Chapter 29
THOUGH SLICK MOELLER HAD REPORTED JAILHOUSE RIOTS, rapes, and beatings, and though he'd stood on the safe side of the doors and bars, he'd never actually, physically, been inside a jail cell. And though this thought was heavy on his mind, he kept his cool and projected the aura of the surefooted reporter and confident believer in the First Amendment. He had a lawyer on each side, high-paid studs from a hundred-man firm that had represented the Memphis Press for decades, and they had assured him a dozen times in the past two hours that the Constitution of the United States of America was his friend and on this day would be his shield. Slick wore jeans, a safari jacket, and hiking boots, very much the weather-beaten reporter.
Harry was not impressed with the aura being projected by this weasel. Nor was he impressed with the silk-stocking, blue-blooded Republican mouthpieces who'd never before darkened the doors to his courtroom. Harry was upset. He sat on his bench and read for the tenth time Slick's morning story. He also reviewed applicable First Amendment cases dealing with reporters and theirconfidential sources. And he took his time so Slick would sweat.
The doors were locked. The bailiff, Slick's friend Grinder, stood quite nervously by the bench. Following the judge's order, two uniformed deputies sat di-recdy behind Slick and his lawyers, and seemed poised and ready for action. This bothered Slick and his lawyers, but they tried not to show it.
The same court reporter with an even shorter skirt filed her nails and waited for the words to start flowing. The same grouchy old woman sat at her table and flipped through the National Enquirer. They waited and waited. It was almost twelve-thirty. As usual, the docket was packed and things were behind schedule. Marcia had a club sandwich waiting for Harry between hearings. The Sway hearing was next.
He leaned forward on his elbows and glared down at Slick, who at a hundred and thirty pounds weighed probably a third of what Harry did. "On the record," he barked at the stenographer, and she started pecking away.
Cool as he was, Slick jerked with these first words and sat upright.
"Mr. Moeller, I've brought you here under summons because you've violated a section of the Tennessee Code regarding the confidentiality of my proceedings. This is a very grave matter because we're dealing with the safety and well-being of a small child. Unfortunately, the law does not provide criminal penalties, only contempt." He removed his reading glasses and began rubbing them with a handkerchief. "Now, Mr. Moeller," he said like a frustrated grandfather, "as upset as I am with you and your story, I am much more troubled by the fact that someone leaked this information to you. Someone who was in this courtroom, during the hearing yesterday. Your source troubles me greatly." Grinder leaned against the wall and pressed his calves against it to keep his knees from shaking. He would not look at Slick. His first heart attack had been only six years earlier, and if he didn't control himself, this might be the big one.
"Please sit in the witness chair, Mr. Moeller," Harry instructed with a sweep of the hand. "Be my guest." Slick was sworn by the old grouch. He placed one hiking boot on one knee, and looked at his attorneys for reassurance. They were not looking at him. Grinder studied the ceiling tiles.
"You are under oath, Mr. Moeller," Harry reminded him just seconds after he'd been sworn.
"Yes sir," he uttered, and feebly attempted to smile at this huge man who was sitting high above him and peering down over the railing of the bench.
"Did you in fact write the story in today's paper with your name on it?" "Yes sir." "Did you write it by yourself, or did someone assist you?" "Well, Your Honor, I wrote every word, if that's what you mean." "That's what I mean. Now, in the fourth paragraph of this story, you write, and I quote, 'Mark Sway refused to answer questions about Barry Muldanno or Boyd Boyette. ' End quote. Did you write that, Mr. Moeller?" "Yes sir." day when the child testified?" "No sir." "Were you in this building?" "Uh, yes sir, I was. Nothing wrong with that, is there?" "Be quiet, Mr. Moeller. I'll ask the questions, and you answer them. Do you understand the relationship here?" "Yes sir." Slick pleaded with his eyes to his lawyers, but both were deep into reading at this moment. He felt alone.
"So you weren't present. Now, Mr. Moeller, how did you learn that the child refused to answer my questions about Barry Muldanno or Boyd Boyette?" "I had a source." Grinder had never thought of himself as a source. He was just a low-paid courtroom bailiff with a uniform and a gun, and bills to pay. He was about to be sued by Sears for his wife's credit card. He wanted to wipe the sweat from his forehead but was afraid to move.
"A source," Harry repeated, mocking Slick. "Of course you had a source, Mr. Moeller. I assumed this. You weren't here. Someone told you. This means you had a source. Now, who was your source?" The lawyer with the grayest hair quickly stood to speak. He was dressed in standard big-firm attirecharcoal suit, white button-down, red tie but with a daring yellow stripe on it, and black shoes. His name was Alliphant. He was a partner who normally avoided courtrooms. "Your Honor, if I may." Harry grimaced, and he slowly turned from the witness. His mouth was open as if he were shocked at this daring interruption. He scowled at Alliphant, wno repeated himself. "If I may, Your Honor." Harry let him hang there for an eternity, then said, "You haven't been in my courtroom before, have you, Mr. Alliphant?" "No sir," he answered, still standing.
"I didn't think so. Not one of your usual hangouts. How many lawyers are in your firm, Mr. Alliphant?" "A hundred and seven, at last count." Harry whistled and shook his head. "That's a buncha lawyers. Do any of them practice in Juvenile Court?" "Well, I'm sure some do, Your Honor." "Which ones?" Alliphant stuck one hand in one pocket while running a loose finger along the edge of his legal pad. He did not belong here. His legal world was one of boardrooms and thick documents, of fat retainers and fancy lunches. He was rich because he billed three hundred dollars an hour and had thirty partners doing the same. His firm prospered because it paid seventy associates fifty thousand a year and expected them to bill five times that. He was here ostensibly because he was chief counsel for the paper, but actually because no one in the firm's litigation section could make the hearing on two hours' notice.
Harry despised him, his firm, and their ilk. He did not trust the corporate types who came down from the tall buildings to mingle with the lower class only when necessary. They were arrogant and afraid to get their hands dirty.
"Sit down, Mr. Alliphant," he said, pointing. "You do not stand in my courtroom. Sit." "Now what are you trying to say, Mr. Alliphant?" "Well, Your Honor, we object to these questions, and we object to the court's interrogation of Mr. Moeller on the grounds that his story is protected free speech under the First Amendment of the Constitution. Now-" "Mr. Alliphant, have you read the applicable code section dealing with closed hearings in juvenile matters? Surely you have." "Yes sir, I have. And, frankly, Your Honor, I have some real problems with this section." "Oh you do? Go on." "Yes sir. It's my opinion that this code section is unconstitutional as written. I have some cases here from other-" "Unconstitutional?" Harry asked with raised eyebrows.
"Yes sir," Alliphant answered firmly.