
