For Alonzo Barnett, the news wasnt good.
To begin with, his past history was absolutely terrible. It took Jaywalker a good five minutes just to read and decipher the NYSIS sheet, the computer printout of Barnetts prior arrest record. By the time hed finished jotting down the relevant highlights, he was able to count no less than five felony convictions amassed over the past thirty years. Almost all of them were for drugs, either sale or possession. In addition to the felonies, there was a scattering of misdemeanor convictions, somewhere between eight and twelve of them. And while incomplete sentencing data made it impossible to determine exactly how much time Barnett had actually served, it was apparent that hed been behind bars for well over half of his fifty years. Make that fifty-one, since the printout was by this time more than a year old.
There was no dearth of names, either. In addition to Alonzo Barnett, the name the defendant had given at this latest arrest, hed also been know at various times of his adult life as Alonzo Brown, Alvin Brown, Alonzo Black, Alonzo Bell and AB. Simply from the repeated recurrence of the first name, Jaywalker guessed that at least the Alonzo part was correct. The true last name was anyones guess. Not that it mattered. With only one name himself, Jaywalker had always made it a habit to address his clients using their first names, and he always would.
Next there were the numbers. The ones that stood out were 2, 4, 220.43 and 220.21. Again, not much to a lay-person, except perhaps one interested in playing them in some combination, whether on the street or in some Lotto game. But to Jaywalker, they immediately told a story, and once again, it wasnt a good one. The 2 was for the number of ounces of a narcotic drug that Barnett-or whatever his name was-was charged with selling; the 4 was for the ounces he was accused of possessing. And the fancier numbers, the 220.43 and the 220.21, were the particular sections of the New York State Penal Law that hed allegedly violated in the process of doing so, the first representing Criminal Sale of a Controlled Substance in the First Degree, the second Criminal Possession of a Controlled Substance in the First Degree. Both charges were A-1 felonies, indistinguishable from murder in terms of the sentences they carried. Thanks to a long-ago governor named Rockefeller and a never-ending succession of lawmakers panicked at the notion of being branded soft on crime, each charge carried a maximum sentence of twenty-five years to life, the absolute minimum being fifteen to life.
Finally, there was the narrative. Jaywalker knew better than to look for it in the indictment. That was merely the instrument drawn up by some computer in the D.A.s office and rubber-stamped by a grand jury. It would be couched in legalese and contain the formal accusations, but little in the way of helpful detail. So he looked instead at the Criminal Court complaint, a single sheet of yellow paper typed out the old-fashioned way the day or night Barnett had been brought to 10 °Centre Street to make the first of a long series of appearances before one judge or another.
It was in affidavit form, the named deponent being the detective whod sworn to its truth and accuracy a year and a half ago.
The defendant, Alonzo Barnett, on or about the 5th day of October, 1984, at 1830 hours, in the vicinity of 127th Street and Broadway, in the County of New York, State of New York, did unlawfully sell to a law enforcement officer known to deponent a quantity of heroin in excess of 2 ounces, and did unlawfully possess a quantity of heroin in excess of 4 ounces.
It was in affidavit form, the named deponent being the detective whod sworn to its truth and accuracy a year and a half ago.
The defendant, Alonzo Barnett, on or about the 5th day of October, 1984, at 1830 hours, in the vicinity of 127th Street and Broadway, in the County of New York, State of New York, did unlawfully sell to a law enforcement officer known to deponent a quantity of heroin in excess of 2 ounces, and did unlawfully possess a quantity of heroin in excess of 4 ounces.
In other words, Alonzo Barnett was looking at a direct sale to an undercover cop. That said, the phrase law enforcement officer caused Jaywalker to pause for just a moment. The usually language was a police officer. But then he looked back at the deponents command and noticed for the first time the initials JCSFTF. Although hed never before heard of such a unit, Jaywalker felt he was on pretty safe ground translating it as Joint City, State and Federal Task Force. Which would explain the law enforcement officer bit. The undercover cop hadnt necessarily been a cop at all; he might just as easily have been a state trooper or a federal agent on loan from the New York State Police, the DEA or the FBI, called in to work on a major investigation.
Your tax dollars at work.
There was still one more item in the file that caught Jaywalkers attention. It was a small color photo of the defendant, no larger than the ones they stick on passports. Not your traditional mug shot with a pair of images-one full face and one in profile-above a series of numbers. No, this one was a single exposure, a shot of the defendant looking directly into the camera, taken hours after his arrest. He was dark-skinned, but not so dark that Jaywalker didnt have to check his race under the pedigree section, where he found it listed as black, African-American not really being in vogue yet in law enforcement circles. Barnett was described as five-foot-seven inches and one hundred and sixty pounds. His graying hair made him look every bit of his fifty-one years and then some. Staring out at Jaywalker, as hed stared at the camera a year and a half earlier, he looked neither belligerent nor defiant, the way a younger man might have. If anything, he looked sad. If he was angry, he was angry only at himself.
Before returning the file, Jaywalker jotted down the A.D.A.s name and number. He took a look at the earlier notices of appearance that had been filed in the case. There turned out to be three of them, not two, as Lorraine Wilson had thought. The two court-appointed lawyers- Jaywalker now being number three-had been preceded by a private attorney, some guy whod walked away from the case after making a single appearance. Maybe he hadnt been paid enough, or maybe he had suspected early on that Mr. Barnett was going to be hard to deal with. Whichever had been the case, later on hed somehow managed to sneak the words For Arraignment Only onto his notice. It was the different color ink that gave the notation away as an afterthought. So one thing was certain, at least. Whether it was Alonzo Barnetts long record, his lack of money or his disinclination to take a plea, it seemed nobody wanted any part of him.
Nobody, at least, until Jaywalker.
Having done the unusual by looking through the file a full week before the case was scheduled to appear in court, Jaywalker next did the unthinkable. He went to visit Barnett.
He would have done it the hard way, killing a full day by making the round-trip out to Rikers Island and back. Thats where the vast majority of the citys detainees were housed while awaiting trial or some other disposition of their cases. But it turned out Jaywalker didnt have to go that far. Barnett was a guest of what was at that time known as the Manhattan Detention Center. In its later incarnations it would become the Bernard B. Kerik Complex, and then-following Mr. Keriks indictment, conviction and fall from grace-the Manhattan Detention Complex. But to everyone familiar with it, whether as an insider or an outsider, it had always been, and would always be, the Tombs.
The good thing about the Tombs was that, rather than being plunked down in the middle of a river, it was conveniently located at 125 White Street, at the northern end of 10 °Centre Street. So in order to get to it from the Criminal Court Building, all you had to do was walk around the corner. In fact, if you were unlucky enough to be a guest of the city, you didnt even have to do that. Both an underground passageway and a twelfth-floor covered bridge-imaginatively referred to as the bridge-saved you the trouble. Jaywalker, whod been a guest of the city on more than one occasion-whether for mouthing off to a judge or committing some other minor breach of courtroom etiquette-took the trouble on this occasion of walking around the corner.
The other thing about the Tombs was that it was then, and continues to be to this day, reserved for the more desirable detainees in the system. Not that theres any written policy decreeing it as such. But it cant be purely by accident that at any given moment the population of the Tombs is considerably older, whiter, more fluent in English and less prone to committing crimes of violence than the inhabitants of Rikers Island.
An hour after arrival, Jaywalker found himself sitting across a table from Alonzo Barnett. It was an old wooden table, covered with peeling paint and cigarette burn marks, and it was securely bolted to the floor. But sitting across it sure beat trying to carry on a conversation through iron bars or bulletproof glass, or using telephone handsets manufactured sometime during the last Ice Age.
Barnett looked about like he had in his photograph, only older. And not just a year and a half older. Even in the Tombs, time has a tendency to take its toll. But other than that, he was the same man the photo had promised. Relaxed, mature, self-aware, sad and somehow dignified despite the predicament in which he found himself. And if you think its easy to look dignified while wearing an orange jumpsuit and paper slippers, sitting at a bolted-down table in a room walled by steel and cinder blocks, try it sometime.
I suspect my previous attorneys have warned you that Im a bit of a pain, were the first words out of Barnetts mouth. And the prosecutor, as well.
Which wasnt quite the opening line Jaywalker had expected. Defendants didnt generally make a habit of using terms like suspect, previous and as well. Or even attorney, for that matter. Not to mention prosecutor. Evidently, what Mr. Barnett was trying to say was, I bet all my otha lawyers and that muthafuckin no-good D.A. been bad-mouthin me, huh?
But he hadnt said it that way, and the almost quaint manner hed used to express himself instead brought a smile to Jaywalkers face. Actually, he said, I havent spoken with any of them.
Oh? Why not?
Well, said Jaywalker, if I understand the way things are supposed to work, Im assigned to represent you, not them. So I figured Id come in here and see what you have to say first, before I talk to any of them. If thats okay with you.
Which evened the score at one smile apiece.
They talked for an hour that first day, maybe a little more. Alonzo Barnett came across as a gentle, thoughtful and intelligent man. Born on a farm in central Alabama, hed had almost nothing in the way of formal education, finally earning his GED at the age of forty-eight in a place called Green Haven. A GED is a high school equivalency degree, a not-quite-diploma that the state corrections system used to hand out, back when there was enough money to hold classes behind bars. And despite its bucolic name, Green Haven was and continues to be a maximum security prison surrounded by a huge wall topped with miles of razor wire. It was no doubt given its name by someone who never set eyes on it.