The Court Watchers

By C. A. Hiddleston

New author C.A. Hiddleston really kicks this legal thriller out of the courthouse, with his portrayal of the killing of a beautiful deputy district attorney, Heather Breeley, and the resulting trial of her boyfriend, Gene McCleary. Hiddleston uses his extensive experience as a prosecutor and criminal defense attorney to pull back the curtains in a tell-all story. Watch defense attorneys Steve Puga and Boston McGiver go up against the tenacious prosecutor Harold Gunn in an intense struggle which mushrooms out of control. Track private investigator Drift Lopez on the twisting pathway to a not-so-ultimate truth. See how California’s justice system deals with this case of murder, blackmail, and secret videos in a chess game where both sides must make their moves. The Court Watchers grapples with the new technologies increasingly used by the government to spy on the innocent and guilty alike, with all the rest of us caught in the middle. Whose eyes are behind the watching lens?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Jul 30, 2021
• ISBN: 9781647503598

C. A. Hiddleston

C. A. Hiddleston is a graduate of Southern Methodist University where he received a B.A. in Political Science and first learned of global warming in 1980 in a Philosophy of Technology class. Thereafter, he received a law degree from California Western School of Law in San Diego, California, where some of the book's scenery is from, of the primitive Earth. He works as a Senior Deputy Public Defender in Tulare County, California.

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About the Author

C.A. Hiddleston studied creative writing at Southern Methodist University. He received his juris doctorate from California Western School of Law. As a prosecutor and defense attorney, he has tried over one hundred cases in front of juries. He has written reform-minded academic articles about prisons, collaborative courts, and corruption.

Dedication

I dedicate this story to all the players in the courthouse – from attorneys to judges, to court staff, and onlookers, to those who figure out the truth, day after day, bit by bit, with logic, morals, and emotion.

For Your Eyes Only

Copyright Information ©

C.A. Hiddleston (2021)

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher.

Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Ordering Information

Quantity sales: Special discounts are available on quantity purchases by corporations, associations, and others. For details, contact the publisher at the address below.

Publisher’s Cataloging-in-Publication data

Hiddleston, C.A.

The Court Watchers

ISBN 9781647503581 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781647503574 (Hardback)

ISBN 9781647503598 (ePub e-book)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2020921809

www.austinmacauley.com/us

First Published (2021)

Austin Macauley Publishers LLC

40 Wall Street, 33rd Floor, Suite 3302

New York, NY 10005

USA

[e-mail]

[phone]

Acknowledgment

I am grateful for the patience of those who felt ignored as I typed away at my keyboard. Also, I thank my wife for her proofreading and my son for his lingo.

Chapter 1

Judge Abel Parcheesian sat on his throne in the Tupelo County Superior Court, craning his neck and peering over his ‘bench.’¹ The irregular lines around his lips tensed while his dark brown eyes darted between the attorneys seated at their tables. He gave the impression of both boredom and agitation. He wore a peacock blue dress shirt, which was mostly concealed under his black robe, except for the collar.

Mr. Gunn, are you ready with your opening statement? Parcheesian asked loudly, glaring through the top lens of his trifocals.

"I certainly am, Your Honor," said Harold Gunn, the elected district attorney who headed up an office of thirty lawyers and support staff. But Gunn had not done a jury trial for years, as his role was to supervise. When asked the day before by Action 20 News reporter Lucy Kwon why he was personally handling the case against Eugene McCleary, Gunn said he wanted to go after the murderer of his fallen colleague, Heather Breeley. She was one of ‘his deputies.’

As Gunn stood-up in the dim windowless courtroom, he muttered under his breath, This is for you, Heather. He approached the jury, moving slowly but intentionally, his flawlessly tailored suitcoat covering his corpulent stomach, his choreographed manner exuding power and exactness.

Ladies and gentleman, this killing was a crime of passion, said Gunn, but it was also well thought out. He pointed his index finger at Eugene McCleary. "This public defender, this defendant, killed Heather Breeley, a beautiful young deputy district attorney who he opposed in court but secretly had a deep unrequited desire for." Gunn stared a few seconds at McCleary, who sat in a cold blue upholstered chair, looking back at his accuser with soft but penetrating eyes.

Mr. Gunn turned back toward the jury, the large sides of his jacket flopping like a basset hounds’ ears. Heather tried to end this relationship of sorts, which was hard because she came across the defendant on a regular basis in court. He wouldn’t take no for an answer. So, he waited until she was working late into the evening, in this very courthouse. He was doing pretend work at the public defender’s office downstairs. He texted, ‘I need to see you for an explanation.’ He waited and waited, but she did not text back. He grew more and more frustrated. A slight southern accent started coming out as Gunn emphasized certain words. "McCleary had access to the courthouse complex at night, and he had a motive to kill. I mean, she was telling him she wasn’t interested. He went into the hallway outside the D.A.’s office, knowing she would have to come out that way when she was done working. She finally appeared, saw him, and realized that McCleary meant her harm. She ran down the hallway to get away. He shot her in the back."

Gunn’s face became red as he walked closer to the jury box, either from exertion or anger. He steadied himself against the short firm wall separating him from the jurors.

McCleary then pursued her and finished her off with one shot to the head. He did this as she lay on the ground disabled. Unfortunately, the video system in the courthouse was not working after hours, but we will prove beyond a reasonable doubt that Eugene R. McCleary is the actual killer. We seek the death penalty.

Spitting out his final words, he said, "This lustful beast should not be allowed to live. He lies to cover up his crimes, the same lies he told police the day he killed this young lady."

Gunn sat down with a flourish, as Gene McCleary was shaking his head ‘no’ and conversing at counsel table with his lead attorney, Steven Puga, and co-counsel, Boston McGiver. Two jurors were watching their conversation closely. As a veteran trial attorney for hire, Puga listened actively to each word McCleary spoke, using the opportunity to shine a light upon his client, knowing jurors scrutinize everything that goes on in a courtroom.

Ms. McGiver was taking notes in her perfect handwriting as she sat properly in a white blouse and black skirt. She was the structure behind the defense team. Steve was the inspiration.

Judge Parcheesian watched the accused with a wary expression. He then cut off the consultation. Pointing at Puga, he said, "Now is the time, counsel, for your opening statement."

Steve Puga sprung to his feet wearing a crisp and bright blue suit. He moved directly in front of the jury. There are no eyewitnesses of who killed Heather Breeley, and the government says the courthouse security video is ‘unavailable’ from that night. But you need to know that Gene’s overtures toward Heather were completely proper. And although it is unusual for a defense attorney to date a prosecutor, Gene and Heather made sure they never appeared on the same case against each other. As far as their relationship being ‘troubled,’ as reported in the media, their text messages show no more disagreements than anyone else has. Why Heather wanted to break off the relationship, this is a mystery to Gene – as can be seen by his last unanswered text to Heather – and to our investigators who still search for the reason. But break-ups happen with young people. Maybe she found someone else.

Puga paused for a moment to let this fact settle into the minds of the jurors, leaving unsaid the implication that maybe this ‘someone else’ was the real killer. He was using instinct alone on this supposition, taking a step into the dark and hoping the light would come later.

He continued in an animated voice. "You will hear from character witnesses that Gene McCleary is a great guy, and he has never assaulted, stalked, or harassed any woman. And where’s the murder weapon? The police broke into the public defender’s office, searching for evidence. They found none. They also searched Gene’s house and car. Nothing. All they have is a jailhouse informant, who happened to be out of jail at the time, who now says he saw Gene leaving the courthouse within an hour of when the coroner says Heather died. And he believes Gene had something in his hand that could have been a gun. Or was it a cell phone? Puga flipped the palms of his hands up and looked at Sofia Pennybaker, a female juror he had worked hard to keep from being excused. Coming out of the top of her head was a little rubber-banded ‘alfalfa’ sprout with pink streaks. This district attorney’s office is notorious for using informants when they don’t have real evidence."

Puga let his dancing gaze sweep across the whole jury panel. "In the end, you will vote not guilty. This is because the government won’t prove beyond a reasonable doubt that Gene did anything."

While Puga was making this final point, the judge leaned back in his black executive style chair, clearing his throat. Several jurors glanced over at him, including Sofia. Parcheesian rolled his eyes to the ceiling. Puga, whose back was to the judge, saw Sofia frown. Have I said something wrong?

The judge told the jurors in a brassy voice to take a break and go in the juror room for fifteen minutes. He called the attorneys up to his bench as McGiver was whispering to Puga about what had just happened. "Come up here, Mr. Puga," he repeated. Puga walked to the bench with a bounce in this step.

Mr. Puga, said the judge, "I am going to limit you to three-character witnesses for Mr. McCleary. So, you better pick your best three."

Why? responded Puga in a lively manner. What legal reason is there for downsizing my case?

The court answered in kind, I have the ability to shorten the number of character witnesses when they become repetitive and cumulative. He looked with intensity at Puga, as if to say don’t mess with me. His attention next turned toward Gunn. Are you going to bring in credible witnesses placing the defendant at the scene, or at least in the courthouse, at that awful hour when this happened? Surely, someone was around here at that time?

We are going to analyze the county key card evidence, answered Gunn, to see if anyone came in that night. The problem is people working late do not use their cards when they leave; only when they arrive.

Puga interjected, "So, they don’t know when Mr. McCleary left, judge. He could have been at home eating dinner." Puga let out a slight giggle.

The judge ignored Puga and looked toward Gunn, Can’t cell tower pings place the defendant in the courthouse when he sent the text?

I’ll ask my deputies, answered Gunn calmly. I’m old school.

Do check, said the judge. Put this case together without floundering around. Jurors have commitments. He cocked his head to one side, his wane smile pulling the ligaments under his face into a casual form. In three weeks, I’m vacationing on a warm island. I am confident the two of you will get this case done.

Where are you going? asked Puga.

Catalina Island, said Parcheesian.

That sounds like fun, judge, said Puga. Once the case is over, maybe all the lawyers here will join you.

Parcheesian exchanged stares with Gunn and said, That’s a naïve idea. Collegial but naïve. You really are a happy litigator.

I have a sunny disposition, said Puga, his apple cheeks and freckles framing his full smile.

Are you serious, Mr. Puga? said Gunn, growling. What makes you think Mr. McCleary’s walking out of here? I demand to know. Why would I go vacationing with Heather’s murderer?

Now, Harold, said the judge, I didn’t hear him say anything about Eugene McCleary coming. What came into my mind were you, that young lawyer who helps you bring your files to court, Steve here, his associate, Ms. McGiver, and me.

Forget about it, Harold, said Puga. It was a just an idea. I am often accused of undue optimism. I assumed you’d change your mind about Gene’s innocence by the end of the case.

I know who’s innocent and who’s not, shot back Gunn. I’m not going anywhere with the likes of you or him.

Parcheesian weighed in between the two men. Mr. Puga, I gave you a graceful out, but you didn’t take it. I can see you have flights of fancy not typical of a hardened trial lawyer. Please consider Mr. Gunn’s feelings. He just lost a well-loved member of his office. Were you purposely trying to irritate him?

No, judge, said Puga. A little levity from you led to good feelings from me.

Explanation accepted, responded the judge. You didn’t mean any harm. Were you playing games with Mr. Gunn?

No, said Puga, I’m guilty of talking too much.

I understand, said Parcheesian. But you’ve upset him. And if you’re doing it purposely, I can hold you in contempt. Don’t be mistaken, this is a wrestling match ending in death or acquittal. You’re not going to be socializing together afterwards. I can see that both of you are true believers in your opposing causes. But the D.A. usually wins. So, for the rest of the trial, keep all inappropriate ideas to yourself. Agreed?

Agreed, said Puga, feeling stifled.

---

¹ The bench is not a chair, but the large desk behind which a judge sits at the front of the courtroom… When one asks to ‘approach the bench,’ they [lawyers] are asking to speak privately with the judge outside the hearing of the jury and to actually step closer to the judge’s desk. Traditionally, it was considered disrespectful for anyone to place a hand or document on the bench without the judge’s express permission… HG.org Legal Resources; https://www.hg.org/legal-articles/who-s-who-and-what-s-what-in-the-courtroom-31722 (2019)↩︎

Chapter 2

In an interview room across the hall from Judge Parcheesian’s courtroom, Puga, McCleary, and Ms. Boston McGiver were discussing with their private investigator Drift Lopez how the court proceedings were going. The large conference table had a plastic veneer with a curl pattern that repeated over and over. Steven Puga had seen a thousand such standard tables in courthouses across the state, some chipped, some bubbling in places where the glue gave out, and some stained from coffee spilt. None of this mattered to Puga. When he looked about the courthouse, he saw people – endlessly variant and wonderfully different – each having their own story. What made Puga a successful private defense lawyer was his acute understanding of what was happening in a room full of people and the interpersonal dynamics that determined the outcome of cases (except when his positive nature got in the way). He loved people. He focused on people. He wasn’t materialistic like a lot of lawyers, but he wasn’t anti-money. He wasn’t ‘anti’ anything really. He liked fun things, and they didn’t have to be expensive for him to enjoy. For instance, he was thrilled to receive in the mail sample pens from the ‘Institutional Pen Company’ with his name spelled all funky on the side. He used the Beta Touch Pens as good ice-breakers with other attorneys in the courtroom, and made clients smile when he showed them how to turn on the white light on the other end from the ink. But all the fluff that usually swirled around a lawyer was nothing to Steve compared to the joy of meeting clients, witnesses, and even new opposing prosecutors. He literally bounced through life with a spring in his step. So, the thought of giving up on defending a client wasn’t in his make-up or personality.

Gene, did you ever have a problem with Judge Parcheesian when you practiced law in his courtroom? asked Puga, gauging Gene’s reaction.

Gene considered. He was no better or worse than any of the other judges in this county.

Puga followed up, I think the judge is against us. He seems to be on the prosecutor’s side. Can you think of a reason?

Other than what I am charged with; no, said Gene. A puzzled expression came over his face. That being so, in the last two years, the public defender’s office has not gotten any acquittals. A dry spell of ‘not guilty’ verdicts. It’s like the judges or the D.A. know the weaknesses in our cases, you know, beyond what they normally can figure out. I asked Heather about this once, and she got quiet. I assumed it was just she didn’t want to share any office secrets or strategies with me, us being on opposite sides and all. She had been promoted. But no, Judge Parcheesian never treated me worse than anyone else in my office.

Did Heather give any indications she was dating another guy? asked Puga, Like long periods when she won’t talk to you, or weekends when you won’t see each other?

She was more solemn before her death, McCleary added. Nothing happened out of the ordinary, except she was concerned that no one find out we were dating. We’d go across county lines for dinner, and far into the mountains for hiking.

Steve gave a nod to Boston McGiver, whose first name came from the place she was born.

Explain again, said Boston, where you were when Heather was shot. She was hoping something new would emerge.

At home, a few blocks from the courthouse, said McCleary. I know what you’re thinking. Cell tower pings will prove where I was. But the pings aren’t that precise when I’m just a couple blocks away. And the cell service can toggle back and forth between two close towers. So, it won’t help or hurt. He stopped and considered for a minute. But that last text message from her was strange; it didn’t even sound like her. Too abrupt and businesslike. She was a sweetheart. That’s why I texted back. I wanted to see her in person. Although, when someone wants to end a relationship, the unwelcome news never sounds quite right.

If you were in your office downstairs, asked Boston, would you have heard the gunshots? Gene squinted and then released the tension in his face. Boston continued, It’s not that I don’t believe you – but I want to know – how much people in those offices can hear from the hallways.

I couldn’t have heard any shots, Gene stated. "The D.A.’s office