Free Misdemeanor Trials by Milton Schacter

moving his hand.”
    “Can you describe his penis?”
    Vanessa paused.  She put her head down and began a quiet sobbing sound.  The clerk got up from her chair and passed a box of tissues to Vanessa.
    After a moment, Vanessa said, “It was big, and it was long, and it was pointing at me and it was covered with black hair and it was awful.”
    “Do you know the defendant?”
    “No.”
    “Had you ever seen him before?”
    “No.”
    “What did you do after you saw the defendant outside his car?”
    “I screamed.  Then I thought I should get this guy’s license plate number, so I memorized it and ran home.  My mom called the police.”
    “I have no further questions, your Honor.”  John returned to his seat at the table.
    The Judge turned to Casey and said, “Your witness.”
    Casey stood up from his chair and walked around so as to be closer to Vanessa.  He asked, “Ms.  Carlson, on that day what were you wearing?”
    John thought the question wasn't related to the crime, but he was not sure what to do.  Then he felt his leg being bumped by the D.A. sitting next to him and he said, “Objection”.
    “Sustained,” said the Judge.  John had no idea what he had just done, but he felt a sense of accomplishment.
    “How short was your skirt?” asked Casey.
    Once again John felt his leg being hit.  “Objection,” he said.
    “Sustained,” said the Judge. 
    John thought to himself, “This could be fun.”
    Casey went on.  “Were you wearing makeup?”
    By now John had the hang of it realizing that how she looked was not relevant to how the defendant acted.  That she was a girl was important, and maybe that she was young, but not how she was dressed. 
    John was about to object when Vanessa said, “At Catholic school we wear uniforms.  We are not allowed to wear lipstick or eye makeup until we are sixteen.”
    Casey stood up, looked at the Judge and said, “Your honor, may we approach.”

CHAPTER NINE
    PROBATION
    “The phone rang in John’s office.  He answered, “John Trader.”
    Mr. Trader,” said the voice on the other end,  “This is Burt Mosby from pre-sentencing in the Probation department.  I have a young gal in my office for a pre-sentence interview and she wants to speak to you about meth trafficking.”
    “I'm a D.A. doing misdemeanor trials.  Are you sure you are talking to the right person?”
    “She says she met you some time ago during a bomb scare at the Courthouse,” said Mosby. 
    “That happens so often these days I couldn't nail down any particular day.  What's her name?” asked John.
    “Susan Owens.  She seems to know some things about trafficking, and she wanted specifically to speak to you.  She gave me your number.  In fact she gave me the D.A.'s office generic card with your name and number written on the front.  It seems fairly important and she only wants to talk to you.  I don't know what her deal is.  We're right around the corner from the D.A.'s office.  If you could come down at least you might know what to do with the information.  She won't go to the cops.  She says if she is seen at the Police Station her life would be over.  That seems a little dramatic, but she won't talk to me,” said Mosby.
    “Be right over.”   John hung up the phone, realizing immediately he had no idea where the probation department was.  John got up from his chair and walked over to Melinda and asked, “Where is the probation department?”
    “When you go out the front door of this building, turn to the left and walk to the corner.  Then turn left and walk about a hundred yards.  Look at the building to the left and you should see the sign that says 'Probation'.  That will be a dead giveaway.”
    “Thanks,” said John with a wry smile, glad that Melinda was using some sarcasm with him.  Maybe she was finally warming up to him.
    John walked to the probation department.  There was one deputy at the metal detectors and John was the only other person in