Kept Boy to Made Man - 2. Defensive Maneuvers

Monday, June 20^th, 1992

He should have been tired, but Roger was finding it difficult to sit still. He was back in courtroom seven, but this time he was early. He had worked almost non-stop all weekend preparing for this trial. He had been to visit Thomas both Saturday and Sunday. They were both as ready as they were going to be.

There were significantly more spectators in the gallery then there had been on Friday. He wasn’t surprised. The local, state, and even some national news outlets couldn’t resist the temptation to sensationalize the trial of a seventeen-year-old accused of murdering his own father with a baseball bat.

He wondered if as many people would have shown up if the headlines spoke of a father attacking his gay son after years of abuse. He thought not. That realization made him angry. Everyone seemed excited to watch Thomas Miller’s life implode further. Well, they were in for a surprise. Roger spotted several of the reporters he had anonymously tipped off. Hopefully, they would be Thomas’ defense in the court of public opinion.

The courtroom door opened, causing many heads, including Roger’s to turn. ADA Timothy Radcliffe walked briskly to the prosecutor’s table and began arranging the space with his notes and other items. As if he could feel Roger’s eyes, he turned and scanned the gallery. His eyes came to rest on Roger’s, and a look of confusion clouded his face. The young attorney held the older attorney’s gaze for several seconds before quickly looking away.

“Let him think about that for a bit,” Roger almost chuckled to himself.

While he didn’t know the rising star in the DA’s office, the young man certainly knew of Roger Cicero. He had long enjoyed making up stories they might tell new prosecutors as a part of their onboarding.

The Outfit, or the Chicago Crime Family was most certainly the largest criminal operation in the city and a constant target of both the police and the DA. Roger had been their go-to legal counsel since moving to the city in the mid-seventies, thanks initially to Eddie’s connections and then to his own record of success. He was possibly the most recognized face of the mob, despite not being involved in any way beyond legal representation.

His amusement was interrupted as a young man in a department store suit, complete with clashing tie opened and then held the door. A scared looking Thomas was ushered in to the courtroom by a middle-aged officer with an obvious love of beer. The handcuffed teen looked even smaller than he had in jail, despite the decent fit of his markedly more expensive and perfectly matching suit. Roger’s tailor was forced to work quickly based solely on the questionable and incomplete measurements Roger himself had managed to capture.

The teen raised his head as he cleared the doorway, his eyes scanning the room before landing on Roger. Thomas exhaled the air he had been holding as he relaxed ever so slightly. He had almost completely given up, prior to the good-looking Italian man inserting himself into his hopeless life. So much had changed in just a few days. He took a deep breath and nodded almost imperceptibly when he caught Roger’s quick wink.

A hush fell over the courtroom as every eye followed the trio to the defense table. The things he had discussed with his new lawyer ran through Thomas’ mind as he moved to the front of the room. The officer removed the cuffs and allowed the nervous teen to sink into one of the provided chairs. As soon as he did, the murmur of the crowd began anew.

Roger’s heart went out to the boy. He had thought of Thomas as more than a client before they had even met. Now, just three days later, Roger saw him almost as a son, or perhaps his best friend’s son. He wasn’t sure, since he hadn’t had a best friend in over twenty years.

“Hang in there, kid. You know what to do.” He realized he must have said those words out loud since several people nearby turned to look at him.

Roger couldn’t take his eyes off Thomas and his soon to be former attorney. He hadn’t met Mr. Williams, but he had asked around. Average to mediocre was the consensus. Like many in that camp, becoming a public defender was a way to gain experience and a small paycheck as he attempted to work his way into a larger firm. If that plan failed, he would likely hang a shingle of his own, hoping to take on clients who either didn’t do their research or couldn’t otherwise find representation.

Roger found himself hoping the man would give up criminal law. Perhaps he could help philandering narcissists protect their ill-gotten gains from soon to be ex’s. There was certainly plenty of good paying work in that area of practice.

Again, his mind was pulled into the present as Sid entered the courtroom from behind the bench, followed by the stenographer and the members of the jury. Roger’s heart rate began to slowly climb as he watched the people settle into their designated seats. Sid turned to face the gallery, and Roger prepared to stand.

“All rise for the Honorable Judge O’Malley.” Roger lost sight of Thomas as the rest of the spectators rose.

The judge entered and took his seat behind the elevated bench at the front of the courtroom.

“Be seated.” The sounds of whispers briefly rose before dying again once everyone was settled.

“Bailiff, please call the case.” Judge O’Malley was clearly organizing his own notes.

“The State of Illinois vs. Thomas Miller. The charge is second degree murder,” Sid said clearly and loudly.

“Are all parties present?” The judge asked.

“Yes, your honor,” the bailiff replied, and Christopher O’Malley looked at the prosecutor expectantly.

“ADA Timothy Radcliffe, for the State of Illinois,” the man stated after standing.

“Alexander Williams for the defense, your honor.” Mr. Williams seemed confident, almost cocky, which seemed odd to Roger since he clearly planned to lose his first major trial.

“Mr. Williams, is your client present and prepared?” Roger watched as Thomas wilted in his chair further; he wasn’t sure how much of his response was natural and how much was the act they had talked about.

“Yes, your honor,” Mr. Williams declared.

“Very well. Members of the jury, I thank you for your service. Normally we would jump into opening statements at this point as discussed, however, we have one item of business that needs to be addressed before we begin. I have received a motion from the defense.” Judge O’Malley paused to make space for the response he knew would come.

“Your honor, I have submitted no motions.” Mr. Williams returned to his seat.

“That is most certainly true, counselor. I have a motion from the defendant wishing to make a change to his legal team. Thomas, do you still wish to release Mr. Williams from his court appointed service?” The judge’s voice was noticeable softer and the pace slower as he spoke directly to the frightened teen in front of him.

“Ye-Yes. Ah, your honor.” Chris O’Malley smiled.

“Very well. Please speak loudly so everyone can hear you. Could you please tell me why you believe a change in representation is necessary.

Alexander Williams turned in his chair to look at Thomas. Roger almost laughed out loud at the look of incredulity on the man’s face. He hoped Thomas could pull this off. They had planned for several different scenarios. The judge’s direct approach was by far the simplest and preferred.

“That’s the thing, ah, your honor. He hasn’t represented me at all.” Thomas made a show of taking several deep, gasping breaths; Roger wondered again if it was a part of the act.

“What do you mean, Mr. Miller?” The judge asked.

“Well, in my high school civics class last year, they taught us that people in America are innocent until someone proves they aren’t. I’m not always the best student, but I remember that. And, well, Mr. Williams hasn’t even asked me what happened. He didn’t talk to anyone else either, and every time we’ve been in court he just lets that man do all the talking.” Thomas raised a finger to point at Timothy Radcliffe; almost everyone, including the judge and jury could see his hand shaking.

“What do you talk about when he meets with you?” Roger was amazed that the judge was allowing Thomas so much leeway.

“Well, the two times we talked, he just said I should wait for sentencing because there wasn’t anything he could do to help me.” Thomas had done admirably, even remembering to mention the fact that he was in high school; Mr. Williams had the audacity to look shocked.

“I see. Well, Mr. Williams is not on trial in this proceeding.” The emphasis was not lost on anyone. “If I allow you to release Mr. Williams, do you plan to represent yourself?”

Roger silently thanked the judge for the perfect setup. He found himself respecting the large Irishman immensely and had to work hard to keep his expression appropriate to the proceedings.

“Oh, no, sir. I’m way too young for that!” Thomas said quickly.

“Objection, your honor, the defendant is trying to sway the jury before the trial has even begun!” Roger allowed himself a small smirk as Mr. Radcliffe finally caught on to the game.

“Sustained. The jury will disregard commentary on the defendant’s age.” But it was clear that the jury would not; Thomas was seventeen but looked and sounded much younger. “If not representing yourself, have you found another lawyer?”

“Yes, your honor.” Timothy Radcliffe suddenly twisted in his chair to stare at Roger, his face contorted in shock. “Roger Cicero is going to be lawyer now, sir.”

“I see. Mr. Cicero. Are you in attendance today?” Judge O’Malley asked.

“I am, your honor.” Roger stood and spoke in a commanding voice that all could easily hear, even over the sudden whispering in the gallery.

“Order!” The staccato crack of the judge’s gavel silenced the courtroom. “Very well, I will approve your motion Mr. Miller. Mr. Cicero, please join your client. Mr. Williams, your services are no longer required.”

Roger had to concentrate to restrain the grin that threatened to split his face. The first phase of his plan was complete. In Roger’s mind, it had been a complete success.

. . .

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I want to thank you in advance for the difficult job you have been asked to perform. You will need to set aside the image of innocence the defense will present and look at the hard facts. On February 14^th, 1992, a killer was unmasked.

“Objection, your honor. Conjecture.” Roger hid all outward signs of emotion.

“Sustained,” Judge O’Malley ruled.

“Apologies you’re honor.” Timothy Radcliffe had taken some poetic liberties in the writing of his opening statement; he had been expecting little opposition from Mr. Williams.

“You will hear testimony from professionals who will describe the awful scene they found when they responded to a 9-1-1 call from the Miller’s neighbor. It is a scene that can only be described as horrific; the result of extreme anger and -”

“Objection, your honor. Argumentative.” Roger remained outwardly calm.

“Sustained. Stick to facts, Mr. Radcliffe. You’ll have the opportunity to argue your case.” The young assistant district attorney nodded and tried to find his rhythm again.

“Thomas Miller bludgeoned his father with a baseball bat, striking him at least twelve times. Experts will testify to the excessive nature of his actions. Let me remind you that you must respond to the facts. You have the moral obligation to see past the persona on display and judge the events and motives that left Elijah Miller dead by the hand of his own son.” A clearly frustrated Radcliffe returned to his table.

“Mr. Cicero?” The judge prompted.

Roger slowly stood, making a show of placing a paternal hand firmly on Thomas shoulder. He held no notes as he stood in place looking at the jury. He spoke softly and in a friendly, casual tone.

“It is a father’s job to support and nurture his children. He is to love them unconditionally. The evidence and testimony will show that Elijah Miller did not meet his parental obligations. In fact, Thomas was deeply afraid of his father. You will have the opportunity to hear from him directly. He will detail a long history of abuse and threats.” After a light squeeze, Roger moved from the teen’s side to stand before the jury box.

“The prosecution insists that my client is a threat to society, a person who proved he cannot be trusted. We will show that he acted justly, defending himself from a much larger man he believed was going to kill him and his best friend.

“It will be up to you to determine who is the victim in the Miller household. Remember, Thomas is not denying that he killed his father. He did. But, as you will hear, his father’s death was the unintended result of reflexive and desperate actions in the face of extreme danger.

“The prosecution must prove, beyond any doubt, that the teenager you see before you responded to his father’s own unprovoked aggression with excessive and unreasonable force. If there is any doubt of his guilt, any possibility that Thomas acted appropriately, you must acquit him of this charge. We will show that Elijah Miller took much of Thomas’ childhood away from him. It will be up to you to decide his future.” Roger ended his conversational monologue and returned to his seat.

The jury could clearly see the tears in Thomas’ eyes. Roger leaned over, placing his arm around the boy’s shoulder and whispered in his ear.

“Deep breath, Thomas. It’s going to get worse before it gets better, but we couldn’t ask for a better start. Hang in there. It’s okay to cry.”

. . .

“So, you were the first to arrive on the scene, correct?” Timothy asked Officer Riley.

“Yes, that’s correct.” The uniformed man answered.

“According to your report, upon entering the home, and I quote, ‘I found two naked teen males with blood covering their faces. They were huddled together on a couch in the living room. They both ignored my questions. I waited for back up and then conducted a full search of the home. I discovered an unresponsive adult male on the floor of a first floor bedroom. He had no pulse when I arrived.’

“You go on to describe the scene in the bedroom as, and again I am quoting you, ‘a complete nightmare.’” Timothy Radcliffe paused to allow those words to reverberate. “Would you please describe the nightmare for the court?”

“The body was the first thing I noticed. There was a large pool of blood still growing under the victim’s head.”

“Objection, your honor. The word victim denotes a crime, which currently remains alleged.” Roger didn’t intend to let anything, no matter how small, incriminate his client.

“Sustained.” The young prosecutor had to concentrate to avoid rolling his eyes.

“Right, ah, the dead man’s head was laying in a pool of blood, which was still oozing out of a gruesome head wound. He also clearly had a broken arm. The room was trashed as well. There were obvious signs of a struggle. I also noticed a significant amount of blood on the bed and splattered across the back wall and ceiling. The murder weapon was on the floor, next -”

“Objection. Conjecture.” Roger said calmly.

“Sustained. We have yet to determine if this was, in fact a murder,” the judge explained to the jury.

“Yeah. Okay. There was a wooden baseball bat on the floor next to the, ah, dead man. It was covered in blood.” The officer explained while nervously watching the defense lawyer stare back at him from across the room.

“What do you think happened in that room, officer.” This witness had yet to add any value to the prosecution’s case, and Timothy Radcliffe’s tone hinted at his frustration.

“Uh, I would only be guessing, sir.” The man's eyes were still on the perfectly composed attorney who would be quick to object if offered anything but the facts.

“No further questions, your honor.” The assistant district attorney returned to his table; he was quickly losing the confidence he had arrived with.

“The witness is yours Mr. Cicero,” Judge O’Malley prompted.

Roger stood and slowly moved towards the witness stand.

“Were you, at any point, afraid for your safety in the Miller’s home, Officer Riley?”

“Ah, No.” The officer sounded confused.

“Did either of the naked boys ‘huddled together’ give you reason to suspect they were violent?”

“Objection, your honor. Relevance?” The ADA wasn’t sure where Roger was going, but he didn’t like it.

“Mr. Radcliffe has painted my client as an excessively volatile and violent murderer. I’d like to know if Officer Riley saw any evidence to support that claim,” Roger said reasonably.

“I’ll allow it. Please answer the question officer,” the judge said.

“Well, no. They were both practically comatose.” The officer shifted in discomfort.

“Nothing further for this witness, your honor.” Roger returned to his seat.

. . .

“There was visible bruising covering much of the body, clearly made by a large, heavy, blunt object consistent with a baseball bat such as the one found at the scene. The man suffered compound fractures in both the left ulna and radius. The cause of death was blunt force trauma to the head, resulting in an open, complex skull fracture and intracranial hemorrhaging.” Having been warned, the medical examiner was particularly careful to avoid calling the man a victim.

“And how many times would you estimate the man was struck?” The ADA was grateful this witness was more composed and confident on the stand.

“At least a dozen but perhaps more,” the doctor replied.

“Do you often see bodies with as much damage as was inflicted to Elijah Miller?” The attorney asked.

“Well, it’s not common, no.” The man didn’t elaborate, causing Timothy Radcliffe to probe further.

“How would you explain the excessive trauma?” He needed to convince the jury that Thomas had used excessive force, and this was his best chance to get the idea on record.

“Well, I certainly can’t guess at motive, but it hints at either a prolonged struggle or a lot of passion.” The answer wasn’t as damning as the prosecutor had hoped, but he didn’t dare push too hard.

“Nothing further.” Roger replaced Timothy near the stand.

“Good morning, doctor,” the intimidating attorney said amicably.

“Um, yes. Good morning, sir.” The doctor’s discomfort at the unexpectedly friendly greeting was almost comical.

“How much did Elijah Miller weigh when his body found its way to the morgue?” He asked, quickly pivoting the conversation in a way that further unbalanced the medical examiner.

“Ah, well, it should be in my report.” Roger nodded as he handed the man a copy of his own report.

“The body weighed two-hundred-thirty-seven pounds,” the doctor reported after locating the requested datapoint.

“Thank you, doctor. I have a copy of Thomas Miller’s driver’s license here. It lists his weight at one-hundred-twenty-eight pounds. Obviously, without a scale it would be impossible to validate that, but based on your experience do you think that seems close to my client’s weight?”

“Objection. Relevance?” The prosecutor was again uncertain where the defense was taking his questioning.

“I promise there’s a point,” Roger quickly promised.

“Overruled. Get there quickly Mr. Cicero,” the judge instructed.

“Doctor, does that weight seem reasonable?” Roger asked.

“Uh, yes, I’d say he looks to be about that to me,” the medical examiner agreed nervously.

“Doctor, your report also documents bruises and contusions on the knuckles of each of Elijah Miller’s hands. Have you seen injuries such as those before.” Roger suppressed a grin as he noticed Radcliffe squirm.

“Certainly. The marks on the man’s hands are consistent with punching something without gloves.” Roger walked to his pile of papers and pulled out several stapled stacks of paper.

“The defense submits medical findings from examinations of both Thomas Miller and Brendon Mack into evidence.” Roger handed a copy the judge, the prosecutor, and the medical examiner.

"The exams were performed at the request of law enforcement hours after Elijah Miller died but somehow these results were not previously submitted to the court.” The unspoken accusation hung in the air for several seconds.

“Doctor, would you please read and summarize the report for the court.” Roger expected an objection to the introduction of evidence, but the ADA remained surprisingly silent; He could see that the man had the decency to look at least a little guilty.

The doctor scanned the pages he had been given for several minutes before responding.

“Both boys showed bruising consistent with being punched repeatedly. The report shows detailed placement of the bruising across much of their bodies, including heavy bruising on their forearms. Thomas had a nasal fracture. Brendon had swelling and bruising on his neck as well.” The doctor looked up from the papers.

“As an expert who examines physical trauma for a living, would you attach any significance in the bruises on both of the boys’ forearms?” Roger asked.

“You typically see that on victims of physical attack. They are defensive injuries.” Roger had additional questions, but decided it was better to punctuate his cross examination with those words; He wanted to make sure the jury remembered Thomas as the victim and the doctor had been kind enough to insinuate just that.

“In the police report, both boys claim to have been physically attacked by Elijah Miller without provocation. We’ve established that Elijah Miller weighed over two hundred and thirty pounds, compared to Thomas Miller’s one-hundred-twenty-eight pounds. The boys had bruising across their bodies, including defensive injuries, consistent with being punched. Elijah had bruised and bloodied knuckles. How scared and desperate must the boys have been, doctor?”

“Objection!” Timothy Radcliffe realized too late that calling the ME had been a major mistake.

“I withdraw the question. Nothing further for this witness, but I reserve the right to recall.” Roger Cicero walked calmly back to his seat as Timothy Radcliffe fumed.

. . .

The prosecution called two of Elijah’s co-workers and his priest to provide character references. They each talked about what an amazing man he had been and how much he loved his son. The court was told that the world was worse off without Elijah in it. Roger didn’t bother to engage with any of those witnesses which left the jury and the gallery largely dismissing their testimony as well.

There were only two names left on the prosecution’s witness list: Charles Miller, Elijah’s older brother and Brendon Mack. Roger had been surprised to see Brendon’s there. It was the largest wild card of the trial as far as he was concerned.

Thomas had been clear that Brendon was his best friend and had been since they were both little. It was obvious that Thomas’ feelings, at least, had moved far beyond platonic, and Roger couldn’t explain why Brendon would be a witness for the prosecution. He realized he would have to wait to find out as Timothy Radcliffe announced the next witness.

“The prosecution calls Charles Miller to the stand,” the ADA stated.

At the mention of his uncle’s name, Thomas took a sharp breath and whipped his head around in time to see the large man being admitted to the courtroom. Just as quickly, he turned back around and sank lower in his chair. Roger could feel the young man shaking next to him. He saw the blood drain from the already pale complexion and observed his wide and haunted eyes.

The defense lawyer had seen similar reactions often, but it was usually in witnesses sitting in the presence of one of his clients. It was clear to Roger that Thomas was completely terrified of his uncle. It was a deep, base level fear that effected his physiology and mind.

There hadn’t been time to discuss the witness list and prepare properly. Thomas had not mentioned his uncle in their conversations, but his visceral reaction had the lawyer reevaluating what little he knew. Perhaps Brendon wasn’t the biggest wild card after all.

Roger studied the man as he settled into the witness box. He could see little resemblance between uncle and nephew apart from the brown eyes. Charles glanced at Thomas and the experienced attorney saw the malevolent look that swept briefly across the man’s features. The lawyer hardened his gaze causing Charles to visibly flinch as his eyes moved from the teen to his counsel. Roger made a quick decision to follow his gut.

“Your honor, the defense requests a short break.” Judge O’Malley saw Thomas’ distress as he looked towards the defense’s table and glanced at the clock on the wall behind them.

“Very well, I think we could all use a stretch and maybe some lunch. Mr. Radcliffe, we will continue with the prosecution’s case this afternoon. The court is in recess until twelve-thirty.” The judge nodded to the bailiff.

“All rise,” the Bailiff intoned quickly.

Judge O’Malley exited through the rear of the courtroom, and the officer that had escorted Thomas into the courtroom fought the exiting crowd, cuffs in hand. Roger glared at the man as he moved to restrain his client.

“I need to take the defendant back into custody,” the man said nervously.

“And I need to ensure my client’s rights are observed. We will be exercising the sixth and fourteenth amendments in a private and privileged conversation over lunch. I don’t believe the cuffs will be necessary.” Roger took up a protective position next to Thomas and guided him towards the exit, forcing the surprised officer to follow them out into the hall.

Roger was pleased to see Melissa waiting for them just outside the courtroom. He smiled at the sight and smell of Giordano’s deep dish.

“Melissa, remind me to talk to your boss about a raise.” The young woman smiled at the familiar joke and fell in behind the trio as they moved down the third-floor hallway.