Courthouse (27 page)

“I was afraid you weren't going to get here on time,” she whispered.

“I wouldn't let you down.”

“Are you going to try to get Joey out on bail today, Mister Conte?”

“I'm sure going to try.”

“Oh, please, Mister Conte. Joey looks so bad. I seen him last night. He looks awful. And I just can't get collateral for the bail. That lousy bondsman won't take nothing but a deed or a bankbook. I don't have neither of them. Please get him low bail today, Mister Conte.”

“I'll try. They're calling Joey's case now,” Marc said, rising. He walked to the front of the courtroom. Joey Maricyk came out of the bull pen accompanied by a court officer. He waved discreetly to his wife. Marc gave his name and address to the court stenographer for the record.

“Are you Joseph Maricyk?” asked the clerk.

The defendant nodded.

“You have to speak up,” said the clerk.

“Yes.”

“Is Mister Conte standing beside you, your attorney?”

“Yes.”

“Will you step up here, gentlemen,” said the Judge.

The assistant D.A. in charge of the Part, a young man with glasses, walked up to the judge's bench. So did Marc.

“Any possibility of a disposition here?” asked the Judge.

“The file jacket is marked an E felony,” the assistant said to the Judge. “We'll accept that plea if Counsel wishes.”

The Judge looked at Marc. “What do you say, Mister Conte?”

“I might be able to work out a disposition,” said Marc. “But not to an E felony.”

“That's the best the office is willing to make, Judge,” said the D.A. “This is an attempted bribe.”

“That's questionable, Judge,” said Marc. “Particularly in view of the fact that the defendant was worked over by the police with an ax handle. I have the proof in the record at arraignment. Here are the minutes.” Marc handed a transcript of the hearing to the Judge.

The Judge scanned the pages of testimony. “I do see what you're saying in the minutes,” he said. “But I can't force the D.A. to give you any plea other than what he's offering. I'd like to dispose of this if we can. How about if I give your client a suspended sentence? He won't do any jail time. That I do have control over, Mister Conte.”

“Let him take the felony,” said the D.A. “What the hell, it's only an E. The Judge will give him a walk. How can he be hurt?”

“I can't let a client take a plea and get a felony record, just to get rid of a case,” said Marc, “even if he doesn't go to jail.”

“How about interference with the administration of justice as an A misdemeanor if the defendant doesn't press charges against the police or anyone else?” said the Judge. “What do you say, Mister D.A.?”

Judge Brana liked to dispose of cases. He seemed to get satisfaction knowing at the end of each month, each year, that he was the judge, statistically, who disposed of more cases than any other judge in the state.

As far as statistics were concerned, Marc knew the gathering of statistics to be a highly sophisticated game played in the courts and by the police. While the statistics relating to the incidence of crime is high, thus requiring continued legislative appropriations, the police carry cases on the books at the precinct level as less severe than the actual crimes. Thus, an armed robbery may be carried as a larceny; a rape as an assault; an assault as disorderly conduct. Perhaps, the police brass and other authorities decided that the false sense of security engendered by inaccurate statistics subserves the interests of the People, as if the facts and dangers which actually exist in the streets will seem better if they're distorted in print. In court, the statistics game is played with dispositions of cases. A number of cases are assigned to a Part. That Part may decide a motion only, then refer the case to another Part for trial. Yet that counts as a disposition, and when Judge Goldman spoke at Vinnie Bauer's induction ceremony, he was absolutely correct. Statistically, more cases are being disposed of, and the machinery is working well. That some of the machinery of justice is merely spinning wheels is overshadowed by the statistical fact that taxpayers rebel at supporting the court system, the D.A.'s budget, the police salaries. But as long as statistics prove life is safer, the courts are working well, the judges are busy, the D.A.S persevering, they can continue to exist.

One of the most accurate statistics of crime, however, relates to homicides. Because you can't hide bodies. Except, of course, in high-crime areas where many a body is found in an alley and marked “Natural Causes: Case Closed.”

“No can do, Judge,” the D.A. said to Judge Brana, shaking his head. “Maricyk takes a plea to a felony or nothing.”

“Sorry, Marc. I'd really like to help you out” The Judge shrugged. “Okay, if that's the best you'll do, Mister D.A.”

The D.A. nodded.

“Step back, gentlemen.”

The two lawyers returned to their respective counsel tables.

“How does your client plead, Mister Conte?” asked the clerk.

“Not guilty,” said Marc.

“Enter a not guilty plea,” said the Judge. “August 29, Part 39.”

“August 29, Part 39,” repeated the clerk.

“Can you get me bail today, Mister Conte?” asked Maricyk. “I'm going crazy in there. See if you can get it lowered.”

“Your Honor,” said Marc. “My client has been in jail for more than two weeks now and is unable to make a bail of thirty-five hundred dollars. Will Your Honor entertain an application to reduce the bail?”

“What's your position, Mister D.A.?” asked the Judge.

“The People oppose any such application,” said the D.A.

“I won't lower the bail without the D.A.'s consent” said the Judge.

“May I suggest to Your Honor that since the present bail is beyond the means of the defendant, it's tantamount to no bail at all.”

“I'm sorry,” said the Judge. “That bail is little enough. Call the next case.”

The court officer escorted Maricyk back toward the bull pen.

“Would Your Honor be kind enough to permit the clerk to call the Toni Wainwright case?” asked Marc. “It's another matter I have before you on today's calendar.”

“Certainly.”

“People versus Toni Wainwright, indictment number three, eight, seven, two,” called the clerk.

Toni Wainwright rose and walked to the front of the courtroom to join Marc. Cahill and Rutley sat attentively in their seats.

The newspapermen on vigil at the glass panels in the rear doors now entered the courtroom, moving in a horde down the side aisle, standing as close to the front as possible, their pencils and pads at the ready.

Toni Wainwright stood nervously at the defendant's rail, watching the Judge. Marc stood at the rail with her.

“Too busy with the floozy to talk to your client,” she whispered harshly.

Marc leveled an angry gaze at Mrs. Wainwright. “You'll plead not guilty when the clerk asks how you plead,” Marc said flatly.

“If Your Honor please,” said the assistant D.A., “Mister O'Connor is coming down to handle this matter personally. May we have a second call on it?”

Marc decided not to waste time arguing.

“Yes, certainly,” said the Judge.

Marc walked next to Mrs. Wainwright back toward the spectators. The reporters started to drift out of the courtroom to resume their smoking positions outside the door.

“What's going to happen to Joey now?” asked Mrs. Maricyk, walking up to Marc.

Toni Wainwright and Mrs. Maricyk looked at each other carefully. Mrs. Maricyk studies the gold earrings and the necklace Toni wore. Either of those items could bail her husband out in minutes.

“I'm going to make out a writ of habeas corpus,” Marc whispered.

“What's that?” Mrs. Maricyk asked.

Toni Wainwright stood silently next to Marc.

“It's a court proceeding to get Joey's bail reduced,” Marc replied.

“Can you get him out today?”

“No. First the papers have to be drafted. A habeas corpus is a civil proceeding. I have to start it in the civil division of the Supreme Court. Then if the judge there denies the habeas corpus, we can appeal to the Appellate Division.”

“It sounds complicated. How long does all this take?”

“At the very least, two or three days.”

“Counselor,” said a court officer, walking down the aisle toward Marc. “Can you talk outside, please. The Judge wants everyone to sit down and be quiet.”

“Surely. Wait for me a few minutes,” Marc said to Mrs. Maricyk. “Let me get this other case over with.”

Mrs. Maricyk waved her arm annoyedly in the general direction of the judge's bench. “I can't stand the stink around here, Mister Conte. I know it's not your fault. But I get nauseous in this place.”

“Let's all sit down,” suggested Marc. He sat in one of the audience benches, Mrs. Maricyk on one side, Mrs. Wainwright on the other.

The clerk called another case, and a defendant was brought before the Court.

O'Connor walked brusquely into the courtroom. He nodded to Marc as he walked up the aisle and took a seat at the District Attorney's table.

“That was a pleasant greeting,” whispered Toni Wainwright. “Why has he got a hair in his ass?”

Marc looked at Mrs. Wainwright. “I'm not sure exactly how to answer a question put that way.”

The defendant now at the bar pleaded guilty to a crime.

“I gotta go, Mister Conte,” Mrs. Maricyk said, rising. “I had enough of this place for today.”

“I'll only be a few more minutes,” said Marc.

She shook her head as she walked out of the courtroom.

The clerk called the Wainwright case again. O'Connor rose and stood before the judge's bench. Marc and Mrs. Wainwright rose and walked toward the front. The entire staff of newsmen reentered the courtroom, again lining the walls near the front.

“Is your name Toni Wainwright?” asked the clerk.

“It is,” she replied as she stood nervously at the railing.

“And is Mister Marc Conte standing beside you your lawyer?”

“It is. I mean, he is.”

“I assume, gentlemen, this matter won't be disposed of today?” said the Judge.

O'Connor looked at Marc.

“No disposition, Your Honor,” Marc said to the Judge. “This matter has to be tried.”

“Very well,” replied the Judge. “Let's arraign the defendant.”

“You are charged with the crime of manslaughter in the first degree, how do you plead?” the clerk asked Mrs. Wainwright.

She looked at Marc.

“Not guilty,” he whispered.

“Not guilty.”

“Date, Your Honor?” asked the clerk.

“August 29,” the Judge replied. “Part 39.”

“August 29, Part 39,” repeated the clerk as he made a note on the court file.

“Your Honor,” said O'Connor, “I want to make a bail application at this time.”

“Very well.”

“Your Honor, this is a most serious, a most terrible crime.” O'Connor began, waxing dramatic for the reporters who were scribbling onto their pads. “And while I realize that Mrs. Wainwright has never been in conflict with the law before, the law should apply equally between both rich and poor. The fact that Mrs. Wainwright is wealthy should not in any fashion give her greater privilege or wider latitude in obtaining bail or committing a crime. Neither Mrs. Wainwright, nor anyone else, should be able to afford a better system of justice. The law must be impartially meted out.” O'Connor's voice was rising to his occasion. “And I believe that the bail should be increased to a hundred thousand dollars at this time.”

“May I be heard, Your Honor,” said Marc. Outwardly, at least, he was calm and controlled.

The Judge nodded.

Marc began: “Mister O'Connor's outrageous bit of circus drama is …”

“Wait a minute,” said O'Connor, “what's this circus stuff …”

“Your Honor, I didn't interrupt Mister O'Connor when he wanted to make his statement. May I have the same courtesy?”

“Yes, certainly,” said the Judge. “Mister O'Connor, I'll give you another opportunity if you so desire.” The Judge's fairness was now on display, as the reporters were avidly writing every word.

“The speech by the District Attorney was intended for the ears of the reporters, apparently for …”

“Now, Judge, I'm not going to let him say …”

“Mister O'Connor, Mister Conte is speaking. You may answer him when he finishes,” said the Judge sharply. Let's keep a little decorum here.”

“But I refuse to be told that I'm a circus performer making a publicity speech.” O'Connor was red around the neck, white in the cheeks, as his anger mounted.

“Wait your turn, Mister O'Connor. I'm sure you can meanwhile think of something nasty to say about Mister Conte. But don't say it,” the Judge cautioned, smiling warily. “And, Mister Conte, get to the legal point, directly.”

“Yes, Your Honor. The factor of money has nothing to do with the bail on which Mrs. Wainwright is presently at liberty. Judge Crawford determined the bail in this case based on several factors; Mrs. Wainwright's lack of prior difficulties with the law, her roots in the community, the possibility of her not appearing before the court to answer these charges; and, in addition, the District Attorney's potential for success,” Marc said cuttingly. “With these factors in mind, Your Honor, Judge Crawford set the present bail figure. Which is as it should be, Your Honor, in this defendant's case, in every defendant's case, as the law requires. Mister O'Connor's speech for higher bail has nothing whatever to do with the reality of this situation, and I again say, his speech is just some boiler plate for the benefit of the press. Particularly is this true, Your Honor, as you are a Supreme Court Justice and do not have the power to sit as an Appellate Court to review the action of Judge Crawford who is also a Supreme Court Justice of equal jurisdiction. Mister O'Connor is aware of that, and yet he makes a useless motion. I must repeat that the only reason he's making this useless motion can be for reporters to hear.”