Courthouse (2 page)

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the Mayor began. The people who had been standing about the room chatting, began to file into the rows of seats in the audience. The main guests sat on the folding chairs. These included Justice Lawrence McLouglin, the Presiding Justice of the Appellate Division, First Department; Justice Matthew Silver, Presiding Justice of the Appellate Division, Second Department, several Justices of the Supreme Court, the Mayor, the Deputy Mayor, George Tishler, Judge Goldman, and Judge-designate Vincent M. Bauer.

As the Mayor began to speak, Vinnie's little son, Timothy, wanted to sit with his father in front of the room. Vinnie's wife was embarrassed as she tried to restrain the child discreetly. Vinnie squirmed. The Mayor stopped speaking, walked over to the boy, lifting him high in the air, smiling, then placed the child on Vinnie's lap. The audience loved it. They cheered. They clapped. Most of them were connected with Mayor Davies' administration, either in the capacity of department officials, or as political advance men, publicity men for the Mayor, who had been given city jobs to cover their salary.

“Unaccustomed as I am to public speaking,” the Mayor said, pausing and smiling. They loved that too. They smiled back and laughed. “And in order to keep the proceedings today short, I'm going to turn the microphone directly over to Judge Goldman, Administrator of our Criminal Court.”

The audience applauded as Judge Goldman rose and took the Mayor's place at the microphone.

“I, too, am going to keep today's ceremony very brief,” said the Judge. “Especially the speeches. I know how hot it is outside, and I know that many of our friends and guests want to get away before one of our famous weekend traffic jams begin.” He paused, but his remark wasn't as effective with the audience. “So, I'll just say a few words in tribute to Vincent,” he smiled at Vinnie, “a man who has been of tremendous help to me and service to the city by his unstinting effort and talent in helping to get the Criminal Court to move more quickly and efficiently.”

The audience applauded lightly.

Marc, who was seated on the center aisle, almost in the last row of the audience, caught Vinnie Bauer's eye. Marc flashed him a disbelieving face. Bauer began to smile, then suppressed it, looking down to the floor.

“Since Judge Bauer—I can call him Judge Bauer now, can't I, Mister Mayor?” Judge Goldman turned to the Mayor.

The Mayor laughed, nodding.

The audience began to laugh.

“Since Judge Bauer became the Deputy Administrator of the Criminal Court,” Judge Goldman continued, “the backlog of cases pending in the Court has been drastically reduced. Our statistics show that there has been an increase by twenty per cent in the number of cases disposed of in the courts. And, at the same time, a decrease by twenty-eight per cent of the number of people awaiting trial in our jails. In short, the criminal justice system is moving, and moving well now.”

More light applause.

Marc wondered if any of the people sitting in the audience really had any idea what the jails, even what the courts looked like. This elegant setting of government, this attractive gathering of important and powerful officials and citizens, seemed to bode well for the court system into which Judge Bauer was about to step. But the courtrooms, the jails, the actual justice system, were a different story all together.

Marc wished Judge Goldman would cut his speech shorter still so the Mayor could swear Vinnie in. Maria was waiting at the Twenty-third Street marina on
Pescadorito
, and Marc wanted to get there, wanted to get under sail, wanted—for a little while, at least—to forget about courts, defendants, and judges—even Judge Vincent Bauer.

2

Monday, August 7, 9:15
A.M.

The Manhattan House of Detention for Men, known as The Tombs, is probably the busiest prison in the world. Built originally to detain fewer than 1,000 men waiting to answer criminal charges in New York County, it was now crammed with more than 1,900 men; the weakest of the 3 men in a 2-man cell slept on the floor, between the gate and the cell toilet. Each day, The Tombs has a turnover of close to 500 prisoners, 250 new men to await trial, 250 others leaving on bail, parole, for state penitentiaries, or acquitted of the charges.

Outside cell D-3 on the eighth floor, Captain Bill Casey, of the City Department of Correction, was peering through the bars, talking quietly to a prisoner.

“Come on out of your cell, Ray,” said Casey. “We're not going to hurt you. You have to go to court. The Judge is waiting. Your lawyer's waiting.”

Inside the cell, naked and hairy, his muscular body slicked with sweat, inmate #483267, Raul DeJesus stared out through the bars, his eyes wide. DeJesus, who had spent seven years in Matteawan, the state institution for the criminally insane, was now certified as competent to be tried on a charge of raping a housewife.

“You want to trick me. You want to trick me, I know,” DeJesus said. “Don't try to trick me, Captain, sir. I am too smart to be tricked.” He was silent for a few moments. The cell stank of urine. A three-day growth of beard covered DeJesus' powerful jaw. There was a tattoo on his right forearm. “What's your name, Captain, sir?” he asked.

“Casey.” The Captain frowned and pushed his uniform cap to the back of his head. He was in his work uniform—dark trousers, white shirt open at the neck, dark military cap with a gold braid. The shirt was darkening with perspiration, showing slightly pink where it was stuck to Casey's back.

There is no air conditioning in The Tombs, and the August heat and humidity had fired the stone walls and thick glass-bricked windows to kiln intensity. No air came through those sealed windows, no one could see out of them.

“You Christian, Captain?” DeJesus demanded.

Casey nodded.

“The Judge, what's his name, sir? What's the name of the Judge?”

“Binder. Judge Binder,” Casey replied.

“He's a Jew, isn't he? Binder's a Jew name, isn't it, sir? Isn't Binder a Jew's name?”

Casey shrugged. “I don't know if the Judge is Jewish,” he said wearily. “Maybe he is. What's the difference?”

It seemed to make quite a difference to DeJesus. “Don't try to come into this cell,” he howled suddenly, bringing both his forearms down violently onto the metal spring of the iron double-decker bed. There were no mattresses. He twisted full around to study Correction Officer Davis, who was standing in a corridor on the other side of the cell, then lashed around again suddenly, as if to catch Casey off guard. He began gesturing, jabbering incoherently.

The Tombs is only one section of the Criminal Courts Building complex, located at 100 Centre Street, Manhattan. There are four parallel wings to the complex, the first three of which contain courts, judge's chambers, and offices connected by corridors. The last wing is The Tombs connected to the courts by two bridges—the Bridge of Sighs, named after the Florentine bridge of the same use—over which prisoners are brought to face their accusers and their fate. On each floor of The Tombs, there are two identical cellblocks, one at each end, separated by a center core of elevators and common messrooms. Each cellblock contains a long double line of cells which have outside corridors on each of the far sides of the cells and a wide interior corridor in the center. During certain hours of the day, on most floors, the inmates are allowed into the wide corridor between the cells, to talk and socialize. Tables, bolted to the floor, are there for that purpose. On the eighth floor, however, where DeJesus was held, some of the men were judged too dangerous to be left out with the others. Near the center elevators, the guards have a desk and telephone. Above the elevator and desk area, reached by a stairway inside the bars, is a large cage for washing and shaving as a guard watches the single safety razor passed from inmate to inmate.

Captain Casey looked at Davis, a young Black, thin, with a pencil-line mustache. His work uniform was dark trousers, dark military cap, and light blue shirt. Davis shrugged.

“The Jews and the super-rich, the important people,” DeJesus growled out. “They wish to destroy me.” He looked over to Casey, then stealing a look at Davis, moved closer to Casey. “They know who I am. They know! And they wish to destroy me. They are sending out radio magnetic waves to influence your brain chemistry, Captain, to make people do things, to make me do things. They want me to plead guilty so I'll stay in jail. Are you Christian, Captain, sir?”

Casey nodded.

“Then believe me, Captain, believe me, and I will reward you greatly. They want to destroy me. They influence the Judge. The Judge is a Jew, don't you see?” He looked hopefully at Casey. “They influence the D.A., even my lawyer, with their machines. But I won't plead guilty to anything, anything,” his voice rose. He shook his fists.

“Ray, I don't want you to plead guilty,” Casey said softly. “You don't have to plead guilty to anything. I just want you to come out of the cell for a while. I'm your friend. I won't let them hurt you. I mean that. I don't want them to hurt you.”

Casey turned his head toward the center core of the building. There stood three additional correction guards sent up by the Deputy Warden. Earlier, DeJesus had assaulted the regular floor guard who had opened the cell to take him to court for a sanity hearing. The “Dep” then ordered his men to get DeJesus out of the cell, even if they had to tear-gas him. Casey had stationed the three guards where DeJesus couldn't see them. He wanted one last shot at talking DeJesus out of the cell.

“What are you looking at? What's there?” DeJesus demanded, moving to the barred cell door, pressing his face brutally into the bars. His eyes twisted wildly to the side. “See, see, they've sent them to come and get me. But I won't come out, I won't,” he screamed, moving violently away from the bars, bringing his arms down on the metal spring again. He began mumbling and cursing in Spanish. DeJesus was strong, and he knew his best defense was to stay in the cell, letting the guards come at him one at a time through the small cell gate.

“Come on, man,” said Davis now, “don't be no fool. I'm a brother. I won't let them do things to you.”

DeJesus grumbled and growled to himself, moving back to the middle of the cell. His eyes roved from Casey to Davis in mad terror. He was motioning with his hands wildly as he muttered. He raised both arms over his head, gazing heavenward.

“They're trying to kill me, kill me, again,” he screamed at the top of his lungs. “The lousy Jews, the capitalists, the super-rich. They're trying to destroy the son of god. I am the son of god, and they want to destroy me.”

Davis stared across at Casey. Casey took out his handkerchief and dabbed at the back of his neck. He didn't want to order the tear gas if he could avoid it. It wasn't only DeJesus he was worried about. It was the other prisoners. In this humid, stifling heat, the potency of the tear gas would be intensified, and it would affect every prisoner and guard for two floors above and below. Everyone's eyes would burn for hours.

And it was not just the discomfort. Casey knew the inmates were restless. Not that they weren't always restless, because of the crowding, the food, just being caged, because they were facing trial. But now they were exceptionally edgy because of the heat. Over 95 degrees four days in a row. In the last two days, Casey knew of three serious altercations between guards and inmates.

Casey glanced over to the center core again.

Lou Adler, one of the three waiting guards, caught Casey's eye.

Casey shook his head. He knew it was hopeless. DeJesus wasn't coming out of the cell, not today, not peacefully anyway, not without being gassed. The prisoners from all the adjacent cells had already been evacuated. They were standing in the common messroom in the center of the building behind the three waiting guards, talking quietly among themselves, listening to every sound, watching every move with suspicion and hostility.

“Ray, come on out, just stand out here with me,” said Casey. “I'll go with you to the courtroom. I'll go with you myself. Don't make trouble, Ray. It's too hot.”

“They are influencing you too, with their electro-magnetic radio waves, Captain, sir,” DeJesus shouted. “They are trying to kill me.” His voice echoed in the high ceilings of the cellblock. “Don't let them kill me again,” he called to the other inmates. “They are trying to kill me. Save me, you oppressed and untrodden, and I shall reward all of you greatly, I promise you this, all who save me.”

Casey saw the other prisoners shifting uneasily, the echoing voice spooking them.

“Put everyone in their cells,” Casey ordered suddenly, walking to the center of the building. He wasn't going to risk any more trouble than he already had. He decided to forego gassing DeJesus for the moment, wanting to talk to the Judge, to see if one day's appearance in court was worth this much stirring up. Besides, Casey thought, it would be easier to get DeJesus out of the cell during the movies, when all the other inmates were off the floor anyway.

Adler, Scott, and Lockwood, the three waiting guards, opened the interior gate and started moving the inmates, back into the cellblock.

One of the prisoners, Oscar Johnson, also known as Ali Al-Kobar, a dark Black man with a shaved head, wearing a black, red, and green skullcap, was staring at Casey. He nudged another Black prisoner next to him as they came abreast of the Captain. The second prisoner looked at Al-Kobar, then pushed back against him. Al-Kobar seemed to fall off balance, then, suddenly, he violently shouldered into Casey. Casey, wiping the sweat band in his cap with his handkerchief, fell backward, twirled, landing hard against the cells. Al-Kobar was upon him in a flash. A second, then a third prisoner was on the pile in a moment. Suddenly, there was screaming and thrashing. And running. And curses.

Lou Adler, seeing Casey go down, spun toward the gate leading to the elevators and the regular floor officers. An inmate still in the messroom jumped on a table and leaped onto Adler's back. Adler staggered, and he and the inmate sprawled onto the floor. Lockwood and Scott were surrounded simultaneously by a host of screaming inmates. The three guards were hauled bodily into the corridor where Casey was jammed against the cells by three of the excited inmates.