by Paul Levine
Hanging out all the dirty laundry on direct examination. It was the only way to keep your opponent from smearing your witness on cross, Steve knew. Though he was a pompous prick with a vicious mean streak, Zinkavich was not stupid, and so far, he was doing everything right.
Steve stole a glance at Victoria. Ordinarily poker-faced in the courtroom—just as he'd taught her—she seemed both astonished and disgusted at his sister's life story. Judge Rolle never blinked. The judge had heard far worse, Steve figured. But at the same time, he wondered whether some maternity-ward nurse had screwed up thirty-seven years ago. Maybe his real sister was a distinguished researcher with a PhD, working in a lab somewhere, on the verge of curing cancer.
Zinkavich waddled close to the witness stand. “What facilitated your appearance here today?”
“You facilitated my butt out of jail,” Janice replied.
“Did I make any promises to you in return for your testimony?”
“You said you could get me time served and early parole.”
“On what condition?”
“If I told the truth,” Janice said.
Steve tried to relax but could not. Any second, she could torpedo him.
Zinkavich pointed a chubby finger at him: “Does your brother, Stephen Solomon, have a history of violence?”
“A long history,” Janice said.
Oh, shit. Here it comes.
She had taken his money. Now she was going to bury him with it.
“Please elaborate, Ms. Solomon,” Zinkavich said.
“When I was fourteen, Arnie Lipschitz called me a ‘fat whore,' and Stevie kicked the living piss out of him.”
“Not quite what I meant.”
“I wasn't fat then.”
“Forget Arnie Lipschitz. Did your brother ever strike you?”
“He wouldn't have the balls.”
Zinkavich seemed surprised. “He never beat you up?”
“I've carried a blade since I was twelve. I woulda circumcised him a second time.”
Zinkavich stared a long moment at Janice. This couldn't have been the way they had practiced it. Steve eased out a breath, but just a bit. With Janice, you never knew when the blade would come out.
“What about drug use?” Zinkavich asked. “Did you ever see your brother use illicit drugs?”
“Yeah, sure.”
Zinkavich smiled. Back on script. “When was that?”
“About the same time as the deal with Lipschitz. I gave Stevie some pot, and afterward he ate like half a gallon of pistachio ice cream and threw his guts up.”
“Anything more recent?”
“Nah. That cured him. He never even smoked a cigarette after that.”
Zinkavich's tongue flicked over his upper lip. Something had happened between rehearsal and opening night. “Drawing your attention to last January, Ms. Solomon, were you living on a farm in the Panhandle?”
“A farm?” Her smile displayed stained teeth. “Yeah, me and my friends were growing a cash crop there.”
“Did there come a time when your brother removed your son from your care and custody?”
“You mean, did Stevie take Bobby? Yeah.”
“And did your brother do so by force and violence?”
Janice shrugged, her fleshy chin jiggling. “I was like totally wasted that night.”
Though his feet were planted on the floor, Zinkavich swayed back and forth, like a rabbi praying at the Wailing Wall. “Come now, Ms. Solomon. Are you saying you don't remember that night?”
“I remember it was sleeting that day, froze my ass off.”
“And that night, what happened when your brother showed up?”
“I don't know, man. I was in the house doing Ecstasy. You'll have to ask Rufe.”
“That would be Rufus Thigpen?”
“Yeah, Rufus the Doofus.”
“Where is Mr. Thigpen today?”
“I think he went up to Delray to score some Special K. You know, ketamine.”
Zinkavich forced a smile, as if all state witnesses skip court to indulge in illegal activities. “What did Mr. Thigpen tell you about his encounter with your brother that fateful night?”
“Objection, hearsay,” Victoria said.
“Sustained,” the judge said.
“Your Honor, if I could voir dire the witness,” Zinkavich said, “I believe the evidence can come in under the excited utterance exception.”
“Knock yourself out,” the judge said.
“Ms. Solomon, without telling us what Mr. Thigpen said, what was his condition when you spoke to him that night?”
“Rufe's skull was split open.”
“Aha,” Zinkavich said. An opening.
“Hasn't made him any smarter, I can tell you that,” she continued.
“And you saw Mr. Thigpen in this injured state after his encounter with your brother?”
“Yeah.”
“Did Mr. Thigpen speak to you?”
“Yeah.”
“And when he spoke, was he excited, agitated, or angry?”
“He was pissed.”
“Did he raise his voice?”
“As much as he could. He was bleeding like a stuck pig.”
Zinkavich turned toward the judge. “I believe we've met the threshold for the excited utterance exception to the hearsay rule.”
Victoria started to object, but Steve placed a hand on her arm. “Let it go,” he whispered.
“Why?”
Steve gave her his innocent shrug, but she looked at him with cold suspicion.
“Hearing no objection,” Judge Rolle said, “I assume the Petitioner is as curious as the Court to hear the next exchange. Proceed.”
Zinkavich lowered his voice into what he must have considered his profound tone. “Just what did Mr. Thigpen say to you, as he lay there, bleeding like a stuck pig?”
“Rufe looked up at me and said, ‘You stupid cunt. You locked the kid in the dog cage but never padlocked the shed.'”
Zinkavich's mouth dropped open wide enough to inhale a Krispy Kreme. Judge Rolle cocked her head toward Janice as if listening a second time to something she didn't believe she'd heard the first time. The only sound in the courtroom was the whir of the ventilation system.
No one moved.
Not Victoria.
Or Zinkavich.
Or Judge Rolle.
Steve shot glances at each of them. People with their own lives. Bills to pay, cars to service, doctors to visit. The whole mundane routine of daily life. But in this moment—frozen in time, like a fossil preserved in amber—their minds focused on the same image. An image, he was sure, that would come back to them, as it had to him, time and again.
An innocent child locked in a dog cage in a shed.
Finally, the judge said: “You say there was sleet that day?”
“Turned the yard into a skating rink,” Janice said.
The judge chewed on the eraser of her pencil. “How was your son dressed?”
“Underpants and a sweatshirt. I guess.” When the judge stared hard at her, Janice added: “I was pretty messed up those days.”
“That shed have any heat?”
Janice shook her head.
“Judge, I object to your taking over my questioning,” Zinkavich said.
“Sit down and stay down. You're done.”
Steve knew that the judge had heard tales of children disciplined with lighted cigarettes, starved in homes with full pantries, and subjected to sexual torture. Judges, cops, medical examiners see horrific wrongs, and after a while, he supposed, their minds create buffers to protect them from psychic pain. But do you ever really lose the ability to be shocked and sickened by cruelty to children?
“Now, cutting through the bullshit,” the judge continued, “your brother came to this farm where you were high on drugs and your son was confined like an animal, unclothed and freezing. There was an altercation with Mr. Thigpen, who is also a drug abuser, after which your brother took your son to his h
ome, where he's raising him in apparent comfort and safety.”
“Yeah. That's about right.”
“Your Honor, I must protest,” Zinkavich said.
“Then do it somewhere else.” The judge leaned toward Janice. “Ms. Solomon, I want you to put yourself in my place for a moment.”
“Not if I have to wear that blue schmatte you got on.”
“Between making your son a ward of the state or giving your brother guardianship rights, what would you do?”
The question of the day, Steve thought.
The hundred-thousand-dollar question.
Victoria got to her feet. “Your Honor, may we have a brief recess before the witness answers?”
“What?” Steve couldn't believe it. “Let her answer.”
“Shut up,” Victoria said.
“What seems to be the problem?” the judge asked.
“We just need five minutes, Your Honor.”
The judge shrugged and said: “No jive. Back in five.”
When they reached the corridor, Victoria grabbed Steve by the tie, kicked open the door to the women's rest room, and dragged him inside.
“Hey,” he protested.
The harsh, astringent smell of ammonia was in the air.
“You think you can get away with this?” she said.
“With what?” He put on an innocent face that didn't fool her for an instant.
“You tell me. What'd you do, kidnap Thigpen and extort your sister?”
“You're nuts. Let's get back in there. We're one answer away from my winning custody.”
“No, we're one answer away from my reporting you to the Bar.”
“For what?”
“Whatever you've done is going to backfire. The next time Janice gets arrested, she'll go screaming to Zinkavich. She'll turn on you to save her ass.”
“She's got nothing on me.”
For someone so shifty, he was a lousy liar. “You're not stealing home on me, Solomon, no matter how fast you think you are.”
“Jesus, lighten up.”
“I'm giving you ten seconds to come clean.”
“Or what?”
“Or I go back inside that courtroom and ask to withdraw as your lawyer and stay the trial until the state investigates your sister's conduct.”
“C'mon, Vic. This is the truth: When Janice walked into the courtroom, I didn't know what she was going to say.”
“Sure you did. And you knew Thigpen wasn't going to show up. That's why you told me to wing it. You knew exactly what was going to happen.”
“I just have good instincts.”
“Not that good. What'd you do, bribe them?”
All of Steve's famed instincts told him to keep quiet. He knew how many criminals were tripped up, not by the police, but by their own big mouths. He also knew how self-righteously upright Victoria could be. So he would never understand why, in that moment, he told her. Did he hope that her feelings for him would outweigh her rigid sense of propriety? Was it some test, one she was bound to fail?
“Dammit, Steve,” she prodded. “What turned Janice around?”
He blurted it out. “A hundred thousand dollars.”
“Oh, no. Oh, no.” She was shaking her head. “How could you?”
“I borrowed it.”
“Damn you! You know what I mean. How could you suborn perjury?”
“I suborned the truth! I paid her not to lie. Every word she said in there was true.”
“That's a rationalization.”
“Yeah, but it's a good one. I was extorted. I'm the victim here.”
“Tell that to the disbarment judge. It doesn't matter if Janice told the truth. Paying her is an illegal inducement under the Ethical Rules.”
“Then the rules are wrong,” Steve argued.
“Damn you!” Her look was anguished and angry. “You're as dirty as Pincher.”
“I'm doing justice here. That's a pretty big difference.”
“I could have won playing straight.”
“I couldn't be sure of that,” he said, softly. He moved closer to her, placed his hands on her shoulders, felt her tremble. Any second, she could burst into a rainstorm of tears. Or she could kiss him. Or she could—
Smack. She slapped him hard across the face.
“Ow! What the hell . . . ?”
“I'm required to tell Judge Rolle.”
“No way. You ever hear of attorney-client privilege?”
“Doesn't cover fraud on the court. Read Kneale vs. Williams.”
“Haven't I taught you anything? When the law doesn't work—”
“There's no wiggle room here. The Ethical Rules are mandatory.”
“I'll lose Bobby and go to jail. They'll pull my license.”
“I don't have a choice.”
“You have the choice to do justice or blindly follow a bad law.”
“I warned you when I took the case. I do it strictly by the book.”
He slammed his hand into the tile wall. The tile didn't break. He wasn't so sure about his hand. “This makes it easier for you, doesn't it?”
“Makes what easier?”
His hand swelled with pain, and he felt a throbbing in his temples. “My being disbarred, disgraced, out of the picture. It's the proof you needed that you made the right choice.”
“I'm marrying Bruce because I love him.”
“You haven't changed since that day in the jail cell. You're still the same robot, the same automaton.”
“And you're the same unethical lowlife.”
“You're bloodless and soulless, Lord. Sin alma o corazón.”
“I can't believe I considered being with you for even a second.”
“Likewise,” he agreed. “We're totally incompatible.”
“Polar opposites,” she said.
“The cobra and the mongoose.”
“Good-bye, Solomon,” she said, pushing the door open and heading back to the courtroom.
Fifty-two
LOVE VS. LAW
Victoria knew she had, at most, two minutes before the judge would return to the bench. Sitting with perfect posture at the Petitioner's table, she furiously scribbled notes on a pink index card.
“Your Honor, it is my sad duty under Part 2 of Rule 4, Subsection 3.3 of the Ethical Rules to report an obstruction of justice . . .”
Janice sat on the witness stand, thumbing through one of Judge Rolle's children's magazines, Zinkavich glaring at her from his crumb-covered table. The courtroom door opened, and Steve waltzed in, whistling.
Whistling!
Some upbeat tune. Trying to distract her, Victoria figured, sidetrack her from what the law required her to do.
Steve approached Zinkavich, slapped him on the back: “Jack, my man, let's do lunch sometime, whadaya say?”
“You been drinking?” Zinkavich said.
“Hey, Sis,” Steve called out. “Despite everything, I still love you.”
“Feeling okay, Stevie?” Janice said.
Victoria watched warily as Steve circled her table, winked at her, and said: “You look absolutely stunning, honey bun.”
She tried to ignore him and kept taking notes:
“My partner, Stephen Solomon, has committed a gross violation . . .”
Standing in front of the bench, Steve began singing, “How Deep Is Your Love.”
Singing! Like the sappy Bee Gees, only off-key.
Then he glided around the well of the courtroom, swiveling his hips, dancing a rumba with an invisible partner.
Dancing!
Victoria tried not to watch him, but that was impossible. Limber as a snake, he coiled his way from bench to bar, all the while singing. Somewhere between being touched in the pouring rain and living in a world of fools, he slid across her table, his butt scattering her index cards.
“You can stop taking notes, Vic.”
“Go away!” She snatched her cards as if they were thousand-dollar bills.
“You probably wonder why I'
m so happy.”
“I don't care.”
“It just occurred to me you're not gonna tell the judge a damn thing. You know why?”
“Get away from me! Now.”
She couldn't believe his arrogance. Even after all this, he was still so cocksure of himself.
“Because I know what makes you tick, Vic.”
“Hah.”
“I know what's important to you. More important than all the rules in all the books.”
“Whatever you think you know, Solomon, you're wrong.”
He gave her that gotcha grin that made her itch to slap him again.
“No matter what you think about me, you love Bobby,” Steve said. “I saw it in your face when he was testifying. He said he wished you were his mom. And your look said you wished it, too. You love the kid with all your soul and all your being. And because you know he belongs with me, you couldn't live with yourself if something you did took him away. Just like I always told you, love trumps the law. So tear up your note cards, Victoria, because you can despise me until the end of time, but you won't do this to Bobby.”
He slipped off the table and plopped into the chair next to her. Victoria searched for a reply, but before she could say a word, the rear door to the courtroom opened and Judge Althea Rolle hurried in, robes flowing. “Don't bother standing,” she said, dropping into her high-backed chair. “We're gonna finish this up real quick.”
It had been a performance. Steve wasn't nearly as sure of himself as he tried to appear. But he had taken a shot, aiming for the deepest part of Victoria, the part she kept hidden. He had aimed for her heart.
If it didn't work, if she finked to the Fink and to the judge, he had another option. It would take them several days to crank up the machinery of the criminal justice system. You can't get an indictment overnight. You need subpoenas, affidavits, sworn testimony. Time enough to pack the old Caddy with everything important—some sweats, some John D. MacDonald paperbacks, the panini grill—and uncle and nephew would hit the road. To where, he didn't know.
