Malovo listened but there were no sounds other than the dripping of water on stone and the far-off rumble of a subway train. Cautiously she crept in, with her men following. She turned to the right, where, she’d been told, Grale kept his prisoner. That’s when she saw the tall robed figure rise from a chair, and the cowering creature next to him.
She raised the submachine gun she’d taken from Rolles’s man. But just as she was about to shoot, a blinding painful blast of light seared into her brain, stunning her.
Instantly, she knew what had happened. Someone had turned on a very bright light, overwhelming the night-vision goggles. She and her men tore the devices from their heads, but it did no good. They were essentially blind.
All three started shooting wildly in the direction they believed Grale had been standing, and then randomly about the cavern. It was of little use.
Malovo felt a net drop over her that quickly tightened, pinning her arms at her sides, while strong, rough hands grabbed her. As her vision returned, she looked down at the ground and saw her two accomplices lying in pools of blood, their throats slit.
Stunned, she looked up at the platform and saw three men who made her blood run cold. The first was her attorney Bruce Knight, who said, “I’m afraid I have to resign as your counsel.”
The second was Andrew Kane, who laughed insanely before blurting out, “Welcome to my nightmare!”
And the last was David Grale, who held up a collar and a leash. He pointed to the ground next to his overstuffed chair. “Make yourself at home; you’re going to be here for a while.”
Far above the cavern, Halloween trick-or-treaters and partygoers stopped in their tracks as a woman’s scream rose from the sewers and echoed down the subway tunnels. Many years later on Halloween nights, they would still be telling the tale of how their blood had curdled at that cry of sheer terror.
37
THE MORNING AFTER HALLOWEEN THERE WAS NO REST FOR the wicked or the just in Judge Temple’s courtroom. The day began in the judge’s chambers, where Rottingham objected to Karp’s plan to call Nonie Ellis to the stand, accusing Karp of “sandbagging” him.
As Karp listened to his counterpart complain vociferously, he thought about the whole turn of events since court adjourned the day before. As soon as the jury was out of the courtroom, Ellis had been taken into custody; read her rights, which she waived; and then escorted to the District Attorney’s Office.
Just to play it safe, Karp called defense attorney Belinda Morrow King, who had been retained to represent David Ellis on the morning of his murder, to come in and talk to Nonie before proceeding. In the meantime, he got the lowdown from Marlene on how the fugitive just happened to show up in court and take a seat next to his wife.
Marlene explained that after he left for court that morning, she’d received a text from an unknown number asking to meet her at the Housing Works Bookstore. “I had no idea who it was from,” she said. “I’ve met lots of people there, including David Grale. But it was Nonie.”
Ellis said she’d been staying at an East Village shelter under an alias and following the trial in the newspapers. When she saw that LaFontaine might testify, she told Marlene, she decided that she wanted to attend the trial. However, she wasn’t sure she was ready to turn herself in, and so she was hesitating.
“I was pretty sure that if she came and listened to that liar, she would come around,” Marlene told him. “So I suggested she wear a disguise and that if she was afraid, she could sit next to me. I was as surprised as anyone when she popped up and revealed her identity.”
King had met with Nonie in one of the DAO interview rooms. When the defense attorney came out, she shook her head and said, “It’s your lucky day, Karp. She wants to plead guilty to reckless manslaughter and is willing to testify against LaFontaine. She’ll give you a statement now.”
Before leaving for the parade, Karp had called Judge Temple at his home and asked for the hearing in the morning, expecting resistance from Rottingham. King had agreed to come, too, and backed up Karp’s story that her client had indeed been a fugitive and only in that eleventh hour agreed to turn herself in. The judge then ruled that Ellis could be called by the People as a rebuttal witness.
Her appearance on the stand had been devastating to LaFontaine’s defense. She not only supported the testimony of Monique Hale, clearly demonstrating how the defendant operated to gain the trust of his victims and then control them with threats of losing the “miracles he promised,” but also added to it. “He said that Micah’s death was because my husband, David, had lost faith and wanted to go back to the doctors,” she testified tearfully.
When she was finished, Karp asked, “Mrs. Ellis, will you walk out of this courtroom today a free woman?”
Nonie shook her head. “No. I pled guilty to reckless manslaughter. I’ll be going to prison.”
“Were you offered any sort of deal or other consideration in exchange for your testimony?”
“Only that you would tell the judge at my sentencing if I told the truth.”
As Nonie, visibly shaking with tears streaming down her face, stepped down from the witness box, LaFontaine suddenly shouted, “It is a mortal sin to bear false witness!”
The comment brought Nonie up short. But instead of letting it tear her down more, she seemed to gain strength from it. “Lying is not the sin I will answer for,” she replied so that the jurors heard her clearly. “Lying and murdering children are your sins, and I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes when you are brought before God.”
Nonie Ellis was the last witness, and they broke early for lunch. “When we return,” Judge Temple instructed the jurors, “the attorneys, beginning with Mr. Rottingham and ending with Mr. Karp, will deliver their final summations, after which I will charge you on the law and you will then begin your deliberations.”
During the lunch break, Karp retreated to his office, where he found Espey Jaxon and Jen Capers waiting. New Yorkers had woken up to the news that once again, they and their iconic city had been the target of terrorists. The newspapers and television stations fell over themselves to describe what they knew, and some of what they didn’t, about the attack on the Halloween parade, which they reported had specifically been aimed at District Attorney Roger Karp.
Six men dressed in wolf costumes and wearing suicide vests had been apprehended; another six had been arrested in a nearby apartment building before they could join in. The thwarting of the attack had been lauded by government press secretaries as a prime example of cooperation between federal and local law enforcement agencies.
In another loosely related incident, the press reported that a man at first believed to be the wanted killer David Grale had been taken into custody near Karp’s float but had been released shortly after when his true identity was learned. “I don’t know where they got that … whoop whoop … Grale stuff, never met the man. I was just having fun, minding my own … [expletive deleted] … business when the cops grabbed me,” the Times quoted Warren Bennett as saying.
The police were still trying to determine if the murder of a man, whose identity was not being released pending notification of kin, on the parade route at Sixth Avenue and 8th Street was related to the terrorist act, according to the Post. Some witnesses claimed that the man’s assailant was a tall blond woman wearing a Little Red Riding Hood costume, who had last been seen running north.
The media had not found out about the bodies of four men found in the East River. They’d been a topic of conversation in Karp’s office that morning before the hearing in the judge’s chambers. Two of the bodies were the two agents with the National Inter-Departmental Security Administration who had worked with Rolles on the Liberty Ferry mission; the other two were Russians with long criminal histories.
“I would guess they’re some of Grale’s work,” Jaxon said. He’d looked over at Jen Capers, who’d been quiet since arriving in the office. The pair had essentially agreed to look the other way and allow Malovo to escape, w
hich rankled Capers maybe more than Jaxon, as the U.S. Marshals service prided itself on never losing prisoners. But they both knew that if not for the deal Karp told them he made with Grale, Malovo would have gone into the WITSEC program and there would have been no chance to keep her from walking away and continuing her murderous endeavors.
“Do you think Grale will live up to his part of the bargain?” Capers said at last.
Karp thought about it for a moment and then nodded. “David Grale is many things, including a serial killer,” he said. “But he is also a man of his word. I think he will. When, I don’t know.”
The lunch hour passed too quickly and it was time to head back to court, where Rottingham first tried to convince the jurors that the prosecution had failed to prove its case. His client was being persecuted, he said, for his religious beliefs.
“He believes that God, not doctors, heals and is the ultimate arbiter of who lives and dies,” the defense attorney argued. “He expressed that belief to other people, such as the Hales and the Ellises, and then gave of himself to pray alongside their sick children. And for this, the district attorney wants to put him in prison for murder.”
Rottingham shook his head as if he could not believe this travesty of justice. “And because some of his congregation were so pleased with his efforts—and I’d point out that they included the Hales and Ellises—they rewarded him with gifts and donations. But the district attorney says that somehow that makes him a murderer.”
Pacing slowly across the jury box, Rottingham suddenly stopped. “But did Reverend LaFontaine stop these people from going to doctors? Did he tie them up? Did he threaten them with a gun? Or was it their choice? Their decision. Who is guilty of not providing proper care for their children, the parents or a man who asked God to help them?”
Rottingham had gone on along the same tangent for a half hour before making his final argument that if anyone had committed a crime—“and I put it to you that the district attorney would be hard-pressed to prove this case, too”—it was Holstein and Bernsen.
As he spoke, LaFontaine kept a wounded expression on his face, occasionally wiping a hand across his eyes. Then as Rottingham finished his summation and began to walk back to his seat, LaFontaine wiped at his eyes. “God bless you, my brother,” he called out.
Karp frowned and stood to deliver his summation, changing his opening on the spot in response to LaFontaine’s remarks. “Words come easily to some people,” he said as he turned toward the defense table and pointed at the accused, “especially to that man, who wields words like weapons. Not as sharp as a knife, nor as brutal as a bullet, but just as effective, and for Micah Ellis, just as deadly.”
For a long moment, Karp let his words sink in as he stared down at LaFontaine, who couldn’t hold his gaze and looked away. Karp then walked slowly out into the well of the court until he stood in front of the jurors, gathering his thoughts for the final push. He began, piece by piece, going over the evidence and testimony, until he ended with Nonie Ellis.
“Mr. LaFontaine was fond of calling all of these people liars,” Karp said. “But let’s examine who’s the liar here. Would it be paramedic Don Bailey or Sergeant Trent Sadler? And what would Dr. Holstein gain by lying? He’s admitted his culpability in the fraud and lost his wife, his freedom, and his medical license in the process. And why would Monique Hale lie? Revenge of a scorned woman? She was hiding in her house in Memphis when investigators found her and convinced her that LaFontaine needed to be stopped before more mothers lost their children. And what about Nonie Ellis? Why didn’t she just keep moving? Why come back and plead guilty to reckless manslaughter and face years in prison? So that she could lie about this man she had given her soul to?”
Karp held up his arm and pointed to LaFontaine. “There is only one liar in this tragedy, and he’s sitting at the defense table.”
Dropping his arm, Karp shrugged. “Mr. Rottingham would have you believe that there’s a question of whether a crime was even committed,” he said. “But I assure you that there was and that its chief perpetrator, the defendant, knew what he was doing. Why else erase the medical records of children from the hospital computer files if not to prepare the way for insurance fraud? And what would it take to collect on that fraud?”
Karp walked over to the prosecution table and picked up a school photograph of Micah Ellis. “It took the long, slow, horrific, terrifying, painful death of this frightened child whose parents had been convinced by that man,” he said, pointing at LaFontaine, “to not seek medical help and place their faith in him. That man counted on a child’s death so that he could collect on an insurance policy.”
Karp put the photo down. “But the defense also wants to hedge its bet. Mr. Rottingham would like you to believe that even if the crime of murder was committed, there’s no proof that his client was responsible. But who knocked on the doors of vulnerable parents, armed with the knowledge of their child’s disease and the family’s history, and then callously used that information to convince them that only he, as God’s emissary, could provide a ‘miracle’ that would save their child? And who stood in front of the paramedics and police officers rushing to save a sick child? The defense would point at Frank Bernsen. But Sergeant Sadler, who has no reason to lie, said it was the defendant who was in charge, and the defendant who motioned for his man to attack. That same man incited the crowd to confront the men trying to load the dying boy in an ambulance.
“And that same man incited the crowd across the street from this courthouse last April until a lonely widow named Kathryn Boole, who had never committed a crime in her entire life, pulled a gun from her purse and, yelling, ‘Judas,’ killed David Ellis. And what a windfall her subsequent death proved to be for Mr. LaFontaine and his simple lifestyle.”
Karp returned to the prosecution table and picked up the manila folder containing LaFontaine’s criminal record. “Until that moment, Kathryn Boole was a model citizen. But not John LaFontaine. He has a criminal history as long as my arm, a violent history, a history of robbery, larceny, and fraud, including impersonating a police officer—pretending to be something he is not. And I would put it to you today, ladies and gentlemen,” Karp said as he walked over to stand in front of LaFontaine, “that this man is still pretending to be something he is not.”
Karp turned back to the jurors. “I believe that if you piece together all that you’ve heard and all that you’ve seen, and all that you will see in the deliberation room, you cannot help but conclude that as surely as a knife or a bullet, John LaFontaine’s words and actions ended the life of Micah Ellis.”
Karp looked from one juror to the next, saw tears in their eyes and their mouths set grimly. “The People are asking you to return a verdict of murder because we now know beyond any and all doubt, from the evidence, that this defendant acted under circumstances evincing a depraved and wicked indifference to human life by recklessly and deliberately deceiving and lying to claim that he was a man of God, all the time plotting the death of a child. And how do we know he evinced this depraved indifference? Remember the testimony of AME Dr. Gail Manning and pediatric oncologist Dr. Charles Aronberg as they described the torment and fear Micah went through, without so much as an aspirin to relieve the pain, before he died. And why did he have to face such a horrible death at the hands of the defendant? For the most venal, despicable, and depraved reason of all … money.”
One last time, Karp faced LaFontaine and then walked back to the jury rail. “Ultimately, each one of us will face final judgment, and how ironic it will be for this defendant who pretended to be a man of God. He mocked the very content of the Bible he was thumping. How will he answer when he is judged by Him and asked, ‘For what shall it profit a man, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his soul?’”
EPILOGUE
BUTCH KARP SAT ALONE ON THE BENCH SET BACK FROM THE subway platform, staring across two sets of tracks at the wall opposite. Colored tiles set into a white tile background proclaimed that this
was the South Ferry station, the southernmost on the island of Manhattan.
A little farther down the platform, Fulton talked quietly with Capers and Jaxon; beyond them four plainclothes cops waited. Every once in a while the others glanced his way, but for the most part they left him alone with his thoughts.
Karp glanced at his watch—it was one A.M.—and sighed. It had been a long day, beginning with the sentencing of John LaFontaine.
It had taken only six hours of deliberation before the jury had returned a guilty verdict. Standing as the jury foreman read the decision, LaFontaine had suddenly started cursing the jurors, the judge, and particularly Karp with a stream of invective that surprised even those who had not believed him to be a man of God. But then the rant had suddenly stopped as LaFontaine clutched at his chest and crumpled to the ground, his face turning purple as he fought for air.
“A doctor,” he begged. “Get a doctor.”
LaFontaine had survived the heart attack and today, two months later, was brought before the court for its judgment. This time he sat sullenly in his seat, occasionally glaring hatefully at Karp, while Judge Temple listened to his lawyer plead for leniency. Calling LaFontaine a “despicable human being,” the judge sent him away for the maximum allowable, life with a mandatory minimum of twenty-five years.
As for Nonie Ellis, Judge Temple had given her a three-year suspended sentence. Part of her probation was that she work at the East Village Women’s Shelter.
One of the bigger surprises was that Karp learned that Bruce Knight had reported himself to the New York State Bar Association for violating attorney-client privilege with his erstwhile client Nadya Malovo. Karp had informed the bar hearing officer about the beneficial role that Knight had played in preventing the terrorist attack. The bar determined that Knight would keep his license and set up a program to teach newly admitted lawyers a course in ethics at state bar headquarters in Manhattan.
Bad Faith Page 30