went to bed last night, and I woke up this morning. That’s it.”
“He was here when you woke up. That’s all it takes.”
Jack tenses. The muscles in his neck, shoulders, and chest ripple beneath his skin like waves on a pond.
“All it takes? For what? For the government to invade my life, my privacy? For them to drag me down to the police station and force me to betray my best friend, even though I have no idea what he did last night and I don’t believe he committed a crime?”
“If they ask you if you saw him, you have to tell them the truth. And believe me, they’ll ask you.”
“I don’t have to talk to them! Listen to yourself! You sound like a freaking Nazi! Don’t forget, Dad—I grew up in this house with you. I’ve heard you say it a thousand times. ‘People don’t have to talk to the police.’ How many times have I heard you say, ‘If he’d just kept his mouth shut, he would’ve never been caught’?”
“This is different.”
“How?” His tone is now defiant. “How is it different? If the police come knocking on my door, I can tell them to piss up a rope, right? I can tell them to go to hell. As a matter of fact, I don’t have to tell them anything.”
He’s right, to a degree. A private citizen doesn’t have to speak to the police if he doesn’t want to. But unless he’s the target of a criminal investigation, he can be subpoenaed to testify in front of a grand jury. If he refuses to answer questions, the presiding judge can throw him in jail until he changes his mind or until the grand jury’s term ends. It’s a practice used regularly by the federal government. They convene investigative grand juries all the time. I’ve seen the feds use them to the point of extortion.
On the other hand, the locals have never used the grand jury as an investigative tool; not once, to my knowledge. Local grand juries are nothing more than rubber stamps for cops and prosecutors, largely because the only people who ever appear before them are cops and prosecutors. The prosecutors ask all the questions and the cops provide all the answers, meaning they can choreograph the proceedings to suit their needs. Sadly, the old saying that a local prosecutor can indict a ham sandwich is true.
“They can force you to answer questions if they want to,” I say. “If you refuse, they can throw you in jail.”
“What about my right to remain silent?”
“The fact that you grew up in a house with a lawyer doesn’t make you a lawyer. There are a lot of things about the law you don’t know.”
“Enlighten me.”
I throw up my hands in frustration.
“What do you want me to do, Jack? I’m an assistant district attorney. Before I leave for work this morning, I find Tommy Miller asleep in my house. After I leave for work, I find out that Judge Green has been murdered and Tommy is a suspect. I come home to try to figure out what’s going on, and my wife decides to jump into the middle of it and my son tells me he’s going to hide behind his constitutional rights. Put yourself in my place.”
“Hide?” Jack says, his voice rising again. “You think choosing to exercise my right to stay out of this is hiding? You’ve really changed, haven’t you? Whatever happened to the dad who always told me, ‘Don’t ever let the government in your life, son. You can’t trust them’? Whatever happened to the dad who always told me that real friends should be treasured and that loyalty is important? What happened to that guy?”
“You need to calm down.”
He rises from the chair, his fingertips pushing against the table. His face, so pale earlier, is now flushed with anger. I’ve never seen him like this.
“Do you know what I need , Dad?” he says through tight lips. “Right now, this very minute, do you know what I really need ?”
“Tell me.”
“What I need is a lawyer! A good one! One who’s on my side! Now, are you going to help me or not?”
16
“What do you think? Have I broken
“He was here when you woke up. That’s all it takes.”
Jack tenses. The muscles in his neck, shoulders, and chest ripple beneath his skin like waves on a pond.
“All it takes? For what? For the government to invade my life, my privacy? For them to drag me down to the police station and force me to betray my best friend, even though I have no idea what he did last night and I don’t believe he committed a crime?”
“If they ask you if you saw him, you have to tell them the truth. And believe me, they’ll ask you.”
“I don’t have to talk to them! Listen to yourself! You sound like a freaking Nazi! Don’t forget, Dad—I grew up in this house with you. I’ve heard you say it a thousand times. ‘People don’t have to talk to the police.’ How many times have I heard you say, ‘If he’d just kept his mouth shut, he would’ve never been caught’?”
“This is different.”
“How?” His tone is now defiant. “How is it different? If the police come knocking on my door, I can tell them to piss up a rope, right? I can tell them to go to hell. As a matter of fact, I don’t have to tell them anything.”
He’s right, to a degree. A private citizen doesn’t have to speak to the police if he doesn’t want to. But unless he’s the target of a criminal investigation, he can be subpoenaed to testify in front of a grand jury. If he refuses to answer questions, the presiding judge can throw him in jail until he changes his mind or until the grand jury’s term ends. It’s a practice used regularly by the federal government. They convene investigative grand juries all the time. I’ve seen the feds use them to the point of extortion.
On the other hand, the locals have never used the grand jury as an investigative tool; not once, to my knowledge. Local grand juries are nothing more than rubber stamps for cops and prosecutors, largely because the only people who ever appear before them are cops and prosecutors. The prosecutors ask all the questions and the cops provide all the answers, meaning they can choreograph the proceedings to suit their needs. Sadly, the old saying that a local prosecutor can indict a ham sandwich is true.
“They can force you to answer questions if they want to,” I say. “If you refuse, they can throw you in jail.”
“What about my right to remain silent?”
“The fact that you grew up in a house with a lawyer doesn’t make you a lawyer. There are a lot of things about the law you don’t know.”
“Enlighten me.”
I throw up my hands in frustration.
“What do you want me to do, Jack? I’m an assistant district attorney. Before I leave for work this morning, I find Tommy Miller asleep in my house. After I leave for work, I find out that Judge Green has been murdered and Tommy is a suspect. I come home to try to figure out what’s going on, and my wife decides to jump into the middle of it and my son tells me he’s going to hide behind his constitutional rights. Put yourself in my place.”
“Hide?” Jack says, his voice rising again. “You think choosing to exercise my right to stay out of this is hiding? You’ve really changed, haven’t you? Whatever happened to the dad who always told me, ‘Don’t ever let the government in your life, son. You can’t trust them’? Whatever happened to the dad who always told me that real friends should be treasured and that loyalty is important? What happened to that guy?”
“You need to calm down.”
He rises from the chair, his fingertips pushing against the table. His face, so pale earlier, is now flushed with anger. I’ve never seen him like this.
“Do you know what I need , Dad?” he says through tight lips. “Right now, this very minute, do you know what I really need ?”
“Tell me.”
“What I need is a lawyer! A good one! One who’s on my side! Now, are you going to help me or not?”
16
“What do you think? Have I broken
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