Corrupted (29 page)

“Here we go.”

“Thank you.” Bennie accepted the scrapbook.

Gail hesitated. “Can I ask you something? What happens now? When does he go to trial?”

“Three to six months.”

“What about his rent and his other bills? I mean, what do I do?”

“You can send the bills to me, I'll take care of them.”

“You mean you'll pay?” Gail's eyebrows lifted. “Sweet!”

“Send them to me at my office.” Bennie felt Lou shift position beside her.

“Thanks. Okay, I gotta finish getting ready for work.” Gail left the room, and Bennie set the scrapbook down on the bookshelf and thumbed through the first two pages, which contained old newspaper clippings.

“Bennie, why are you covering this kid's bills? And do we really have time for scrapbooks?”

“You want to know why he spent his life in juvie? Take a look at this.”

“I know why he spent his life in juvie. He spent his life in juvie because he's messed-up.”

“He didn't start out that way.” Bennie went to the first page of the scrapbook.

“Tell me what it says, I don't have my reading glasses.” Lou squinted.

“Okay.” Bennie read the headline to Lou. “It says, ‘Kids-for-Cash Scandal Rocks Luzerne County.'”

“So?”

“Well, the last time I saw Jason was in 2002. I was trying to get him out of a detention center on River Street in Wilkes-Barre, Luzerne County. It was run-down and disgusting. He was moved to a new place called PA Childcare in 2003. It was all nice and modern, I saw it once.” Bennie would never forget that cold winter day, when she'd tried to see Jason at the new detention center, then had stopped in front of Declan's house. “It was still a prison, but everybody said it was going to be so wonderful.”

“Okay.” Lou folded his arms, listening.

“There's only one Juvenile Court in Luzerne County, and it was run by Judge Ciavarella. He was the one who adjudicated Jason as a juvenile delinquent and put him away. Judge Ciavarella put thousands of children away for minor things like fighting in the classroom, posting things about their teachers online, or acting out in general. The policy was called zero tolerance, and in fact, he was called Judge Zero Tolerance.”

“I remember those days.”

“Right, everybody thought it was because of Columbine. Nobody wanted violence in schools.” Bennie felt resentment tighten her chest. “But what nobody knew was that Judge Zero Tolerance was part owner of the new for-profit prison and that he was in cahoots with Judge Conahan, another judge on the Common Pleas Court. The judges guaranteed the builder of the new juvenile detention center that it would be kept full.”

“Oh, man.” Lou cringed. “I think I remember hearing about this.”

“It didn't get half of the attention it should have. They got reimbursed by the county for the kids they incarcerated, and they even made the parents pay the fees. They garnished the wages of the parents when they couldn't pay. It made the local papers when it came to light, and some national media.” Bennie flipped through the scrapbook pages, reviewing the headlines she knew so well. It had broken her heart when the news of the corruption scheme came to light. She knew instantly that Jason had been one of those children. “It began to unravel in 2007, when a high-school girl and her mother made a fuss. Just like Jason, she had signed a waiver form. Her mother called the Juvenile Law Center and they looked into her case.”

“The Juvenile Law Center in Philly?”

“Yes. They petitioned the Supreme Court, and to make a long story short, they subpoenaed all the juvenile court cases under Judge Ciavarella and found out that Luzerne County was sending a markedly disproportionate number of kids to the new juvenile center, and also that a disproportionate number of them had waived their right to counsel. Unlawfully.” Bennie still blamed herself. The legal argument she had raised before the Superior Court had been exactly right, and if she had gone forward, she could have exposed the scheme much earlier.

“They won the suit?”

“And then some, as you can see.” Bennie flipped through the next few pages, which held clipping after clipping, preserved under plastic. “They got the FBI and U.S. Attorney involved. The government brought federal criminal charges, alleging that Judge Ciavarella and Judge Conahan accepted nearly $2.6 million from PA Childcare and another facility that they built during the same time.”

“That's
real
money.” Lou's eyes flew open.

“Judge Conahan pled guilty to federal criminal charges and so did the other former co-owner, a lawyer named Robert Powell. The developer, Robert Mericle, also pled guilty.”

“What about Judge Ciavarella?”

“He wouldn't plead. He went to trial, in 2011.” Bennie flipped forward to the page that reported the trial results,
JUSTICE FINALLY DONE
. “He was found guilty of tax evasion and theft of honest services, which technically means he didn't report the income. He's doing federal time, as we speak. He was sentenced to seventeen years. Judge Conahan was sentenced to twelve years.”

“What a shame.” Lou shook his head.

“The scandal took place from 2003 to 2008, and they estimate it affected more than two thousand five hundred children and more than six thousand cases.” Bennie skimmed the statistics from one of the articles, then looked up at Lou. “Can you imagine, the numbers of children who were affected? Children. Jason was a great kid taken out of his home, for no reason, and he was railroaded into a juvenile detention center to line the pockets of corrupt judges. It ruined his life. It ruined his family.”

“Oh boy.”

“I don't know if you saw in the paper, but they just settled a federal civil class action that was brought on behalf of the kids. The lawyers did it
pro bono,
but the most any kid got was a settlement of $5000. Does $5000 pay anybody back? Does $5000 begin to compensate for what happened to Jason? How much is a childhood worth?”

Lou's face turned grave, and Bennie flipped the page of the scrapbook, where it abruptly ended in a black page.

“None of the settlement is in the scrapbook, because Jason's father died. Can you imagine, that he kept this scrapbook? That he watched this horror unfold, knowing that it took his son from his home? No heart could withstand that.” Bennie experienced a wave of regret. “I knew Jason's father, and he was a good man. A kind man. It was the anger and stress that killed him. The corruption, and the betrayal of his son. Who's to blame for his death? The crooked judges? Richie? Jason himself?”

Lou sighed, heavily. “It's not so black-and-white.”

“Not at all. Causation never is, in any case. But in this one, it's a killer.” Bennie closed the scrapbook, and its padded cover made a soft noise that punctuated her sentence. “I let Jason down, a long time ago. The justice system let him down, too. He was a sweet kid, and the system turned him into what he is today. He probably does have PTSD. Justice stole his childhood, and we have to set this right. We owe him one.”

“Is that why you're gonna pay the kid's bills? That's above and beyond the call, Bennie.”

“I want Jason to have a home, after trial. Because we're gonna win, if it's the last thing I do.” Bennie put the scrapbook back, planning her next move. “Let's go.”

*   *   *

Half an hour later, Bennie and Lou had found Jason's grimy, battered white Toyota, which was so old that it didn't have an automatic door lock. Bennie slid the key in the lock, twisted, and opened the driver's-side door, looking around. It smelled of stale cigarette smoke, and the seats were gray cloth. There was a well in the console, which held a few coins but nothing else.

“Looks pretty clean,” Bennie said, looking in the skinny shelf on the door and finding only pens and a pack of matches.

Lou went around the passenger side and peered through the window. “Can you unlock me?”

“Sure, hold on.” Bennie leaned in the driver's seat, reached over, and unlocked the other door.

“Thanks.” Lou ducked his head inside the car and opened the glove compartment, which contained a few neatly folded maps, some CDs without the jackets, and a brown plastic bottle of Coppertone. “Nothing here.”

“I don't really expect to find anything. I just want to be thorough. That's my thing, as you know.”

“Yes, I do know. Your thoroughness drives me crazy. But then again, if I got into trouble, I'd want you on my side.”

“Likewise, sir.” Bennie got out of the car and went to the backseat. It was completely empty except for a folded-up newspaper and a box of Kleenex. There were gray rubbery pads on the floor, but they were remarkably clean, and she guessed Jason didn't use the car that much.

“Bennie, come here. I found something.”

“What?” Bennie came back around to the front, peeking inside. Her heart sank at the sight. There, resting on Lou's open hand, was a Colt .45 revolver.

“It's loaded.” Lou handled the gun with care, pressing open the barrel, which showed the flat bottom of a bullet in each of the exposed chambers. He unloaded the bullets, dropping them expertly into his cupped palm.

“Oh no.” Bennie sighed. “I never would have thought he'd have a gun. Neither did Gail, remember?”

“Never say never.” Lou pointed to some crude scratching on the shiny metal of the gun. “Look. Serial number filed off. Automatic felony. Illegal gun. So what do we do? Take it or leave it?”

“Take it. God forbid somebody breaks in. We'll keep it in the safe at work.”

“Okay.” Lou put the gun and the bullets into his pocket. “So, why do you think he had a gun?”

“Protection from Richie?”

“I'm not the jury, Bennie. I'm asking you.” Lou got out of the car and closed the door.

“Same answer. Alternatively, I don't know.” Bennie locked the door with the key. “Oddly, I think it's a good thing for us. It suggests the knife wasn't his.”

“How?” Lou came around the back of the car to the sidewalk.

“Because if Jason was out to kill Richie, he would've kept the gun on him. After all, if he has a gun, why does he use a knife? You could say it was a lesser-included type of weapon.”

“Pretty good, counselor.” Lou smiled. “Now where do we go next?”

“Hold on, I gotta look up the address.” Bennie slid her phone from her purse.

“I could eat something.”

“So what else is new?” Bennie said, scrolling.

 

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Bennie and Lou sat in the backseat of the cab, while it drove slowly down past the line of brick row houses. She'd looked up Richie's address on her phone and he lived in Kensington, the neighborhood adjacent to Port Richmond. She eyed his house as they approached: 736 Potter Street, a gray brick row house in good repair with a bowed-out bay window. There were white bars over the door, but not the window, and the roof looked new. She didn't know whether Richie rented or owned, but she made a mental note to have Lou run it down later. He was busy now, eating marble swirl pound cake.

“Bennie, you sure you don't want a piece?” Lou brushed a dark crumb from his chin. On his lap was the Stock's waxed-paper bag, and on top of that was the pound cake, which he'd sawed into thick slices with a plastic fork.

“I'm fine, thanks.” Bennie returned her attention to the street, scanning the cars and trucks parked on both sides. She wondered if any belonged to Richie, his tall friend, or even Declan. It would make sense that they would be at Richie's house the day after the murder.

Lou leaned to the driver. “You want a piece of pound cake?”

The driver, an older African-American man, glanced in the rearview. “Sure, thanks.”

“I'm Lou, what's your name?”

“Thomas.”

“Here we go, Thomas.” Lou handed cake through the plastic window, and Thomas received it with a backhand.

“Thanks.”

Bennie shifted forward. “Thomas, we're about to drive by the house. Just drive like everything is normal.”

“Will do.” Thomas chuckled under his breath. “This is the most fun I've had in years.”

Bennie kept her eyes on the house, trying to see inside the bay window, but she couldn't. It was sunny outside, but dark inside the house, though she could see an unusual amount of activity.

“See anything?” Lou asked, his mouth full.

“Yes, but not enough.” Bennie shifted up in the seat. “Thomas, please go around the block one more time, then find a place to park on the opposite side of the street from the house. I want to see if anybody goes in and out.”

“No problem,” Thomas answered, his mouth full.

Lou looked over, swallowing. “You're staking out the house.”

“Yes, I want to know who the tall guy is and what other friends Richie has.” Bennie didn't mention Declan. The last thing she wanted was to see him, or him to see her.

“Wait, I have an idea.” Lou wiped off his fingers, leaving grease from the rich cake on his thin napkin. “Thomas, go around the block one more time, drive past the house, but don't park. Bennie, you take your phone and make a video of all the license plates on cars on the right side of the street. I'll make a video of the license plates on the left side of the street. Then when whoever leaves the house, we can see which cars they go to, and I can run those license plates by some of my buddies.”

Bennie smiled. “So you're not just in it for the carbs.”

“It's brain fuel, honey.” Lou grinned, and Thomas drove forward, took a left turn, then rounded the block and came up on the other side of Potter Street, where Bennie and Lou got out their phones and filmed the parked cars.

Thomas lapped the block again and returned to the top of Potter Street, where he slowed, looking for a parking space. “How about that space on the end? If I were going to pick somebody up on the street, this is where I'd wait.”