CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Jayson stationed himself at the podium, maintaining his distance from Gary Scott, who had been on the witness stand for nearly an hour. The scene in the courtroom appeared identical to the day before when Washington had raised her right hand and sworn to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth—only a different police officer faced questioning and the other participants had changed clothes.
With gentle probing from Anderson for about fifty minutes, Scott, who wore a suit and tie, had given his expected testimony: “I’m sorry to say my partner was a very poor police officer…I never manufactured reasons to stop a driver…Any search I conducted in the line of duty was within the letter of the law…I know nothing about Officer Washington lying on any police report or search warrant affidavit.…”
Jayson had questioned the nineteen-year veteran of the Boston Police Department for about ten minutes. Over Anderson’s objections, his questions had revealed that Scott had faced discipline for various offenses including using excessive force, failure to follow proper procedures when making an arrest, disobeying orders, and the like. Jayson had also managed to garner Scott’s admission that, like Washington, he had been placed on leave with pay pending the outcome of numerous investigations. Jayson had not planned to keep Scott on the stand for very long, so he decided to return to his best weapon. “With the court’s permission I’d like to show the footage again.”
Anderson immediately arose. “The people object, Your Honor,” he declared. “We’ve seen Mr. Cook’s show once. There’s no reason to waste the court’s time by showing it again.”
Jayson pointed at the television cart resting in the corner. “Your Honor, we haven’t seen it with Officer Scott testifying under oath. I share Mr. Anderson’s respect for the court’s time and only wish to show one small part.”
O’Hare sighed. “How long, counselor?”
Jayson shrugged. “Maybe two or three minutes.”
O’Hare nodded. “The court will grant you five minutes,” he paused and shook his finger, “not a second more.” He turned to Anderson. “Your objection is overruled.”
Jayson kept a poker face but felt glee upon seeing Anderson pouting, as he usually did after an overruled objection. “Thank you, Your Honor,” Jayson said. He took his seat between Stone and Connie, and watched as the court officers set up the machinery and turned off the lights, as on the previous day.
Stone whispered to Connie. She, in turn tugged on Jayson’s sleeve. “How come—”
“Shhh,” Jayson responded.
The court officers rolled the cart to a corner of the room behind the witness box near the United States flag. The spectators would be able to see the screen, although the images would be tiny. Although the opposing attorneys could see quite well from their table, Scott and O’Hare had to twist in their seats to view the monitor. The spectators began whispering in anticipation, then talked loudly.
O’Hare banged his gavel twice. “This is the only warning you’ll get before I clear this room!” he barked. “This is a court of law, not a Red Sox game.”
The room became as silent as a vacant house.
Jayson stood and asked a pear-shaped female court officer holding a remote control, “Would you fast-forward until the timer reads thirty-five minutes, please?” Jayson watched the numbers roll on the bottom of the blue-screened television until they reached the desired spot. He gestured in Scott’s direction. “May I be allowed to approach the witness and adjust the picture myself, Your Honor?”
“Go ahead.”
Jayson stepped around the podium, thanked the officer and accepted the remote control. He aimed the device and pressed a button. The screen flickered, then produced the image of Officer Scott standing with his hands on his belt as the hapless black male next to the subcompact vehicle walked toward him straddling an imaginary straight line. Jayson pressed the pause button and pointed. “Is that you, Officer Scott?”
“Obviously,” he answered.
Jayson could sense Scott’s annoyance. If he could bait the witness into displaying anger, Washington’s emotionally tortured testimony would compare much more favorably. “And what are you doing?”
“As you can see, conducting a field sobriety test,” Scott answered gruffly.
Jayson nodded. “I believe you’re requiring this man, um…” He paused to look at his notes. “…Mr. Field, whom you stopped, to walk a straight line. Is that correct?”
“Yes.”
Jayson pressed the play button and observed the monitor. Scott and the man unfroze, and adjusted their positions. The man had his back to the vehicle while Scott stood in front of him. The camera operator refocused to keep the man, as well as Scott and Washington in the picture. Jayson pressed the pause button again. “Now what are you doing?” he asked.
Scott stared at the still images on the screen. “I can’t tell for sure, but I’m probably telling the motorist to count backward from a thousand.”
“I see,” Jayson said. “Now the motorist has his back to his vehicle, correct?”
“I guess so.”
“Then please take a closer look, Officer Scott,” Jayson instructed. “Does the motorist have his back to his vehicle or not?”
“Okay, so he does,” Scott growled.
Jayson took pleasure at Scott’s behavior. He had none of Washington’s sympathetic qualities. “And is it fair to say you’re clearly facing his vehicle?”
“Yes.”
“Watch carefully, please,” Jayson commanded. “I’m going to zoom in on your face and slow it down.” He did so. After a few seconds he paused the image and pointed as if he had just seen a UFO. “Did you see that?”
“See what?” Scott groaned.
“What was that movement of your head, sir?”
Scott shrugged. “I don’t know. Could be anything.”
“Let’s see it again,” Jayson said.
Anderson stood and waved his hands. “I object. Mr. Cook is wasting the court’s time with these questions, which are based on pure speculation.”
“Overruled,” O’Hare replied. He leaned further, trying to get a better view. “I want to see it again, too.”
Jayson rewound and replayed the footage. “Are you nodding your head at your partner, Officer Scott, giving her a signal to go ahead and search the car?”
“Absolutely not!” Scott fumed, “and I resent the question.”
Jayson returned the image to its normal size. “So it’s just a coincidence that right after that movement of your head, Officer Washington began searching the car?”
Scott spoke through clenched teeth. “She did that on her own. I didn’t even notice. I was busy with the motorist and wasn’t paying any attention to her.”
“I see,” Jayson said, his voice peppered with sarcasm. “Well then, let’s see how long you didn’t notice her from the time you signaled her—”
“Objection!”
“Withdrawn. From the time Officer Washington started searching the car to the time she retrieved the firearm—according to her, the firearm she retrieved from the glove compartment.” Jayson pointed at the screen. “Would you please tell the court the numbers in the seconds column on the counter, please?”
Scott leaned forward. “Thirteen.”
“Thank you,” Jayson said and pressed the play button. He watched for a few more seconds. When Washington raised the gun into the air he froze the image again. “And what does the seconds column say now?”
“Um, twenty-nine.”
Jayson handed the remote control to the court officer and returned to the podium. “Is it your testimony that although you were the senior officer on the scene and facing your partner you didn’t notice her searching that vehicle for sixteen seconds?”
“Like I said, I was busy with the motorist,” Scott insisted.
“I’m sorry, sir. Is that a yes or no?”
“No! Okay?”
“Just answer the questions,” O’Hare advised sternly.
Jayson smiled. “Thank you, Officer Scott. I have no further questions.” He took his seat.
O’Hare addressed the prosecutors. “Do the people wish to redirect?”
Anderson stood. “Yes, Your Honor.”
The judge checked his watch. “Then we’ll break for lunch. Afterwards, the people will conduct its redirect examination, then the court will hear very short closing arguments.” He banged his gavel.
“All rise!” the court officer commanded. After O’Hare exited, the people in the courtroom began clamoring. Reporters shouted at Jayson, Stone, Anderson and Rahmani, attempting to nab someone for an interview.
Jayson slowly arranged his stack of folders and paid no attention to the noise behind him. As he went about his task he reflected on the wisdom of Professor Greenberg. He could hear the old man’s voice: “Be prepared. Streamline your questions. Don’t go fishing during a hearing or trial, so only ask questions you already know the answers to. A witness may surprise you when their side is asking questions, but if I ever hear that a witness surprised you when you were asking the questions I’ll—”
The sight of an approaching officer holding two pairs of handcuffs connected to long chains refocused the lawyer’s thoughts. Jayson put his hand on Stone’s shoulder. “Try to relax, Brian.”
After the cuffs were placed on Stone’s hands and feet, the prisoner held out his hands for Jayson to see. “Easy for you to say,” he quipped. “What now?”
“Now you go eat lunch and I go review my closing,” Jayson replied.
•
Jayson relaxed in his living room. He had driven straight from court to Jennifer’s school to attend an open house with Renee so they could meet the woman who would be Jennifer’s teacher in two weeks when the school year began anew. Jayson had found her to be pleasant enough, but all of the people at the school grinned and talked too much for his taste. After enduring the event, he had gone home to enjoy dinner with the family.
Having changed out of his suit into a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, and after a hearty meal of barbecued steak, Jayson sat in his recliner and half-watched the six o’clock news. He enjoyed the coolness of the newly-installed central air conditioning system while wincing over the latest edition—two days old—of the weekly Boston Courier. Renee, dressed like him, sat on the sofa reading a magazine, but dropped it into her lap when Michelle Ling, wearing a beige dress, appeared and mentioned the Stone hearing. The reporter posed in front of the courthouse and recapitulated the events that had transpired earlier that afternoon.
“The long-awaited showdown being Brian Stone’s attorney, Jayson Cook, and Boston police officer Gary Scott lived up to its expectations,” Michelle opened, “when Scott took the witness stand to refute his former partner’s testimony that they had routinely violated the civil rights of…”
Jennifer, who had been at the kitchen table playing with Tabitha and Sharon, two of her dolls, entered the living room holding a red, miniature evening outfit. “Mommy, Tabitha’s been naughty,” she complained with indignation. “She tore Sharon’s dress!”
“Come here, sweetie,” Renee said, and stretched out her arms. “Mrs. Lopez’ll sew her dress later. I think you’re going to see Daddy again on television.”
Jennifer beamed and sat on the floor facing the TV. “Really?”
Jayson shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not.” He didn’t think it appropriate for Jennifer to watch the news story but said nothing.
Michelle’s voice described the interaction between Jayson and Scott with the now famous “head signal” footage running in slow motion. Michelle reappeared and moved on to the afternoon’s closing remarks. “Both assistant district attorney Omar Anderson and Cook, who some say are bitter enemies inside and outside of the courtroom, gave closing arguments that could mean the difference between Brian Stone going free or spending the rest of his life in prison for first-degree murder…”
Renee scoffed. “I hate when they push rumors, citing ‘some say.’”
“Me too,” Jayson replied. “But, as some say, it sells newspapers.” He laughed.
Michelle looked earnestly into the camera. “Cook championed his client’s cause before Judge Robert O’Hare, who alone will decide whether to suppress the mountains of evidence found in Stone’s apartment…” A sketch appeared of Jayson addressing O’Hare with Stone watching.
Renee pointed. “Look sweetie. That’s Daddy!”
Jennifer looked confused. “It is?”
Jayson chuckled. “Didn’t capture my best side, I don’t think.”
Michelle continued. “...an explosion that destroyed the Mount Calvary Baptist Church, killing twelve-year-old Veronica Bradley nearly two years ago.” The image switched to the familiar photo of the smiling girl’s seventh grade school picture.
Jennifer pointed. “That’s the little girl who got killed, Mommie.”
“I know, dear,” Renee replied, and frowned.
Michelle returned. “Citing several Supreme Court decisions, Cook passionately argued the warrant used to search Stone’s apartment was invalid because the police had lied when they claimed they had found a hand-drawn map…”
“Are they going to show Daddy again?” Jennifer asked.
Jayson shook his head. “I guess not, sweetheart.”
Jennifer got up and walked over to Jayson. “They should show you again, Daddy.”
Jayson picked her up and sat her on his lap. “I don’t mind, honey. To tell you the truth, Daddy wouldn’t mind if he stayed off TV for a while.” He glanced at the screen. Some Harvard Law professor explained the legal concept of the exclusionary rule, in which a judge suppresses illegally-seized evidence. Jayson tugged on Jennifer’s shirt. “Hey, go upstairs and change your shirt. You’ve got ice cream on it.”
“Okay,” Jennifer said. She crawled out of his lap and ran upstairs.
The professor had finished, so Michelle wrapped up. “Judge O’Hare’s decision is expected in a few days.”
As the story ended, Jayson waved the remote in the air. “You still watching?”
Renee shook her head. “You can change the station or turn it off.”
Jayson did the latter. He scanned his newspaper but couldn’t resist the urge to bask in his wife’s own recent success. “So,” he opened smugly, “your interview went well, huh?”
Renee beamed with self-satisfaction. “Um-hmm. It seemed more like they were wooing me rather than interviewing me; almost begging. One woman told me privately I was a head and shoulder above all of the other candidates, even the inside ones.” She crossed her fingers. “It looks like I might be chief of anesthesiology soon, after all.”
Jayson smiled. “Don’t surprise me none,” he joked. “I’m glad.”
“And this hospital’s far bigger and better than where I am now,” Renee gushed. “It’s got more modern equipment and it’s half the commute—and I’d even make a lot more money!”
“I’m glad,” Jayson repeated. “Looks like a win-win deal.”
Renee bit her lower lip. “Um, honey, I’m sorry about how I acted after I didn’t get the other job. I shouldn’t have blamed you.”
Jayson held out his hand. Renee got up and tumbled into his lap. He hugged and kissed her. “I’m sorry what I do for a living sometimes creates hardships for you.”
Renee pressed her cheek against his. “Just like the reverend said last Sunday: God closes some doors, opens others. The important thing is we’re grateful for what we have.”
“Well,” Jayson said, “I’m grateful for you and Jennifer.”
“And I’m grateful for Jennifer and you,” Renee whispered. She kissed him tenderly on the lips. “And tonight I’m going to show you just how grateful.”
Jayson arched his eyebrows. “It’s a date.” He kissed her again.
Magdalena entered the room, causing Renee to quickly rise. “Excuse me so much,” the housekeeper said and turned around.
Jayson stood and called to her. “It’s alright Magda.” T
he woman stopped at the foot of the stairs leading to the family bedrooms but didn’t turn around. “Magda?” he called louder. Finally, she turned. Jayson gestured with his index finger. “Come on. What is it?”
Magdalena slowly inched her way back and stopped. “Si?”
Renee pointed at the envelope in her hand. “What’s that?”
Magdalena raised the envelope toward Jayson but said nothing.
Jayson accepted it and looked it over. “It’s from Immigration.” He stepped closer to her. “Maybe this is information about your children?”
Magdalena shrugged. “Seńor, um, Mr. Cook. I so afraid I don’t open.”
Renee took the position next to Jayson. “When did you get this?”
“The mail today. A few hours.”
Jayson widened his eyes. “A few hours? Why didn’t you say something?”
“I so afraid,” Magdalena repeated. “What if my children, they no come?”
Renee took the woman by the arms and gently dragged her onto the sofa. “Now you just sit right here and if you want, Mr. Cook will open the letter for you.” She sat as well.
Jayson nodded. “Would you like me to do that?” Magdalena nodded, then put her hands over her face and started crying. She pulled out a set of rosary beads from her apron pocket and made the sign of the cross. Jayson felt deep compassion for her—as well as trepidation. His own heartbeat began to race. “Okay, here goes…” He tore off the edge of the envelope, tossed the scrap on the table and pulled out three sheets of paper. Please Lord, he prayed in his thoughts, give this dear woman some peace.
Renee held on to Magdalena and looked up at Jayson. “Well, what does it say?”
Jayson sat on the other side of the sobbing woman and dropped the letter into her lap. “Congratulations!” He smiled and put his hands on her shoulders. “Your children will be arriving in America around Thanksgiving.”
Magdalena stared at Jayson. She opened her mouth but no words came forth.
Renee hugged her. “That’s wonderful news!”
Magdalena folded her hands and looked to the heavens. “Thank you, Jesus! Thank you! I promise I be so good mother. I take them to mass every Sunday.”
Jayson stood. “I’ll get you a glass of water—or would you like a beer?”
Magdalena laughed. “Oh, Mr. Cook, you make so funny. No trouble for me.”
Jayson walked toward the kitchen. “It’s no trouble. I was going to get a soda anyway. He stopped at the refrigerator and opened it. “What’ll it be?”
Magdalena, clearly not used to being served, fumbled for words. “Um, soda, thank you.”
Jayson pointed. “How about you, hon?”
“I’ll just take a sip of yours.”
Jayson busied himself in the kitchen but the uncertain fate of another person at the mercy of Immigration officials flooded his thoughts. The ringing telephone jarred him back to his more immediate situation and he answered it. After less than a minute on the telephone he slowly walked back into the living room holding the full glasses.
Renee stopped chatting with Magdalena and focused on her husband. “What is it, hon?”
“That was Judge O’Hare’s clerk,” Jayson announced. “He wants everybody back at eleven tomorrow.”
Renee put her hand to her mouth. “Don’t tell me he’s already—”
“Um-hmm,” Jayson replied. “He’s made his decision.”
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Guilt by Association Page 23
