Broken (19 page)

October 16, 1970 – Friday

Iron bars threw long shadows across the concrete floor into a space no bigger than a large closet, seven by ten feet to be exact. The wake up buzzer in the women’s section of Allegheny County Jail was loud and long and harsh. Anna Mae sat up quickly and scrambled into the corner of the cot. With her back against the cinder block wall, she pulled her knees to her chest, clinging to a raggedy army blanket that scraped her skin. Her head ached. Her surroundings were a blur.

When her vision cleared, a man in a green uniform appeared at the other side of the bars. The iron door flew open with a bang. “Get up, McBride!”

She pushed herself tight against the wall, confused and terrified.

“Com’ on! I ain’t got all day.”

She looked at the opposite wall: a seatless commode, a metal mirror, and a small rusted sink. The damp air smelled of disinfectant. She ran a hand over her clothing. She was wearing a faded-orange cotton top, drawstring pants, her own tennis shoes, no laces, and no socks. She was in jail.

There had been some kind of mistake. The man in the green uniform was going to take her somewhere. She would find out what happened. They would let her go.

“Com’ on, McBride. You’re wanted in court.”

She whimpered, “I have to go to the bathroom.”

“Well, hurry up.”

She looked at the exposed toilet. “In there?”

“We frown against people peeing on the floor.”

“I don’t have to go,” she said, crawling out of the corner and standing up.

“Your hands,” said the guard, dangling cuffs in her face.

She held out her hands and he slapped them on. He got down on one knee and clamped her ankles with leg-irons. He then led her through a series of barred doors that were opened by an unseen sentry pressing a release buzzer, then closed with a loud metal against metal bang. She stumbled along, dragging the chain connecting her ankles. The handcuffs pinched at the slightest move.

With lockup behind them, they were joined by a deputy sheriff with a silver star on his tan uniform. Together the men escorted her across a sandstone overpass to the second floor of the Allegheny County Courthouse. They led her to the holding room where the sheriff instructed her to sit down. The guard left. The sheriff stood by the door.

From where she sat, she could see the outer corridor—men in suits carrying briefcases, scurrying about while an assortment of people in more casual clothing leaned against the walls or sat on the wide window ledges, looking down into the courtyard.

At the far end of the hall, in front of Courtroom 300, two police officers were engaged in a hand waving discussion. A man carrying a thick file folder flew out of the courtroom and passed between them without missing a step. He was tall and slender with broad shoulders. When he hurried down the hall toward the holding room, his pinstripe jacket flapped behind him. Skidding to a stop at the doorway, he brushed his thick, black hair away from his forehead. His intense brown eyes settled on Anna Mae.

“Ah! There you are!” he said, stepping inside the small room. He flipped open a folding chair, sat down in front of her and opened the folder. “I’m Ivan Hammerstein. I’ll be your attorney for now.” He extended a bony wrist to look at his watch. “We don’t have time to go over this.” He looked at the sheriff. “Can you take off the iron?”

“No!”

“Okay. Well, let’s go. Don’t say anything,” he instructed Anna Mae.

The deputy sheriff grabbed Anna Mae by the arm, lifted her to her feet and roughly guided her down the hall. On her other side, the tall attorney rattled on about the impending arraignment. “You just let me do the talking. We’ll plead ‘not guilty’ for now. I was just stuck with this case. I mean, assigned. I don’t know much about it. McBride. Good Irish name! You just leave everything to me.”

Courtroom 300 was crowded. The sheriff stopped in the doorway, letting the tall attorney take Anna Mae to the defendant’s side of the courtroom where they stood behind a bare table. To her right, standing in front of another table, a short, slim man with thick auburn hair and wearing a tailored black suit, placed his brief case on the table then turned to look at her.

Hammerstein leaned down and whispered into Anna Mae’s ear. “Oh shit. That district attorney—Tom Simon—he’s a lizard. Don’t look at him.”

Judge Wittier was a small, worried looking man with thinning white hair and thick half glasses, perched on the top of his head. He cracked the gavel and the room fell silent.

“Docket number 5390,” the bailiff announced. “The Commonwealth of Pennsylvania versus Anna Mae McBride. Murder in the first degree.”

What? No! This isn’t real. Murder? I’m dreaming. Oh my God, what’s going on here? I can’t breathe.

After a quick glance at Anna Mae, the judge lowered his glasses to look at the papers the bailiff set before him. “Miss McBride, to the charge of murdering Walter Lipinski, how do you plead?”

Anna Mae gripped the edge of the table. The room was spinning.

“How do you plead, Miss McBride?” the judge repeated.

Walter? My God! I don’t remem...did I blackout?
Her knees began to give way.

“Not guilty,” Hammerstein almost shouted. “She pleads ‘not guilty.'" He grabbed her by the elbow. “Your Honor. May the defendant sit down? I think she’s going to pass out.”

“Have a seat, Miss McBride,” said the judge.

“Thank you, Your Honor,” said Ivan Hammerstein as he helped Anna Mae into a chair. When he returned to his position behind the bare table, he cleared his throat, brushed a few strands of black hair from his forehead and said, “Judge Wittier, Your Honor, we request the defendant be freed on her own recognizance.”

“That’s outrageous,” said the DA.

“It would seem so,” said the judge.

Ivan Hammerstein glared at the DA but addressed the Judge. “With all due respect, Your Honor, Assistant District Attorney—Tom Simon, knows nothing about my client.”

“And neither do you,” snapped Tom Simon. “Mr. Hammerstein was handed this case only ten minutes ago. The Commonwealth requests Miss McBride be remanded without bail.”

“That’s unwarranted,” said Hammerstein. “Miss McBride is not a flight risk.”

“I beg to differ, Your Honor,” said the DA. “The murder of which the defendant is accused is of the most egregious nature. For God’s sake! She nearly butchered the man.”

“Objection!”

“You don’t need to object, counselor,” said Judge Wittier. “This is not a trial.”

“My objection is,” said Hammerstein, “that the prosecution’s statement presupposes guilt. My client has pleaded ‘not guilty.’ Unless this court proves otherwise, the prosecution better keep his big mouth shut!”

Judge Wittier motioned the bailiff to the bench and leaned toward him to ask a question. The bailiff replied. The judge nodded then turned back to the courtroom. “Mr. Hammerstein. In the short period of time you have been assigned to this defendant, you cannot make an accurate assessment as to whether or not Miss McBride is a flight risk. Therefore, Miss McBride is remanded until you can give the court a convincing reason to grant bail. Next case!”

Anna Mae looked at Assistant District Attorney Tom Simon. He returned her gaze, smiling. But the smile wasn’t reaching his eyes.

*     *     *

Sitting in the back of the courtroom, Angelo Tamero felt his heart sink as he watched Ivan Hammerstein and the deputy sheriff help Anna Mae out of her chair. Restrained as though she were a dangerous criminal, Anna Mae was led out of the courtroom.
This is all wrong,
Angelo thought.
Anna Mae is incapable of hurting anyone. What I saw on yesterday’s news was a bunch of overzealous policemen trying to prove to the public, regardless of who they hurt, that they were crackerjack cops. Walter was murdered all right. And whoever killed him is still out there. Because it certainly wasn’t Anna Mae!

Anna Mae sat up and stretched her arms. How long had she had been sleeping? Someone had slid a food tray under the bars. She wasn’t hungry. She looked at the metal toilet and recalled using it when she came back from court. No one was around at the time, but it was still humiliating.

Murder! They said I killed Walter. And that tall lawyer…he said he would talk to me later. How long ago had that been?

A guard appeared on the other side of the bars. “McBride, your attorney is here.” He opened the cell, placed the tray of uneaten food on her cot and cuffed her hands behind her back. He led her down the tier through the barred doors that buzzed open and banged shut. Holding her roughly by the elbow, he escorted her to a windowless room where Ivan Hammerstein waited at a long table. The guard removed the handcuffs and left.

Anna Mae rubbed her wrists while looking at the sheaf of papers spread in front of the lawyer. She took a seat across from him.

He brushed a few wayward strands of thick, black hair from his forehead. “Before we get started, I have to know if you want me to represent you. Or do you have someone else in mind.”

Anna Mae gazed at the bony hands resting on the papers.
What was he talking about? Why did she have to hire a lawyer? Who would pay for it? Who would pay for this one?

Ivan Hammerstein waited a few seconds then asked, “Is your family going to obtain counsel?”

“No. I mean…I don’t know. I don’t think so. We don’t have much money.”

“I’ve been appointed by the court to represent you. Is that the way you want to go?”

“I don’t have any money to pay you.”

“You don’t need any. My firm, Ruben, Ruben and Smith, do ten percent pro bono.”

“Pro bono?”

“Free. No cost.”

“But why would you...”

“Just because. Now let’s get down to business. As I think you already know, my name is Ivan Hammerstein. You can call me Ivan. I’m only an associate in the firm, but don’t let that bother you. I’m damn good. You couldn’t do better if you paid. And I’ve been up against that red-wigged lizard before.”

For the first time since she had been catapulted into this horrible mess, she smiled. “I think his hair is auburn.”

“Well, that’s more like it,” he said approvingly. “You really do need to smile more. Open up. I didn’t think you noticed anyone in that courtroom. Auburn, huh?”

She nodded. “Will you help me?”

“Sure, Honey. You don’t mind if once in a while I call you ‘Honey.’ It’s a bad habit of mine. I get myself into trouble with women’s libbers. But sometimes it just slips out. I might be an incurable male chauvinist but you won’t find anyone who will work harder to win a case. So I’m on?” he said reaching over the papers to shake her hand.

Anna Mae didn’t move the hands that were locked together under the table. “Why do they think I killed Walter? What did I do?”

Ivan retracted his hand. “Why don’t you tell me?”

“I don’t remember what I did to make them put me in here.”

The lawyer leaned back, squinted, and lifted an eyebrow.

She raised her voice. “Honest! I don’t remember.”

“Miss McBride,” he said leaning forward on his elbows, “you have to do better than that.”

“I can’t,” she said. “Maybe you should talk to my doctor first.”

“Your doctor. And who might that be?”

“Dr. Rhukov.”

“Mikhail Rhukov? That shrink?”

“Yes. What day is this?”

Ivan’s face went deadpan. He swallowed hard. In clipped words he said, “Today is Friday, October 16th, 1970. Do you know that you’re in the Allegheny County Jail?”

“Yes.”

“And unless a miracle happens you’re going to trial?”

“Why?”

“You know why! The police report says that yesterday you murdered your uncle, Walter Lipinski.” He looked down at the top page and added, “With an ax.”

She stared at him. “I killed my Uncle Walter with an ax?”

“Did you?” asked the lawyer. “Did you kill your uncle?”

“No! Yesterday? Yesterday—I think it was yesterday, I was in Pittsburgh at my mother’s house.”

“You remember that?”

“Yes. And that’s all I remember about yesterday. Why do the police say I killed Walter?”

“You don’t know?” He shook his head. Without bothering to put the papers in order, he shoved them into his badly worn briefcase and snapped it shut. “I need to talk to Dr. Rhukov. I’ll see you when I get back.”

In the Nikovich living room, Olga and Pete sat across from Sarah. “We don’t mind you stay here,” said Olga. “But that’s you house and some time you will haf to go back. Maybe now is good. My husband will go vith us.”

Five minutes later, Olga, Pete, and Sarah stood in front of the Lipinski back door that led directly into the kitchen. Pete opened the door and stepped inside. Olga and Sarah followed. On the kitchen table, next to Anna Mae’s car keys, Thursday’s newspaper fluttered to life. A stench of decay permeated the dim and soundless kitchen. Olga brought a handkerchief to her nose as the two women stopped a few steps away from a pool of blood.

“My God,” whispered Sarah.

Pete switched on the light, exposing the full horror of yesterday’s violence. Blood was splattered from floor to ceiling. A dried-up ham sandwich lay on the Formica counter. In the sink, slivers of ceramic and bits of browning lettuce surrounded a broken mug. In the middle of the floor, a toppled chair rested where it had fallen.

“We haf to clean it up,” said Olga, walking to the sink. She began putting the shattered pieces of ceramic into what was left of the broken mug. She told Pete to get the mop and bucket at the top of the cellar stairs. Sarah picked up the fallen chair, dragged it into a corner, and sat down. When Olga saw the glazed look in Sarah’s eyes, she took her by the hand and led her out of the kitchen. They had just entered the living room when they heard footsteps on the front porch. Olga went to the door and opened it.

“Are you Sarah?” asked a tiny woman with warm brown eyes and dark hair braided down her back.

“I’m the neighbor,” said Olga, noticing the stranger’s black cashmere jacket with its white mink collar. “Sarah’s in the living room.”

“May I come in?”

Olga stayed in the doorway, blocking it.

“I’m sorry,” said the woman. “I’m Maria Tamero—Angelo’s mother. David’s been staying at my house. Oh, this is such a terrible tragedy.”

Olga stepped aside, letting Maria walk into the living room where she took off her coat and tossed it on the couch. Sarah, her face white and her eyes vacant, was sitting on a straight-backed chair near the window.

“Oh, you poor woman,” Maria said rushing across the living room and grasping Sarah’s hand. “We’ve been praying for Anna Mae—and you. I don’t believe for one moment that Anna Mae…that Anna Mae...”

“Killed Walter,” Sarah finished the sentence.

“That’s what I say,” Olga agreed. “Annie is a good girl. She wouldn’t do such a thing.”

The phone in the kitchen rang and Olga went to answer it.

“It’s you sister, Becky,” Olga called from the kitchen. “Do you want to talk to her?”

Olga knew that Sarah had refused to speak to Becky during the entire time Anna Mae was building a relationship with her. She also knew that her niece had been to see Becky yesterday. Maybe Anna Mae was still at her mother’s in the afternoon when Walter was killed. If Becky would tell that to the police, they would have to let Anna Mae out of jail.

Sarah walked into the kitchen and took the phone from her neighbor’s hand. Olga went back into the living room. Maria was standing by the window and wringing her hands. “Is there anything I can do to help, Sarah?”

“Me and my husband live just next door,” said Olga. “Before I thought that maybe Sarah would feel better if she vas home. But the kitchen—you should see it! Looks like the devil himself vas there. My husband is just now cleaning it. But I think David should stay at your house.”

The conversation suddenly stopped as both women looked toward the kitchen where Sarah was yelling hysterically. “You told her what? Walter? You liar! You goddamn liar!”

Olga rushed to the kitchen and yanked the phone out of Sarah’s hand as Sarah broke into sobs. “What’s going on here?” Olga barked into the phone. “Why are you saying bad things to Sarah who already is upset? Don’t give me no excuses…you don’t call this house no more,” Olga said and slammed the phone on the receiver.

Olga then turned to Sarah who collapsed into her arms, gasping between sobs. “Becky said…Walter…Walter is…is…Anna Mae’s…father!”

Olga helped Sarah back to the living room. Together they sat on the edge of the couch. Olga kept her arm around Sarah, saying, “Why would you sister say such a thing?”

“What did she say?” asked Maria, who was now sitting in the straight back chair.

Olga didn’t answer Maria’s question, but she did say, “That voman—that Becky has brought nothing but trouble to Sarah. She dumped her own baby so she don’t have to take care of her. Dat baby vas Anna Mae. She never calls to see if her baby is dead or what. Now she wants to be Annie’s mama.”

Without waiting for a response from Maria, Olga went to the kitchen and came back with a small striped dishtowel. Sarah used it to wipe her face and blow her nose. Olga then returned to her place on the couch next to Sarah. Maria had her head down. She appeared to be praying.

At last Sarah stopped crying. Maria looked at her watch and said she should be going. Olga jumped up to get the coat. She ran her fingers through the soft fur collar and rubbed the cashmere against her wrinkled cheek.