Tainted Evidence

by Robert Daley

  "The news just came over the police radio."

  "News?”

  She glanced across at Coombs, then at Harbison, then at the other police commanders. Every face was blank except Malloy's.

  "What news?" she said.

  "You and I will make an excellent team. Let me help you with the press conference. I'm more experienced in these things than you are."

  No longer as mystified as before, Karen paid now strict attention. "Press conference?"

  "You'll have to have a press conference. But I'll be right here at your side. I'll tell them how we'll work together--like a well oiled machine, that's how. Let me look at you: the new district attorney of New York County."

  And so the news reached her. It reached everyone in the room, and a moment of total silence occurred. Karen, her mouth agape, stared at Malloy, and when that moment passed her eyes jerked around to Harbison. The acting district attorney looked stricken, and she felt an absurd desire to comfort him.

  The others, led by Coombs, came forward and began to shake her hand. Then the phone rang and she picked it up, and the room went silent.

  "Albany calling?" the others heard her say. "Yes."

  Even as she waited for the governor to come on the line Harbison turned and started out of the office. Karen watched him go.

  "Yes, Governor--" she said into the phone.

  More and more people crowded into her office, and when she had hung up she was obliged to accept congratulations from everyone. "Thank you," she kept saying. "Thank you very much."

  Many minutes passed before she was able to break away.

  She went out and crossed the hall to the office of the district attorney of New York County who was now herself.

  Harbison was cleaning his things out of the desk. Karen entered and watched him.

  "I don't know what to say," she said.

  "Don't say anything."

  Harbison went on packing.

  Karen said: "I never expected--” She stopped. What was she apologizing to him for?

  "I'll get the rest of this stuff out tomorrow," said Harbison. "I wish you the best of luck."

  Carrying a stuffed briefcase and an armload of papers, he went out.

  Karen picked up the DA's phone, her phone now, and dialed her husband.

  "You're not going to believe this," she told him when the connection was made, "and you may not like it. I--I got the job."

  She listened for a moment, then a big smile came on her face. "I love you too," she said.

  She was sworn in by the governor on the steps of the original courthouse, the picturesque Grecian one next door to the one in which Karen worked. In design it related to civilizations of antiquity, rather than to violent, modern New York. Often the building had seemed to Karen pretty but irrelevant. Some days it had seemed absurd.

  Today the old courthouse was to be as much a part of the show as she was, though this idea would not occur to her until later. It turned her swearing-in into a photo opportunity of the first magnitude. The press photographers and the TV cameramen wanted the great old building towering above and behind her. They kept moving her around because everyone wanted as much of it as possible in the frame, the obvious symbol of justice, and the Nikons and mini-cams all seemed aimed straight up her nose.

  The wind was blowing her hair around. There was a crowd held back by police barriers, and many reporters and TV crews. A wooden lectern had been set up and the governor started a speech over a hastily erected public address system, and the wind blew his words around too.

  "...The skeptics and sexists were alarmed," the governor said in part. "Law enforcement is an all male preserve, they told me, always has been. I told them, open your eyes. Times have changed. Have you been watching this woman in court day after day? Is she qualified to serve as district attorney? Is anyone more qualified? Well, then, I'm going to appoint her. How about that? And she is going to make us proud of her--and proud of our city and our state."

  He paused until the applause ended, then beckoned Karen to approach. This done, he looked to an aide for help. His next words, picked up by the public address, were not exactly immortal. "Who's got the bible?"

  "Here you are, Governor.” An aide, someone Karen had not seen before, handed it to him.

  The governor turned toward Karen, and his voice dropped to a whisper. But it was a whisper that chilled her. "I have great faith in Harbison," he said. "I've talked to him. He's willing to stay on. With him as your chief assistant, you'll do fine."

  Karen gave him a look. Harbison's enmity from here on would be implacable. She had no illusions about Harbison, and none about the governor either. By forcing her to keep her enemy on as right hand man, he was only signifying that, although he had bet on her, these bets were hedged.

  She looked into the governor's big smile and saw that it was meant more for the cameras than for her. "Ready?" he said. "Let's go then. Repeat after me. I, Karen M. Henning--"

  Karen put her palm on the bible and repeated the oath.

  Her family was there, together with the Mayor, the Police Commissioner, and other dignitaries white and black, and after the oath was completed and the governor had handed the bible to someone, all crowded around her. She was hugged by her husband and children, and after that submitted to a good deal of kissing from men she knew barely or not at all, though if she had been a man herself, hand shaking would have been enough. One of those who congratulated her was Reverend Johnson, and Karen was surprised. She did not think he belonged on this dais. She wondered who had invited him and why. The governor probably. The mayor perhaps. Some politician, anyway. As a sop to the black community without doubt. A white woman had been just been appointed, and furthermore it was this particular white woman who was currently trying one of their own. Never mind that to invite Johnson conferred stature upon him that he had not earned. It acknowledged him as a legitimate black leader too, which to her mind he was not.

  Karen at the lectern was grilled by reporters.

  "Is this a dream come true for you?"

  "Yes."

  "Would you elaborate on that?"

  She smiled sweetly and said: "No.”

  As she looked out over the crowd her eye was caught by Mike Barone, and it gave her a start. He was in the back of the crowd grinning, looking pleased for her. She watched him lift both hands high and mime applause. She gave a slight nod in his direction, acknowledging his congratulations, thanking him for it, as was only polite.

  Barone thought she looked terrific. She was wearing a black suit over a red blouse. He was terrifically proud of her. The suit was tight fitting, proof up there on the dais that she had a terrific figure too. Terrific was the only word he had that seemed to fit her.

  This was the first he had seen of her family. Her daughter was a little shorter, a little blonder, but otherwise a clone of Karen. They looked like sisters, not mother and daughter. Her son was too young--you couldn't tell much yet. Karen's husband looked unimpressive to Barone, but she had married him, so he must have qualities. He hoped the guy appreciated what he had. Barone would certainly appreciate her, if he had her.

  The wind had veered around. It was blowing Karen's skirt against the back of her legs. The reporters' questions continued.

  "Will you run for a full term next November."

  "I don't know."

  "What about policy changes?"

  "I've been district attorney five minutes. I think I need more time than that, don't you? I also need to get back to court. I have a trial to prosecute."

  "When does the Lionel Epps case go to the jury?"

  The governor too looked interested in the answer to this one.

  "A few more days," Karen said. She decided she could end the press conference on this note, before the silly questions started. With perhaps, on her part, a silly answer. "Thank you all for coming," she said. "Once the verdict is in, we can talk again."

  Barone pictured himself walking down the street with Karen Henning on his arm--
how all the heads would turn. Or walking her into a restaurant where maybe some cops would be. Not some seedy bar, a high class restaurant. The mouths would drop open, and with good reason, a woman like this, and afterwards the word would get around.

  He was mooning over her like a teenager and, realizing this, he laughed at himself. She's not that kind of woman, he reflected, nor am I that kind of man.

  Barone had felt many emotions over women, but never before such admiration. She was a woman who had everything. Up there on the dais she looked poised, absolutely sure of herself.

  Karen, who had turned away from the lectern, moved to embrace her husband again, then each of her children. Behind her, she heard the governor's aides conversing almost in whispers.

  "If she loses that case we're going to look pretty silly."

  "The guy shot five cops. It's open and shut."

  "Is there such a thing?"

  No there isn't, Karen thought, and though it was not a cold day she felt herself begin to shiver.

  As the ceremony ended Barone decided he might as well drive up to the Three-Two, see what had been going on up there in his absence. He had nothing else to do with the rest of the day and didn't feel like going home just yet. He watched Karen as she stepped down from the dais. More people crowded around her, congratulating her. He had decided not to approach her himself. She didn't need him up there. He would see her tomorrow in the office. For as long as the trial lasted he would see her every day.

  He walked away toward his car.

  Chapter 17

  Karen in the dark moved through her bedroom. Trying to get dressed, trying not to disturb her husband, she moved as silently as she could. She found and put on a bra. There was almost no light. She found pantyhose too but could not put them on standing up and when she felt for the room's only chair it had a laundry basket on it, so she sat on the edge of the bed--gently so as not to wake her husband--and pulled and smoothed the hose up her legs. But Hank came groggily awake anyway.

  "What are you doing?"

  "Getting dressed."

  Hank sat up in bed. "It's still dark out.”

  "I have to get to the office.” She moved back to her dresser.

  "Not this early."

  "It's my first day."

  Henry Henning switched on the bedside lamp, and watched his wife, wearing a bra and pantyhose, slip her arms into a blouse.

  "Come over here," he said, after a moment.

  Looking dubious, Karen approached the bed. Hank in his tousled pajamas drew her face down to his and kissed her.

  He made the kiss last longer than she wanted, then murmured: "I've never made love to the Manhattan District Attorney before."

  "I have to go, Hank."

  "There's time," he murmured.

  "Henry--"

  Suddenly he wrestled her down onto the bed and though she struggled to get out from under, he began kissing her in earnest.

  "Hank, stop."

  But he didn't stop. It was almost like a rape. Her blouse was still unbuttoned. He had her bra pushed up and was dragging the pantyhose down her hips.

  "I said stop."

  She was so firm about it that his ardor cooled. She felt his arms loosen and she was able to stand up.

  "I have to get to the office," she said, trying to rearrange herself.

  "Karen--"

  She had moved all the way across the room where she continued to get dressed. Presently she peered into the mirror over the dresser.

  "Look what you've done to my hair."

  Her husband sat on the bed staring at the space between his feet. She went over to him.

  "Hank, it's my first day."

  After a moment he said: "I'll drive you to the train."

  She went to the window and looked out.

  "You don't have to," she said. "My car is here."

  The dawn would come soon. She could delimit her lawn, the street out front, the trees, the mailbox on its post. The DA's official limousine was waiting for her below; a reading light was on inside.

  Henry stood beside her at the window. "My limousine won't be coming for me today," he said with attempted lightness.

  Karen, as she continued to dress, gave him a worried look.

  "I gave my chauffeur the year off," said Hank.

  Sitting on the bed again, Karen reached to put on her shoes. So Henry is unhappy, she told herself; so I don't see what I can do about that now.

  "You won't have to meet me at the station tonight," she said brightly. "That's another job you won't have to do.”

  "You don't understand," said Hank. "I liked meeting you at the station."

  He put on his bathrobe and slippers, and followed her out of the room along the dimly lit upstairs hallway. Karen opened each of the two doors in passing and peered in on her sleeping children.

  "You'll have to get them up in a few minutes," she whispered.

  "I think I can handle it," said Hank.

  They went down the carpeted stairs. Karen's bulging briefcase stood beside the front door. She picked it up, and turned to face her husband.

  "I'll have about an hour to try to take control of the office," she said. "Then I have to go to court."

  She glanced back up the stairs. "Make sure they eat something."

  "You should eat something," said Hank.

  "I don't have time."

  There was a pile of dossiers on a side table. She clasped it to her chest, then turned to kiss her husband. His arms went around her, but as an embrace it was unsuccessful. Her own arms were occupied, and all he could feel against himself were her wrists, her dossiers.

  "Tonight, I promise you," she whispered in his ear.

  "Good luck today," he said.

  She felt him watching as she walked down the front steps toward the car. She felt him watch the chauffeur run around to open the door for her. The chauffeur said something to her and perhaps Hank wondered what it was.

  He had merely introduced himself: "Detective McGillis, Mrs. Henning. I'll be one of your drivers."

  Karen shook hands with him. "Nice to meet you, Detective McGillis."

  "I drove the former district attorney eleven years."

  It was a comment that seemed to call for a reply, but Karen could not think of any. The ones that came to mind were inane. Such as: I hope you'll drive for me that long. She opted only to smile at him, to say nothing. From now on she would have to be careful what she said to people, she realized.

  Inside the car, waiting for her under the reading light was Coombs. "Morning, Karen."

  She felt suddenly alone. It was an emotion Coombs couldn't help her over, though if she told him so it would probably hurt his feelings. Her husband couldn't help her either. No one could. Perhaps it wasn't loneliness at all, but weight of responsibility. The two emotions were akin, after all. At times they were identical.

  "It's awfully nice of you to meet me this early," she told the young man.

  "Oh, come on Karen."

  "Well it is.” After a pause she said: "What did you find out?"

  The reading light shone down on the legal pad on his lap.

  "You're about to learn what running the Manhattan DA's office is like."

  She saw that there was a list, and she spoke to the chauffeur: "Would you put the partition up please."

  They waited until it was in place.

  "To begin with," said Coombs, "your new secretary wants to retire."

  "Betty? Why?"

  "Loyalty, I guess you would say.”

  "Loyalty?"

  "Loyalty."

  "I always got along well with her."

  "She says she served HIM--capital letters--all eight terms. She couldn't possibly serve anyone else."

  "She was still working for Norm."

  "For the few days. She had given him notice, apparently."

  "How old is she?"

  "Sixty two."

  "That's not so old."

  "Listen, Karen, she was there all eight terms. She knows
everything."

  "Yes, I imagine she does."

  "You have to keep her."

  "All right, I'll see her first.

  "After her the budget guy. Last night he was howling. The DA had been putting him off for a month. How are you on money?"

  "Money," said Karen. How many millions of dollars was he talking about?

  "Lots and lots of money."

  "Henry always handled the money," Karen joked.

  After flashing her a momentary smile, Coombs continued down the list. "Then Norm Harbison, as you requested. He'll probably quit. I know he had a big job offer downtown."

  "No," corrected Karen. "Harbison is staying."

  Coombs' eyebrows shot up. "Oh?"

  "The governor said he was," said Karen in a flat voice. "The governor must know."

  "The governor told you that?"

  Karen nodded.

  Coombs looked like a man with the breath knocked out of him.

  "You're shocked," said Karen with a small smile.

  "Weren't you?"

  Karen said nothing.

  "He promised him something," declared Coombs.

  Karen thought this too, and she gazed out the window. The car moved slowly through the suburban streets in the direction of the Parkway. "Wouldn't it be nice to know what," she said.

  "You could ask him."

  The streets were empty, the houses still dark. "I don't think he'd tell me.” She paused. "And after Harbison?"

  "You return about a hundred phone calls, then court. You have the chief administrative judge at 6 PM. That will take about an hour. We can prepare tomorrow's testimony around him."

  "An easy day at the office," said Karen with another small smile. "I wonder if there's some place I could buy some flowers."

  "At this hour?"

  "The market might have some."

  She leaned forward to tap on the glass partition. "Detective McGillis," she said when it had come part way down, "could we stop at the Hunts Point Market on the way by, please?"

  Hunts Point is the major wholesale market in the Bronx, maybe in the city. Though born and brought up in New York, Karen had never seen it. Neither had Coombs. Nor it turned out, had McGillis.