Fury kac-17

by Robert K. Tanenbaum

  The two men left, walking past the alley where the bodyguard had heard the sounds. He'd been right about the rats. Dozens of them had smelled the blood and come running to feast on the headless body of the second bodyguard behind the Dumpster.

  9

  Kings County District Attorney Kristine Breman peered through the tinted window of her official limousine at the two black men leaning against the brick wall of a dark office building that occupied the corner of Adam Clayton Powell Boulevard and 121st Street. The bigger of the two-his girth so wide that his arms stuck out to the side like an immensely fat penguin-rocked forward from his angle of repose and waddled toward them, his broad face wrinkled into a menacing scowl.

  A small, childlike voice began to chime in Breman's head. I don't want to be here. I don't want to be here. Why am I here? If she had been behind the wheel, she might have stepped on the gas pedal and roared out of there like Mario Andretti at the Indy 500. But she had no choice except to get out of the car when her driver opened the door for her.

  The whole mess had started that past spring when Hugh Louis called and asked for an appointment. As he pretty much told her black constituency how to vote, she had willingly granted him an audience. In fact, she'd sent out for a tray of snacks from the local deli and several bottles of root beer, which he was known to love.

  After trading meaningless compliments and bromides, Louis popped the top on one of the root beers, washed down a canape, and got down to business. He told her that a prison inmate named Enrique Villalobos would soon contact her and confess that he alone was responsible for the 1992 rape of a woman named Liz Tyler under the pier at Coney Island. Louis said he was representing the four men who'd been "falsely imprisoned" and that he intended to sue New York City as the employer of the police officers and detectives who had carried out this "abominable injustice," as well as the Kings County District Attorney's Office, which had "conspired" through the two women prosecutors who'd acted in concert with the police to deprive his clients of their constitutional rights. He also intended to sue the cops and the prosecutors as individuals, though obviously it was the government entities that had the deeper pockets. Louis paused to make sure she understood what he was saying.

  Breman understood. She also knew that she was staring at him with her mouth hanging open but couldn't quite bring herself to try a different expression. This is a nightmare, she thought. She barely remembered the Coney Island case-she'd still been working for the New York DA's office in 1992 and had been too busy trying to stave off being released for incompetence to worry about some rape case in someone else's jurisdiction. It was only by chance-in the form of partisan politics, a strong political machine, and a few favors called in and promised in return-that a half-dozen years later she'd won the election for the office of Kings County District Attorney, which was essentially Brooklyn.

  The press is going to make my life miserable, she thought. Got to find a way out of this. She cleared her throat, smiled weakly at Louis, and said, "Yes, umm, go on."

  Sweating profusely already, Louis grunted and thought, Got the bitch right where I want her. Taking his time, he finished off the root beer and pounded his chest lightly before emitting a long belch. "Pardon me," he said not very convincingly. "Anyway, as I was saying…"

  Louis said he was convinced that he could prove a pattern of reckless misconduct on the part of the two prosecutors, as well as Breman's predecessor in office. "A pattern I believe the jury, as well as the African-American community, will recognize was based on an institutionalized racism."

  At the mention of African-American community and racism, Breman sucked in her breath and held it. She wasn't comfortable around black people; they always seemed to be looking at her as if they secretly blamed her for everything bad that had happened since the days of slavery. But without the black vote, Breman knew she was finished as the district attorney. Her future flashed before her eyes. If she was kicked out of office as the racist DA of Kings County, no firm would hire her. She'd have to hang her shingle out in front of some little strip mall office in Brooklyn and hope to pick up the odd criminal case, plus the cheapie divorces and DUI infractions.

  She wouldn't be able to count on her husband for support. The pencil-dicked asshole was a plastic surgeon who preferred screwing his nurses and patients to her. She'd been his ticket into party politics-he saw himself as potential governor material someday-but there'd be no reason to keep her around if she was a nobody.

  The image faded and was replaced by the immensely fat Hugh Louis. Fortunately, the plastic smile had never left her face and she pointed out, "I wasn't in office at that time. I-"

  Louis held up a big sweaty hand. "I know, I know," he said in his most "Hey, we're all in this together" voice. "I've always liked you, Krissy. May I call you Krissy? Good. Yes, always liked you, thought you was fair and reasonable."

  This sounded like a good thing, so Breman brightened. In fact, she was so grateful that tears sprang to her eyes. "Well, you know, I try…" but her mouth snapped shut when Louis held up his hand again.

  "Please, allow me to continue," he said. "I would hate for you to suffer the consequences for your predecessor's mistake. We might even have on our hands a Rodney King sort of backlash here…" He was gratified to see Breman blanch. "So because of my respect and fondness for you, and hating the thought of how this community could come apart at the seams, I thought I would speak to you first and see if maybe we could work out an arrangement. Something mutually beneficial to both of us, as well as our community."

  Breman was all ears. "Yes," she said, nodding like a bobble-head doll in a car going down the railroad tracks. "I'm sure that's true. Here, have another canape and a root beer…shall I open it for you?"

  Louis accepted the groveling with dignity, although inside he was smirking. "Thank you, thank you…excellent spiced meat. May I ask where you got it? Perhaps later you can call my secretary with the name of the deli."

  Smiling broadly, Louis said he thought he might be able to convince the African-American community that "these heinous transgressions against my clients" were the work of another regime and that she, Kristine Breman, was not responsible. "However, there is going to have to be a show of good faith from your office." He paused for her reaction.

  Breman shook herself as if she'd been daydreaming. "Yes, of course, good faith. Umm…such as?"

  Louis pulled out a white hankerchief and mopped at his face before continuing. "Well, nothing more than what would be just and fair. The first is that you meet with Mr. Villalobos and when you find that his story is credible, you will order DNA testing to see if his is a match for the evidence found on the victim's clothes."

  Breman, who'd been wondering just how much of her soul she was going to sell to the devil, perked up. "You think it will be a match?"

  Louis nodded. "I know it will be a match," he said. "But that's not all."

  This is where the other shoe drops, Breman thought. "Yes?" she said, trying not to let her voice quaver.

  "If what I say is true, then in the interest of justice I will immediately file a motion to vacate the convictions of my clients and seek their immediate release from prison… And you will not oppose it," he said, the jovial bonhomie gone from his fat face. "In fact, you will join with me in my motion."

  "Well," Breman said, then paused as her mind frantically worked over the political implications, "it is irregular. But I suppose we could go through the normal procedures and put Mr. Villalobos on the stand, under oath, and hold a formal hearing. Then we could issue a joint statement…" She stopped talking because Louis was shaking his head.

  "I don't think that's necessary," he said. "I think you can meet with Mr. Villalobos, who with my assistance-just to make sure he doesn't backtrack on the truth-will give you a statement. I think that with the DNA tests, you will have more than enough to do what I ask."

  Breman realized that while Louis said "ask," it was a demand. He was telling her how to proceed or, as he'd s
aid earlier, she'd face the consequences. She had no intention of facing anything of the sort, and so simply nodded her head.

  Louis seemed to have caught her mood and misgivings. "Now, now, Krissy," he said. "I know this might be a little irregular, but my clients have just spent the last ten years of their lives locked up where they did not belong. They went in as young men, teenagers really, and missed the best years of their young manhood, not to mention the pain and suffering they experienced in prison.

  "The DNA will check out, have no fear. Your own assistant DAs-Robin Repass and Pam Russell-conceded in the original trial that there was an unidentified assailant…the only assailant whose DNA was found at the scene. Indeed, we contend, the only assailant there ever was. We have some concerns, however, about Mr. Villalobos's change of heart-he is a vile and despicable man who has committed numerous rapes upon innocent women. He could change his mind again…if he thought he could get something out of it from the authorities. My clients have suffered enough. We don't need to put them through a lengthy hearing process or raise their hopes that justice will at last be served, only to have Mr. Villalobos retract and dash those hopes again. I'm sure you understand."

  Breman surrendered. "Yes, of course. If all you say is true, it's only right that this office act with all due haste to correct this miscarriage of justice."

  Sighing as though he'd been laboring long and hard in the cause of justice, Louis leaned forward and patted Breman on the knee of her pantsuit, leaving a damp spot. "Yes, all due haste. And mark my words, you will come out of this a hero in the African-American community, a veritable color-blind champion of the truth."

  Breman almost burst into tears. That was the nicest thing anybody had said to her in what had turned out to be a very long day. She'd never wanted a drink so badly in her life. A double shot of scotch poured over a cube of ice. "Well, then I'll wait for Mr… did you say Villalobos?…to call," she said and started to rise as if to bring the meeting to a close. But Louis didn't budge, so she sat back down.

  "Uh, yes, but there is one other thing," he said. "The people who perpetrated this crime against my clients need to pay for those lost years. I intend to wring every last cent out of them now and in the future."

  "Of course." Breman was willing to say anything just to get the fat, sweating man out of her office. She'd decided she would need to take a shower before that drink. Just watching the sweat pour off the man made her feel nauseated.

  "That will be easier if the police officers, detectives, and prosecutors responsible are not supported by their respective administrations," Louis said. "I think it is in your best interest to put some distance between you and them so that any prospective jurors will understand where you stand in this matter."

  "What do you want me to do?" Breman asked.

  "I want you to put Repass and Russell on administrative leave pending an investigation into possible criminal malfeasance, as well as civil rights violations," Louis said.

  Breman blinked several times as Louis leaned over and grabbed the last of the root beers out of the little bucket of ice she'd arranged between them. She didn't like Repass and Russell-a couple of hotshots who'd come in during her predecessor's tenure to create the sex assault unit.

  "Okay," she'd said. "If the DNA checks out, we have an arrangement." This time she stood up before Louis could add any more caveats. But he seemed well pleased with her response and rose with her. He'd stuck out his hand and she shook it, trying not to look sickened by the feel of his warm, wet grip.

  "You won't regret this," he said.

  And at first she hadn't. As she'd been told, Villalobos had approached prison officials and reported that a "positive prison experience" had led him to become a born-again Christian. That in turn led him to confess to the Coney Island rape because his conscience would no longer allow him to stand by and see other men "suffer for my sins."

  When the news broke in the New York Times-a story written by a weaselly fish-faced reporter named Marvin Aloysius Harriman-Repass and Russell had immediately come to Breman and demanded that they be allowed to put Villalobos on the stand and take his "confession" under oath and be cross-examined. That was, after all, how such matters were supposed to be handled. But Breman had told them that she would personally handle this case and had asked that Villalobos be transported to the Kings County jail, where she conducted the interview with Louis the only other person present.

  Louis insisted that she use a tape recorder he'd brought rather than the jail's installed system. In fact, throughout the interview, he'd controlled what was actually recorded. If not satisfied with an answer given by Villalobos, he'd stopped the machine, discussed the matter with the ugly little man, and then rewound the tape. Then on his signal, Breman had repeated her question, and Villalobos answered in a "more appropriate" manner.

  After the interview was over Breman had announced to the press that there was "reasonable cause" to order DNA testing. She'd felt somewhat better when the DNA results came back positive. At least that part of Villalobos's story was accurate.

  By arrangement, she'd leaked the results first to Harriman, who seemed to have made his own deal with Louis, so that the New York Times-quoting "an anonymous source in the Kings County District Attorney's Office"-had the story a day before the rest of the media. Shortly afterward, Breman had held a press conference on the steps of the Brooklyn courthouse with Louis at her side, announcing that "in the interests of justice" her office would be joining Louis's motion to have the convictions overturned. "It is my opinion that the so-called Coney Island Four have been exonerated by these developments, and this office will not seek further action."

  In the days that followed, Breman was even able to convince herself that she had done the right thing. It helped that she got a lot of encouragement from others. Activists in the African-American and civil rights communities lauded her "courage in the fight against institutionalized racism"; the Kings County defense bar issued a statement that read in part, "finally a district attorney who recognizes that justice, not conviction statistics, is the duty of the state when prosecuting crimes"; and the Times even wrote an editorial. The editorial noted that based on the "exclusive" reporting of award-winning writer Harriman, the newspaper's hierarchy agreed with Breman's decision and that "perhaps other local district attorneys should take note of the evenhanded administration of justice by the Kings County District Attorney and seek to emulate her to bring credibility and honor back into their own dealings."

  The only downside had been putting up with the tirades of the assistant DAs Repass and Russell, who'd insisted that they'd presented evidence in the original trial that there was a sixth perpetrator but that did not mean that the teenage defendants had not "initiated and participated" in the crime. "The jury understood this to be the case and convicted Sykes, Davis, Wilson, and Jones in less than two hours of deliberations," Repass argued.

  Breman was proud of how she stood up to the know-it-alls. She pointed out that there were no eyewitnesses to place the five black teens at the scene-not even the victim could substantiate that allegation-"but we have irrefutable scientific evidence that Villalobos committed the crime, as well as his confession."

  "An uncorroborated confession. There's a legal precedent for this-hold a hearing, put him under oath, at worst retry the case," Russell countered.

  "A waste of time in my opinion, which is the opinion that counts here," Breman said. "Villalobos's confession is corroborated by the DNA evidence. There was no physical evidence or eyewitness testimony tying the defendants to the attack on Liz Tyler."

  "We had a witness testify that five black teenagers were seen leaving the general area," Russell countered.

  "No one who could say it was these boys," Breman countered.

  "These 'boys' were also convicted of several other assaults that night," Repass pointed out, "including nearly killing an elderly man with a piece of steel bar like the one found beneath the pier."

  "We try people for one c
rime at a time here," Breman said. "As you point out, they were convicted of those other crimes and served their time for them. It is this crime for which there are very large questions of guilt-questions that in my opinion raise a serious ethical question of how we were ever in a position to, in good faith, ask a jury to find these young men guilty beyond a reasonable doubt… And, I might add, there was no physical evidence-blood or hair-on the steel bar suggesting that it was the same one used that night in the other crimes."

  "By the time it was found, the tide had washed it off," Russell said.

  "It's nonsense anyway," Repass added. "These 'large questions' were looked at by the jury, and they found that we'd answered them beyond a reasonable doubt. And what about the confessions? Those animals corroborated the evidence-hell, they boasted about what they did."

  Breman bristled at Repass. "I'll thank you not to refer to these young men as 'animals.' It merely serves to underline the accusations that this office has a problem with racist attitudes. As for the confessions, they were boys at that time-coerced, badgered, and intimidated by grown, gun-toting men who threatened them with every sort of punishment under the sun, including the possibility of the death penalty if Liz Tyler had died."

  "Oh, Christ!" Repass exclaimed, "They were laughing about it in front of the cops. One of them talked about how much fun it was-that's not exactly the response of a frightened 'boy.'"

  "Nerves," Breman shrugged. "Trying to put on a brave face."

  "What about the defendant who took me to the scene and said he didn't realize there'd been so much blood?" Russell asked.

  "That was Kevin Little, who, if I remember correctly, was given a pretty sweet deal for turning on his childhood friends," Breman said. "Hardly an unbiased witness."

  Repass started to say something, but Breman sat up in the manner bosses do when they've given recalcitrant subordinates a "fair" hearing but are ready to move on. "This conversation is over," she said. At last, she thought, I can get rid of these two, and I'll even look like the hero as far as the public's concerned.