Eye Wit

by Hazel Dawkins

  “If Charles the First had not made a trip to Spain in 1623 in search of a marriage treaty with the Spanish princess, the Enfanta de Castile, we might have been meeting at the Greenwich Avenue Inn,” he intoned. “Such is the British habit of corrupting words, the elegant Spanish name, Enfanta de Castile, became the Elephant and Castle when a publick house was opened in 17th century London. The New York restaurant that opened in 1973––this one––replaced the ‘and’ with an ampersand.”

  “Yes,” Yoko said. For the umpteenth time in Zoran’s now familiar narrative. It was easier to agree with her pedantic colleague and friend than point out he’d told her this before or that those details were on the back of the menu, as she’d discovered a year ago, when she and Dan had met at the Elephant & Castle to talk about the woman Yoko had seen murdered on East 23rd Street, literally in front of her. That hadn’t been exactly a date, but that evening Dan had walked her home and kissed her for the first time. A stolen kiss on the cheek, but the memory of the way his hand caressed her face still created a rush of emotion in Yoko. His deep-set brown eyes with ridiculously long lashes were so close to her own brown eyes that their lashes touched.

  “A butterfly kiss,” Dan had said, promising it would be the first of many.

  She was only dimly listening but realized that Zoran was segueing into what sounded like another pedantic foray into obscure information.

  “Dante tells me that the New York health care proxy form is an important legal document.”

  Yoko blinked. “Yes,” she said. Zoran was circling the topic he wanted to discuss. She’d pay attention. This was important to Zoran.

  “You know that Dan and I have been partnered as detectives at the 13th Precinct for a little over five years.”

  “Yes.”

  “You also know that he is divorced and despite his former wife’s attempt at reconciliation in the recent past, Dan has made it very clear that part of his life is definitely finished.”

  Yoko nodded.

  Indeed she did remember, vividly. Dan had been sheepish, a striking contrast to his usual breezy manner, when he explained that his ex had travelled from Seattle to visit her brother in Philadelphia.

  “She wants to explore getting back together,” Dan explained.

  The news had been a double punch to Yoko’s gut, forcing her to face that she was dangerously close to falling in love with Dan. Yoko’s ex had been the opposite of honest and truthful so Dan’s openness about his ex-wife’s visit was a welcome contrast.

  But Dan hadn’t called during his ex-wife’s visit, a visit that had stretched and stretched beyond a week into a second interminable week. By the time Dan finally did call, Yoko’s hurt had turned to anger. She ignored the messages on her answering machine, even the one that said his ex had flown back to Washington State and he’d been called out of town on police business.

  “Nothing’s changed. I was a fool to let her persuade me it had,” Dan had said. “After she left, I was sent out of town on special training.”

  Sure, Yoko had thought. Sent to a place without telephones.

  The messages had stopped. Then, as Yoko was walking home after work one evening, a police car pulled up at the curb and Dan got out.

  “Thanks for the ride.”

  “Good luck, you’re gonna need it,” the driver said, waving cheerfully at Yoko as he drove off.

  “I was wondering if you’d eaten?” Dan asked.

  He was close enough to Yoko that if he moved another inch or two, his mouth would be on hers. He did lean forward, a butterfly kiss brushed her cheek.

  “Let’s eat, and talk, please, Yoko.”

  How, Yoko wondered, could you feel blissful and miserable at the same time?

  That break-up, the first in a stormy string, happened before the case of the murdered woman was solved, before Yoko became a civilian consultant to the one-three, before she knew any of Dan’s buddies at the precinct. After the fact, Yoko learned how Dan and Vinnie had meticulously planned Dan’s casual appearance as she was walking home. Later, he denied he’d planned on spending the night. More Irish blarney?

  Zoran’s next words brought Yoko back to earth with a bump.

  “Although you and Dan had been spending a great deal of time together at the time of the attempted reconciliation with his former wife,” Zoran continued, “that was when he asked me if I would consent to be his health care agent.”

  “Makes sense,” Yoko said.

  “You are aware that the health care proxy form gives the person chosen as the agent the authority to make all health care decisions for…”

  Yoko interrupted. If she wasn’t careful, they’d be there all night while Dan’s partner explained every last detail about health care proxies.

  “Zoran, I understand what the form means and I appreciate you telling me this but I don’t believe Dan is going to need any health care decisions made for him right now. He’s able to discuss his options with the doctors from here on.”

  Zoran nodded gravely. “Quite. However, I did think it necessary that I make you aware of the situation. When Dan was taken to the hospital, it was clear almost immediately that the need for me to step in as a health care agent was not imminent. Dr. Nicosian, who knew about the content of the health care proxy form, was there with him much of the time. Had there been any question about appropriate treatment, Dante would have acted as an intermediary and brought me the questions from Dan’s doctors. My answers would have been in accordance with Dan’s wishes.”

  “A good strategy,” Yoko said, smiling at the labored explanation from Dan’s OCD partner about why he hadn’t been at the hospital during Dan’s surgery.

  The waiter’s arrival was a welcome interruption. A bottle of Gerolsteiner mineral water was offered to Zoran and when he nodded, the waiter put it on the table––knowing better than to open it. After Zoran had wiped the bottle, opened it and poured himself a glass of the pricey water, Yoko and he picked up their menus. Sometimes they had a meal, sometimes just a drink––wine for Yoko, always the German water for Zoran.

  Now it was Yoko’s turn to share some information with Zoran. “Dan will need months, maybe years of dialysis while he waits for a kidney from a donor,” she explained.

  “I see,” said Zoran. He listened carefully as Yoko told him what Dante had said about dialysis and organ donations.

  Later, Yoko would learn, from a conversation with Dante Nicosian, that as soon as Zoran had returned to the one-three from the restaurant, he’d posted a sign-up sheet for anyone who wanted to donate a kidney. Zoran’s name topped the list.

  “I told him you can’t specify recipients if you want your organs harvested when you die,” Dante told Yoko. “Zoran looked at me like I was a complete idiot. He said, ‘Doctor, that is true for conventional organ donors who sign cards designating their organs as available for donation when they die. That rule does not apply, however, when organs are donated by live donors.’ That blew me away, Yoko, just blew me away. There were at least twenty names on that list, and all of them were from people who volunteered to give up one of their live kidneys to Dan, right now. Know what I did? I added my name to the list. I’m not too proud to admit I learned something. Nothing’s come of the list, unfortunately. We’ve yet to find a doctor or a hospital willing to accept a kidney from a live voluntary donor. They’re all afraid of creating intolerable psychological situations where recipients feel obligated to donors—or where a donor may feel he or she has a right to become too involved in the recipient’s future life, just because he or she donated an organ.”

  Yoko had winced at the “or she” comment, but secretly had been relieved. She had felt she, of all people, should have volunteered a kidney to Dan. But she couldn’t do it; the thought scared her to death. She salved her conscience by telling herself it wouldn’t have done any good, the medical establishment was against it. That was her excuse, pathetic as it was, and by God, she was sticking to it. It didn’t make her feel one bit better.


  Possibly out of a need to assuage her guilt, Yoko took the opportunity to tell Zoran of her conversation with Dante about how difficult it was to donate a kidney while one was still alive.

  “Yes, I have already had that conversation with Dr. Nicosian. It is a shame that doctors and hospitals have grown so suspicious about such matters and so afraid of malpractice suits. Fortunately, Dan is doing well on dialysis and I hope he can receive a suitable kidney soon, through regular channels.”

  Okay, Yoko thought. Let’s move on.

  “Zoran, what’s the latest from the DA’s office?”

  “The case is viewed as watertight,” he said. “I am told that the lawyers for Sophia Fellini and Jessica Ware plan to enter a ‘Not Guilty’ plea.”

  Yoko stared, astonished, then outraged. “I suppose they’ve got the most expensive lawyers in New York, no, wait, the country, guaranteed to get anyone off, guilty or not.”

  “In actual fact, the plea of ‘Not Guilty’ merely indicates that the lawyers have not had time to gather and review pertinent information,” Zoran said. “The defense needs time to look over the evidence to see if there is a defense. After the arraignment, the first hearing, then the person accused of a crime can always change his or her mind and plead guilty.”

  “Oh, that makes me feel a little better.”

  “Neither Johnnie Cochran nor F. Lee Bailey would be able to obtain a verdict of ‘Not Guilty’ in this case,” Zoran said firmly.

  Yoko grinned, Zoran actually said “Johnnie,” though that really was the name of one of the lawyers who’d led the high profile defense team in the O. J. Simpson murder case. Still, it was the first time she’d ever heard Zoran come close to using a contraction. She tucked the tidbit away to share with Dan.

  “Jessica Ware faces multiple charges. First, there is indisputable DNA evidence of the attack on a New York policeman,” Zoran said. “This would have been fatal had help not been immediately to hand. That attack left one of New York’s finest in need of dialysis and an eventual organ transplant. Second, there is the confession by Jessica that she did indeed shoot Marco Fellini and leave him to die, knowing that the placement of the arrow would be fatal without prompt help. Again, the DNA evidence cannot be set aside. Third, there is the confession by Jessica that she also shot the hot-air balloonist, Hans Reiniger. That attack is in a different category, not premeditated. Debate continues over her attack on Dan in the tunnel, was it spontaneous? At this time, it is questionable whether Hans Reiniger will live or what health issues he may face. When Jessica saw a hot-air balloon overhead and realized that the person in it saw her shoot Fellini, her reaction was spontaneous. She calls that shooting self-preservation. ”

  “Confessions are sometimes withdrawn.”

  “It has been known. Frequently, that happens when force has been used to obtain a confession. However, it is clear that Jessica Ware is suffering from conscience, and she claims pressure from the wife led her to her horrific actions. Sophia Fellini will do all she can to refute the charges against her, despite sworn testimony from Jessica. Fortunately, there is ample evidence that the wife did indeed coerce Jessica, knowing full well it was murder.”

  “Do you think they both will be sentenced?”

  “I have heard that the defense attorney may negotiate with the prosecutor to have the charges reduced.”

  “Reduced? How can that be?”

  “The case may start out as a murder charge, either first or second degree. After negotiation, this may wind up as an agreed plea to manslaughter. That would be a position of compromise,” Zoran said. “The defense and prosecutor may agree to such a compromise, each of them disliking it. The fact is, if they go to trial, the prosecutor might not get his murder charge and the defense might actually win with a defense of coercion. New York State, which is represented by the office of the District Attorney, may not want to take the chance of the defense winning and perhaps would counter with an offer of ‘manslaughter.’”

  “So will there be a compromise? A negotiated plea?”

  “Quite possibly. Dozens of different combinations of possible charges and outcomes exist in such a scenario. It depends on the facts. A settlement might be murder two, reduced from the original charge of murder one. Or the plea might be reduced to reckless endangerment, which is a misdemeanor. As you know, homicide is the legal term for a killing. However, the names of offenses describing the culpability for homicides might range from aggravated murder, murder one, murder two, manslaughter one or even manslaughter two, depending on the statutory set up.”

  “That’s about all I can handle of legal jousting,” Yoko said. “Let’s hope Sophia and Jessica get their just reward in this lifetime or the next. My vote is for this lifetime.”

  That evening, Yoko remembered to tell Dan about Zoran’s use of a contraction—well, not really a contraction, more of a lack of formality in referring to Johnnie Cochran. Dan laughed. His kidneys were damaged but his sense of humor was intact.

  “That’s almost as funny as the expression on the chief’s face when I turned in my report,” Dan said. “Escape tunnels and rare hunting arrows and Gypsy balloonists. The chief looked over his cheaters at me, ‘Hollywood script?’ he asked. We laughed so hard the rest of the office demanded in on the joke.”

  Dan spooned more of broth into his bowl from the shabu-shabu Yoko had prepared.

  “Mmm, this is good. Where’d you get the beef?”

  “Where I always get it, the Polish eatery next to my building, the KK, remember? Oscar is happy to supply prime beef, sliced paper-thin, for the man he calls the best cop in the city.”

  Dan grinned. “Almost worth getting hit with a hunting arrow,” he said and fished out a slice of the beef and some of the vegetables that had simmered in the water and turned it into a delicious broth.

  “Did this take you long to make?”

  “Shabu-shabu doesn’t take much preparation. I only had to slice the veggies and order the beef from Oscar.”

  When she’d filled the electric shabu-shabu pot with water, Yoko had put it on the table and turned it on so the water heated while she sliced veggies. She prepared two plates of veggies and beef, one went on Dan’s side of her small dining table, the other on her side. As soon as the water in the pot was bubbling, they put in some veggies and a slice or two of beef and then fished pieces out to see if they were cooked enough.

  The question was, inevitably, “Is that the slice of beef I put in or is it yours?”

  “What’s mine is yours,” was the invariable answer.

  The meal was so filling that they didn’t have room for dessert mochi, that tasty treat made by steaming then pounding rice into thick squares. Heated, a thin mochi square puffs up into a muffin lookalike with a crisp crust.

  “Mochi will be perfect for breakfast,” Yoko told Dan.

  38

  Months later, Dan, Zoran and Yoko listened as charges were read out against Sophia Fellini and Jessica Ware in the Manhattan Criminal Court at 100 Centre Street. Yoko watched the wealthy socialite face the prosecuting attorneys as haughtily as ever, concealing any hint of remorse—if indeed she felt any. Her attire was immaculate, her makeup flawless. She and Jessica had been held in separate jail cells since their arraignment and now, during the trial, the two women shared a small but nicer holding cell behind the courtroom. Yoko had wondered how Sophia had fared these many months without the lavish comforts of home. Obviously, the socialite’s disdain for the great unwashed had not been diminished by the experience.

  Dan testified first, followed by Zoran, then Yoko. The courtroom hushed as the story of multiple attacks unfolded. Dan told how he had been shot, how he heard Sophia Fellini congratulating Jessica Ware on her marksmanship, firmly establishing that the two women were working together. Zoran and Yoko told how Jessica had shot and hit Zoran as well, explaining that he had survived only because the small piece of slate he’d picked up from the floor of the roof-top archery run, then wrapped with several layers of Purell
sanitary wipes and placed in his inside jacket pocket, behind several spare handkerchiefs, had prevented his chest from being impaled by the arrow.

  The OCD detective also explained in meticulous fashion how he had deduced that one loose piece of slate, the only loose piece in the entire run, had been dislodged by Jessica Ware when she accidentally dropped the bow. Its tip had struck the slate, dislodging the piece he had picked up. He explained that the mark he noted on the slate was later determined to match the epoxy material on both ends of the bow used to kill Marco Fellini.

  Challenged on cross-examination as to how he could have deduced all that from one small piece of slate, Zoran simply said that he made a point of looking for things that were out of place. As a detective, that was how he always approached a crime scene, and that in this case, his ability to notice and comprehend such minutia also had saved his life.

  In his usual exacting manner, Zoran walked the jurors through the chain of reasoning that enabled him to see through Jessica’s alibi for the morning that Marco Fellini was killed: the dust on his shoes when he was on the rooftop, how Jessica Ware’s shoes had no such dust, how he had noticed a distinctive smell—that of nail polish remover—after shaking hands with Jessica Ware when interviewing her.

  “It was obvious to me that she had used nail polish remover to clean her shoes that morning after being up in the archery run where she shot Marco Fellini in the back with one of the distinctive and highly dangerous hunting arrows that she had removed from the display case in the study.

  “It was then apparent,” Zoran went on, “that Jessica Ware had been very careful to keep to her normal routine of picking up her tea and muffin at her usual coffee shop, the establishment owned by someone named Pete, which is in the same block as the Fellini brownstone. Once she had established to other diners and the staff that she was seated and enjoying her tea and muffin, she made it clear that she needed to use the bathroom of the coffee shop. However, as soon as she was out of sight, she exited the back door of the establishment, climbed their fire escape to the roof, and then hurried across to the archery run on the roof of the Fellini brownstone. This happened at the precise moment when Marco Fellini was examining the ten target arrows he had just shot into the target.