"Mr. Steere," Judge Rudolph said. "As you know, we are here because you state in your letter that you wish to represent yourself for the remainder of this trial. Is that still your wish?"
"It is, Your Honor."
"You are not represented by counsel at this hearing, is that correct?"
"It is," Steere answered. "I do not wish to be represented by counsel. I know my rights."
"You are aware that the Court has attempted to contact your lead counsel, Marta Richter, and has been unsuccessful."
"I am aware of that, sir. I repeat, I wish to proceed as my own counsel. I do not wish any of my previous counsel contacted on my behalf."
"You can afford counsel, can you not?"
"Of course I can afford counsel. I simply don't need counsel. My case is before the jury and I rely on their judgment." Steere nodded toward the courtroom gallery, where a silver-haired John LeFort sat with another lawyer in the front row. "I have the Cable and Bess firm on retainer, Your Honor, and my attorneys are present in the courtroom this morning. They will act as my legal advisers if need be."
"And you are satisfied with their representation, Mr. Steere?"
"Completely."
Judge Rudolph nodded. "The expertise of the Cable and Bess firm is well-known. There is an outstanding motion in limine, however, filed by the prosecution. Your former counsel Ms. Richter mentioned she would be filing a response."
"She was mistaken. I have discussed the matter with my attorneys and we will not be filing a response. I do not want further delay in my trial."
"Fine." This would go in well. All the bases were covered. Steere was holding up like a champ. Time to wrap it up. "Mr. Steere, although you have made your wish to represent yourself more than clear, Pennsylvania law requires that I hold a formal, on-the-record colloquy to make the determination that your waiver is knowing and voluntary. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Your Honor."
"Good. I will be asking you a series of questions intended to determine that you understand that you have the right to be represented by counsel, that you understand the nature of the charges against you and the elements of those charges, that you are aware of the permissible range of sentences for the offenses charged, and that if you waive your right to counsel you will be bound by all the normal rules of procedure. Am I making myself clear?"
"Yes."
Tom Moran blinked to stay awake, but he kept slipping into a dream. He couldn't find the pacifiers and the twins were about to be married. No one came to the wedding reception because he forgot the reception blankets. The twins and their husbands moved into the nursery, which remained unpainted because he ran out of Powder Puff.
"This matter is somewhat unusual in that it has already been submitted to the jury," the judge continued, "but I am holding this colloquy out of an abundance of caution. As far as scheduling, your letter requests this matter to proceed with dispatch. I will have the jury resume its deliberations as soon as this colloquy is over."
"Thank you, Your Honor."
"Quite welcome." Judge Rudolph reached for his colloquy notes. He would go down the list and ask each question. By the last one, the Steere case would be back on track. It was finesse like this that destined Judge Rudolph for greatness. He eased his glasses back to the bridge of his nose and began with the first question.
50
Bennie and Emil walked down the wide hallway, past the huge mahogany door flanked by display cases and an etched-glass sign that read OFFICE OF THE MAYOR. Rose and gray marble wainscoting covered the walls. The corridor was empty and its marble floor lustrous as a casket.
Emil pointed left, down the hall. Double mahogany doors opened onto the middle of the corridor and TV lights poured from them, casting a bright parallelogram on the shiny floor. Laughter echoed from the room. "Another grip 'n' grin," Emil said. "Does this man want to be reelected or what?"
"I gather. Won't Pressman be there?"
"She only goes to some. She's probably in her office." Emil reached the door with a gold number painted next to it. "Let me do the talking. The secretary is a friend of mine. You stay behind me."
"Emil, I'm a foot taller than you. You can't hide a sequoia with an olive tree."
"Then we cover your face." Emil tugged Bennie's hat down. "To the left of the door is a waiting room. Sit there until I get past the secretary. Understood?"
"Yes, Your Honor."
"Don't be such a joker. Men don't like that."
"Then I'll stop. Right away."
"Hmph." Emil straightened his tie and opened the door onto a sparsely furnished secretary's area with high ceilings. It was empty except for a secretary who was fast asleep, propped up by her elbow on a desk that faced the door. Emil flashed Bennie a thumbs-up sign and pointed to the waiting area, which held a couch and two chairs around a small coffee table. Bennie marched obediently to the couch and sat down. To the left was a water cooler and a shelf of slots for mail. Down the hall must have been Pressman's private office.
"Flossie," Emil whispered. "Flossie?" He touched the secretary's arm and she woke up with a start.
"Oh. My. What?" The secretary's sleepiness vanished when she recognized Emil. "Emil, my goodness! I must have been snoozing on the job. How embarrassing!" She laughed nervously and patted a gold chain around her neck.
"That's all right. I sometimes doze off myself now that I'm on the night shift."
"Now I know how you feel. I was here all last night." She straightened her navy sweater and finger-combed her short brown hair. She looked middle-aged, with soft jowls around the laugh lines in her face. Snapshots of lithe Bengal cats covered her desk. "I don't know how you do it."
"Not very well. Sometimes I feel like a mole. How did your stuffed grape leaves turn out, by the way?"
"They were wonderful! I've been meaning to thank you. My daughter-in-law ate three and you know how picky she is. She reminds me of you-know-who. Her nibs." The secretary jerked a resentful thumb toward Pressman's office.
"I'm so pleased the grape leaves turned out well. You didn't fry the leaves too long, I hope. That is the secret."
"No," the secretary said, "I followed the recipe exactly. It was so much easier than I thought."
"Now, tell me, why have you been here all night, Flossie?" Emil's voice was honeyed as baklava. Back on the couch, Bennie rolled her eyes, wondering when he was going to get to the point.
"The snowstorm, of course. The snowplows. What a mess. The cats must be so upset. Smoochie can't sleep without me, poor thing."
"I understand completely. On night shift, I hardly see my wife or the girls. It's hard to get used to."
"I'm so mad about what they did to you, Emil. I never buy the News anymore."
"Flossie, my fight is not yours. Anyway, I don't mean to keep you, I wanted to see Jennifer. Is she in?"
"No." The secretary's lip curled. "She left a while ago. Just cut out and left. I have to stay because I'm a 'subordinate.' "
"What?"
"Don't get me started."
"Where did she go? I would like to see her."
"Home, supposedly, but we can't reach her there. I don't know." The secretary shook her head. "She'll probably be in soon, and you're welcome to sit and wait."
"If we must, we must. Thank you," Emil said graciously, but back at the couch, Bennie just growled.
51
The jurors sat at the conference table in the hotel in the same positions as they had in the deliberations room at the courthouse. The hotel conference room was large, modern, and windowed, like the one at the Criminal Justice Center, the legal pads sat stacked in the middle of the table, and the ice water tasted the same. In fact, the only difference between yesterday and today was that Christopher Graham had, to the astonishment of all, changed his vote. And shaved off his beard.