The bailiff stuck her head out of the courtroom door. The judge is ready.
Ellies testimony took all of sixteen minutes. She was there to defend against a murderers postconviction motion for release. The defendant alleged that his attorney had offered ineffective assistance of counsel by allowing Ellie to interrogate him about the death of his girlfriend. The necessary information was straightforward. The defendant had been the one to call the police, claiming hed come home and found her bludgeoned on the kitchen floor of their shared Chinatown apartment. He wasnt in custody. He wasnt even a suspect. His alleged counsel was a real estate lawyer who lived in the apartment next door and came over to offer friendly support.
It wasnt the lawyers fault that Ellie noticed the tiny lacerations marking each blow on the victims body, or the sharp, raised edge of the defendants pinkie ring, or the red marks on the defendants knuckles. Just a single, plainly phrased question about a possible explanation for those three circumstances had been enough for the defendant to break down.
It would have been a straightforward hearing if it werent for the fact that Judge Frederick Knight was known throughout the New York criminal justice system as the Big Pig.
Maybe the term was unfair, a reference to his considerable weight of at least three bills. But Ellie suspected the nickname would never have come into play if the man did not strive at every second to out-misogynize Andrew Dice Clay.
The nonsense began as she rose from the witness chair after testifying.
I know you.
If Ellie had been at a nursing home in Queens, she would have expected the line from a patient-the really, really old one, who didnt know anyone anymore.
Ellie Hatcher, Your Honor. This is my fifth time here. She rattled off the defendants names. She always remembered them. She could tell you the dates of the arrests, too. Probably their dates of births as well. Ellies brain was weird that way.
It was all a blur to Judge Knight, who shook his head with her mention of each case. Only five times here, and I remember you? Take that as a compliment, Officer.
Detective.
You keep yourself in shape. Thats good. Pretty girl there, right, Donovan?
Max didnt miss a beat. No ones as fit as you, Your Honor.
Corny, Ellie thought, but what was the right response to that question, under the circumstances?
And what do you, Mr. Donovan, think about your witnesss attire today?
Your Honor? Donovan asked.
Off the record for a moment, he said to the court reporter. Only five visits to the courthouse and yet I remembered this witness. And lets be clear here. We all know what it is about her that would have stood out in my recollection. And now here she is in these butch pants-trousers, lets say.
Part of Ellie wanted to tell this man that beneath her simple gray flat-front pants she wore a black thong bikini, but she dressed for court this way for a reason. She dressed this way because most judges and jurors had expectations. And they werent the same as Knights expectations.
Knight wasnt interested in her inner monologue. He was on his own roll.
When I first joined the bench, I heralded the first wave of lady litigators. They always wore skirts. High heels. Silk blouses. And then came the menswear trend, and these women started showing up in trousers and oxford shirts. Now the gals have it back to the way it was. Dresses. Skirts. Legs. Heels. Except for you, Officer. Hatcher, you said? Youve got your best assets covered up. You look like a boy. Not to mention, my clerk tells me that you and Donovan here are quite the item. I mean, what if Donovan showed up here tomorrow in a dress? How would you feel about that?
She saw Max looking at her. Willing her. Begging her. Dont. Do. It.
I would like to see that, Your Honor. But ADA Donovan was just telling me he wore out his best red silk number modeling it for you.
M ax was doing his best in the hallway to appear annoyed, but he couldnt help breaking a smile.
Red silk? Really? Seems a little hoochie-momma.
Oh, youd be much classier as a lady fella, Im sure. Brooks Brothers. Burberry. All those blue-blood labels. Sorry, I sort of lost it with the Big Pig.
Whatever. The motions a slam dunk. Even the defendants own allegations make clear he was playing the grieving boyfriend at the start. Besides, theres no way for the state not to be all right with Knight. He sides with the prosecution like hes on autopilot. I could tell him the court should enter an official finding of alien invasion, and hed do exactly as I said.
Im praying Ill still get home at some reasonable hour tonight. You?
He let one hand wander to her waist. As soon as Im done here, I have to go out to Rikers. Gang shooting. Guess a few weeks in a cell has someone second-guessing his loyalty to a coconspirator. Ive got to hammer out the cooperation details.
Could the good citizens of New York please stop fucking killing each other for a night?
Do you at least have time for that lunch? Ive got a few minutes.
Depends. You still got that red silk dress?
Those pants are a little butch.
Not underneath, she said. He returned her smile. When her cell phone buzzed at her waist, she tensed up at the sight of Rogans name on the screen. He had predicted a shitstorm to follow their walking away from the Whitmires townhouse. Apparently it had taken little more than an hour for Julias parents to work their way through their network back to her cell phone.
She held up a finger while she took the call. Yeah?
We shouldnt have left. You told me yourself Donovan didnt really need your testimony.
I take it Tucker tore you a new one?
Its not just the Lou. We should have at least gone through the motions. Like I said: Protect the crime scene, talk to the friends, do what we do.
Like I said, its a waste of time.
Thats why I let you convince me to leave. But we screwed up.
And how exactly did we do that?
Ill tell you when I get there. Meet me out on Centre Street. Im three minutes away.
Neither one of them said goodbye.
T hree hundred and seventy-five miles northwest of the city, in Buffalo, New York, Assistant District Attorney Jennifer Sugarman took a call from the front desk. Theres a James Grisco here to see you.
Okay. Send him back.
She had heard all the terms used to describe the other stars in the office. Dan Clark was a natural born trial lawyer. Joe Garrett was a genius in front of a jury. Mark Munson was a courtroom machine.
Munson? Really? Shed popped in on him in trial one day to see what the fuss was all about, only to hear him argue that the defendants story was all an elaborate rouge. He even touched his fingertips to the apple of his cheek, just in case she was wondering if shed misheard the word that was supposed to be ruse. An elaborate rouge. What an idiot.
Munson? Really? Shed popped in on him in trial one day to see what the fuss was all about, only to hear him argue that the defendants story was all an elaborate rouge. He even touched his fingertips to the apple of his cheek, just in case she was wondering if shed misheard the word that was supposed to be ruse. An elaborate rouge. What an idiot.
Jennifer Sugarman? Ask around the office, and theyd say she was a hard worker. Diligent. Detail oriented. Conscientious. Burns the midnight oil. When men were good, they were born that way. If she was just as good-better, even-it must have come by way of tremendous effort.
She didnt mind those descriptions, though. Shed made it out of misdemeanors into felonies faster than any ADA on record and was now first-chairing murder cases after only five years in the office. Rumor was shed be named a unit chief in the next round of promotions. And when the big boss finally retired, her reputation for working hard would come in handy. Voters liked to know they were getting their moneys worth with public employees. She planned to be Erie Countys first female district attorney.
And she was, in fact, harder-working than most. Take the call she got from the jail this morning about Grisco, for instance. Most of the ADAs would have blown it off. At most, they would have passed the information on to the parole officer and forgotten about it.
But she had been the one to negotiate Griscos release from prison, and she knew ex-cons feared the official power of a prosecutor much more than they feared the often-empty threats of parole officers. If there was some reason for a person to call the prison inquiring about Griscos whereabouts, she wanted Grisco to know she hadnt forgotten about him. She wouldnt hesitate to pull his ticket if it came to that.
He removed his baseball cap when he entered her office. It was a good sign he knew who was in charge. She told him about the call that had been made to the prison that morning. She reminded him of his release conditions, going so far as to read them aloud from his file.
You dont need to remind me, maam. I got no plans of messing this up.
Good to hear, Jimmy. I stuck my neck out for you.
Yes, maam. I appreciate it.
She shook his hand and walked him to the hallway. As she watched him make his way toward the exit, she found herself hoping he might actually find a decent life for himself. He wasnt even forty yet.
It wasnt until she returned to her office that she realized she should have covered up the note pad on her desk, the one on which she had scribbled the information shed received from the prison. It was a stupid mistake, but Grisco hadnt seemed to notice. His eyes had remained on his shoes the whole time, anyway.
She flipped the pad to the next page. It was nothing. She was certain of it.
Chapter Eight
As Casey Heinz jogged up from the 6 train at Bleecker, he was thinking that, all in all, it had been a good day.
Ramonas school had some kind of teacher in-service Monday, so shed been able to spend the day with him, starting with a snack at AJs. On a day without Ramona, he might have had only a chocolate-chip muffin, forcing himself to chew slowly, careful not to show his hunger. The fact that he was getting sick of that particular food option would have helped to slow the pace of his eating. He was tiring of nearly all the choices at AJs, one of the only places left on the Lower East Side that allowed them to hang out without buying too much. A cup of coffee first. A couple hours later, a muffin. Sometimes Brandon or Vonda would drop in with enough collected change for another cup of java.