Darkness in Daylight
written by: Derik Fettig
Levi hesitated in the hallway outside a pair of large wooden doors. His lawyer pushed through and ushered him into the courtroom, causing the deputy sheriff standing nearby to snap to attention.
“Morning, Joe,” Levi’s lawyer said, turning to smile warmly at the deputy, never breaking her short, but purposeful, stride down the center aisle between rows of benches. The percussive beat of her heels on the original tiled floor accompanied the jangling of Levi’s leg restraints from his shambling gait.
Levi soon trailed a few steps behind, alongside the deputy who had brought Levi over from the detention center, looking down to avoid eye contact with any spectators who turned their attention his way. He could feel the deputy’s hand firmly gripping his arm, as if Levi was an unwilling participant in a wedding procession.
Levi’s lawyer waited and held open the swinging gate in the wooden partition, known as the bar, that separated the spectators in the gallery from the parties, lawyers, and judge. When Levi passed through the gate, his deputy escort released his grip, stepped back, and nodded to the courtroom deputy to confirm the handoff. The courtroom deputy stayed close, his hand hovering near his holstered gun. He stood like a sentry, his gaze enough to make Levi feel like he was in his grasp.
Levi had arrived at a bare table with two chairs on one side that faced the front of the courtroom. His lawyer pulled out the chair nearest the aisle, so Levi started to walk around the open side of the table to get to his chair. “Other side,” the courtroom deputy barked, taking a step closer.
Levi’s lawyer gently grabbed his arm and pulled him back behind the table. “Never walk in between our table and the judge’s bench. We always stay out of the well unless the judge tells us to approach, even if we are the only ones in here.”
Levi shuffled behind his lawyer’s chair to find his own. “Sorry, Joe,” she said to the deputy. Levi thought she may have cocked her head slightly in his direction and rolled her eyes. “We’re all good.” Then more to Levi than to the deputy, she added, “That won’t happen again.”
Levi had met his lawyer for the second time in the hallway moments ago, just before they entered the courtroom together. She had been rushing, carrying a teetering stack of files in her arms, presumably his among them, with a large leather bag slung over the shoulder of her black suit coat. Levi was struck by the confident way she carried herself, despite her small stature. In the courtroom, she made herself at home by pushing most of the files to one side, setting her water bottle on the table, and making small talk with the judge’s clerk.
Levi remembered his lawyer telling him that everything in court today would follow a certain script, as if they were in a play or movie, albeit one with lots of down time. He knew his chance to utter his meager lines would come later, so for now he sat waiting for his cue. Levi looked down at the table in front of him, occasionally stealing furtive glances around the courtroom while he fidgeted in his seat. He suddenly had a sensation in his mouth like he was sucking on cotton balls and reached for a plastic water bottle that had been set before him. The safety seal parted with a crack, but Levi fumbled the cap and watched as it rolled away near the feet of the deputy sheriff. “Ah, dammit,” Levi mumbled under his breath.
His lawyer leaned closer. “Listen, it’s natural to be nervous, but try to relax. Take deep breaths like we talked about. And don’t stare down the whole time. Remember: calm equals innocent.”
Levi nodded stiffly and took a deep breath as instructed. He brushed his hair away from his eyes; he had been meaning to get a haircut before his life was upended, but that was the least of his concerns now. His hands were visibly shaking, so he wiped the sweat from his palms on his pants and placed his hands flat against the table, as if righting his balance on a swaying boat. His mind was racing, but he always returned to the same question: Why did the police keep him in that room for hours and accuse him of murder, when he was just trying to help them find Ella? He continued to have no answers.
Levi could hear the gallery filling up behind him, but he did not have the courage to turn and look to see who had come to witness his humiliation. Instead, he took another deep breath and reluctantly raised his eyes to what was in front of him. The windowless set was bathed in dim fluorescent lighting, giving everything a yellowish tinge that seemed to dull the sharp edges of the life-altering events that happened daily in this room. An unremarkable clock covered in a protective metal cage hung on one wood-paneled wall and a conspicuous security camera was positioned in one corner of the ceiling. An American and state flag hung listless on their respective poles at the front of the courtroom on either side of the Minnesota state seal, which was framed in the same color wood as the wall, such that it looked like a mural.
Perhaps to calm his nerves, Levi lost himself for a few moments in the seal’s image: A white farmer in the foreground tilled a field next to a river while looking at a grim-faced Native American holding a spear on horseback in the background who appeared to be riding away from the scene. It looked like a celebration of conquest and displacement more than peaceful coexistence, but maybe that was the point. Aside from the flags, the blue and yellow of the state seal provided some of the only color in a room that was awash in worn, brown wood.
The actors were situated to play their familiar roles, just as his lawyer had described. The prosecutor sat calmly at one table facing the bench where the judge would be sitting, leafing through a large binder in front of him. His dark suit coat remained buttoned, and the knot of his blue-striped tie was cinched snuggly against his throat. Levi had overheard the prosecutor telling his lawyer in the hallway outside the courtroom that the deadline on the plea agreement he had sent her was three weeks away. “You know the drill. No negotiations on the terms of the plea and no more deals when this one expires,” he had said. “Either he takes it as is or we go to trial.”
Levi, dressed in an ill-fitting white shirt and no jacket, continually clawed at his poorly knotted tie and felt desperately inadequate sitting next to his lawyer, who seemed to have every strand of her black hair and thread of clothing in place. She had sent someone from her office to Levi’s apartment to get him a change of clothes before the hearing, since he had been detained in what he wore to the police station. Levi did not own a suit, so the result was about as good as he could expect. At least his lawyer had a loaner tie in her office for just such an occasion.
The judge finally entered the courtroom from a door behind the bench. “Stand up,” Levi’s lawyer said, motioning to him with her hand. Levi and the lawyers remained standing until the judge was seated. The judge hovered above the room like a deity in her black robe, her gray-streaked hair pulled back tightly in a manner that enhanced her stern expression. She sat in a large, leather chair at the front of the courtroom behind an expansive, elevated dais, flanked by the two flags and framed by the state seal on the wall directly behind her. They all waited for the judge to finish a private conversation with her dutiful scheduling clerk while they both stared at a computer screen.
Levi fidgeted in his seat and his lawyer glanced over at him. “Don’t take it personally,” she whispered. “She makes everybody wait. And stop looking down at the table like it’s the most interesting thing in the room.”
Levi again forced himself to look elsewhere in the courtroom. The court reporter sat alone at a small desk in the well, hands arched over her keyboard, standing ready to transcribe every word uttered during the proceedings. The jury box was empty on this day, except for the judge’s eager, young law clerk with a notebook and pen in hand. Levi snuck a peek directly behind him at the gallery and noticed his mother and older brother sitting a few rows back. His mother’s eyes were puffy and bloodshot, the look of someone who had been crying or drinking, or both. His brother sat rigidly beside her and reached awkwardly to pat his mother’s shoulder. He had not seen them in many months, but neither one returned Levi’s gaze.
When the judge finally dismissed her scheduling clerk, she looked up at the courtroom. “We are here this afternoon for State of Minnesota v. Levi Miller,” she said. “Counsel, state your appearances for the record.”
The prosecutor rose from his chair and straightened his suit jacket. “Andrew Kowalski, for the State, Your Honor.”
Levi’s lawyer rose and gestured to her right. “Rasha Martinez, appointed counsel for Mr. Miller, who is here with me in court today.”
At this mention of his name, Levi shifted in his seat self-consciously and his stomach dropped. The lull of the wait had deluded him into thinking his moment of reckoning could be put off indefinitely, yet he knew he needed the judge to correct the life-destroying mistake he had made when the police interrogated him.
“Your Honor, the defense requests that the Court order the removal of my client’s hand and leg restraints for the duration of today’s hearing,” his lawyer continued.
“So ordered,” the judge said, turning to look at the deputy, who grudgingly complied.
While the judge addressed the lawyers in some perfunctory discussion, Levi finally worked up the courage to look in the direction of Ella’s parents, who were sitting somberly on the other side of the courtroom behind the prosecutor. They stared straight ahead, as if trying to see a better future in the distance. Levi hoped to catch their attention but was only able to do so briefly: Ella’s mom turned his way and her eyes flashed with an involuntary hint of recognition, but it was quickly extinguished. She did not see Levi mouth “I’m sorry,” before she looked away.
Finally, the judge turned her attention to Levi. “Mr. Miller, please stand up so the Court can address you directly.”
Levi hesitated, and his lawyer gave him a gentle nudge with her hand. Levi rose unsteadily to his feet. The judge methodically read the charges against him, and then translated some of the legal terms to plain English.
“Do you have any questions about the charging document as read to you in court today?” the judge asked.
Levi did not answer.
“Mr. Miller, do you have any questions about the charges against you?”
“No, ma’am,” he said.
“You mean ‘No, Your Honor.’”
Levi blushed. “No, Your Honor.”
“Did your counsel, Ms. Martinez, also explain these charges to you before you appeared in court today?”
Levi glanced down at his lawyer, who was looking at him calmly. She gave him a slight nod, and Levi turned back to the judge.
“Yes, in the hallway outside . . . Your Honor?”
“Mr. Miller, having been informed of the charges against you, how do you plead?”
“Not guilty,” Levi said, his voice cracking.
There was a sharp exhale of derision from somewhere in the gallery behind him and a half-shouted “No!”
The judge looked sternly out at the gallery and banged her gavel several times. The blow of the gavel made Levi flinch. “Please refrain from any further outbursts or I will have you removed from my courtroom,” she said. “I will not tolerate any more disruptions.”
Levi turned and took in the whole gallery behind him, but he could not determine who had reacted to his not-guilty plea. The benches were filled with what looked like reporters with notebooks, a sketch artist busily scribbling in an art pad, and several public gawkers. One person was holding outward so that others could see what looked like a framed school photograph of Ella. Another spectator fingered a rosary hanging around her neck while mumbling what Levi guessed was a prayer under her breath. Several of Ella’s classmates were in attendance as well, their excitement from being anywhere but in class during the school day muted somewhat by the serious nature of the proceedings. They dipped their heads close to whisper to one another, but their voices apparently carried to the courtroom deputy, who admonished them to stay quiet with a raised finger to his lips.
Seemingly satisfied with her rebuke of the rogue members of the gallery, the judge returned her attention to the lawyers. “We will set this matter over for a hearing to resolve all evidentiary disputes before trial. My clerk will contact counsel with a hearing date. Unless I hear from counsel about a plea or a request for a continuance, we will stick with the current trial date on the calendar.”
The judge then began asking the lawyers some questions, but Levi had trouble comprehending what they were discussing. His head felt heavy, no doubt from stress and lack of sleep, and the voices came to him in muffled tones, as if he were underwater.
“We now turn to the matter of Mr. Miller’s pretrial custody,” the judge said. “I have read the papers filed by the state and the defense. Mr. Kowalski, does the state have anything to add?”
“We will stand on our papers, Your Honor, and for the reasons outlined there we request a minimum bail of one million dollars for unconditional release or $750,000 with the stringent conditions outlined in our filing.”
“Understood,” the judge said. “Ms. Martinez, anything further from the defense on the issue of bail?”
“Yes, thank you, Your Honor. I know you have already reviewed our filing, but it bears repeating that Mr. Miller is a nineteen-year-old first-time defendant with no criminal history or record of violent behavior, either as an adult or a juvenile. He has limited financial resources, which decreases his flight risk, and he has strong ties to the community through his job and the fact he is enrolled in college. Moreover, the government’s case is exceedingly thin, Your Honor, with little to no physical evidence linking Mr. Miller to this crime. For all those reasons, we urge the Court to release Mr. Miller with minimal conditions so that he can more actively participate in the preparation of his own defense for trial.”
“Let’s save arguments about the quality of the evidence for the next hearing, Ms. Martinez. Do you have anything further on the issue of bail?”
“Just that if the Court is considering detention, we urge the Court to consider home monitoring instead. While the facts support release with minimal conditions, if Your Honor is disinclined to order pretrial release, then the most stringent detention supported by this record is home monitoring.”
“Duly noted. Anything further, Ms. Martinez?”
“No, Your Honor.”
The judge cleared her throat before speaking. “Mr. Miller, please stand as I issue my pretrial detention order. Having carefully reviewed the filings of the parties and hearing oral arguments, the Court finds as follows: Mr. Miller is a danger to the community and the victim’s family given the violent nature of the crime for which he stands accused and the weight of the evidence in the state’s case against him, including direct admissions by the accused. Moreover, Mr. Miller is a flight risk for the following reasons: He recently moved back to Minnesota from out of state; his personal ties to the community consist primarily of the victim’s family and his own estranged family; and his professional ties consist of a part-time job and enrollment at a community college, which are easily severable. While on the one hand his age and limited financial resources may limit his flight risk, those factors may also make him more likely to take a chance and flee the jurisdiction prior to trial, given that he has much less to lose than some defendants by fleeing. Further, the Court considered home monitoring and determined that it is not appropriate given the gravity of the charges and evidence in this case.”
The room began to sway, and Levi tried to steady himself. He winced when his lawyer’s hand gripped his upper arm to keep him upright.
“Given all these factors and after careful deliberation, the Court finds that the preponderance of the evidence weighs in favor of Mr. Miller being a danger to the community and a flight risk under the statutory criteria the Court is charged with analyzing.”
The judge paused and looked at Levi. Levi became aware of his labored breathing and felt his lawyer’s hand clench his arm tighter. He briefly made eye contact with the judge, but her severe expression compelled him to look away.
“Based on these findings as stated in the record,” the judge continued, “the Court orders the terms of Mr. Miller’s bail to be set as follows: one million dollars for unconditional release or $750,000 with the conditions that Mr. Miller remain under strict supervision of court personal with weekly check-ins and no travel whatsoever outside the state of Minnesota prior to trial. Until such time as Mr. Miller can post bail, he shall be remanded into custody immediately.”
With a bang of the judge’s gavel, the hearing ended. Levi was stunned at the swiftness and the finality of it all. His lawyer had prepped him for this very result, of course, but that did little to soften the blow. He still could not believe that he was headed back to jail.
Levi’s lawyer hastily gathered her files and checked her calendar for her next hearing location. “I’ll call you to discuss the plea deal, but it’s a piece of garbage,” she said, turning to leave. Levi did not respond.
“Let’s go,” the courtroom deputy said, waiting impatiently for Levi to get out of his chair. He grasped Levi’s hands and pushed his feet closer together. The click of the cuffs echoed in his ears and the metal pinched his skin.
Levi thought back to the moment he had told the police what they wanted to hear. By then, he would have said anything. He had assumed his innocence would become clear in the light of day. But less than forty-eight hours later, his belief in the truth illuminating the darkness that lay ahead had vanished. The weight of resignation caused his shoulders to sag, and he was passed from his defense counsel to the deputy sheriff, who shepherded Levi out of the courtroom through a side door.
- Darkness in Daylight - August 18, 2024
