In the classic movie thriller "Basic Instinct," the boyfriend of actress Sharon Stone's novelist character is slain in exactly the way she previously described in a book. When accused of the killing, she argues that it wouldn't make sense to have incriminated herself by doing something so obvious.
It's an interesting point. Can circumstances be so obviously incriminating that they cannot really be what they seem?
The potential death of a career — not a husband — raised that issue last week after it was revealed that members of three law firms dropped a total of $30,000 into a Madison County judge's campaign fund over two recent days.
They weren't just any law firms, but the three big names in converting asbestos injury claims into cash settlements at a courthouse under almost perpetual criticism from business groups for accommodating plaintiffs.
And it wasn't just any judge, but Barbara Crowder, who last year took over the busy job of presiding over asbestos lawsuits.
The circumstances looked bad for several reasons:
• Crowder allotted trial dates, by law firm, on Dec. 1 for asbestos cases in 2013. It's an unusual process but one that insiders say works, and that Crowder inherited from judges who used it for years. The donations to her came immediately thereafter, on Dec. 5 and 6.
• The stakes are big. Asbestos specialty lawyers make a lot of money, but they need access to trial dates to help leverage the settlements that end most of their cases. It is high-volume work that depends on having a judge who can keep things moving.
• The donations were large for a nearly dormant campaign fund that had about $6,000 when December began. Four lawyers each gave the $5,000 legal maximum.
• Chief Judge Ann Callis was sufficiently concerned to immediately reassign Crowder to largely backwater civil cases, and County Board Chairman Alan Dunstan asked for a formal inquiry.
So again comes the question: Would the judge and her benefactors be so blatant if this were really graft?
My initial reaction was that maybe Crowder, who is up for a vote next year, was being framed.
Consider that Illinois' circuit judges are initially elected on a partisan ticket (Crowder was a Democrat) and thereafter run for retention every six years. If at least 60 percent of the voters approve of her, she stays. If not, tough. If somebody wanted to engineer a scandal, generous and ill-timed contributions could help.
But I had no reason to suspect that anybody wanted to set her up. And, apparently, nobody did.
Crowder's husband and campaign chairman, Lawrence Taliana, asked for the money, according to a lawyer at the only firm that would comment. The lawyer said Taliana, himself an attorney, chose the timing and amount.
Was this, then, a political suicide instead of murder? Never heard of that. So I lean toward an accidental self-inflicted wound.
Neither Taliana nor Crowder has answered questions publicly. The judge did issue a statement denying wrongdoing, insisting that things were not as they might seem and pledging to return the cash.
I barely know her, but I used to know her husband, a guy with a good reputation who swam in the same court pool with sharks but liked porpoises better. He hardly seemed like political muscle.
Once the donations were revealed in a campaign finance report, the usual chorus rose in full voice about Madison County's reputation as a "judicial hellhole." Election reformers went to the top of their lungs about money's influence on the judiciary.
Crowder's specific situation then seemed to get lost in the cacophony. There was no attack on her judicial skills or objectivity — instead, considerable praise. So it makes sense for her just to tighten down the hatches and wait.
The election is a little more than 10 months off. Because judges running for retention don't have competitors, Crowder has no way to know what's coming. Maybe the controversy will be forgotten. Or maybe she will find enemies lying in wait for her out in the tall grass of autumn.
A woman in her position would be wise to put together some campaign cash, in case she has to fight back. But at this point, I'm not sure whom she could ask for money, or who would dare respond.


