I’ve a serious case of cross-examination envy as I read about the trial of United States v. James “Whitey” Bulger, now pending in Boston. I mean, how often, if ever, do you get to go toe-to-toe with the likes of John Martorano in the well of an open court?  Martorano scored the deal of the century with federal prosecutors: They forgave him his 20 murders in exchange for an agreement to testify against Bulger, the former reputed organized crime king in Boston.
    Well, okay, forgiveness is an overstatement. Martorano was sentenced 
to all of 12.5 years and spared a death penalty for several of his 20 
murders. That’s roughly 7.5 months per body.  I guess it’s safe to say 
Martorano was laughing all the way to the morgue.
    So there sat Martorano on the stand, telling jurors of his heartbreak 
when he learned that Bulger and a former associate, Stephen “The 
Rifleman” Flemmig, were themselves working undercover with the Federal 
Bureau of Investigation. Good lord, Martorano thought, I loved these 
men. Why I even named by kids after these good pals of mine -- they 
were god fathers of a different sort to bone-of-my-bone, 
flesh-of-my-flesh.
    The trial quickly descended into a bizarre pissing contest.
    “I’m not a rat,” you can all but hear Bulger hissing -- “You’re a rat.”
    Never mind the trail of dead bodies both men are alleged to have left 
in their wake. The trial has become a test of tough-guy honor. Bulger’s 
lawyer sneered at Martorano for joining ‘the government’s team.” The 
shame of it all.
    Maybe all this plays with a Boston jury.
    Juror Number One: “Can you believe that scum bag?”
    Juror Number Two: “Which one?”
    Juror Number Three: “Yeah, I mean these guys are all rats. Ain’t no 
honor in ‘em.”
    Juror Number One: “Let’s vote not guilty; send the government a 
message.”
    All jurors: “Good idea.”
    It’s a plot line for a moving starring the likes of the long-deceased 
James Cagney.
    Like I said, maybe it plays in Boston.
    Given what’s going on in the Connecticut jury pool these days, I doubt 
the defense would carry much weight. Our jurors are in a 
Government-loving frame of mind. The other day, I was commiserating 
with a few friends. All commented on how quickly federal jurors were 
returning guilty verdicts at trial in recent cases. Are jurors even 
stopping to debate the merits of the cases before them, or do their 
eyes just glaze over during the government’s new Powerpoint displays at 
closing argument?
    Consider the trial of Evan Cossette, the Meriden cop just convicted of 
a federal felony for pushing a drunken detainee and then lying about 
it.
    A friend and colleague is one of the state’s top civil lawyers in 
defense of cops accused of misconduct. He attended the Cossette trial 
and was stunned by the return of a jury verdict. He knew that if he 
were defending Cossette in a claim for money damages, odds are Cossette 
would have tap-danced out of the courtroom a happy man.
    But in this case, the United States Government took aim, and a jury 
convicted.  Wow, he thought. How could this happen?
    I suspect the answer is simple. We’re still swimming in the wale of 
9/11. Jurors want to trust someone. Safety, or the illusion of safety, 
sells. Forget the law at trial. Jurors are just looking for the safest 
shadow cast. In a civil case pitting a citizen against a cop, the cop’s 
shadow represents safety. But in a criminal case pitting a cop versus 
Uncle Sam, the Government’s shadow casts a broader cover.
    The gamble in the Bulger case is that jurors will feel betrayed. The 
Government is willing to trivialize killing when its friends are the 
trigger men. Why, then, prosecute another man accused of doing the same 
thing? It takes uncommon courage to scorn the hand that protects you.
    There might have been a time and place for such a defense. I doubt 
today’s the day. Jurors don’t want to know too much truth. They just 
want the Government to tell them what to do to feel safe.
    Even so, I’m watching the fireworks with the envy of a warlock: 
cross-examining John Martorano simply looks like good fun. If only it 
were possible to put Uncle Sam himself on the stand to see if he’s 
capable of blushing.