Bronx Justice. Joseph Teller

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      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?

      3

      EIGHTY YEARS

      On 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 СКАЧАТЬ