One of the staples in mysteries, particularly on TV, is the courtroom scene, where the hero lawyer, or detective, is often at first undermined by their adversary, only to later present crucial evidence that spells finis for the bad guy. Like other steps necessary to the solving of a crime--forensics, interrogations, surveillance--for the sake of the story, the judicial process is abbreviated accordingly.
Not too recently, I had the unfortunate opportunity to get more acquainted with our judicial system. The process began when a friend was busted though was not taken in for custody. Months passed and he hoped that somehow he'd fallen through the administrative cracks. Then one Friday, he got a call from the Sheriff's Office that a warrant had been issued for his arrest and he had until Monday to turn himself in. Needless to say, that news made for a very somber weekend.
It wasn't until he was in jail that his family learned what the charges were and the size of his bond. While he spent the night behind bars, his family scrambled to find a bail bondsman and arrange paying the bail. Once free on bond, he had to wait several months for his first day in court.
At the announced time, a group of us arrived at the courthouse as his emotional support crew. It was a sobering moment to see his name on the flat screen listing the day's docket, one of many defendants to appear that afternoon in the same courtroom. On TV, or in the movies, the courtroom scene is distilled into dramatic showdowns. But in real life, the process drags on through the Arraignment, then a month later for the Plea, then another month for the Disposition Hearing, plus more months for additional hearings, and because my friend pled guilty, there was no trial, only the Judge's final sentencing. Along the way, the court calendar may get jammed up so the judge, or any of the attorneys, could ask for a delay, which pushes back the proceedings another month. Meanwhile, the meter is running for the defense counsel's tab.
What impressed me, though not in a comforting way, was a recognition of the court's imperial power and that it projected a force as real and irresistible as gravity. I'm sure most of us have received jury summons and we arrive to the courthouse at the designated hour, well aware of the penalties of the failure to appear. That sense of imperial power was magnified during my friend's criminal proceedings. Failing to abide by the judge's word, or by the law, and men with guns will hunt you down and drag you before the bench. To illustrate that point was the menacing presence of the bailiffs, two muscular deputies ensconced in armored vests festooned with weapons and ammunition. Seeing them brought to mind a Roman functionary ordering his Legionnaires to fetch a citizen and haul him to the palace. To further ratchet up the sense of Imperial Power, and the implied message--FAFO--I thought, why not dress up the bailiffs in Roman helmets, lorica, tunics, and arm them with spears and swords.
Though no one will command you to attend, if you're in the area please drop by West Side Books in Denver on Friday, June 5, 2026, for A Night of the Strange, featuring local authors Molly Tanzer, Steven Dunn, Jon Bassoff, and me. It'll be better than time in jail.
