by Joel Goldman
“What up?” Dwayne said.
“How’s your leg?”
“It ain’t nuthin’.”
“You know why you’re in jail?”
He made a face like he’d thrown up in his mouth. “On account of that muthafucker Rossi. Man wants my ass.”
“Did he tell you about the crack they found in your jeans?”
“He tol’ me. It’s bullshit. Dope wasn’t even mine.”
“I suppose you’re going to tell me that the cops put it in your jeans.”
Dwayne rolled his eyes. “Not that they wouldn’t, but it belong to my mama.”
“It was Odyessy’s crack?” Alex asked.
“For a smart lawyer, you ax some dumb-ass questions. How many mamas you think I got?”
“Fine. Why was your mother’s crack in your pocket?”
“Better than bein’ in her pocket. All she gonna do is smoke it.”
Alex raised her eyebrows. “Are you telling me that you were trying to stop your mother from using?”
“Why you look so surprised? She my mama, ain’t she? I jus’ ’bout had her clean ’fore they arrested me for killin’ Wilfred. No way she could stay off that shit wit’out me bein’ there to stop her. I was gone more’n six months till you got me off. Plenty of time for her to get back to her old ways. We was jus’ gettin’ started over again when Rossi show up.”
Alex sat back in her chair, the phone resting on her shoulder. Dwayne wasn’t the first client to tell her he’d been caught with dope that belonged to someone else. It was a drug dealer’s version of the squirrel-came-in-my-window-and-ate-my-homework excuse. Yet there was something about the way he told the story that made her believe him or, more to her amazement, want to believe him. Her mother had always told her that there was good inside every human being; you just had to know where to look. She wondered if Dwayne was hiding his goodness beneath the bodies of the Henderson family.
“Why’d you run from Rossi?”
“After the shit he pulled on me, it was run or throw down, and I wasn’t lookin’ for no trouble.”
“You mean you were ready to let bygones be bygones?”
He smiled. “Yeah. That’s me. I’m all about forgive and forget.”
Alex shook her head, staring at the floor, not saying anything.
“What you lookin’ at?” he asked.
She raised her head. “I’m waiting to see how deep the bullshit gets.”
Dwayne laughed. “See, that’s why I like you. That’s why you such a good lawyer.”
“Because I can recognize bullshit?”
“Nah. ’Cause you know what to do wit’ it.”
She couldn’t argue with the compliment. There were times when bullshit was all she had to work with.
“Thanks. You know the real reason you’re in here has nothing to do with the crack the cops found in your jeans.”
Dwayne leaned forward, his face less than an inch from the Plexiglas. “What you talkin’ ‘bout?”
“I’m talking about five dead bodies: Kyrie Chapman and the Jameer Henderson family. The good deed you did for your mother gave Rossi enough to hold you while he tries to nail you for their murders.”
Dwayne edged away from the glass, his face hardening. “Don’t know nuthin’ ’bout that shit.”
“Except you do know that they’re dead.”
“I hear them cops talkin’ ’bout it. That’s all,” he said, his lips barely moving.
“Then do yourself a favor. Don’t talk about it. With anybody. Your initial appearance is set for nine o’clock Monday morning. I’ll see you in court.”
Chapter Sixteen
INITIAL APPEARANCES WERE HELD in the courthouse annex next door to the Jackson County jail. The buildings adjoined each other, making it possible for sheriff’s deputies to walk inmates from their cells to the courtroom.
Conducted by associate circuit judges, first appearances were routine proceedings intended to inform defendants of the charges, appoint counsel to represent them if necessary, and set dates for arraignment.
Judge Noah Upton was presiding over the Monday morning docket that included Dwayne Reed’s case. He had spent the last year fighting a complaint filed by the prosecutor’s office before the Missouri Judicial Commission alleging that he should be removed from the bench because he didn’t meet the requirement that judges reside in the circuit in which they serve.
The resulting investigation focused on how many nights he spent at a house located outside the county. The beautiful, young, and restless ex-wife of an older, fat, and balding major contributor to Prosecuting Attorney Tommy Bradshaw’s last election campaign owned the house. Judge Upton, fit and forty, with blond hair, a chiseled chin, and beach-boy good looks, began spending the night there with the ex-wife well before she officially became the ex, courthouse gossip dubbing them Ken and Barbie. He fought back and won, embarrassing both Bradshaw and his supporter.
When the complaint was dismissed, Judge Upton announced from the bench that he harbored no ill will toward the prosecuting attorney or his staff and pledged that he would continue to be impartial in his handling of criminal cases. No one in the prosecutor’s office believed him. Every defense lawyer in town hoped they were right.
Dwayne Reed was one of a dozen shackled defendants seated in the jury box, the only time they were likely to see a courtroom from that vantage point. They would remain there until all of their cases were heard, rising when it was their turn. Alex nodded at him as she took her place in the row of chairs behind the defense counsel table, waiting for Dwayne’s case to be called.
Kalena Greene stood at the prosecutor’s table, sorting and stacking the files for the cases on the morning docket. Alex hadn’t seen her since Dwayne’s murder trial. Tommy Bradshaw had kept her on the sidelines, letting her learn by watching before he let her learn by doing.
Handling an initial appearance docket was the next step up from escorting witnesses into the courtroom. The rote nature of the proceedings made it almost impossible to screw up. All she had to do was state her appearance and wait for the judge to do the rest.
The first two cases went as planned. Judge Upton called the case name and number. Kalena Greene stated her appearance on behalf of the state. The judge read the charges. One of the defendants had counsel, the judge appointing the public defender’s office to represent the other. Dates were set for arraignments. The defendants sat down and their lawyers headed for Starbucks.
Alex moved to the defense counsel table as Judge Upton called the next case.
“State versus Dwayne Reed, case number 7325-12. Counsel, please state your appearances.”
“Kalena Greene for the state, Your Honor.”
“And Thomas Bradshaw.”
Bradshaw made his way from the back of the courtroom to the prosecutor’s table. Remembering his pledge of impartiality, Judge Upton smiled, but there was no mirth in his eyes.
“Welcome, Mr. Bradshaw,” the judge said. “It’s not often the prosecuting attorney favors us with an appearance on these matters.”
“Thank you, Your Honor. Happy to be here.”
Bradshaw was lying and they both knew it.
“Perhaps you were expecting Judge Malone to be handling this docket instead of me.”
“It was my understanding that this was Judge Malone’s docket.”
“Well, Judge Malone is ill, so I’m filling in for her. I assume you have no objection.”
“Of course not, Your Honor. None at all.”
They held each other’s gaze, Judge Upton gracious and nonchalant, Bradshaw relaxed and respectful. They were two professionals doing the people’s business, their show of cordiality a required façade for the knife fight in a dark alley they would have preferred.
Alex cleared her throat, interrupting their face-off.
“Alex Stone from the public defender’s office for Dwayne Reed.”
Judge Upton scanned the thin court file, frowning. “Ms. Stone, I don’t have a rec
ord of you being appointed to represent Mr. Reed.”
“Mr. Reed was arrested over the weekend, Your Honor. I was made aware of his arrest but haven’t had a chance to prepare the necessary motion for my appointment. I recently represented him in another matter and my office is satisfied that he remains indigent. I ask that you appoint me to represent him.”
“Any objection, Mr. Bradshaw?”
“None.”
“Very efficient of you, Counsel. So ordered.”
“Thank you, Your Honor.”
“The defendant is charged with possession of a controlled substance with intent to distribute, to wit, crack cocaine, a Class A felony.”
“We’ll waive arraignment,” Alex said, “and enter a plea of not guilty and request that the defendant be released on his own recognizance.”
Bradshaw shot to his feet. “The state objects!”
“On what grounds?” Judge Upton asked.
“The defendant is charged with possession of crack cocaine with intent to distribute. That’s a Class A felony.”
“I’m aware of that, Mr. Bradshaw. I just read the charges into the record. Were you listening?”
Bradshaw bit his lip, a rising red tide creeping above his collar. “Of course I was, Your Honor.”
“And, were you a regular visitor to my courtroom, you would know that I’m not opposed to releasing indigent defendants on their own recognizance if I’m satisfied that they will appear for trial since their indigent status makes it impossible for them to post a cash bail. Now, do you have something to tell me that I don’t already know that bears on that question?”
“I do. For starters, Mr. Reed was charged with murder in another case.”
“What was the outcome of that case?”
“He was acquitted.”
“Since when is an acquittal in one case grounds for imposing bail in another unrelated case?”
Alex watched them, swiveling her head back and forth like they were exchanging overhead slams at center court.
“It’s not, but it’s relevant to the reasons not only why the defendant shouldn’t be released on his own recognizance but why he shouldn’t be granted bail in the first place. The defendant is a person of interest in the murder over the weekend of Jameer Henderson and his family. I’m sure you saw the reports on the news. Mr. Henderson testified against the defendant in his murder trial. The defendant is also a person of interest in the murder of Kyrie Chapman. Mr. Henderson testified that Mr. Chapman had coerced him into testifying against the defendant. When Henry Rossi, a senior homicide detective, sought to question the defendant regarding these slayings, the defendant ran away. Fortunately, Detective Rossi was able to apprehend him. The defendant was injured while evading arrest. Paramedics had to cut away his jeans and turned them over to the police, who found the drugs in one of the pockets.”
Judge Upton turned to Alex. “Ms. Stone?”
“Mr. Reed had a very good reason to run away from Detective Rossi. The day he was acquitted, Detective Rossi arrested him on a bogus murder charge involving a cold case with which Mr. Reed had no connection. Detective Rossi was angry about the acquittal. The arrest was harassment, plain and simple. When I intervened, Detective Rossi released my client. Mr. Reed was at his mother’s house when Detective Rossi forced his way inside without a warrant and without disclosing the reason for his visit. If I had been in Mr. Reed’s shoes, I would have run as well. Mr. Reed has no felony criminal record. The only prior offense for which he was convicted was a misdemeanor for being drunk and disorderly. His family is here. His roots are here. He is not a flight risk. Neither the police nor the prosecutor has come forward with any evidence linking Mr. Reed to these murders or they would have arrested him for that instead of for finding crack in his jeans. Ordering him held without bail or setting bail at a level he cannot possibly make based on a claim that he is a person of interest in these other crimes is tantamount to imposing bail based on those offenses and not the one for which he is charged.”
“Your Honor,” Bradshaw interjected. “Ms. Stone has offered no evidence regarding her unfounded allegations about Detective Rossi, and—”
“Neither have you offered any evidence regarding the defendant’s possible involvement in these recent murders. First you said that Detective Rossi wanted to question Mr. Reed about the murders and then you said he wanted to arrest him. Make up your mind. If you have sufficient evidence to arrest the defendant for murder, I’ll consider it.”
“As I said, Jameer Henderson testified against—”
“Evidence, Counsel. You know, like fingerprints, DNA, eyewitnesses. That sort of thing.”
“It’s still early in the investigation, Your Honor. The police are—”
“I take it that your answer is no. You have no evidence.”
Bradshaw stiffened, almost choking on his answer. “Not at this time.”
“Very well. The defendant is released on his own recognizance. Next case.”
Chapter Seventeen
BRADSHAW HURRIED FROM THE COURTROOM. He was waiting for Alex when she emerged in the hallway. He cupped her elbow and led her into a vacant witness room. Closing the door, he unloaded.
“That son of a bitch!” Bradshaw said. “That no good fucking son of a bitch!”
“Upton?”
“Of course Upton, for Christ’s sake. Who the hell else? Don’t worry, Mr. Bradshaw. I’ll be impartial toward your office, Mr. Bradshaw. Impartial my ass! Can you believe this bullshit?”
“The better question is, why are you yelling at me? Aren’t you supposed to wait until you get back to your office so you can yell at your secretary?”
“Because,” he said, “you’re as much to blame as the fucking judge.”
“Me? What did you want me to do? Not ask for my client to be released on his own recognizance? I was protecting the record, like asking for a dismissal after the prosecution rests even though I know there’s no chance the judge will grant the motion. Who knew Upton would actually release him?”
“That’s why you shouldn’t have asked. Not in this case. Not for Dwayne fucking Reed.”
“He’s got the same rights as every other defendant.”
Bradshaw closed in on her. “Forget which side we’re on, Alex. We’ve known each other long enough to do that just this once. Look me in the eye and tell me that Dwayne Reed is not a stone-cold killer, that you really believe he didn’t kill Wilfred Donaire, Kyrie Chapman, Jameer Henderson, his wife, and two kids. And then tell me that at least some of this isn’t your fault. And tell me that the next murder he commits won’t be your fault either.”
Bradshaw’s accusations echoed her growing doubts and nagging guilt, leaving her stunned and weak-kneed, though her combative instincts wouldn’t let her give in.
“You know better than that, or do you need a remedial course in constitutional law?”
Bradshaw backed off, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. “Okay, okay. That’s not fair. You’re no more responsible for Dwayne being on the street than I am or the judge and jury are.”
Alex appreciated what he said, though it didn’t soothe her, because she was increasingly afraid that his indictment was fair, though she wasn’t about to tell him that.
“Apology accepted.”
“I get that sometimes the system sucks, but try telling that to the Hendersons or, better yet, try convincing Bonnie.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Oh, come on, Alex. Bonnie called and told me what Dwayne said to her in the ER, how he threatened her.”
“She called you? Why?”
“Because she thought I could use that information to keep Dwayne in jail. She’s scared shitless.”
Alex took a deep breath, folded her arms over her chest, and paced around the small room. It was furnished with a rectangular wooden table and two molded-plastic chairs. She slid into one of the chairs, looking up at Bradshaw.
“I know. She sat up all night watching our
street for strange cars. I kept telling her that Dwayne was in jail and that there was no way he could make bail.”
“What did she say?” Bradshaw asked.
“She said, ‘Yeah, right,’ and kept looking out the window. Neither of us got much sleep.”
“Did you tell her you were going to ask the judge to release him on his own recognizance?”
Alex shook her head, her face reddening. “No. I didn’t see the point. It would only have made things worse, especially now, since Upton let him go. Why didn’t you tell Upton that Dwayne had threatened Bonnie? That might have been enough for him to impose a bond that would have kept Dwayne locked up.”
“I didn’t think it would be necessary and I didn’t want to take the chance that Dwayne would find out about your relationship with Bonnie. That’s the wrong kind of leverage to give someone like him. He’d have you jumping through every hoop imaginable.”
“He’d have been in jail.”
“Like that would matter, or don’t you know how gangs work? If he or another gangbanger wanted something from you, all he’d have to do is whisper Bonnie’s name in your ear.”
Alex pressed her hands together, raising them to her mouth. Dwayne had bragged to her about killing Wilfred Donaire, and she believed even without proof that he killed Kyrie Chapman and the Hendersons. Which meant that Bradshaw was right not to have told the judge about Bonnie. She might one day convince herself that she wasn’t at least partly responsible for the Chapman and Henderson murders, but if Dwayne ever made good on his threats to Bonnie, she’d never find forgiveness or peace.
“And by lunchtime, he’ll be on the street again. What am I going to tell Bonnie?”
“Tell her it’s not your fault. That you were just doing your job.”
“Funny.”
“Wasn’t meant to be. But that’s what you have to tell her.”
“How’s that going to make her feel better?”
