False Testimony by Rose Connors Page A

the side wall. Even Judge Gould is on his feet, leaning against the bookcase behind his desk. “Mr. Holliston,” he says, his tone grave, “I urge you to reconsider.”
    Holliston snorts. The judge’s advice seems to rate right up there with Harry’s. “That’s what I did,” he says. “I reconsidered. I don’t want no lawyer. I want the job done right. So I’m gonna do it myself.”
    “The ramifications of this decision will follow you for the rest of your life,” the judge tells him. “Taking this step will dramatically increase the likelihood of conviction. And if you are convicted of first-degree murder, you’ll spend the rest of your earthly days behind bars. I’m sure your lawyers have explained that to you.”
    Holliston wags a finger at Judge Gould. “ Used-to-be lawyers,” he says. “My used-to-be lawyers explained that to me. And I don’t like the idea of spending the rest of my earthly days behind bars.” He imitates the judge’s inflection when he repeats his words. “I don’t like it one bit. That’s why I’m my lawyer now.”
    The judge sighs and turns to Harry.
    Harry shrugs and looks up at the ceiling. “He’s a big boy. He’s made his decision. Let him live with it.”
    Not exactly what the judge was hoping to hear.
    “Mr. Holliston,” I try, “if there are specific issues you’re worried about, particular facts you want brought out during trial, I’m sure Mr. Madigan will accommodate you. You can have all the input you want without giving up the benefit of counsel.”
    He snorts again, louder this time. My advice ranks a rung or two below the judge’s, it seems. “Benefit?” he says, pointing at Harry. “Ex-cu-uze me, but I don’t see no benefit with this counsel.”
    “Mr. Holliston, you don’t have a clue.” Geraldine pivots in her spiked heels to face him. “You don’t have any idea what you’re in for if you go forward pro se .”
    He juts his chin upward and sneers, inviting her to fill him in.
    She pauses and glances at the court reporter, who’s perched on his stool beside the judge’s desk, tapping away. No doubt she’s weighing what she wants to say in the heat of the moment against the eventual impact her words will have on appeal.
    “I’ll bury you,” she says.
    To hell with the appeal.
    “Don’t think we’re going to handle you with kid gloves,” she continues. “You’ll be held to the same standards every real lawyer is held to in that courtroom.” She points to the chambers door. “And I’ll shut you down every time you fall short.”
    Holliston yawns. He’s unimpressed.
    “And you will fall short,” she tells him, her green eyes ablaze. “At every turn. I guarantee it.”
    Judge Gould pulls his chair out from the desk and sits. “Look,” he says to Holliston, “we can’t stop you. If you’re determined to represent yourself, you have an absolute right to do it. No one in this room can stop you.”
    Our ex-client almost smiles. At last, an acknowledgment of his vast power. He pounds his palms on the armrests and slides to the edge of his chair. “That’s right,” he says, looking pleased that the judge finally figured it out. “So let’s get on with it.”
    Judge Gould shakes his head. “Not so fast. We can’t stop you from taking your defense into your own hands. But we can stop you from doing it today.”
    Holliston looks confused, then annoyed, his brief moment of omnipotence abruptly ended.
    The judge checks his watch. “It’s late,” he says. “I’m going to dismiss the jurors for the day. If you’re still sure of your decision in the morning, sir, you may deliver your opening statement then.”
    Holliston looks like he wants to argue, but Judge Gould doesn’t give him a chance. “Mr. Madigan, Ms. Nickerson,” he says as he stands, “I want you in the courtroom throughout trial.”
    Holliston stands too, and his escorts inch closer to him. His expression is satisfied now. Overall, he’s pleased with the