“What?”
“I plugged the name Jennifer Dowling into Nexus to see if she was ever involved in another case. And bingo! Last year she accused her boss of sexually harassing her. And that’s not all. The case was dismissed—as unfounded. I don’t know why yet, because the papers seem to be sealed. The bottom line is she lost.”
“That is great,” Abe shouted into the pay phone. “Find out whatever we can about the case. If she falsely accused someone else of sexual misconduct, her credibility will be shot.”
“Can we get a false accusation of sexual misconduct into evidence under the rape shield laws?”
“Probably. It’s not about her sexual history. It’s about her history of lying.”
“Great. Should you tell Campbell?”
“Sure, after the game. I’ll go into the locker room, while my lovely daughter waits outside. Why don’t you meet us at the Harvest for a late dinner and we can discuss the good news.”
“Right, I’ll see you there—what—ten-thirty?”
“Sounds good.”
They hung up and Abe rejoined Emma, who was munching popcorn and was by now lost in the game. “You missed a great shot by your new client, Dad.”
The game ended with a blowout by the Knicks, 124–103. Campbell finished with fourteen points and three steals.
The Knicks’ media relations man, Todd Curtis, was standing guard in front of the visitors dressing room, checking the press credentials of those reporters he didn’t recognize. When Abe identified himself as Campbell’s lawyer, Curtis immediately waved him in, cautioning him that “nothing is off the record in a locker room swarming with press people.”
Emma waited outside with a pouting look on her face. She was used to being sent away when her father discussed confidential information, and usually she didn’t mind. This time she had really wanted to accompany her father. What a story that would have made for tomorrow’s lunchroom.
Abe had never been in a professional sports locker room before. It was a strange sight. Naked men were talking unselfconsciously to women reporters as the reporters tried hard to avoid looking at their private parts. Some of the ballplayers were stark naked, some wore towels, others were in underwear or fully dressed. An air of teasing macho sexuality pervaded the scene. Emma wasn’t coming near this place, ever, Abe thought.
The sights and sounds of victory were all around. There was a lot of loud laughter, friendly cursing, sports lingo, and back slapping. Abe made his way through the mélange of tall bodies, finally spotting Campbell, fully dressed and surrounded by TV and print journalists. A woman from WBZ asked him about the rape charge, and he replied, “I’m here to talk about the game. I have no comment on anything else. Lawyer’s instructions.” A male reporter from Newsday asked him whether he thought his game was affected by the rape accusation, and Joe acknowledged candidly that during the beginning of the first half, his concentration had been off. “They don’t teach you how to deal with this sort of thing in training camp.” He quickly added that once he had made those two jump shots near the end of the second quarter, his concentration had returned.
Then he spotted Abe and, without missing a beat, politely introduced him to the press. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is my lawyer, Abraham Ringel. From now on, he will be speaking for me in all matters regarding the case.”
The TV cameras turned immediately to Abe as a barrage of questions were directed at him simultaneously.
“Did he do it?”
“What’s your defense gonna be?”
“Has the NBA front office been in touch?”
“How much are you charging him?”
Abe waited for the shouts to subside, then in a firm voice said: “I have a brief statement at this time. Joe Campbell asserts his complete innocence and is looking forward to proving that at trial. Mr. Campbell is cooperating totally with the police and has already turned over to them several leads and items of exculpatory evidence. Beyond that I have no further comment at this time. I’m sure you understand why.”
The questions continued, but Abe ignored them as he whispered in Joe’s ear. “Something important has come up. Something very good. We have to talk to you about it. Can you meet us at the Harvest restaurant in Harvard Square in about half an hour?”
Joe said he would have to check with one of the coaches to see if it was okay to miss the team flight back to New York. After a brief conversation with a short, graying man, he returned and said, “Okay.”
Abe made his way through the crowd and rejoined Emma, standing among the several Knicks fans and groupies hoping to catch a glimpse of their heroes.
“Did you get to see him?” Emma inquired.
“Yes, he’s meeting us at the Harvest.”
“What did he look like naked?” Emma asked with a teasing smile.
“I didn’t see him naked, and neither will you. Most of them were dressed. The others had towels around them,” Abe fibbed. “Let’s get off that subject. Justin and I have to meet with Campbell, and you have to go home.”
“Can’t I meet him? I’d love to just say hello. Jon would die if he knew I met him.”
“You know you can’t come to a lawyer-client meeting, Emma. You know the rules of confidentiality.”
“How about if I stay just to meet him, and then I’ll go home like a good little girl.” She flashed him her most irresistible smile.
“All right, but just for five minutes. We have a lot to discuss, and Campbell didn’t miss his team flight to talk to you, my dear daughter. So after a polite introduction, off you go into a cab and home to bed.”
“Deal. Thanks, Dad.”
The Harvest was a trendy restaurant, housed in a building designed by noted architect Ben Thompson and patronized mostly by academics. Although famous for its nouvelle cuisine as well as its discretion and privacy, it could sometimes be a bit too politically correct. A few days earlier a woman had stormed out of the restaurant as soon as she’d recognized Abe at the next table, muttering loudly about how she didn’t want to sit next to a sexist who always defended rapists on TV.
Abe had called ahead for his favorite corner table and had alerted the maître d’ that a tall man would soon be joining them. Now he also looked around to make sure the woman who had walked out was not there tonight. The last thing he needed was a scene in front of his new client. When Joe Campbell arrived, he was shown immediately to Abe’s table. Almost no one stared at him as he made his way through the dining room. Among the academic crowd, Campbell went almost unrecognized.
“Joe, you know Justin. This is my daughter, Emma. She wanted to meet you. Her boyfriend is a big Knicks fan. She’ll be able to dine out on this meeting for a long time.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Emma. You’re very pretty.”
Emma blushed, unprepared—for once—to respond to the unexpected flattery. “It’s nice to meet you, too, Mr. Campbell. Good game, especially the second half. But can I ask you a question?”
“Sure, go ahead.”
“Why did Riley have you guarding Douglas? Don’t you usually match up with Dee Brown?”
“I asked him the same question. I guess he anticipated that my concentration might be off, and he couldn’t take a chance on Brown walking all over me. Douglas isn’t that much of a scoring threat.”
Abe tapped on his watch. “Time’s up, my dear. It’s home for you now. You can get a cab in front of the out-of-town newsstand. Bye, we’ve got to get down to business.”
Emma frowned, picked up her book bag, kissed Abe on the cheek, waved to Justin across the table, and extended a hand to Campbell. Joe shook her hand. “Fine grip you’ve got there. Not used to that in a female.” Emma giggled, uncharacteristically, and walked off.
Abe leaned in toward Campbell and began to talk in a tone that made it clear the chitchat part of the meeting was over.
“Justin has discovered a very important fact. We’re not quite sure of its implications—or even whether it will be admissible at a trial—but
it is potential dynamite.”
“What is it?” Campbell asked.
“It seems that you’re not the first man this Jennifer Dowling has accused of sexual misconduct. Last year she accused her boss at a public relations firm of sexually harassing her.”
“Well, maybe he did,” Campbell replied.
“It doesn’t look that way. We don’t know for sure, but it appears that her complaint was dismissed as unfounded. That means she had no case.”
“Do you know the specifics?”
“Not yet. The records appear to have been sealed.”
“Can this help you get the case against me dropped?”
“Can’t hurt. Could help. Don’t know yet.”
“I’m not surprised,” Joe said. “She mentioned something about a legal mess she had just gotten finished with, and she seemed to have a lot of animosity toward men. I think I have a better sense now of why she did this.”
Abe wasn’t so sure. “I still can’t figure it. She had to know we would find out about this prior accusation. Her case seems weaker and weaker. Why did she cry rape if she knew she had no case?”
“She probably didn’t think much about it,” Joe speculated. “She must have called 911 as soon as I left the room, since the police were waiting for me by the time I got back to my hotel. Maybe she’s thinking about it now, and she’ll reconsider.”
“Could be,” Abe said, feeling mixed emotions about that prospect. “But we’ve got to act as if she’s going full steam ahead. We can’t leave anything to chance.”
“Is there anything else I can do?” Campbell asked.
“Not for now, other than trying to think of anything else she might have said that could be relevant.”
The waitress interrupted the conversation by telling them that the kitchen was about to close. Campbell asked for a lemonade and some berries. Abe ordered decaf cappuccino and a chocolate torte. Justin wanted a glass of white wine and some pâté.
As they were waiting for their snack, Joe said, “There is something I remember.”
“What is it?” Abe asked.
“It’s a little embarrassing for me to talk about.”
“Think of us as your doctors. You’ve got to tell us anything that could help you.”
“I’m not sure this helps, but all right, here goes.”
Campbell took a deep breath, as if he were preparing to shoot a crucial free throw. “When we were in bed going hot and heavy, I went down on her, and she seemed to enjoy it a lot. She sure was moaning. I then asked her if she would… you know, do the same for me. They usually do. But she didn’t want to. She said something about having a bad experience with oral sex.”
“Stop, please,”’ Abe insisted, putting his hand gently on Joe’s arm. “This is just the kind of thing I was warning you about this morning when we first met. We could be getting into some dangerous territory here. Let me talk for a minute, before you go on.”
“Fine, but I think I know what you’re worried about, and it’s not a problem.”
“Maybe so, but let me guide you.”
Abe thought for a minute how to put what he wanted to say. “Okay, let me tell you something about the law of rape that you probably already know.”
Campbell looked at Abe intently as the lawyer continued. “If a woman consents to foreplay or even intercourse, she can still say no at any time, and she can refuse any kind of sex, even after agreeing to any other kind of sex.”
“I do know that,” Campbell interjected. “I remember the Marcus Webb case.” Joe was referring to a former Celtic who was accused of forcing a woman to have anal sex after she agreed to have ordinary sex. “Don’t worry, that’s not what happened here.”
Abe insisted on maintaining some control over the conversation, even though his original concerns had abated. “So she told you that she did not want to perform fellatio on you, and you did not insist that she do so, is that right?”
“Yes, that’s right. She—”
“Wait, please let me continue. You didn’t force her to perform fellatio. Is that right?”
“That’s exactly right.”
“Whatever she did, she did of her own free will. Right?”
“Right.”
“Okay,” Abe said with a sigh of relief. “Now we can get back to talking like normal people.”
Justin asked Campbell if Jennifer had explained what her bad experience was.
“All she told me was that it didn’t have anything to do with any kind of disease or anything like that. It was something emotional. She made it clear it was none of my business, and that we should go ahead and have intercourse.”
“And you did,” Abe continued.
“Yes, we did, but it was lousy sex from then on. I don’t know, it kind of threw me off my game, and she seemed nervous, too, but she didn’t want to stop. It was almost as if we both wanted to get it over with. I certainly did. And I was out of there like a bat out of hell.”
“Did she ask you to stay?”
“No, but I think she wanted to talk about it. I sure as hell didn’t.”
“Did she accuse you of anything before you left?”
“No, except with her eyes. Her eyes accused me of insensitivity, and my eyes admitted guilt.”
“I think that’s enough for now,” Abe said, again looking at his watch. “We have a busy day tomorrow. Not on your case. On a death row case we have in New Jersey. On our way back, we’ll drop by to see you in New York. We can go over the next steps in the case. In the meantime, think of anything else that could be helpful. Investigative leads, witnesses, anything. When’s your next game?”
“Saturday night. Cleveland. Tough team. Great city.”
With that Campbell seemed to turn off his concern about the case. When the waiter brought the food the three men rehashed the game. What a kick to be reviewing an NBA game with one of the players, Abe thought. He couldn’t wait to fill Emma in on Campbell’s analysis of the third quarter. That pleasant task would have to await his return from his morning visit to New Jersey’s death row.
Chapter Five
TRENTON—FRIDAY, MARCH 17
The sight of a prison housing death row always sent shivers down Abe’s spine. The idea of a state deliberately taking a human life was incomprehensible to him, especially in light of his skepticism about the accuracy of the criminal justice system. Now he knew for sure that at least one innocent man was scheduled to be strapped onto a gurney and injected with an infernal chemical concoction designed specifically to snuff out life. The prison in this instance was an imposing gray building surrounded by bright silver barbed wire. When the morning sun reflected off the glistening metal, it created the appearance of a heavenly halo, masking what Abe knew was a hellish reality inside the walls.
Death row, Abe thought as he contemplated his visit with Charlie O., was more alive than Haskel’s house. At least there was hope that some of the young men would survive. New Jersey had a fairly liberal supreme court, and although state law authorized capital punishment for murderers, the courts had deprived the executioner of his designated victims several times in recent years. In fact, no one had actually been executed in New Jersey for several decades.
Charlie’s case was different. He had killed a black man. Since the opponents of capital punishment had long argued that no one in America was ever executed for killing blacks, Charlie made a good case for the state. Almost everyone who believed in capital punishment wanted Charlie Odell to die. It would make an important statement.
Even Charlie wanted to die—or he had before he started taking his medicine. Now he wanted to live. He wanted Abe to keep him alive until he could prove his innocence.
Charlie had never once deviated from his original story, a case of mistaken identity. He was doing a drug deal downtown in Newark at the time of the Williams murder. He was blocks away. Of course, the guy he was selling drugs to—his alibi witness—would never come forward. Charlie wanted Abe to look for another skinny black kid with
an overbite like his.
And Abe had done just that. He had hired a black private investigator from Newark to comb the city. No luck. Newark was a place where people came to hide for a while—to blend into the neighborhood—and then leave. There were lots of transients, especially in the world of crime. If there were another skinny black kid with an overbite who’d actually killed Williams, the PI finally reported to Abe, he was probably gone by now.
After they parked, the two attorneys locked their valuables in the car they had rented at the Philadelphia airport. This was mandatory for visitors to death row. No one was allowed to carry anything into the prison. Guards even searched the bottom of Justin’s right shoe when the hand-held metal detector buzzed. Justin had stepped on a thumbtack, which had embedded itself in his heel. The guards removed it before letting Justin through security. Then Abe and Justin had their hands stamped and were led into a room that locked from both sides. From there they were led to a visiting area that adjoined death row. A special lawyer’s room was reserved for them so they could meet their client in private. The room was divided by a Plexiglas panel separating the lawyers from the condemned inmate. The panel had airholes through which they could talk. All touching was prohibited.
Charlie was already seated as Abe and Justin took their places. Charlie placed his hand against the glass partition, and Abe placed his on the other side so that their fingers met across the glass. It was the death row handshake. Justin did the same. The young black man then placed his face in his hands and spoke in a monotone. “Please don’t let them kill me. I’m scared. Please help me. I didn’t do it.”
The ill-fitting orange prison uniform flapped against his body as the man rocked back and forth—the only physical evidence of his anxiety. Abe had been working with the prisoner long enough to recognize that beneath this young man’s relatively calm exterior were buried the emotions of a lifetime in poverty—the pain of neglect, despair, and hopelessness.
“We know you didn’t do it.” Abe stood and placed a hand reassuringly near Charlie’s head across the partition. It was the best he could do to comfort the young man in a setting where actual touching was impossible. Abe could see the initials of Charlie’s “old lady” sculpted into his Brillo-like hair. Abe spoke through the holes in the glass partition. “I’ve got some promising news. Justin has somebody who knows who did do it.”
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