WHEN JUDE ARRIVED at the courthouse the next day, he was tired and despondent. He didn’t remember the police lockup being so uncomfortable. He guessed that back then, compared with what he was used to, it wasn’t so bad. He’d gotten soft in the last year and a half. He hadn’t even realized it, but he’d gotten used to luxury.
At the courthouse he was delivered into the hands of his lawyer. Maria pushed open the door that led into the courtroom, but she didn’t step through immediately. “Good Lord,” she whispered.
Jude looked in over her shoulder. The room was packed.
Someone at the back noticed their arrival, and it rippled through the crowd. Heads twisted, craning to get a good look at him.
“Reporters,” Maria hissed. “I didn’t expect this many. There weren’t even this many for the Reznik case, and he was a cop killer.”
“Thanks,” Jude whispered back. “You really know how to make me feel better.”
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” she said. “You’ll take the deal when we get it.”
Before he could reply, she waddled into the room, and with all the eyes on them it must have been almost as difficult for her as for him, Jude thought. Somehow that realization gave him the courage he needed to follow her.
When they reached the front, they found there was no room for them. Two men in the first bench rose to give up their places so they could sit while they were waiting for their case to be called, but that freed barely enough space for Maria. A third had to get up, and Jude noticed that Maria’s face was crimson.
Even with three spots vacated the space on the bench wasn’t really big enough. Jude was wedged up against the end, and still Maria’s leg pressed against his. They sat close enough for Jude to smell her shampoo—if clean had a scent, her shampoo would be it, Jude thought. He didn’t want to consider how he must smell. In the overheated courtroom, with the radiators clanking just a few feet away, Jude could sense the stale odor of old sweat rising from his clothes.
When their case was called, Maria rose and led him to the front. The room quieted in anticipation.
Only then did Jude see the prosecutor, and he recognized the senior assistant DA. Jude had met the man a couple of times. His name was Andrew Comfort, though Jude knew they had another name for him around the courthouse. They called him Uncomfortable, and this referred both to his manner, which outside the courtroom was awkward and unpolished, and to his ability inside the courtroom to make a defendant very uncomfortable indeed. He was short and painfully thin, balding but with a boyish face that always seemed to hold a puzzled frown in the slight crease between his eyebrows. His appearance hid the ferocious will to win that he brought to every case.
The judge was a woman, barely tall enough to see over the bench. He wondered if it was deliberate—that the judge hearing juvenile arraignments looked almost like a child herself. She read the indictment in a conversational tone, seemingly unaffected by the large audience. “The charges are criminally negligent homicide and possession of a controlled substance with intent to distribute.”
The judge looked at Jude and asked, “How does the defendant plead?”
Jude had worried that his voice might break or come out too loud, but he managed to get out the words “Not guilty” and have them sound relatively normal.
“Any motions to hear?”
Comfort spoke crisply. “I have a motion to have the defendant tried as an adult.”
“I’ll hear the motion Monday at three o’clock. Anything else?”
The assistant DA shook his head.
“Then we’ll move on to bail recommendations. Mr. Comfort?”
“Your Honor, I request that bail be remanded.”
“What?” Maria half stood in protest.
“We believe there is a certain flight risk with the defendant.”
“This is ridiculous,” Maria said. “He’s a child.”
“He’s sixteen,” Comfort corrected her. “And more than one million children run away every year. It’s not an issue of age, but the flight risk isn’t the only concern. There is also,” he continued, “a bit of difficulty as to where he would stay if he were released on bail. It would be something of an awkward situation, if not an outright conflict of interest, to have the defendant living with the DA.”
“Do you have anything to say to that, Counselor?” the judge asked Maria.
“I’m afraid this isn’t something I’ve dealt with before,” she said. “But I don’t believe that my client should be penalized for being an inconvenience.”
“I see your point,” the judge said, “but unless you have a solution …”
“A foster home?” she suggested.
“There is also the high-profile aspect of the case to consider, Judge,” Comfort added. “I think that a foster home wouldn’t be able to protect the defendant adequately from the media, and there is still the flight risk.”
The judge sighed. “It may not be fair, Counselor,” she said to Maria, “but I don’t see an alternative. The defendant is to be remanded without bail.”
“In that case, I request that he be allowed to await trial at a juvenile facility for the duration, regardless of the ruling on the motion, and that he be given a private cell there, Your Honor,” Maria spoke up.
“I have no objections to that,” Comfort said.
“Well, we all seem to be agreed on this issue. I grant your request, Counselor. We’ll set a court date at the hearing.” The judge rapped her gavel, and Maria motioned for Jude to get up.
Jude obeyed, but he was still digesting the fact that he wasn’t going home. In the next moment he wondered how he’d ever thought he could. What would that be like—living with his mother while her office prepared the case against him, and all the while Anna believing he was really guilty? He saw now that it was impossible. Harry must have known it too, but he hadn’t said anything, probably fearing that Jude would back out. But he couldn’t blame this on Harry. Harry had offered him a way to repair the damage, and if the cost was a little higher than Jude expected, how could he complain?
19
MARIA HAD SET up a meeting with Comfort after the arraignment. She intended to discuss a plea bargain. And they did discuss it—Comfort told Maria what he was offering: If Jude pleaded guilty to criminally negligent homicide and possession with intent to distribute, they’d give him a seven-year sentence and he could be out in five. Maria laughed because she thought he was joking. Then she realized he was serious. The meeting didn’t last more than five minutes.
“I can’t believe it.” Maria was fuming as she and Jude left the room. “They want to hang you out to dry. I don’t understa—” She broke off abruptly. As they emerged from the room, they found that the guard who was waiting for Jude now had company.
“I’m Harry Wichowski,” Harry introduced himself to Maria. “I’m the deputy commissioner.”
“I know who you are,” Maria said. “What do you want?” She was still prickly from the confrontation.
Just then the assistant DA stepped from the room. “Hello, Harry,” Comfort said coldly. “What are you doing here?”
Jude remembered that Harry and Comfort had never gotten along. Even Harry’s charm could make no headway with the senior assistant DA—Comfort obviously distrusted Harry’s ease with people. From what Jude had overheard, he suspected there was some jealousy over the pivotal roles they each held in Anna’s life.
“Anna asked me to stop by,” Harry said. “I need to talk to Jude and his lawyer, if you’ll excuse us.” He wasn’t exactly rude, but the effect was the same. Comfort bridled, and Jude could see that he was tempted to demand that Harry tell him what he wanted. Instead he walked away without another word. His assistant scurried after him.
Harry turned to Maria. “I’m sorry about that. I sometimes find Comfort …” He paused, searching for a word. “Inflexible. You probably agree with me after your meeting.”
“I would think that the DA might have something to say about tha
t,” Maria suggested.
“It’s a difficult situation all around.” Harry sighed. “It’s a serious case with serious charges, and it is also an issue on which she’s made her views very plain. She can’t be seen to go easy on him because he’s her son.”
“But she shouldn’t be harder on him either,” Maria retorted.
“You’re in good hands, Jude.” Harry spoke to him for the first time.
Jude studied the floor.
“How are you holding up?”
“Fine,” he said.
“Anna asked me to bring this by for you.” Harry held out a bag. “It has clothes, toiletries, a few books….”
Jude took it. He could feel Maria looking at him.
“You mean she didn’t stop by to see him last night?”
“I have advised her to wait until after the trial,” Harry said.
Jude wondered if that was true—if Anna had really wanted to come—or if it was for Maria’s benefit.
“But I promised her that I would come by and make sure he was doing okay. And I’d like you to feel free to talk to me about any concerns you may have,” Harry continued. “I could try to smooth things on the other side.”
Maria considered. “I might take you up on that.”
Harry beckoned the officer over. “Take care of him,” he instructed, motioning to Jude. “No cuffs on the way back, okay?”
“Sure,” the officer agreed. “Come on, kid.”
As Jude was led away, he heard Harry say to Maria, “Are you leaving? I’ll walk out with you….”
He looked over his shoulder, and they were already headed in the opposite direction. Harry happened to glance back at him, and Jude thought he saw him wink.
AT THE HEARING the judge granted the motion that Jude be tried as an adult. And suddenly he was facing time in a state prison instead of a stint at a juvenile facility. What saved Jude from panic was the fact that the trial was months away. It was set for late September, and Jude calculated that he wouldn’t have long in an actual adult prison before the election, and after that Harry would get the conviction overturned and he’d be released. It was true that he was facing almost six months at the detention center, but in his solitary cell he was completely removed from the rest of the boys. The only thing he had to fear was boredom.
After the hearing Maria commandeered a room to sit down and talk.
“So things didn’t go our way today, but then again, we didn’t expect them to,” she began. “I wanted to talk to you about the prosecution’s case. I got the discovery yesterday, and I’ve been looking it over.” She paused—ominously, Jude thought. “You didn’t tell me about the phone call,” she said.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. What phone call?”
Of course he knew exactly what she was talking about, but he had to pretend he didn’t. If it hadn’t been staged, he wouldn’t have known that his mother had been there to listen in.
“Apparently your mother overheard a conversation that you had with a … friend, and it was about selling him heroin. She said that the machine had picked up and you were upstairs, so when she came in, it was coming through the speaker and she could hear every word. Do you remember it now?”
“Oh, that.”
“Yes, that. With that phone call their case for possession with intent to distribute is more than solid—it’s practically impenetrable. The call also establishes your intent to sell to a minor, and your using the park as a meeting place puts the transaction in a drug-free school zone. Those details will add to the mandatory minimum sentence, and that’s not the worst of it. The discovery also explains their reasoning in going for criminally negligent homicide. Apparently Nick told his friends that his dealer—allegedly you—said that the heroin he was selling was a special kind. It was special because it gave a better high, but you needed to snort more of it than the regular stuff. The police speculate that the dealer was taking advantage of a naive customer and, based on the amount that he was snorting, that Nick was buying a product that had very little actual heroin in the mix. Then they tested the stuff that killed him, and they found that mixture was almost sixty percent pure—which is about the best you can buy.”
Jude remembered his conversation with R. J. and what he had said about mixing up the bags. “But it was a mistake,” he said. “I mean, it must have been.”
“That’s what I thought. Only, then they tested the heroin they found in your bag.”
“And?”
“Jude, the heroin in your bag was almost uncut.”
“What?” he said in disbelief.
“It was over ninety percent pure.”
Jude hadn’t thought about where Harry got the heroin, but of course Harry couldn’t just go out and buy it. He must have gotten it from some big drug bust, one of the ones where they nabbed it coming into the country. Who would notice a couple of ounces missing from several kilos?
“Jude, not only does it give them a case for criminally negligent homicide, it adds to the mandatory minimum. Uncut heroin gets stiffer penalties than a mixture. You’re up to five years, no parole, even if they don’t get a conviction for criminally negligent homicide.”
“Five years?” he echoed. “It can’t be that much.”
“The average sentence for a first-time drug offender is almost seven years,” she said.
“How much would the criminally negligent homicide charge be?” he asked.
“Four to six.”
“You could get less for killing someone than for selling drugs?”
“Yes,” she admitted, “in the case of criminally negligent homicide, at least. But listen, there is some good news as well. I’ve talked to Mr. Wichowski several times over the course of the past couple days, and I think he’s sympathetic to our situation. He’s said that he’ll talk to your mother and to Comfort, and they may have a better deal for us.”
Jude was surprised that Harry was going to trust him enough to offer a good deal, seeing as how worried he’d been that Jude would cave in and take a plea.
“We’ve got a meeting scheduled for tomorrow,” she went on. “So it may not be as bad as it looks. It could work out for everyone.”
“There’s one thing you forgot.”
“What’s that?”
“I told you a while ago, I can’t plead guilty.”
“Yes,” she said impatiently. “I remember, but that was before they formally charged you with criminally negligent homicide, and before you were definitely going to be tried as an adult, and certainly before we got the discovery evidence from the prosecution and found out that they have enough to bury you.”
“It doesn’t change anything. I still can’t plead.”
“You keep saying ‘can’t.’ What do you mean, ‘can’t’?”
He shook his head.
“I can’t think of a single reason why you ‘can’t.’”
“What about if I was innocent?” he said.
She stared at him over the table. “I’ve been doing this for almost ten years, and that’s nine years and twelve months too late for me to believe that line. But you know what? Let’s say—let’s just assume—you are innocent. You want to know what I’d tell you?”
He knew already, but he humored her. “What?”
“After seeing that discovery, I’d say, ‘Shout that you’re guilty from the rooftops if they’ll give you a good enough deal.’ You hear me?”
“I hear you,” he said.
“So?”
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“Well, we’re going to the meeting anyway. Then, if you haven’t changed your mind, you can tell them yourself.”
20
THE MEETING WAS held at the DA’s offices. From the moment he and Maria got off the elevator, Jude could feel the people looking at him. Ahead of them the corridors were crowded with employees—hurrying from copier to fax, calling across the floor to other coworkers, hunched over their desks—but the employees stopped their work to watch them as t
hey made their way to Anna’s office.
Jude twisted his hands in the fabric of his jacket and tried to stay calm. This would be the first time he had seen his mother since she overheard the phone call.
When they entered the room, Jude saw that everyone was there. Comfort and his assistant were sitting at the table. Harry was standing just behind them, leaning casually against the massive desk, and beyond him, half blocked by his body, Anna sat in the high-backed leather chair paging through a file in front of her. She didn’t even look up when they entered.
Comfort was the one who greeted them and motioned for them to sit.
“So we’re here to try this again,” Maria began. “To start off, I’d just like to say that I think we all have the same goals here.”
“And what would those be?” Comfort asked.
Jude sensed that Maria held on to her patience for his sake. “I think we all would like to avoid the media circus of a trial and reach a fair and equitable agreement. It would save us time, the taxpayers money, and a lot of unnecessary pain for the people involved.”
“I wish it were that simple, Ms. Powell, but you have only the interests of your client to think of. We have to answer to the people of this city, and I’m not so sure that they want this case swept under the carpet,” Comfort said.
“It’s called a plea bargain, and it’s hardly sweeping it under the carpet. It is how ninety percent of the cases that pass through this office are resolved, and I was led to believe that you had an offer for me. I didn’t know that we were coming all the way down here for you to tell us that you want to pander to the public’s thirst for a bloodletting.”
Comfort smiled—condescendingly, Jude thought. “Aren’t you getting a bit melodramatic? The DA is a politically elected official and, as such, is held accountable by the people. The constituents are ultimately the ones this office has to satisfy—within the letter of the law. I believe that the district attorney has been quite clear about her views on the drug problem in our city.”
Jude Page 11
