Free Flat Lake in Winter by Joseph T. Klempner Page A

assistance of various experts - a private investigator, a mental-health professional, a mitigation team, and a consulting pathologist - all of whom would eventually be reimbursed with state funds. He also had authorization to obtain a typewritten transcript of the morning’s court proceedings. This last item would perform a dual function: The transcript itself would be used as an exhibit to be attached to motion papers the defense would be submitting at a later date. But beyond that, the very act of Fielder’s obtaining it served notice upon the court that every ruling it made, and every application it denied, would be collected, scrutinized, and preserved - initially for the benefit of the defense, but ultimately for review by appellate judges in the event of a conviction, and particularly in the event of a death sentence.
    With the newly signed orders in hand and the barest suggestion of a smile on his face, Fielder took a short walk around the corner of Maple Street to the building’s annex, which for nearly 100 years has housed the Ottawa County Detention Facility, better known as the Cedar Falls jail.
    It was time for a sit-down visit with Jonathan Hamilton.
    AT THE SAME TIME that Matthew Fielder was preparing for his first serious interview with his client, across Main Street, in the Harriman Office Building - begrudgingly named in honor of a member of the opposition party that had funded its construction some forty years earlier - Gil Cavanaugh was assembling his team of assistants and investigators for a meeting to discuss what evidence the prosecution would be presenting to a grand jury the following day.
    With no regular grand jury in session, Cavanaugh had already notified the County Commissioner of Jurors to assemble a panel for nine o’clock the following morning. The County Commissioner of Jurors was actually nothing more than a title, a second hat - and there were three or four more on the rack after that - donned from time to time by the County Clerk, Dot Whipple. She had been on the phone since noon, doing her best to round up thirty or so registered voters, from whom Judge Summerhouse would select twenty-three to comprise a special grand jury, which in turn would hear the prosecution’s evidence the following day. The procedure would later come under attack by Matt Fielder, who would demand a list of the grand jurors, names - normally kept secret - so he could ensure that none of those who had voted to indict Jonathan Hamilton would wind up on the jury eventually selected to try him.
    Cavanaugh knew that the likelihood of the defendant’s testifying at the grand jury was so slim that he could discount it altogether. There was simply no way Fielder was going to expose his client to cross-examination at this early stage of the case. There is no judge present in a grand-jury room to oversee the proceedings; the district attorney assumes the dual role of prosecutor and “legal advisor” to the jurors. The function of the defense attorney is narrowly circumscribed: Counsel may be present only during the testimony of the defendant, and only as a silent observer. Finally, the rules under which a grand jury deliberates are very different from those governing a trial jury: Instead of the strict “proof beyond a reasonable doubt” standard required to convict a defendant, only “reasonable cause” need be established to indict him; and whereas a trial jury must reach a unanimous verdict before it can convict, a mere majority - twelve out of twenty-three - is sufficient to indict. It is, therefore, little wonder that we are left with the oft-repeated phrase, “A grand jury will indict a ham sandwich if asked to.”
    What all this meant to Gil Cavanaugh was that however abundant his evidence against Jonathan Hamilton might be, he had no need – and, therefore, absolutely no desire - to present more than a bare minimum of it to the grand jury. And, knowing that the defense would eventually be entitled to a