Tainted Evidence

by Robert Daley

  "I couldn't reach him. All I could do was leave a message on his machine. You'll have to be satisfied with me, I'm afraid. I can be very useful, honest I can."

  Again the nice smile. It unsettled Karen. "We have work to do," she said. "Can I offer you something? I don't know what's here--"

  She went into the kitchen, began opening cabinets, and found some tea. "Could I offer you a cup of tea?”

  "Well," said Barone, "tea would be nice.” He was standing in the kitchen doorway, watching her carefully.

  "Start at the beginning," Karen said.

  The kitchen was large with a nook containing a small table and two chairs. They sat at either side of the table and sipped the tea.

  "When I got transferred to the Three-Two and met Danny, he was already using Lionel. How he happened to come across him I'm not sure. I think he caught him selling coke in a doorway. Some goddam thing. Kid was about fifteen at the time."

  "Did he arrest him?"

  "A juvenile? What was the point? It would just teach the kid that the system was nothing to worry about. Danny tried to frighten him instead, maybe slapped him around a little."

  "Slapped him around?”

  "Maybe," said Barone defensively. "I wasn't there."

  "Then what?"

  "After that he began using him. Lionel gave Danny the location of a cutting factory once. Another time, he put us onto a guy selling guns. Sometimes he told us where to find guys we were looking for."

  Karen got up to get a yellow pad, after which she went into some of these cases in some detail, making notes.

  They sipped their tea.

  "You've been very worried these last few weeks, haven't you?" said Detective Barone.

  "Yes."

  "Because it isn't the open and shut case everyone thinks."

  "It's a more special case than most people realize. A nearly all black jury. A demagogue like McCarthy playing to every racial fear and slight any of them have ever suffered."

  "People look at the case," Barone said. "All they see is that the guy shot five cops."

  "If I were to lose--"

  He was listening, Karen noted. Really listening. People who listened were rare. She found herself wanting to trust him. Wanting to tell him how she had sacked Harbison. Wanting to bask in his congratulations. Stick to the trial, she told herself.

  She sipped her tea and studied her notes. "How did you usually make contact with Epps?"

  "There was a corner he hung out on. If he wasn't there, sometimes we went to his house."

  "His mother testified you went there once a week."

  Barone shook his head. "In the three years I've been in the precinct, five or six times at the most."

  "Was he registered?"

  "I don't know, you'd have to ask Danny."

  "Did you pay him?"

  "From time to time Danny did give him money."

  "While you watched?"

  "If we went up to his house I waited in the hall. Danny would go in and talk to him."

  Karen was still making notes. "The tea is a bit cold," Barone said.

  Karen looked at him a moment, then got up and put more water on to boil.

  "The money you gave him, was it vouchered?"

  "Getting money out of the department is really hard. I think sometimes it was department money. Usually it was Danny's."

  "How could you give money to a thug like Lionel Epps."

  "In the detective business thugs are what you deal with. The parish priest is not usually present when criminals do what they do.” He paused. "You know that as well as I do."

  They looked at each other. "Besides," Barone said, "Epps was not then what he later became. To us he was a small time coke dealer. He gave up worse scum than himself, so we used him.”

  Karen studied her notes.

  "The last several months before the shootout we couldn't find him. We heard he had moved across the river, that he was trying to take over the south Bronx. Then we heard that he was wanted by detectives over there for shooting some guy and wrapping him in a rug and setting him on fire."

  "Yes," said Karen. "Everybody remembers that rug. It makes such a nice picture.”

  "So we thought maybe he had come back to our side to hole up."

  "And you found him."

  "Yeah, Danny found him. Danny went looking for Rastar Williams. He figured if he leaned hard on Rastar, Rastar would find him for us, and he was right. Danny's a pretty good detective."

  He fell silent. She knew her color was high, her eyes especially bright. When she was as ebullient as this she was beautiful, and she knew it. She knew too that he was staring at her, and so kept her eyes on her notes.

  He said: "You've looked so worried lately."

  "I'm much less worried now.” She held up the two new files, Harbison's and Barone's, and grinned. "You should come to court tomorrow, it's going to be a bloodbath."

  Barone wore a nice suit. He had nice hands. She was surprised how comfortable it felt to

  sit with him at this table.

  This notion made her get up, go to the stove and pour boiling water on top of new teabags, and bring the pot back to the table.

  He said: "You must imagine that every woman in the city is watching you, cheering for you."

  She did imagine this, especially tonight. They would all be cheering tonight. By firing Harbison she had struck a blow for herself, and for womankind as well.

  Their knees under this too small table were probably no more than an inch apart. She was in a mood to flirt with him but cautioned herself not to. She wasn't a teenager and it wasn't fair to flirt with a grown man unless you meant it.

  "I'll bet you're not sleeping well, having bad dreams."

  This was true. By now she would have expected Barone to do or say something stupid, something that would put her off, but so far this had not happened.

  "How did you know about my bad dreams? Does it show that much?"

  "You look a little tired."

  "There are lines around my eyes that didn't used to be there."

  "Not true.”

  "I feel like I've aged ten years.” She wasn't fishing for a compliment exactly, or was she?

  He said: "You look terrific."

  "I think I'll sleep well tonight though," she said, and tapped the two new files.

  Barone said: "You have lovely eyes."

  She gazed at him a moment in silence.

  Suddenly he reached out and touched her face.

  His touch brought her back to reality. My God, she told herself, he's making a play for me. She was not really surprised but to herself pretended to be. A street detective was making a play for the district attorney of New York County.

  It made her think of the bed she would sleep in tonight. It was as if she could see through the kitchen wall into the bedroom on the other side. The bare pillows lay against the headboard, the clean sheets and pillowcases in a stack on top of the bare mattress--she was going to have to make the bed later. The most vivid image imaginable. Was Barone able to put such ideas in her head without her even knowing it? Was she supposed to ask him to come into the bedroom with her and help her make the bed?

  The idea almost made her burst out laughing. If she suggested it, he would not, she was sure, turn her down.

  She struggled to regain control of her emotions. Such a possibility was out of the question. How did she let it even come into her head? Her triumph over Harbison must have made her giddy. Or else she was more tired, more stressed out than she even imagined. She was certainly not going to have an affair with Barone, and to make the bed up later was just another chore facing her, the last of the day.

  The phone rang. It was attached to the kitchen wall and she reached for it, and it was Hank.

  During the time she spoke to him Barone went out into the living room to afford her some privacy, which was thoughtful of him. Nonetheless probably he could hear her from there so she avoided saying anything that might sound intimate. She certainly d
idn't talk about Harbison. She asked about Hank's day, and he about hers. She asked about the children. The conversation then lapsed, and presently she was able to break it off and hang up.

  Barone came back into the kitchen. I've got to get him out of here, Karen thought.

  "You've rested your case," he said.

  "Yes."

  "I've been expecting to testify, but you didn't put me on."

  "No.” Though he waited for an explanation, she didn't see where she had to give him one. Her strategy and tactics were her own affair, not his.

  But the silence continued. "I didn't feel your testimony was necessary," she said.

  And McCarthy might have mauled you, she thought as they gazed at each other, how was I to be sure, so I never put you on. "You were on the roof not in the building," she said, "you didn't get shot--”

  "True," he said, "Danny was more central to your case."

  She got to her feet. "There's a Korean grocery on the corner," she said. "I have to get some things for the house.” She moved past him out of the kitchen. "I mean, I can't just sit here eating up my friend's groceries.” A rather long speech.

  He made no protest, but followed her out to the street and into the nearby store.

  It was like all the Korean groceries. Brightly lit interior, perfect pyramids of perfect fruit outside, all of it kept sprinkled as if with dew. Their late hours were a godsend to busy New Yorkers who often needed to do their shopping at night. Karen bought tea, coffee, milk, bread, moving from shelf to shelf with Barone trailing and carrying the basket.

  She paid and they moved back up the sidewalk with the detective clutching the bag of groceries to his chest. In front of her building she said:

  "I'll take that from you now."

  "Let me carry it upstairs for you."

  "Oh, I can manage from here on."

  She hoped he would accept the dismissal. She had enjoyed the past hour, and did not want it spoiled now.

  "Thanks for bringing me that material," she said. She took the bag from his arms. "And for carrying my groceries.” She smiled at him. "Now I'm going upstairs and to sleep. I'm so tired."

  She saw him accept this.

  "As the parties to the lawsuit said," he joked, "I'll see you in court."

  He put his hand out, and she shook hands with him. But he held onto her saying, "Can I kiss you goodnight?"

  Her mood hardened. She said: "What would you want to do that for?” She did not like being treated like some silly girl.

  "I feel very close to you somehow."

  They eyed each other. "Yes," she said dryly, "we understand each other, don't we?"

  She presented her cheek, felt his lips briefly, said good night and carried her groceries into the building.

  Chapter 20

  Mrs. Epps was on the stand. Karen stood before her holding her rap sheet.

  "And have you ever been arrested, Mrs. Epps?"

  "Have I ever been hassled by the police? That's what happens to poor black folk. They get hassled by the police."

  The reply stopped Karen for a moment. This was either an extremely skilled or extremely well schooled witness, and she had best proceed with great care.

  "Were you arrested in Macy's and charged with shoplifting?"

  "The charges were dropped."

  Karen concentrated on this arrest for thirty minutes, dragging the details out of the woman one by one.

  "And were you arrested in your apartment building charged with assault on a neighbor?"

  Stony silence from Mrs. Epps.

  "The witness will answer the question," instructed Judge Birnbaum.

  The answer when it came was a surly: "something like that.”

  Karen spent another thirty minutes eliciting details. "You stabbed her with a knife, is that not correct? And although you stabbed her, she failed to appear to testify, is that not correct? In fact she has not been seen since, is that not correct?"

  Although worried about losing the sympathy of the jury, Karen was infuriated by this woman.

  "And another time you were arrested and charged with receiving stolen property, is that not correct?"

  Mrs. Epps did not answer.

  "The police raided your apartment and what did they find?"

  Karen had the police report marked for identification, showed it to McCarthy, and asked Mrs. Epps to read from it.

  "I don't have my glasses," the woman said sullenly.

  Karen said coldly: "May I remind the witness that she is under oath and must answer my next question truthfully. Has any doctor ever prescribed glasses for you, Mrs. Epps?"

  "Poor people can't afford eye doctors."

  "Do you wear glasses normally, Mrs. Epps? Have you ever worn glasses?"

  "Sometimes I do," the witness replied after a long silence.

  "Alright," said Karen, "let me read it for you.” And she read down the list of stolen property. "All of that was found in your apartment."

  More silence from Mrs. Epps.

  "There also was a sting operation and you were arrested for selling stolen property out of a storefront, is that not correct?"

  Again Mrs. Epps did not answer.

  "You were what is called a fence, is that not correct? According to the indictment, the property in question was stolen by your three older sons. Were they operating under your instructions, Mrs. Epps?"

  The woman refused to answer.

  "Where are those sons today, Mrs. Epps?"

  When she still refused to answer, Karen answered for her. "Your son Simon is in Attica, convicted of murder," said Karen. "Is that not correct? And your son Charleton is in Greenhaven, and your son Wilson is in the federal penitentiary in Atlanta, am I not correct?"

  Karen was fed up with being careful. In attacking this woman she was flying in the face of accepted legal tactics. But if the jurors were honest people, and she was obliged to assume they were, she might win the case right here, put the verdict forever out of reach of McCarthy.

  And so she kept the woman on the stand, continued to badger her, and by daring to touch on her relationship to her four sons of course impugned her effectiveness as a mother. She watched the jury's reaction throughout, but could not read it.

  "With a record like yours, Mrs. Epps, why should this jury believe anything you say?" Karen said rhetorically.

  And there she stopped. "No further questions, your honor."

  When night came she left her office. In Jill's apartment she ate a yogurt. Last night's elation had given way to new worries. Had she been too lenient with Harbison? Had she left him room to retaliate in some way? She would have to replace him as chief assistant, and soon, but with whom?

  Had she been too rough on Mrs. Epps? Had she alienated the jury?

  Muldoon and Barone arrived as ordered.

  "Please be seated," she said. It was not a social occasion and she offered them nothing to eat or drink. "You, Detective Muldoon, I want to know when you first met Lionel Epps and how. I want to know the details of every meeting you ever had with him.” She faced Muldoon directly. "In the morning you will be recalled and after I examine you, you will be cross examined by McCarthy who will probably call you a crook again.” Her gaze swept around to include Barone. "According to McCarthy, you're all crooks. I want to hear some facts."

  Seeing Muldoon bristle she repented immediately. "You have to be ready to be called a crook," she said.

  But for two hours she pressed them hard, until Muldoon got angry, and started to storm out.

  "Sit down," she ordered.

  Barone looked from one of them to other. "I think you should ease up on Danny a little," he suggested gently. "We're your friends."

  "Sit down," Karen ordered Muldoon a second time, and he did. She had won the confrontation, but from then on he answered in monosyllables and stared at the ceiling, exactly as he tended to do in court.

  No sooner had she shown them out than the doorbell rang. She had to reopen all three bolts. It was Barone. Muldoon, she saw
, waited some distance down the hall.

  "I think you should put me on the stand tomorrow, not Danny.”

  "I wasn't aware," Karen said, "that you were the attorney prosecuting this case."

  Barone spoke urgently, his voice low enough so that his partner would not hear. "I can give you the testimony you want, and I can handle McCarthy on cross. He won't get under my skin the way he does Danny's."

  "I'll keep your offer in mind," she said.

  "He destroyed the testimony of all those other cops. He may destroy Danny again. With me that won't happen."

  Karen was seriously worried about Muldoon as a witness, but he had to be put on. There was no alternative.

  "You need me," Barone said.

  "No, I need the proper answers from your partner."

  "I can help you."

  "The situation calls for Detective Muldoon. I explained to you why I elected not to put you on."

  "I want to help you win this case."

  "I'm sure you do," said Karen, and she began to close the door.

  "You know you can depend on me."

  "Do I?"

  "You know me."

  "I don't know you at all," Karen said.

  She had hurt him, obviously. He looked away, then again met her eyes. "You need a strong witness tomorrow, the strongest possible and--"

  "Goodnight, Detective Barone," she said.

  "Karen--"

  She closed the door on him.

  The next day Muldoon again took the stand.

  "About two weeks before the shootout," asked Karen, "did you call the defendant's mother some obscene names?"

  "She abused me. I abused her back."

  "Did you threaten the defendant's life?"

  "No I did not."

  "Did you say to her, I'm going to kill the bastard? Or words to that effect?"

  "I told her he should give himself up to me before somebody shot him. I had information that a lot of people were after him.”

  "Police officers?"

  "No. His colleagues in the drug business."

  "His colleagues in the drug business," Karen repeated. And then again, musingly: "his colleagues in the drug business.” She gazed across at McCarthy and thought: I can play the same dirty game you play, and I can play it just as well.