Bronx Justice (2 page)

“Sure,” said Pope. “Go right ahead.” But neither he nor Rendell made any move to give them privacy.

“Can we take the cuffs off?” Jaywalker asked.

Pope nodded at the detective, who produced a key and removed the handcuffs. Darren rubbed each wrist in turn. Jaywalker waited until Pope and Rendell had walked to the far end of the room. Then he positioned himself between Darren and them, giving them his back. It wasn't much, but it was as good as it was going to get.

As quietly as he could, he asked Darren what was going on.

“I don't know. They say I r-r-r-raped a bunch of women. I didn't do anything like that. I don't know anything about it.”

“Darren, they've got five women who say you're the guy. I'm here to help you, a hundred percent. I can help you if you're innocent. But understand this—I can also help you if you're guilty. There are hospitals, there are sexual offender programs.” There were; it wasn't a complete lie. “The only way I
can't
help you,” Jaywalker went on, “is if you don't tell me. So you've got to try to trust me.” He wanted to add “and start telling me the truth.” But he didn't. Not yet, anyway.

Darren's eyes met Jaywalker's. “I do trust you, Jay.” His
use of the name brought a smile to Jaywalker's face. A year ago, it had taken him a long time to get Darren to stop calling him
Mr. Jaywalker.
But Jaywalker had insisted. If he was going to address his clients by their first names—and he did, always—then they were going to do the same with him. Not that Jay was really his first name. But when your parents hang
Harrison Jason Walker
on you, you're happy to settle for Jay. Or, as a few of his Hispanic clients pronounced it,
Yay
.

“Good,” said Jaywalker.

“But you gotta trust me, too, Jay. I d-d-didn't do this.”

Jaywalker nodded. He knew it was useless to push at this point. He decided to let Darren answer Pope's questions in his presence. It was his hope to learn a few things, while giving up nothing in return. At the same time, he was looking for any edge he could get. He knew that Pope's recommendation on bail would carry a lot of weight with the judge.

After learning that Darren was twenty-two, married, living with his wife, the father of one child and expecting another, Pope moved on to Darren's employment.

“You work for the post office, right?”

“Right.”

“The night shift?”

“Right.”

It was obvious that Pope, or perhaps Rendell, had done his homework.

“Were you working the last two weeks of August, or was that your vacation time?”

Jaywalker held up a hand. “I'm not sure that's pedigree,” he said. He didn't want Pope fishing around and testing an alibi defense before Jaywalker had had a chance to explore it himself.

“Okay,” said Pope, realizing he wasn't going to get
anything else. “Is there any statement you want to make, Mr. Kingston?”

“Yes, there is.” The voice was loud and clear. It was also Jaywalker's. “He says he's innocent, and you've got the wrong guy.”

Pope nodded dismissively. It was clear that he doubted the words as much as Jaywalker himself did.

Detective Rendell put the handcuffs back on Darren before he led him out of the room. Jaywalker followed them, reminding Darren to say nothing further. Then he walked over to the Kingstons and brought them up-to-date on what he knew, holding back nothing. He told them that one of the women was coming down to court, and that unless she said their son wasn't the right man, he would be charged with threatening her with a knife, raping her, and forcing her to take his penis in her mouth.

Inez Kingston didn't seem to react. It was as though she already understood and had accepted the gravity of the situation. Marlin said, “Oh, God,” and started to cry, then put his arms around his wife, right there in the corridor, with total strangers streaming by. They stood like that for several minutes, he crying quietly and she making no attempt to escape his embrace. Finally Marlin let go of his wife. He looked straight at Jaywalker, his eyes red but fixed.

“Jay, that's my son, you see? You got to do what you can for him. He didn't rape anybody. I don't care what it costs, I'll get the money somehow. But you got to help him.”

“I'll help him,” said Jaywalker.

 

They spent the next hour and a half in the courtroom, waiting for the arrival of Joanne Kenarden, the victim who
was named in the complaint. Jaywalker passed the time watching the parade of arraignments, people who'd been arrested the previous night. An assault, his own head bandaged. A gypsy cab stickup. Four for possession of heroin. A gun. A homicide, a man who'd beaten his two-year-old stepson to death. Almost all were black or Hispanic. In almost every case the judge set high bail and the defendant was walked back into the pen area, out of sight. Family members, who'd moved forward to the railing to hear better and perhaps be noticed, straggled out of the courtroom, sometimes sobbing, sometimes angry, always confused.

It was a quarter past twelve when Joanne Kenarden showed up. She poked her thin face into the courtroom and looked around uncertainly. Something in Jaywalker told him it was her even before Detective Rendell spotted her, stood up and walked over to her. Jaywalker watched them as they spoke briefly at the door. Then Rendell found her a place to sit, had her sign some papers, motioned her to wait and left the room.

Jaywalker moved his own seat in order to get a better look at her. She was pretty, if a bit hard-looking. The thinness of her face and body made guessing her age difficult. Thirty, maybe. She was dressed in inexpensive clothes, jeans and a black top, but carefully. And she was white.

When Rendell came back into the courtroom, Jacob Pope was with him. While Pope took a seat up front, Rendell disappeared into the pen area. When he emerged several minutes later, he was leading Darren by the arm. Today that act itself would be called a suggestive identification procedure; back then, it was simply how things were done. In any event, as soon as she saw Darren, Joanne
Kenarden stiffened visibly in her seat and nodded almost reflexively. To Jaywalker's eye, her response seemed involuntary and genuine. He wondered if Pope had caught it.

“Docket number X974513, Darren Kingston,” called the bridgeman, his title derived from his position between the judge and the rest of the courtroom. “Charged with rape, on the complaint of Joanne Kenarden. Detective Rendell.” Shielding rape victims' identities didn't happen back then, either.

Jaywalker rose, made his way forward and took his place at the center of a long wooden table in front of the judge's bench. To his left stood Darren, hands cuffed in front of him, a uniformed court officer immediately behind him. To Jaywalker's right stood Jacob Pope, Detective Rendell and Joanne Kenarden.

“Miss Kenarden,” said the bridgeman, “do you swear to the truth and contents of your affidavit?” In 1979, there was no such thing as a Ms. You were Miss, or you were Mrs.

“I do.”

“Counselor, do you waive the reading of the rights and charges?”

“Yes,” said Jaywalker, “we do.”

The judge, a fairly recent appointee named Howard Goldman, turned to Pope, waiting for his bail recommendation. Pope responded by describing the Kenarden rape and sodomy, emphasizing the knife. He pointed out that there were four additional rape victims, and added that it had taken the police several weeks to locate the defendant once he'd been identified. The clear implication was that Darren would be likely to flee if released. “Accordingly,”
Pope concluded, “the People request that bail be set in the amount of fifty thousand dollars.”

It was Jaywalker's turn. He pointed to Darren's family in the courtroom, described Darren's job and theirs, and mentioned the lack of any prior convictions. He stressed Darren's wife, their child and her pregnancy. He said that he'd known the family for almost two years and felt privileged to have done so.

“I consider these very serious charges,” said Judge Goldman.

“So do I,” Jaywalker agreed. “I also consider it very possible that this is the wrong man.”

Goldman turned toward Joanne Kenarden. “Young lady,” he said, “I want you to answer me truthfully. Is there any doubt in your mind, any doubt whatsoever, that this is the man who attacked you? Take a good look at him before you answer me.”

Jaywalker took a step back so that she could get a better look at Darren. But even as he did so, he knew it was a futile gesture. They were enacting a charade, after all. Not twenty minutes earlier, having seen Darren led into the courtroom by Detective Rendell, she'd put her signature on an affidavit, swearing that this was the man who'd raped and orally sodomized her. What was she supposed to say now, that she'd changed her mind?

“No doubt whatsoever,” she said.

“Bail is fifty thousand dollars,” said the judge.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jaywalker could see Darren's shoulders sag, notice him shake his head slowly from side to side. The case was adjourned one week, for a preliminary hearing. But Jaywalker knew there would be no hearing. Pope would present his case
directly to a grand jury, who would listen to Joanne Kenarden, and perhaps the other victims as well, and vote an indictment. Jaywalker toyed briefly with the idea of having Darren testify at the grand jury, but quickly rejected it. All Darren could say was that he was innocent. Having him do so, and then exposing him to cross-examination at this early stage, would accomplish little and risk much.

“Anything else?” asked the judge.

“No,” said Jaywalker.

“Next case.”

Less than ten minutes after it had begun, the arraignment was over. Darren was led back into the pen from which he'd come.

Outside on the sidewalk, Jaywalker explained the bail to Darren's parents. In order to get their son out of jail, they would either have to come up with fifty thousand dollars in cash or go to a bondsman, who would require maybe half that much, as well as the balance in property—bank-books, jewelry, deeds to buildings or similar collateral. Marlin Kingston shook his head in disbelief, or maybe despair. Jaywalker told him they had an option, to let a few days pass and then go over to the Supreme Court building on the Grand Concourse, where they could make an application to get the figure reduced.

He kissed Inez goodbye, something he didn't ordinarily do. Perhaps it was her own warmth, radiating outward, that compelled him to do so. When he went to shake Marlin's hand, he felt something pressed against his palm.

“What's this?” he asked.

“A hundred dollars,” said Marlin. “For today.”

“No,” said Jaywalker. “You save it. You're going to
need every penny to try to get Darren out.” But he realized he was only getting to know this little man, who could cry unashamedly one minute and fight like a warrior the next, when Marlin spoke again.

“This is yours, Jay,” he said. “Darren is my son. I'll get him out somehow. Don't you worry.”

Jaywalker pocketed the money. It was 1979, and he couldn't afford to sneeze at a hundred dollars. Not with a wife, a child of his own, a mortgage and a stack of bills. But he did worry. If a hundred dollars was nothing to sneeze at, what did that say about fifty thousand?

O
n Friday, Jaywalker got another call from Inez Kingston. “We bailed Darren out,” she said, “and I was wondering if you wanted to talk to him or anything.”

“You're kidding!” Jaywalker couldn't believe it.

“I'm not kidding. Marlin went out to Rikers Island last night to get him. They didn't get back till three this morning, and I didn't want to wake you. But he's here now, if you want to talk to him.”

“Of course I do. Put him on.”

There was a pause, followed by Darren's voice. “Hello, J-J-Jay.”

“Hey! How the hell are you?”

“P-p-pretty good, Jay.”

They spoke for a few minutes. Jaywalker told Darren he didn't want him to be alone at all, whether he was indoors or out, that some responsible adult should be with him at all times. That way, if any more rapes were to occur, they would have an alibi, proof that it couldn't be him. Darren said he would make sure of that. They made an appointment
to meet at Jaywalker's office on Monday. Jaywalker ended the conversation by telling Darren how happy he was.

“M-me, too, Jay.”

Jaywalker hung up the phone absolutely elated. He marveled at the way the Kingstons must have scraped together every cent they had, borrowed what they didn't and put up their small house as collateral. But as happy as he was for them and Darren, he also had a selfish reason to be pleased. A defendant who can't make bail has two strikes against him. His opportunities to sit down and discuss his case with his lawyer are limited in terms of time, place and privacy. He's unable to assist in the legwork of investigating and preparing his case—visiting the scene of the crime, locating and rounding up witnesses, and helping out with a bunch of other details about which he, as the accused, may have the greatest knowledge. He loses his job or drops out of school, or both. As a result, he becomes a less compelling witness in front of the jury, and a less likely candidate for a lenient sentence in the eyes of the judge. Bail, and having the resources to post it, may not be the most obvious way the system discriminates between the rich and the poor, but it often becomes one of the most significant.

So Darren's getting bailed out was as crucial as it was surprising. It was also, Jaywalker dared to hope, something of a good omen. The case had started out badly. The arrest, the disclosure of multiple rapes, the certainty of Joanne Kenarden's identification and the setting of high bail had been one blow after another. Maybe the tide was beginning to turn. Maybe something else good would happen.

 

Nothing happened.

Had Jaywalker simply been deluding himself when
he'd told Darren he wanted his movements monitored round-the-clock by a responsible adult? Had he been engaging in nothing but wishful thinking by pretending that Darren wasn't the rapist, and that somehow five victims could all have misidentified him?

Or had he simply been doing what defense lawyers do, willingly playing along with a client's insistence upon his innocence until the time was ripe to get real and face the unpleasant truth? In quiet moments that weekend, it surely seemed so.

 

On Monday afternoon, Darren showed up at Jaywalker's office, accompanied by his father. They spent two hours together, a good part of it with Marlin banished to the waiting room. Admitting you were a rapist was hard enough, Jaywalker reasoned; admitting it in front of your father might border on the impossible. But to Darren, it seemed to make no difference. He continued to deny any knowledge of the rapes.

Jaywalker did his best to hide his disbelief. One victim could certainly be mistaken. Two, perhaps. Even three, however unlikely, was possible. But
five?

Yet throughout the session, Darren never once wavered in his denials. Nor did he avoid making and holding eye contact, or lapse into any of the other familiar
tells
Jaywalker had seen so often in his Legal Aid days—the barely noticeable facial tics, the collar tugs, the hand involuntarily rising to cover the mouth, the sudden interest in one's shoes or the pencils on the desk or the pictures on the wall. He did stutter from time to time, but—or so it seemed to Jaywalker—no more or less than usual when pressed about his claim of innocence. And every so often, in spite
of himself, Jaywalker would find himself wondering if perhaps Darren might be telling the truth after all. But then he would remember that there were five women, each of them prepared to point Darren out as her attacker. As much as he liked this young man—and he was terribly easy to like—and wanted to believe him, Jaywalker kept reminding himself that Darren was lying. He had to be.

Marlin asked what the fee was going to be. Jaywalker started to explain that it looked as though they were in this for the long haul, that there was going to be a trial, maybe even several.

“I understand, Jay. You tell me how much, and I'll pay it. It may take me some time, but I'll pay it.”

Up to that point, the most that Jaywalker had ever charged for a case had been twenty-five hundred dollars. It had been a drug dealer, who'd probably been pocketing that much in a week. Jaywalker had gotten him a plea bargain, five years probation. For Darren, there wasn't going to be a plea bargain, and there certainly wasn't going to be any probation.

“Five thousand dollars,” said Jaywalker, and held his breath.

Marlin squinted skeptically. “Are you sure that's enough?” he asked.

“I'm sure,” said Jaywalker, and they shook hands on it.

Enough?
Jaywalker felt like he'd broken the bank.

 

Wednesday came. Jaywalker met Darren outside the courtroom known as Part 1-D. Both his parents were with him, as well as his wife, Charlene. She'd missed the arraignment and the office appointment because she'd been
home caring for their son, and because she'd feared the experience might prove too much for her. Or maybe it was the thought that her husband was a rapist. In any event, on this day Darren's sister Janie had been enlisted to babysit, freeing Charlene to come. She was short and a bit on the heavy side, not so unlike her mother-in-law. Perhaps it was her pregnancy beginning to show, perhaps not. Although she had a pleasant enough smile, she wasn't nearly as pretty as Darren was handsome. Jaywalker found himself wondering if Charlene's physical shortcomings might not have contributed to her husband's having become a rapist.

Inez reported that Darren's name didn't seem to be listed on the calendar posted outside the courtroom. Jaywalker looked and couldn't find it, either. A check with the clerk's office revealed the reason.

 

KINGSTON, Darren

Docket No. X974513

Off Calendar—Indicted

Part 12, 9/21

 

Jaywalker explained to the Kingstons that their trip had been a wasted one. As expected, Jacob Pope had gone directly to the grand jury. There would be no preliminary hearing. Instead, Darren would be arraigned on an indictment in Supreme Court that Friday. Not that anyone had called Jaywalker to alert him and save them the trip. To the system, defendants, their families and their lawyers were pretty much chopped liver.

Downstairs, Jaywalker ushered Darren away from his family. He had a question for him, and he not only wanted to hear Darren's answer, but he also wanted to see his
reaction. And he didn't want Darren posturing for the benefit of his family, or looking to them for advice. He watched the young man closely as he spoke to him.

“Darren,” he said, “how would you feel about taking a lie detector test?” He used the phrase
lie detector test,
instead of the more technically correct
polygraph examination,
because he wanted to make sure Darren understood the question the first time he asked him and wouldn't be able to buy time by asking, “What's that?”

Darren's answer came without hesitation. “I'd love to, Jay, if it'll help.”

“Well,” said Jaywalker, “I can't promise it'll help. But it will show if you're telling the truth. The problem is, it'll also show if you're lying. I can guarantee that.”

“I'm not lying, Jay.”

“I know that, Darren.” It was Jaywalker's second lie in as many statements. “But I'm prejudiced. I'm your lawyer. Besides that, I like you. So as much as I believe you, I have to remind myself that I could be wrong. And you have to understand that if you
did
commit the rapes, the worst possible thing you could do now would be to take the test.”

Darren started to say something, but Jaywalker held up a hand and cut him off in mid-stutter. He wanted Darren to hear him out.

“Look,” he said, “if you
did
do those things, if something happened to make you snap, if it
is
you these women are talking about, it's not the end of the world. There are doctors, psychiatrists, programs. There are ways to get you help. Believe it or not, there are even ways to keep you out of prison.” It was yet another lie. “So take a moment to think before you decide.”

Jaywalker's little speech finished, he looked Darren hard in the eye. And as he waited for a response, he realized that just as he was torn between wanting to believe Darren and not being able to, so, too, was he torn between wanting him to be innocent and wanting him to be guilty. What he really wanted was for Darren to tell him, “I can't take a lie detector, Jay. I did those things.” Together they could break the news to his parents, to his wife. There would be some initial shock and disbelief, followed by a lot of crying all around. But the rest would be simple and straightforward. Psychiatrists, psychologists. Perhaps even an insanity defense, but more likely a guilty plea. But the worst would be over, the nagging uncertainty gone, and the terrible burden of representing a man who seemed to be guilty but claimed to be innocent lifted from his shoulders. Oh, how Jaywalker wanted Darren to break down and come clean at that moment!

But he didn't.
Break down? Come clean?
He didn't flinch. He didn't even stutter, for once. Instead he looked directly into Jaywalker's eyes and said, “I want the test.”

 

On Friday morning Jaywalker drove to the Bronx County Courthouse, which housed all of the Supreme Court parts. It covered then, as it covers now, an entire city block, from the Grand Concourse on the east to Walton Avenue on the west, and from 160th Street to 161st. From its upper floors you could see then, as you can still see today, the elevated train tracks above Jerome Avenue, and Yankee Stadium just beyond.

Jaywalker took one of the elevators to the sixth floor. The building was laid out around a square center courtyard, and no matter how many times he'd been there, he always found
himself disoriented as soon as he stepped off the elevator. As usual, he walked three-quarters of the way around just to get to a courtroom that would have been right around the corner, had only he chosen to walk the other way.

Darren, Charlene, Inez and Marlin Kingston were waiting for him outside Part 12. They exchanged greetings and went inside. Jacob Pope was already there. He handed Jaywalker a copy of the indictment.