Eight in the Box

by Raffi Yessayan

  Andi looked down at her watch. It was 2:30 and class was over. She had missed the entire class discussion. She glanced at Professor Olsen, accidentally making eye contact. He knew she’d spaced out during the whole class. She could tell from the look on his face. He gave a fake smile and motioned with his head toward the door. He wanted to see her in his office. Shit. She could point out that she’d started the discussion. That obviously didn’t matter to him, though. She should have skipped class altogether. She could have done some work on her motion and she wouldn’t be in trouble with her favorite professor. But she couldn’t skip his class today because she’d missed it all last week. She wasn’t looking forward to this meeting.

  CHAPTER 45

  Connie sat still as Judge Catherine Ring read her findings on Jesse Wilcox’s motion to suppress. Her decision was staggering and Connie felt his jaw tightening. Behind him in the gallery, Jesse Wilcox stifled a laugh. Judge Ring had allowed the defense attorney’s motion and suppressed all of the drugs in his apartment. Luckily she couldn’t suppress the drugs and gun that Wilcox threw out the window into the neighbor’s yard or Connie would have had to dismiss the case.

  Connie waited until Judge Ring was off the bench before he made a move for the exit. He shoved the courtroom door open with both hands.

  Alves caught up with him. “Calm down, Connie,” he said, following a few steps behind.

  “What the hell was that all about?” Connie said, his voice edging toward a shout.

  “I’m as mad as you are,” Alves said. “She’s a liberal judge. We both knew that going in.”

  “This has nothing to do with being liberal on the law. This has to do with your credibility. She’s saying that you lied, that you just busted into that apartment with no lawful purpose. She knows you went to that apartment for a domestic call. Shit, I even played the nine-one-one for her. You get there. You hear a woman screaming. A baby crying. You break the door in. What were you supposed to do?”

  “I did everything the right way.”

  “I tried to tell her that, but she didn’t listen,” Connie said. “Then she suppresses all the drugs he had in the house, including the crack he tried to hide in the baby’s diaper. The kid not more than a year old with a diaper full of jums. What’s wrong with that bitch?”

  “She’s a Dukakis appointment. Remember the Massachusetts Miracle?” Alves was trying to calm him down. “The only miracle is that none of the guys she’s let out of jail have killed anyone yet. Maybe we can try to impeach her.”

  Connie shook his head. “She’s rich and her husband’s too powerful. She never set foot in Roxbury before becoming a judge. I heard she got lost trying to find the courthouse on her first day. She thinks she’s doing the inner city a favor by setting criminals free. She doesn’t care if they’re gangbangers or drug dealers. What’s it to her? She’s going home to her big house in Weston at the end of the day.”

  “What about taking her up on appeal?” Alves asked.

  “I don’t think so. She was smart enough to make her decision based on credibility, not on an issue of law.. She basically said that she didn’t believe that you heard any noise coming from the apartment. And since Wilcox’s girlfriend took the stand and said there was nothing going on, Judge Ring had conflicting testimony to justify her ruling. Appellate courts never question a motion judge’s credibility determinations. Besides, Wilcox’s got a private attorney. If we take it up and lose, my office has to pay for his attorney’s fees. That ain’t happening. Basically she believed a coke whore over a BPD Homicide detective.”

  “What’s next?”

  “Our only option is to go to trial with the stuff he threw out the window and hope we win. We don’t have a date yet. We’re looking at late May or early June.”

  “Well, let’s hope we don’t draw her as a judge.” Alves shook Connie’s hand and headed for the stairs.

  It bothered Connie to see Alves’s credibility hurt in court. Alves was a man of integrity. This wasn’t just a game to him. He took his job seriously.

  “Hey, Mr. Darget. Better luck next time.”

  Connie turned to see Jesse Wilcox smiling as he stepped out of the courtroom with his lawyer. Wilcox was sporting a loud, thick-striped shirt—yellow and lime green—probably from the Pink store downtown, with baggy jeans and brand-new Timberland boots. The vein near Connie’s temple throbbed. He wanted to kick the punk’s ass, and he knew he could, but he had to remind himself that they were in the courthouse hallway and he was a prosecutor. Wilcox knew he’d knocked Angel Alves’s reputation around. And Connie didn’t like it. “This one’s not over yet, Jesse,” Connie said.

  “It was over before it started.” Wilcox laughed.

  “What does that mean?” Connie took measured steps toward Wilcox.

  “Shut up, Jesse,” his lawyer said. He grabbed Wilcox’s arm, leading him toward the stairs. “Let’s go.”

  “Sorry, Mr. Darget, my lawyer says I gotsta go.”

  Connie had done the right thing staying calm, but Jesse Wilcox was a little too happy and a little too cocky.

  CHAPTER 46

  Andi Norton poked her head into Professor Roger Olsen’s office. He was on the phone but gestured for her to take a seat.

  It was hard to say how old Professor Olsen was, his closely cropped hair the color of galvanized nails. His skin was dusty-looking, his hands elegant with their long fingers—piano fingers, as Andi’s mother would say. He had the habit of adjusting his steel-rimmed glasses—tight to his face, if he was pleased, down toward the end of his long nose, if he was not. Right now his glasses were so far toward the end of his nose Andi couldn’t figure out how they were clinging to his face. Professor Olsen had become her mentor since she’d taken his Criminal Procedure class her first year of law school. The last thing she wanted to do was disappoint him.

  “Hello, Andi. How are you doing?” he said as he hung up the phone.

  “I’m doing fine.” She could tell he was trying to exchange pleasantries before getting into what he really wanted to talk about.

  “How’s Rachel?” he said. He was one of the few people at school who knew about her daughter. Outside of a small circle, her private life was private.

  “Fine,” she said. “She’s a handful.”

  “How old is she now?”

  “Three.”

  “That’s great. I remember when my Ally was that age. It’s a wonderful age.”

  “Look, Professor, I know you didn’t call me in here to talk about my daughter and how things are going for me at home. So feel free to get to the real reason you wanted to see me.”

  “I didn’t mean to upset you by asking about Rachel,” he said, leaning forward in his chair, “but I assure you, my concern for her is genuine. Are you all right, Andi? You sound stressed.”

  “I’m fine. And I didn’t mean to snap at you, but I know there’s another reason you called me up here.”

  “You’re right, Andi. I want to know what’s been going on with you lately.”

  “I apologize for not getting involved in class today, but I was thinking about a motion I have coming up in court.”

  “Your lack of involvement in today’s class discussion is the least of my concerns. After your initial comment, you weren’t even paying attention. Be thankful I didn’t call on you and embarrass you. You’re lucky I know you well enough to recognize that your recent behavior is out of character.”

  “I’m sorry, Professor, but I’ve been busy with the DA’s office. It’s exciting getting a chance to handle my own cases.”

  “That’s great, but you’re not a lawyer yet. And if you flunk out of law school, you’ll never become one. I wouldn’t be making such a big deal out of it if your performance in class today was an isolated incident, but this isn’t the first time it’s happened this semester. Last week you never made it to class.”

  “I was held on a jury trial all week. The jury was out deliberating for three days.”

  “You mean you
missed all your classes last week?”

  “Yes, but I had a jury trial and I won.”

  “You can’t just stop coming to school. You’re about to graduate.”

  “But they keep asking me to do more work. I don’t want to say no to anything. I want them to know how much I love the work. I’m hoping to get hired after I graduate.”

  “First of all, if you don’t start coming to school and paying attention in class, you’re not going to graduate. Secondly, the DA’s office isn’t going to hire you just because you graduated from law school. You still have to pass the bar exam. And finally, I told you before that the people you’re working with now aren’t going to be making any hiring decisions in that office. The district attorney is a politician and his decisions are politically motivated. I’m glad that you’re doing a good job over there, and that will certainly help when the DA asks his people about you, but his final decision will come down to who you know rather than what you know.”

  “I still don’t want to disappoint the people I’m working with. I don’t want them to think I’m not a team player.”

  “I understand that too, but when it comes time for me to make some phone calls on your behalf to my friends up on Beacon Hill, it would help if you had decent grades to complement your work experience in the DA’s office. What about the young lawyer you told me about? The one you’ve been seeing. What was his name again?”

  “Connie. Conrad Darget.”

  “Yes, Conrad Darget. He seems to be supportive. Hasn’t he told you to focus on your studies?”

  “I think he assumes that I’m doing my schoolwork. He’s been a big help to me on my cases, always taking time to make sure I’m prepared for court. He’s letting me second-seat him on a big trial in June.”

  “He needs to make sure that you’re prepared for class. You can tell him I said that. Now, I don’t want to belabor the point, I just want you to know that I’m concerned about your grades slipping. I expect this to be a wake-up call. Understood?”

  “Yes, Professor.”

  “Now that we have that out of the way, why don’t you tell me about the motion that kept you from paying attention in class?”

  “It’s a drug case where the police arrested a guy selling heroin to an undercover officer in a school playground. When he was arrested he only had two glassine bags of heroin left in his sock. The officers read him his Miranda rights and asked him where the rest of his stash was. He already had an attorney from a previous drug case, so he asked to speak to that attorney.”

  “You know that the officers had to stop questioning him?”

  “Right. Because I’m familiar with the Christian Burial case.”

  “But they didn’t stop questioning him, did they?”

  “They didn’t really ask any questions. One of the officers said, ‘It would be a shame if a five-year-old kid got ahold of those heroin packets and put some of that poison in his mouth.’ The defendant sat and thought about it for a few minutes before he told the officers that they’d find the stash in a fence pipe near the edge of the playground.”

  “Now, I know you weren’t paying attention in class today, but you do know that the police officer’s statement, although not a question, was meant to elicit a response from the defendant after he had already asked for a lawyer. You know that you’re going to lose the motion, don’t you?”

  “I did think it was a tough one to win. I planned to argue that there was no interrogation and even if the judge did find there was an interrogation, I’d argue that the drugs would have eventually been found because the officers knew the area well.”

  “Andi, whenever a judge hears the ‘inevitable discovery’ argument from a prosecutor, they know it’s an argument of last resort. It sets off bells, telling the judge you don’t have a solid legal argument. Don’t fight too hard with the judge on that one, because you’ll lose your credibility with the court.”

  “But I have to make the argument. I’m not going to concede the fact that the police violated the defendant’s rights. Then I’ll lose my credibility with the cops.”

  “You’re right,” he said as he tilted back in his chair and pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose. “But think, Andi. Even if the stash of drugs is suppressed, you still have a very strong case of illegal distribution of heroin, which is the original offense the defendant was arrested for, right?”

  “Yeah.” Andi felt her face flush. She had overlooked the obvious. The defendant sold to an undercover cop. It’s tough to get a case any stronger than that. She smiled, more a sign of relief than happiness. “So even if the drugs in the fence pipe are suppressed, I still have a case against the defendant and he doesn’t get off scot-free.”

  “Exactly,” he said.

  “I still wish that they hadn’t gotten sloppy by asking him a question after he’d asked to speak to his lawyer.”

  Professor Olsen took off his glasses. “That wasn’t sloppy. It wasn’t just a line to get him to talk. It was good police work. What if a child did find the heroin, and took it or handed it out to his friends? The police officer had to make a split-second decision and he decided it was better to have drugs possibly get suppressed than to lose a child’s life.”

  “I hadn’t thought of it like that.”

  “It’s easy for lawyers and judges to sit in courtrooms surrounded by court officers, metal detectors and security guards and criticize the work of police officers. But those officers are the ones on the street that have to make the tough decisions. As a prosecutor, it’s your job to fight to defend their behavior. Not in every case, but certainly in a case like this, where the police had a genuine concern for public safety. You’re probably going to lose, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t fight. Make it clear that, regardless of what the court finds, the officers would not change their actions if presented with the same situation again.”

  Professor Olsen was right. Her motion wasn’t a chess match with a clear winner and loser. Decisions and actions were more complex than that, some outcomes more important than a win-loss record.

  CHAPTER 47

  Angel Alves sat in the shadows of the last pew. Saint Margaret’s Church in Jamaica Plain was almost empty early on a weekday afternoon. The only other figure was a small woman dressed in black, the light through the stained-glass windows creating an aura of blue as she moved toward the side of the altar.

  He watched as Mrs. Stokes lit one of the candles. The small glass holder flickered with a red flame he could see even from his position at the back of the church. As he watched her kneel at the altar to pray, he knew what she was asking God for. The woman accepted that her daughter was dead. She knew it in her mother’s heart. All she could pray for now was that Robyn’s body would be found and she could give her child a proper burial. With the trust that older people have in authority, Mrs. Stokes believed that the police would find her daughter’s body. That he would bring her little girl home.

  Alves blessed himself and headed out the heavy oak doors into the bright spring sun.

  CHAPTER 48

  Mitch Beaulieu stood next to a stool in his apartment’s small living room. It was just after noon, and the Red Sox were closing in on another victory. The Sox played an early game every Patriots’ Day, Boston Marathon Monday. Mitch wasn’t much into watching sports, but Connie had convinced him to have the guys over. It would help take his mind off work. He had spent most of the weekend cleaning the apartment, which he’d let go for months.

  Lying down with a throw pillow as his headrest, Connie took up most of the couch. Across the room, Brendan was sprawled in a La-Z-Boy chair. Nick was relaxing on a chaise longue Mitch had taken from his father’s house. As a child it had been his favorite reading seat.

  Mitch was trying to enjoy the company, but he was just too nerved up that someone was going to accidentally break a family heirloom or put a drink down on his father’s antique coffee table. He needed to stop obsessing. If he would just let himself relax, he could have fun w
ith this sports party. They were happy with pizza and a fridge full of beer.

  “Hey, Mitch,” Connie said. “Why don’t you have a seat? You’re making me nervous.”

  “I’d rather stand and stretch my legs.” He wanted to be ready in case he needed to make a quick move with a coaster or extra napkins for the greasy pizza.

  “We’re not going to break anything,” Connie said. “Haven’t we all been on good behavior?”

  “I’m not nervous about that. I just feel like standing.”

  Brendan turned to Mitch, holding an empty bottle. “If you’re just going to stand there you may as well make yourself useful and grab me another beer.”

  “What do I look like, your girlfriend?” Mitch joked.

  “She’d be more than glad to get me a beer. C’mon, man. You’re already up, and you are the host.” Brendan laughed.

  “Miller or Bud?”

  “The High Life, of course. The Champagne of Beers. It was the first beer I ever drank as a kid in Southie. We used to sit on the rocks out by Castle Island and share a six-pack and get totally trashed. Those were the days. Hanging out with you guys reminds me of those summer nights, when the biggest concern was getting caught drunk by my mom or throwing up from the bed spins.”

  “From what I’ve seen, you still get trashed from two beers,” Nick said.

  “The Greek kid from Rozzie is going to talk to me about drinking. I tell you what, why don’t you go have a couple of shots of Metaxa and shut the hell up?”

  “How does an Irish guy from Southie even know what Metaxa is? Oh, never mind. Liquor is the one thing the Irish do know about.”