Bronx Justice. Joseph Teller
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he hadn’t been out alone since Marlin had brought him home from Rikers Island. But even beyond that, it just didn’t make sense. In the movies and on TV, the perpetrator invariably returns to the scene of the crime, blending into the crowd or lurking around furtively to watch the investigators at work. But in real life, having been unlucky enough to be arrested but lucky enough to have gotten out on bail, wouldn’t he want to stay as far away as he possibly could?
It sure seemed that way to Jaywalker.
Monday’s meeting produced very little. While Darren’s recollection of his whereabouts since being released from jail was detailed and complete, mid-August was another matter. He’d been working nights at the post office, midnight to 8:00 a.m., to be exact. During the daytime, he was generally home alone, either sleeping or attending to chores. Charlene had been working days, and their son—whose name was Philip, but whom everyone called “Pooh”—was left in the care of Darren’s sister, Janie, at their parents’ house, the same house that was now the collateral on Darren’s bail bond. Nobody had any specific recollection regarding the first two dates in the indictment, August 16th—when two of the incidents had occurred—and August 17th. But September 5th stood out a bit. That was the day after Labor Day, and therefore the day Janie’s classes at school had resumed after summer vacation. So on that day, for the first time, Pooh had been left with a neighbor. Darren recalled having come home from work as usual, about 9:30 in the morning, and hearing Pooh crying next door. He’d called his mother and asked her if she thought he should go knock on the door. Inez had said no, that if he did that the woman would feel they didn’t trust her, and that anyway, the child would have to get used to the new arrangement. Darren had reluctantly accepted the advice, stayed in his apartment and gone to bed.
“But it was h-h-hard,” he remembered.
It wasn’t much to go on, but it was something. Jaywalker jotted a note to himself to include a request for the precise time of each of the attacks in his motion papers.
The meeting broke up. By that time, Jaywalker had fully succumbed to the Kingstons’ habit of embracing at each greeting and parting. He particularly enjoyed hugging Marlin. Each time he felt the rough stubble of the older man’s beard against his face, Jaywalker was reminded of his grandfather, his father’s father, whose whiskers had felt like sandpaper and left his young cheeks glowing bright red. So Marlin’s hugs were extra-special.
God, these were good people! Born black in a country that too often tended to be kinder by far to whites, living in a borough that in those days got commonly compared to a war zone, often unfavorably, they’d managed to carve out a life for themselves. They got up and went to work or school, or sometimes both. They took care of their children. From modest salaries, they somehow saved enough to buy a home. They didn’t seem to drink, use drugs, gamble, curse, get angry or do any of the other things that used to get so many of Jaywalker’s Legal Aid clients into trouble so often. In many ways, the Kingstons epitomized that most overworked of all clichés, the American Dream. They lived honest, hardworking and productive lives, day in and day out. They didn’t look to others to take care of them; they took care of themselves, and of each other. Now something terrible had happened to one of their number. Some outside force, not fully comprehensible in its awfulness and randomness, had suddenly reared up and threatened to destroy everything. Their reaction was as simple as it was immediate. Even as they’d reached out to Jaywalker for outside help, they’d drawn together even more tightly. They’d mustered their collective strengths, pooled their resources and drawn on their faith. That faith was not so much in a higher power as it was in the system itself. They trusted that the system, which they’d always believed in and lived by, would now protect them.
But the system, Jaywalker knew only too well, protected no one. The system was cold and impersonal. The system was all about budgets and payrolls, statistics and seniority, politics and patronage. When it came right down to it, in an adversarial contest that pitted a professional prosecutor against a designated defender, a person could be protected only by another person. And for better or for worse, because of the absurd accident that Inez Kingston happened to work in the same Welfare Department office as Jaywalker’s sister-in-law, he had become the person charged with the responsibility of protecting a young man and, with him, the rest of his family, born and unborn. It was a responsibility that Jaywalker both wanted and didn’t want, one that he relished even as he loathed it, and one that was already waking him up each morning and accompanying him to bed each night.
In the short space of a month’s time, it had become a responsibility that scared the living shit out of him.
4
HEDGING BETS
Jaywalker busied himself preparing motions.
The days of the computer had not yet arrived, at least for a seat-of-the-pants solo practitioner like Jaywalker. That meant typing out a set of papers the old-fashioned way, on a trusty Remington, the kind that fit into a square black box and came without a cord, much less a battery. He moved for suppression of any statements that might be attributed to Darren as admissions or confessions, exclusion of any identifications of him that might have been tainted by suggestive police procedures, and a severance that would divide the case into four separate trials instead of one. He asked for court-ordered discovery of police reports, medical records, photographs, artists’ sketches and the like. He demanded particulars regarding the precise date, time and place of each of the crimes charged. He made copies, served and filed them, and waited for Pope’s written response.
Next Jaywalker contacted a private investigator. He called John McCarthy, a former NYPD detective who would go on to do work for F. Lee Bailey, among others. McCarthy was bright, capable, and would make a good appearance on the witness stand, if his testimony were needed. Jaywalker had him come to the office to meet Darren, and the three of them went over the facts of the case in as much detail as they knew them. He instructed McCarthy to use his contacts in the department to gain access to whatever police and housing authority records he could. He told him there would come a time when he’d want him to see if the victims would talk with him. Finally, Jaywalker asked him to spend some time in the Castle Hill area of the Bronx, where the attacks had taken place, on the outside chance that he might be able to locate the real rapist, assuming it wasn’t Darren. At that suggestion, McCarthy looked up from his notepad and stared at Jaywalker as though he were on drugs.
Jaywalker looked away.
Things slowed down. And Jaywalker had no complaint about that. A speedy trial, which is a defendant’s constitutional right—and these days his statutory right, as well—is in fact a defendant’s worst enemy. Time is his ally. Time for his lawyer and his investigator to do their jobs; time for the victims to grow less vindictive and more forgetful; time even for another attack to occur while the defendant’s presence elsewhere could be documented. And with Darren out on bail, time also brought the opportunity for him to get back to work, family and normalcy—if there was such a thing as normalcy for a young man facing eighty years in prison.
On a more practical note, time also allowed Jaywalker to attend to the rest of his practice, which he’d begun to neglect as he became immersed in Darren’s case. He tried a forgery case in federal court and came away with a lucky acquittal. A robbery defendant, whose victim had leaped out of a fourth-story window in order to escape his captors, pleaded guilty and accepted a five-year prison term. The victim had somehow survived a broken back and was now walking with a cane. Had he not, it would have become a murder case.
And on the personal front, time also gave Jaywalker an opportunity to get reacquainted with his own family, who’d seen precious little of him over the past few weeks. He prided himself on being an active, if not quite equal, partner in the raising of his daughter. Lately, however, his wife had begun to comment that he seemed to be distracted and complained about his growing habit of being absent even when he was present. If their daughter noticed, she didn’t say anything. Of course, she was only four. But kids didn’t miss much, he knew.
Jacob Pope’s response to Jaywalker’s motions arrived in the mail. First off, he supplied the