Read Online No Way to Treat a First Lady by Christopher Buckley - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Christopher Buckley
Tags: Fiction, LEGAL, Humorous, Legal Stories, Widows, Presidents' spouses, Trials (Murder), Attorney and client, First Ladies
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President MacMann. Two more had to drop out because they had been appointed by the previous president, whom Ken MacMann had defeated. Another had been overheard by a caddie telling his golf partner on the seventh hole of Burning Bush Golf Club that the President "got what he had coming." The caddie sold the quote to the National Perspirer tabloid for $10,000. Scratch judge. Another judge had been on a panel with Boyce at the Trial Lawyers Association convention years ago and had called Boyce "the worst human being on the planet" while discussing the topic "Getting Hitler Off: Rethinking Nuremberg Defense Strategies."
The media combed through the court transcripts and biographical profiles of the remaining judges to see what nuggety chunks of mischief might be embedded in their pasts. One judge, fresh out of college, had spent a summer working for a congressman who had insisted that Beth's husband had been brainwashed in captivity and referred to him publicly as "the MacManchurian Candidate." He was out. Another had protested against the Vietnam War in which President MacMann had so valiantly fought. Out. The gavel of yet another had to be pried from his fingers after it was reported that he had gone on a blind date twenty-five years ago with Babette Van Anka, whose name then was still Gertrude Himmelfarb. By now one dyspeptic columnist at The Washington Post suggested it would be simpler just to take Beth out back of the courthouse and shoot her.
In the end, it came down to the one remaining judge on the bench. His name was Sylvester Umin, known to his colleagues as "Dutch." He had been appointed to the bench two months before by President Harold Farkley. Up to then, he had been a senior partner in the distinguished Washington firm of Williams Kendall, specialists in impeachment and negligence law.
Dutch Umin was in his early sixties. He had drowsy but watchful eyes and the Cheshire cat physique of a gourmet and oenophile. His vertical collection of Château Petrus made dinners at Mandamus, his Virginia mansion, memorable occasions. He collected Dutch master artwork, the source of his nickname.
He was a man of formidable intellect who had clerked for the great Potter Stewart on the Supreme Court and over the course of a distinguished career had won impressive victories for clients ranging from left-wing firebombers to cocaine-snorting major-league baseball players to international grain corporations accused of using powdered insect dung to give a popular children's breakfast cereal its distinctive crunch. But he had yet to try a single case as judge, and now by process of elimination he was—it. Overnight, he became the most famous jurist in the world. Within weeks, he would have name recognition among aborigines and Seychelles islands fishermen. He was not altogether delighted by this abrupt propulsion to celebrity. His glasses had developed a tendency to fog.
* * *
Judge Dutch Umin's first official duty in United States v. Elizabeth MacMann was to convey his dismay over the witness list that Boyce had submitted. It included 281 names, including the directors of the Secret Service and the FBI, the President of the United States, and most saucily of all, the deputy attorney general, who was prosecuting Beth. One columnist remarked that it was a wonder he had not subpoenaed Paul Revere to attest to the authenticity of the spittoon.
The atmosphere in chambers was tense. Sandra Clintick, the deputy attorney general—who had not at all hungered to have this prosecution handed to her—had taken exception to Boyce's demand that she herself testify. She was so mad that she avoided eye contact with Boyce. Never, she told the judge, had she heard of more appalling—make that atrocious—ethics. It was beyond insulting. The gloves were off, and they weren't even in court yet.
"Counselor?" Judge Dutch leaned back in his armchair, which gave off the creak of expensive leather. Knowing that the ordeal ahead would tax all his
The media combed through the court transcripts and biographical profiles of the remaining judges to see what nuggety chunks of mischief might be embedded in their pasts. One judge, fresh out of college, had spent a summer working for a congressman who had insisted that Beth's husband had been brainwashed in captivity and referred to him publicly as "the MacManchurian Candidate." He was out. Another had protested against the Vietnam War in which President MacMann had so valiantly fought. Out. The gavel of yet another had to be pried from his fingers after it was reported that he had gone on a blind date twenty-five years ago with Babette Van Anka, whose name then was still Gertrude Himmelfarb. By now one dyspeptic columnist at The Washington Post suggested it would be simpler just to take Beth out back of the courthouse and shoot her.
In the end, it came down to the one remaining judge on the bench. His name was Sylvester Umin, known to his colleagues as "Dutch." He had been appointed to the bench two months before by President Harold Farkley. Up to then, he had been a senior partner in the distinguished Washington firm of Williams Kendall, specialists in impeachment and negligence law.
Dutch Umin was in his early sixties. He had drowsy but watchful eyes and the Cheshire cat physique of a gourmet and oenophile. His vertical collection of Château Petrus made dinners at Mandamus, his Virginia mansion, memorable occasions. He collected Dutch master artwork, the source of his nickname.
He was a man of formidable intellect who had clerked for the great Potter Stewart on the Supreme Court and over the course of a distinguished career had won impressive victories for clients ranging from left-wing firebombers to cocaine-snorting major-league baseball players to international grain corporations accused of using powdered insect dung to give a popular children's breakfast cereal its distinctive crunch. But he had yet to try a single case as judge, and now by process of elimination he was—it. Overnight, he became the most famous jurist in the world. Within weeks, he would have name recognition among aborigines and Seychelles islands fishermen. He was not altogether delighted by this abrupt propulsion to celebrity. His glasses had developed a tendency to fog.
* * *
Judge Dutch Umin's first official duty in United States v. Elizabeth MacMann was to convey his dismay over the witness list that Boyce had submitted. It included 281 names, including the directors of the Secret Service and the FBI, the President of the United States, and most saucily of all, the deputy attorney general, who was prosecuting Beth. One columnist remarked that it was a wonder he had not subpoenaed Paul Revere to attest to the authenticity of the spittoon.
The atmosphere in chambers was tense. Sandra Clintick, the deputy attorney general—who had not at all hungered to have this prosecution handed to her—had taken exception to Boyce's demand that she herself testify. She was so mad that she avoided eye contact with Boyce. Never, she told the judge, had she heard of more appalling—make that atrocious—ethics. It was beyond insulting. The gloves were off, and they weren't even in court yet.
"Counselor?" Judge Dutch leaned back in his armchair, which gave off the creak of expensive leather. Knowing that the ordeal ahead would tax all his
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