by R. D. Cain
Montgomery could tell Dewar was obviously not keen on the idea. She subtly shook her head no.
Carscadden interjected. “Your Honour, a change in prosecution counsel at this point of the trial —”
Montgomery spoke. “I’m inclined to agree, Mr. Carscadden. A one-day delay isn’t the end of the world. I doubt the jury would mind having the rest of the day off.” The jury foremen nodded yes.
Scott took a position next to Dewar. “Like I said, sir, it’s only for a couple of administrative issues — won’t take long.”
Montgomery took a breath and produced what Dewar recognized as a fake smile. “That would be great, Mr. Scott. Ms. Dewar, you’re excused. If you need more time, call my office as soon as you can.” He paused. “Actually, Ms. Dewar” — he waved a hand to indicate the jury — “for the benefit of the jury, we’re going to assume that there is no trial tomorrow either unless you call me yourself and advise that you are ready to go; that way the jury only have to go through the hassle of coming in if they get a personal call from my office.”
“Thank you, Your Honour.” Dewar rose, shaking her head at Carscadden. She tapped her cell phone and he nodded his understanding. He shrugged, there was nothing that could be done, whatever was coming. She went straight for the closest washroom. She sat in a stall and began typing a message into her BlackBerry.
CARSCADDEN WATCHED AS SCOTT SLIMED his way to the podium. “Yes, Your Honour. Now, the first thing I’d like to do is call a witness, a Mr. Shawn Eade.”
Carscadden flipped through a few pages, then got to his feet. “Sorry, Your Honour, I just don’t see that name listed here.”
“Scott?” Montgomery asked.
“Yes, sir, our office just became aware of this witness recently and did not have time to arrange disclosure. However, with the court’s indulgence, it won’t take more than ten minutes.” He smiled like a lizard.
Montgomery tapped his fingers on his bench as he waited for Carscadden, who was whispering back and forth with Nastos.
“Your Honour,” Carscadden began, “court procedures were created by better men than I. I don’t concede this privilege to my friend, Mr. Scott, and I hope you don’t either.”
Eade stood up, ready to take the stand. His was a smug, used-car-salesman smile. Montgomery appeared to read something on his desk then turned his attention back to Mr. Scott.
“Not this time, Mr. Scott. Mr. Carscadden requires disclosure and proper notice. This is out of left field.”
“Your Honour,” Scott whined.
“Move on, Mr. Scott.” Then he pointed to Eade. “And you can turn around and sit down, sir, I never said you could approach.”
Eade’s broadening smile dropped flat. He turned and began walking out of court. When he was nearly out the door, he gave Montgomery the finger without turning back.
“Anything else, Mr. Scott, or was that it?”
Scott smiled confidently. “One more thing, sir.”
“Let’s hear it,” Montgomery said.
“A matter of a breach, sir. Mr. Nastos was out past his curfew last Friday night.”
“He was?” Surprised, Montgomery turned to Carscadden and Nastos. “Can you repeat that, Mr. Scott?”
Scott handed a sheaf of papers to Carscadden, another to the court clerk then a third, for her to pass to the judge. “A car accident after court, sir. As you can see, Nastos, who wasn’t even involved, filled out an accident statement. It seems he just can’t let go of the power of the badge and had to get involved in something that had nothing to do with him.”
Montgomery studied the paper.
Carscadden read the accident report in his hands, the very one he and Nastos had filled out. How the hell did he get it over a weekend? How on earth did he even find out? “Sir, it was after court. We stopped to help the mother of a young girl who had been injured in a car accident. To leave her bleeding in the street would have been reprehensible.”
Scott was ready for the comment. “Everyone gets first aid training these days, Your Honour. Anyone could have helped at the scene and Mr. Nastos has a responsibility to the court to abide by his bail conditions.” Scott turned to Carscadden. “It’s a breach in a murder trial, sir. You were there with him, you should be sanctioned —”
Montgomery chided Scott, “Make sure you address the court, sir.”
Carscadden interjected. “I was right there with him, Your Honour, it was with the best of intentions.”
Montgomery flipped through the pages, but was going too fast to actually be reading anything. He checked his cell phone, reading its screen, then put it down. He was flustered. “Well, I must say I’m a little surprised by your cavalier response, Mr. Carscadden.”
“Thank you, sir.” Scott smiled.
“Yes. This is very serious indeed. Mr. Nastos is on trial for murder, for heaven’s sakes. I’m —” He stopped as if considering something. “I’m ordering Mr. Nastos to be incarcerated until I feel it is no longer necessary. Now, that will be protective custody, and we’ll revisit the issue each week for the rest of the trial.”
Carscadden felt his knees go weak. His stomach felt like it was ready to drop to the floor. “Your Honour, this is unwarranted and repugnant and —”
“Spare me the hyperbole,” Montgomery said. “He breached; he’s going to jail.”
Carscadden scowled at Scott. If he had been any closer to the smug son of a bitch, he would have decked him.
“Anything else, Mr. Scott?” Montgomery asked.
“No, thank you, sir, that’s it for the day,” Scott replied.
“Bailiff, please take the defendant.”
A FEMALE OFFICER IMMEDIATELY GRABBED Nastos by his wrists; she brought his hands together behind his back. Nastos kept his shoulders rigid trying to display stoicism. Carscadden saw past the veneer. For Nastos, the only tell was his head tilted back to plead to the fluorescent lights where God should have been.
Carscadden felt just as helpless. A woman shouted, “No!” It was probably Madeleine but Carscadden didn’t look back. He was too distracted by little Josie’s sudden leap, her arms wrapping around her father’s waist.
“It’s going to be okay, Jo. Don’t worry.” He couldn’t move his hands and was unable to comfort her.
Carscadden couldn’t tell if she was trying to climb up his body or pull him down. Either way, it wasn’t going to be easy to get her off him. “I don’t want you to go, Daddy. Don’t go.”
Carscadden felt himself reaching out for Josie and gently pulling her little arms away. He felt sick inside, prying her off him, but someone had to do it.
Nastos crouched to whisper to her. “Jo, this is Kevin, he’s my friend. He’s going to fix everything. Let him take you back to Mommy, okay, sweetheart?”
The bailiff ratcheted the cuffs around Nastos’ wrists. She grabbed him by the elbow, pointed to the side door and shoved him forward to get him going.
Scott was beaming — Carscadden knew he’d never forget that as long as he lived.
Montgomery barely acknowledged Josie’s breach of court protocol; instead he just waited patiently until Nastos was out of sight. It left Carscadden alone, feeling like the world was falling apart around him. Staved off that Eade fucker, but that breach was total bullshit. This is a fuck-show.
Carscadden stole another glance at Scott and didn’t like the expression on his face. Scott had something more planned. Slowly, Scott turned to the Judge.
“Judge Montgomery?”
“Yes, Mr. Scott?”
“I see here that my colleague anticipated calling Josie Nastos to testify here today. I was under the impression she was calling Officer Clancy Brown. I don’t see why we should inconvenience the Nastos family any further by asking them back another day.”
The judge seemed impressed with Scott’s gall. “Mr. Scott, are you suggesting that we
continue with the witness deposition on camera?”
“It won’t take more than an hour.”
Montgomery turned to Carscadden, who rose to his feet.
“Your Honour, I’d much rather Ms. Dewar ask the questions. She knows the story here a lot better and she’s a compassionate person who prepped the witness. Frankly, I don’t think Mr. Scott is the best person for the job.”
Scott was obviously excited at the opportunity to make Carscadden appear unprofessional, but Montgomery stopped him. “I’m not going to say I disagree with you, Mr. Carscadden, but Mr. Scott knows what he’s doing.”
Carscadden wasn’t convinced. “Thank you, Your Honour.” He appraised Madeleine Nastos. Josie was in her arms crying silently and Madeleine wasn’t holding up so well herself. The one time she came to court and it had been a disaster.
WITH COURT DISMISSED, CARSCADDEN BARGED into the hallway wanting to find Dewar. He saw her sneaking out of the woman’s washroom. He grabbed her arm, turning her around to face him. “Ms. Dewar, a moment, please?”
She pulled her arm away and searched the area for spectators, there were none. Carscadden was perplexed that she seemed more concerned with being seen with Carscadden than the fact that he was being rough with her. “Not here.”
Carscadden barked, “My office — I’m going there right now.” He thought about the break-in and it just didn’t feel one hundred percent safe. “No, Frankie’s Restaurant. I have a table in the back.”
Her face wrinkled up. “The mob place?”
“Best pasta in town, no cops, no surprises.”
Dewar brushed her hair back. Scott had appeared, watching her from the end of the hall. “Okay. There’s Scott. I’m going to have a talk with him. Send me a text when you’re ready.”
Carscadden fantasized about punching Scott’s face in. He could nearly feel his knuckles aching from the man’s jaw, and it felt awesome.
AS DEWAR DREW CLOSER TO Scott, she saw that Koche was there too. “Mr. Scott, can I have a moment of your time, please?”
He shared a smile with Koche. “I thought you were sick — go home.”
Dewar began, “That was insulting to me, the way you did that.”
“What’s insulting is that I had to do it for you. You’re an embarrassment.”
Dewar spoke through gritted teeth. “That breach — he was helping a scared little girl.”
Koche stepped up to Dewar, speaking right in her face. “What’s the big deal, you dating her mom or something?”
“Shove it up your ass, Koche,” she replied.
Scott tried to pull in his dog. That last thing he wanted was a public spectacle. “Easy, easy. Koche, give us a few minutes.”
Koche slunk back to the desk behind him, where two court officers were sitting. He didn’t notice them leave like he had the plague when he had his back to them. “Okay, okay. I’ll be right over here.”
Dewar took a moment and began a new attack on Scott. “The public perception of breaching Nastos on this matter will backfire. It makes us appear inhuman. The jury will consider that and —”
“Look, it was a freebie. In this business, you take them for all they’re worth. It was an opportunistic tactical edge. Now he’s in jail. He might be more inclined to make a deal. That’s what we want: a confession. It’s better for the police service and our department if he owns up to this. We don’t want John Q. Public thinking that he’s just the guy who got caught. They have to know that this is aberrant behaviour of a rogue cop, not a systemic use of violence to get street justice.”
“It’ll backfire. I’m in the trenches reading this jury every day. What seems good from the outside where you were is not the reality of the twelve people who are not convinced that the guy who murdered a child molester needs to be punished for it. You assigned me, you should trust —”
“I assigned you, but you obviously still need guidance. Now, be a big girl, take your lumps and get back at it Monday morning. I’m sure if you think it over you’ll see that it was the right thing to do. Anything else?”
She said “no” like she was saying “screw you.”
“Good.”
Koche saw that the conversation was wrapping up and came back over to gloat some more. “You done, Jeff? Let’s go grab a bite. I could use a tuna sandwich.” He turned to Dewar. “I hear that’s your favourite.”
“Enjoy it, it’s probably the closest a guy like you can get to the real thing.” She sneered at him.
“What did you just say?”
“Face it, Dave. I can get girls a guy like you could only dream about.”
Koche’s face flushed red, but Dewar stood her ground.
Scott conceded. “There’s no denying that one, Dave. She’s probably converted more women than we could count. But on the bright side — maybe while Nastos is in jail he’ll have a conversion of his own.”
Koche smiled. “Yeah, whether he wants to or not. I can’t wait to hear how that plays out.”
22
HIS WRISTS AND ANKLES WERE cuffed with the links fed through a long floor chain, which in turn linked him to half a dozen other prisoners. Nastos walked in small, measured paces toward the paddy wagon. They were in a large garage, dark from a lack of windows with guards by the doors. He could smell sweet, poisonous diesel exhaust from the armoured vehicle; it was thick in the air, along with an odour of stale tobacco.
It was a surreal moment in his life, almost like an out-of-body experience. He was going to go to jail, possibly for the next twenty years. It was not part of any plan; he had rarely even allowed himself to make contingencies for such a thing. It just wasn’t supposed to happen like this at all. He was supposed to get off the charges and go home with his family, lawsuit and financial settlement pending, pension intact, integrity restored. This, though, was a nightmare. If there was a demographic that had a rougher time in jail than pedophiles, it was cops — even if they had murdered pedophiles. Jail was not a place of fine distinctions or cleverly parsed legal arguments; it was a place where you were beaten down emotionally and every so often, physically.
He followed the chain to the back of the vehicle, then, as the prisoner in front of him did, he stepped up on a precarious narrow step and ducked to enter the small caged place.
A guard shoved him forward at that moment, cordially inviting him to “try not to bump your head,” as he landed face first on the metal seat inside. Nastos untangled himself from the chain and crawled up to the bench seat.
A second guard shouted to the first. “Hey, easy, he’s the guy that killed the molester.”
“Oh, really?” the first guard replied. “Hey, sorry, pal, keep up the good work, there’s lots more where you’re going.”
Other prisoners piled into the back next to Nastos. Black, Hispanic, white, all of them much younger, many covered in tattoos. The heavy, armoured door was heaved shut, casting them all in total darkness, until the fluorescents slowly flickered to life.
“You killed the molester?” the Hispanic next to him asked.
Nastos didn’t want to answer, but he didn’t want to not answer either. “Me? I’m here for unpaid parking tickets. Lawyer fucked me.” He tried to reveal no emotion when he spoke.
The Hispanic made sure he had everyone’s attention before speaking again, louder, spitting the words out. “I heard that the guy who killed the molester was a cop.”
“Yeah, that’s right,” a second prisoner said, and then a third agreed.
Nastos was all too aware that he was alone and outnumbered. If I can make it to jail, I’ll actually be safer. “Well, that’s not me.” He tried to be confident, to have a steady voice, but his throat was suddenly dry. His hands were sweaty and cold.
“Bullshit, it ain’t you,” the second prisoner replied coolly.
The mob of prisoners was on him immediately. He had been punched in the fa
ce half a dozen times before he could even get his hands up, but by then he was already on the floor, more worried about getting stomped to death. He was taking most of the impact on his flanks and neck. The wind was kicked out of him by a devastating hit to his stomach. When he was eventually able to suck in air, it was scented with a combination of vomit, pine cleaner and feces. There was no thinking anymore. The conscious analytical part of his brain left him and all he could do was writhe on the floor, trying to breathe in and out and protect his face and balls while they tried to kill him.
He became conscious that the truck was moving, then it stopped abruptly, sending the attackers careening and him rolling forward into the wall separating the prisoners from the cab. In police jargon, it was called the Screen Test or Black Dog. Cops used it to settle down unruly passengers. It was called the Screen Test for the waffle pattern it often left on one’s face or Black Dog for the alleged fully legitimate reason why the officer had to take such evasive action in the first place. It was a much lazier approach than having to stop, get out of the truck, go to the back and hose everyone down with pepper spray, which of course would be the next step if they didn’t settle down. Like all of the oldest tricks in the book, Black Dog worked and the other prisoners left Nastos to bleed and suck air in peace.
The guard in the passenger seat leaned foot his feet up on the dashboards and leaned his head back. “Sounds like Dorothy isn’t enjoying the tornado ride out of Kansas.”
“Dorothy?!” The driver snorted. “Not exactly the nickname a guy wants to have where that poor fucker’s going.” The two of them laughed heartily and the truck began to move again. The passenger turned on the radio to cover over the noise from the back; though the melee from before had stopped, now Nastos got the occasional kick or punch to make sure he stayed on the floor. FM 97.3 played Steppenwolf’s “Magic Carpet Ride.”
NASTOS LIMPED INTO THE OPEN cell and collapsed on the vacant lower bunk. The guard behind him tossed a pillow and blanket onto the floor near him, saying, “There’s your shit. Try to play nice from now on.” With a hand wave Nastos acknowledged his appreciated of this sage advice, then lay back on the bed. It was barely six feet long, maybe twenty inches wide, on a tightly wound metal frame, and it felt like heaven. Nothing was broken, surprisingly enough; it was impressive how much pain a person could feel without actually breaking anything. But his body hurt with every creak of his ribs, whether he breathed or not. His back muscles were locked solid in a contorted position that made it impossible to lie flat, so he stayed in a semi-sideways heap. Most of the bleeding from his face and arms had clotted to a stop and the gouges in his wrists from the handcuffs were already turning purple.