coffee pot. “Then I’ll just have to fake it,” he said.
Justice Joshua Weiss was on his feet and out from behind his desk before Dobson Howe was even through the doorway. “Dobson, how are you?” he said. “I wish I’d known you were in town, we could have played golf on Sunday.”
“Just got in today,” Howe said. He shook Justice Weiss’ outstretched hand, then found himself in a bear hug.
“Sit down, sit down,” he said. “Coffee?”
“No, thanks.”
“You look wonderful. Maybe we should all live in California.”
Howe smiled. “Well, Josh, today I’m grateful that you’re in Washington.”
Justice Weiss smiled his big, charming smile. “Why is that?” he asked.
Howe leaned forward and spoke in a subdued voice. “I’m here to ask you for a stay of execution in the Robert Rand case,” he said.
The smile faded from Justice Weiss’s face.
“There is new evidence,” Howe continued. “It is a case of mistaken identity.”
Weiss was frowning now. “Have you taken it to the governor?” he asked.
Howe hesitated. “The governor is reluctant to intervene,” he said.
“And your state Supreme Court?”
“Waiting for the governor to go first.”
Justice Weiss stood up and took a step toward a bookcase, then turned and walked toward his desk, then stopped pacing suddenly and turned toward Howe. “Where’s the federal issue?” he asked.
Howe opened his briefcase and took out a thick folder. “We are currently preparing an appeal to this Court of Mr. Rand’s conviction,” Howe said, “on constitutional grounds.”
“What grounds?” Justice Weiss asked skeptically.
“But the appeal will be moot without a stay of execution,” Howe continued, “because he’s scheduled to die tomorrow morning at 9:00 Pacific Time. I’m asking you to issue a stay pending the resolution of these issues.”
Justice Weiss stared at the floor. “Son of a bitch,” he said quietly.
Howe said nothing.
“You think he’s innocent?”
“It’s a case of mistaken identity.”
“I watched that trial on television like everybody else,” Justice Weiss said. “What about that girl who said she drove with him to the parking lot?”
“Lying.”
“Can you prove it?”
Howe was silent.
Justice Weiss returned to his armchair and sat down. “Now listen, Dobson,” he said. “We know each other since law school. I’m not going to bullshit you. And you’re not going to bullshit me.”
Howe looked up innocently.
“Don’t give me that,” the justice said. “You want me to order a stay of execution pending a meritless appeal, just to stall for time while you try to prove your theory of mistaken identity.”
Howe leaned back on the sofa but said nothing.
“Do you understand that you’re asking an Associate Justice of the Supreme Court of the United States to halt the lawful processes of the California criminal justice system, despite a constitutional amendment and forty years of decisions, including one this week, telling all branches of the U.S. government to stay the hell out of the states’ business?”
Howe nodded.
“Do you understand that if I do this, every death penalty defendant in every state court throughout the country will be pounding on the door of the U.S. Supreme Court, and one day one of them is going to get in, and then we’ll be on the path back to the 20th century, with every police department in the nation once again forced to operate under the supervision of this Court?”
Howe nodded.
“Well then I’m sure you understand,” Justice Weiss said, “why I’m not going to do it without seeing some proof.”
Howe was struggling to connect a piece of communications equipment through the data port in the hotel room’s telephone. Every time he plugged it in, it disconnected his call to his office in Los Angeles. “Casey? Hello?” he said. “Damn!” He yanked the connector out of the telephone and keyed in the number again. “Law offices,” Casey
Justice Joshua Weiss was on his feet and out from behind his desk before Dobson Howe was even through the doorway. “Dobson, how are you?” he said. “I wish I’d known you were in town, we could have played golf on Sunday.”
“Just got in today,” Howe said. He shook Justice Weiss’ outstretched hand, then found himself in a bear hug.
“Sit down, sit down,” he said. “Coffee?”
“No, thanks.”
“You look wonderful. Maybe we should all live in California.”
Howe smiled. “Well, Josh, today I’m grateful that you’re in Washington.”
Justice Weiss smiled his big, charming smile. “Why is that?” he asked.
Howe leaned forward and spoke in a subdued voice. “I’m here to ask you for a stay of execution in the Robert Rand case,” he said.
The smile faded from Justice Weiss’s face.
“There is new evidence,” Howe continued. “It is a case of mistaken identity.”
Weiss was frowning now. “Have you taken it to the governor?” he asked.
Howe hesitated. “The governor is reluctant to intervene,” he said.
“And your state Supreme Court?”
“Waiting for the governor to go first.”
Justice Weiss stood up and took a step toward a bookcase, then turned and walked toward his desk, then stopped pacing suddenly and turned toward Howe. “Where’s the federal issue?” he asked.
Howe opened his briefcase and took out a thick folder. “We are currently preparing an appeal to this Court of Mr. Rand’s conviction,” Howe said, “on constitutional grounds.”
“What grounds?” Justice Weiss asked skeptically.
“But the appeal will be moot without a stay of execution,” Howe continued, “because he’s scheduled to die tomorrow morning at 9:00 Pacific Time. I’m asking you to issue a stay pending the resolution of these issues.”
Justice Weiss stared at the floor. “Son of a bitch,” he said quietly.
Howe said nothing.
“You think he’s innocent?”
“It’s a case of mistaken identity.”
“I watched that trial on television like everybody else,” Justice Weiss said. “What about that girl who said she drove with him to the parking lot?”
“Lying.”
“Can you prove it?”
Howe was silent.
Justice Weiss returned to his armchair and sat down. “Now listen, Dobson,” he said. “We know each other since law school. I’m not going to bullshit you. And you’re not going to bullshit me.”
Howe looked up innocently.
“Don’t give me that,” the justice said. “You want me to order a stay of execution pending a meritless appeal, just to stall for time while you try to prove your theory of mistaken identity.”
Howe leaned back on the sofa but said nothing.
“Do you understand that you’re asking an Associate Justice of the Supreme Court of the United States to halt the lawful processes of the California criminal justice system, despite a constitutional amendment and forty years of decisions, including one this week, telling all branches of the U.S. government to stay the hell out of the states’ business?”
Howe nodded.
“Do you understand that if I do this, every death penalty defendant in every state court throughout the country will be pounding on the door of the U.S. Supreme Court, and one day one of them is going to get in, and then we’ll be on the path back to the 20th century, with every police department in the nation once again forced to operate under the supervision of this Court?”
Howe nodded.
“Well then I’m sure you understand,” Justice Weiss said, “why I’m not going to do it without seeing some proof.”
Howe was struggling to connect a piece of communications equipment through the data port in the hotel room’s telephone. Every time he plugged it in, it disconnected his call to his office in Los Angeles. “Casey? Hello?” he said. “Damn!” He yanked the connector out of the telephone and keyed in the number again. “Law offices,” Casey
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