The last of the three new arrivals was also the youngest by twenty years. Gilbert Murrow was a short, slightly pudgy fellow who favored bow ties, plaid vests, and horn-rim glasses. He was a good lawyer—nothing flashy, just thorough—but had proved more valuable as Karp’s aide-de-camp and office manager who kept the calendar and the staff in order.
Since that past spring, he’d also served as the de facto campaign manager for Karp’s election bid. The party had recently made him accept a “professional” campaign manager in order to receive party funding, which had sent Murrow into a sulk for days. Only when Karp brought the new campaign manager into his office and told him that everything political needed to be run through “my chief political adviser, Gilbert Murrow” did the little man perk up. Ever since he’d happily filled his time by overseeing press releases and the efforts to reach out to the media and community.
Upon entering the office, V.T. gravitated over to Kipman. The two came from different backgrounds, but they shared a love for classical music and books, as well as the fine points and subtleties of the law. Guma plopped himself down in a big easy chair by the window and pulled out a cigar to chew on while grousing about the doctors who forbade him to smoke.
Murrow spotted the boxes that Karp had stacked in a corner of the office and wandered over to spin one around and read the filing label: “People vs. Sykes, Davis, Wilson, and Jones,” before turning to Karp with a question mark stamped on his face. But Karp held up his hand and waved him to a chair next to Guma; his questions were going to have to wait.
Karp sometimes thought of this crew in basketball terms. Each man was a great player in his own way, and none was afraid to accept a challenge and take the ball to the hoop. But they all also understood that their main role was to support the big man in the center as a team.
Monday mornings he met with his bureau chiefs. But he liked to bring this particular group of friends and colleagues together an hour earlier to discuss the issues in a setting where they could talk freely, without having to worry about being politically correct, knowing that what was said in the room would stay in the room.
“V.T., you ready?” Karp asked. The main topic he’d wanted to address this morning was Newbury’s continuing probe into allegations of police malfeasance.
Newbury quit thumbing through Kipman’s book and leaned forward in his seat. “As you all know, we’ve been looking into years of allegations of police misconduct, including acts that rise to the level of felonies, which were reviewed either by Corporation Counsel or one of a handful of large, private law firms hired for the purpose of making recommendations on settling cases and whether this office should pursue criminal charges against the officers involved. We also all know that one of these firms was that of our “friend” Andrew Kane.
“So far, we’ve uncovered a pattern in which the Corporation Counsel and a handful of these firms almost automatically recommended that cases be settled with the complaining parties—for more than a hundred million dollars in taxpayer funds, I might add—and then marked the files No Prosecution. The files were then handed over to this office—although I hasten to point out not while our current el jefe was running the show. Anyway, at least two of Butch’s predecessors apparently accepted the recommendations at face value and filed them away, never to be seen again, except that the files were subsequently rediscovered by this office.
“In some cases, we’ve concurred that the allegations were without merit or would now for reasons of the expiration on the statutes of limitations or other difficulties, such as witnesses who have passed, would be impossible to pursue. In those cases, I believe our recommendation will be to keep a close eye on certain officers who seem to have developed a habit of shooting, beating, coercing, or blackmailing the good citizens of this city. We’ve, however, devoted our primary attention to those cases in which criminal charges were warranted and can still be pursued. In point of fact, we’re ready to file on some of these but have been holding off for now at the command of our fearless leader.”
Newbury paused and looked meaningfully at Karp, who finished the thought for him. “I think there’s more to all of this than lazy lawyers not deserving the high fees they charged for recommending that some of these cases be settled and forgotten.” Newbury nodded and continued with his explanation. “We’ve noted that Corporation Counsel Sam Lindahl has, over the course of a dozen years, steered the big enchilada cases to several chosen law firms. Three caught our attention because of their high-profile senior partners and the fact that they all have a history of being anticop, yet here they were recommending that the New York District Attorney’s Office turn a blind eye to obvious misconduct. Something didn’t wash.”
V.T., who occasionally delved into community theater and could ham up a role with the best of them, enjoyed watching Guma, who wasn’t exactly known for his patience, squirm as he built toward the climactic scene. “The three notables are Hugh Louis, who I think we would all be familiar with even if he wasn’t the current media darling due to the Coney Island rape case….”
Without turning his head, Butch knew that Murrow had glanced toward him at the mention of the Coney Island case but he ignored the look.
“…next is Olav Radinskaya, who also happens to be the borough president for Brooklyn and is said to have close ties to the Russian mob. Perhaps our resident authority on gangsters, Mr. Guma, can shed some light on that.”
All eyes turned to Guma, who studied the chewed end of his cigar and shrugged. “Not my people, do go on Mr. Newbury.”
There was a general chuckle from the audience, and Newbury moved to his last name, “Shakira Zulu.” The name elicited a groan from everyone in the room. Born and raised as Sandra Bond, she had changed her name and joined the Black Panther Party in the late 1960s. Karp had personally prosecuted a case in which she was convicted for her role as the getaway driver for bank robbers who killed two off-duty police officers, working as security guards, in cold blood. After the jury came back with the guilty verdict for manslaughter, Zulu had been dragged from the courtroom kicking and screaming that she would someday “kill Karp and all his honky friends and family.”
“I’m sure we all remember how seven years later, Zulu told the parole board that she didn’t mean what she’d said about killing anybody,” Newbury said. “She intended to ‘work for change in this corrupt and racist society’ through legal means.”
After her release from prison, where she’d earned her GED and even took several college credit classes, Newbury noted, Zulu went to New York University and after graduation, to law school in Georgia. “The press was invited to her law school graduation ceremonies, where she consented to a dozen interviews, all of them some version on her mission in life being to ‘take on The Man in his own backyard.’ Ever since, she’s been at the forefront of criticizing this office, as well as DAs throughout the five boroughs, and of course races to sign up any African-American family that feels wronged by the police…if Hugh Louis doesn’t beat her to the punch. And she is, of course, at the forefront of any antipolice rallies, especially if she knows the television crews will be there. So it’s pretty interesting that Shakira, not to mention these other firms who’ve made one side of their living by shafting the police and this office, were given these other cases.”
Newbury paused for dramatic effect before wrapping up his presentation. “However, so far we haven’t been able to make a case that these law firms have done anything illegal in recommending these settlements and recommending that this office not pursue criminal charges against the officers involved,” he said. “After all, this office—and its previous tenants Mr. Bloom and Mr. Keegan—were not obligated to accept the recommendations.”
Karp grimaced at the mention of his predecessor. It didn’t surprise him that Bloom had been a crook from the beginning. In fact, Karp had helped put him in prison, where he remained. However, Jack X. Keegan had been one of his mentors, the head of the famous homicide bureau that he’d aspired to as a y
oung prosecutor. When Keegan replaced Bloom, he’d chosen Karp to be his number two and then recommended that the governor promote him to the top spot when Keegan was appointed a federal judge.
Karp took over from Newbury. “Anyway, I’ve asked V.T. to hold off on pursuing the cases against the cops—at least where we’re not worried about the statute of limitations running out—until we get a handle on how this relationship among the Corporation Counsel, these other law firms, and this office worked. To me, something smells worse than Guma’s old gym socks.”
“Hey, hey…cheap shot, paisan,” Guma complained, though with a smile. “I haven’t been to a gym since they gutted me like a trout.”
As the others in the room chuckled, Murrow cleared his throat to speak. “I’m sorry to be the one who always has to mention the political considerations here, but I do think it’s important to point out that Hugh Louis and Shakira Zulu pretty much control the black vote. Not to mention that Butch is already walking on thin ice with the NYPD because of what happened with Kane’s little cadre of killer cops. Those guys in blue don’t like anybody else cleaning their house. I’m not saying we ignore all this, but perhaps—since we’re delaying things anyway to look at these law firms—if we took our time before we stirred up these hornets’ nests it might help improve Butch’s chances of remaining in this office. We’re less than a year from the election and I think—”
Kipman interrupted Murrow. “And lose a few more of these cases to the passing of time?” he scoffed. “Or, take a chance that some of these people get wind of Newbury and his gang’s line of questioning and skip town? Since when do we let political expediency dictate how this office prosecutes the bad guys?”
Murrow rolled his eyes. “Oh, since about the mid-1800s, if I remember my history of Manhattan,” he said. “I know we’d all like to live in a world where Butch wouldn’t have to walk on eggshells, but I think we all also agree that in the end, it’s keeping him in office that will do the most good for the most people. Pursuing these cases—especially if we end up butting heads with several of the biggest, or at least most vociferous, law firms in the five boroughs—could take years. But if Butch gets tossed out on his ear next November, who’s to say if they don’t just go away again?”
“It’s a matter of principle,” Kipman replied.
“Principles don’t do you any good if you’re on the outside looking in,” Murrow shot back.
Kipman started to retort but Karp interrupted him. “All right, all right, break it up you two,” he said. “I think we’re getting a little ahead of ourselves. I want us to hold off on filing charges against these cops until we see if we can’t find out how this whole thing worked and if there are others who deserve our attention—so long as we don’t lose any of these cases to Father Time.” He looked at Murrow. “We’ll do our best to keep this all low-key, and we won’t go forward against these law firms until we’re sure, but I can’t do my job if I’m hung up over the political ramifications.”
Murrow started to protest, but Karp held up his hand. “Let’s just let this be until we have to deal with it. Right now, we have a staff meeting to get to.”
The others took that as a signal, rose from their seats, and wandered out the door. Murrow hung back until the others had left. He pointed to the boxes. “You want to tell me what those are doing here? A Brooklyn case?” But Karp just clapped him on the shoulder, and said, “All in good time, Gilbert. I appreciate your concern, I really do, but I have to do this my way, understand?” Murrow nodded but Karp knew it was more out of politeness than because he agreed.
The pair walked together into the meeting room, a long, wood-paneled space with paintings of previous New York district attorneys on the walls, an American flag and the flag of New York City in opposite corners, and a long, narrow table in the middle surrounded by black chairs. Karp took a seat at the head of the table with Kipman on one side and Murrow on the other.
The bureau chiefs and their assistants were quietly talking to one another or nervously shuffling their papers, preparing to present their cases for dissection by the others. Karp glanced toward the other end of the table, where Rachel Rachman, the chief of the Sex Crimes Bureau, sat staring glumly at the ceiling as she clenched and unclenched her hands. She’d always had a tendency to dress in neon-bright colors—today a pantsuit the color of a plastic Halloween pumpkin—that belied a personality as devoid of color and warmth as an ice cube. However, she was a tough courtroom litigator and neither asked for nor gave quarter when prosecuting rapists and child molesters.
“Okay, let’s get started,” Murrow said. He enjoyed the role of moderator while Karp sat back and listened. “Harry, you want to start by telling us the latest with the People vs. Salaam and Mohammed, otherwise known at the Columbia Basketball Players Rape Case.”
Butch noticed that Rachman suddenly sat forward, her eyes narrowed and focused on Kipman, who didn’t bother to look her way. Their mutual dislike was no secret.
Kipman adjusted his half-moon reading glasses on the end of his long nose, then looked up over the top of them at Karp. “I’ll begin with a brief rundown of the case, which, as Gilbert has so colorfully quoted from the media, involves two now-former basketball players from Columbia University. As you know, one night last February a young man named Khalif Mohammed had consensual sex with the complainant, Rose Montgomery, in her bedroom during a party at an off-campus apartment she shared with two other women. Neither side disputed this during the trial, nor the fact that the young woman was intoxicated.
“The gist of our case was that after sexual intercourse, Mohammed left the room, which was dark, and then his friend and teammate, Rashad Salaam, entered and, pretending to be Mohammed, had nonconsensual sex with her. The complainant swore in both her statements to the police and on the witness stand that she did not even know Salaam, with the inference that she would not have had sex with a stranger.
“At trial, the defense argued that the young woman had sponsored a party at the apartment to which members of the basketball team had been invited. Evidence was presented that the complainant passed around a bowl full of condoms ‘just in case’—”
From her end of the table, Rachman snorted. “Like that’s some sort of crime.” She stopped when Butch looked at her sharply and dropped her head and sat glaring at the tabletop.
“During pretrial motions, the defense tried to introduce evidence from the defendants that the complainant not only knew Salaam but had consensual sex with him several days prior to the incident in question,” Kipman said. “However, we argued that there was no corroborating evidence of such a relationship, and we were able to prevent that information from being introduced at trial—”
Again Rachman interjected. “It didn’t matter. Previous sexual history is not relevant under our shield laws,” she said before again falling into a sulky silence due to another stern look from Karp.
“Apparently, the New York Court of Appeals disagrees with that contention, especially when there was corroborating testimony that not only were the defendants telling the truth, but that the complainant was using the allegations to get back at Salaam, who apparently had rejected her after their first sexual liaison,” Harry said dryly. “Most damning, according to the justices, was that we did not hand over this corroborating evidence to the defense so that they could at least bring it to the judge at a motion hearing and have the judge rule on its admissibility. This evidence consisted of statements given to the police by the complainant’s roommates that Salaam had spent the night in the complainant’s bedroom several days prior to the incident.”
Rachman made a sighing noise, but Kipman ignored her and instead read from a transcript of one of the roommate’s interviews with a detective. “She told me that she was angry with Rashad because she felt he’d just used her for sex. He wouldn’t return her calls. She said that if she ever got the chance to get even, she’d ‘cut his balls off.’”
Kipman looked pointedly at Karp. “However, for s
ome reason, this interview was never disclosed to the defense. In fact, it was ‘lost’ until a private investigator working for the appellate lawyer located the roommates and conducted his own interview. In the meantime, Salaam and Mohammed had been convicted of sexual assault and conspiracy to commit sexual assault, respectively, and sentenced to prison.”
Kipman closed his file and looked around the table. “Upon review, the court of appeals held that the roommates’ interviews were relevant in that they could have been brought to the witness stand to impeach the complainant, who testified at the trial and apparently lied under oath.”
Rachman slapped the table with her hand and half rose from her seat. “It’s bullshit,” she said, “and just like a bunch of old men, which describes our court of appeals, to ignore twenty years of precedent that establishes under the shield laws that the previous sexual history of the victim is not relevant and cannot be brought up at trial.”
Harry remained seated but his voice grew more heated. “The court of appeals, the highest appellate court in New York State,” Kipman stated, glancing over at Rachman, “has ruled more than once that shield laws were not intended to protect someone who perjured herself on the witness stand when asked a direct question, such as ‘Did you know Rashad Salaam prior to the night of the alleged assault?’ The complainant told the jury that she’d never met him before that evening and, if I remember from her testimony, that she would never have consented to sex with a stranger.”
“So what?” Rachman spat back. “How would you like to sit in front of a jury, not to mention half of the media in Manhattan, and let a defense attorney make you out to be a whore? Of course, only a woman is considered ‘loose’ and therefore not deserving of protection under the law if she has sex with more than one partner; a guy does it and he just gets to put another notch on the bedpost. The judge should not even have allowed the question of whether she had met Rashad before that night. The only relevant issue is whether a man entered the victim’s bedroom under pretense of being someone else and while she was very intoxicated, and without so much as a ‘May I?’ proceeded to have sex with her. In fact, she did not discover that she’d been duped until Mohammed reentered the room and turned on the lights. It was just a big game to them.”
Fury (The Butch Karp and Marlene Ciampi Series Book 17) Page 16