He would also have liked to find Hannah Little. Louis was sure to attack the confessions as coerced-big, bad racist cops browbeating poor little black teenagers. Hannah's testimony that Kwasama Jones told her he'd held Liz Tyler down while Sykes and Davis raped her would put the nail in the coffin. Jones was certainly not under any duress from cops when he talked to her on the telephone.
"Oyez, oyez, all rise, U.S. District Court Judge Marci Klinger presiding." As the crowd rose to its feet, Klinger swept into the courtroom. She hardly bothered to sit down before she fixed Karp with a fierce glare. "Before we begin, Mr. Karp, I want to repeat my opinion that your appointment to this case smacks of theatrics and politics. If I so much as sniff such I'll-"
"I assure you that there will be no such sniffing necessary," Karp said. "Certainly nothing to equal the daily circus of news briefings my opponent conducts regarding this case, despite your gag order."
"I object to this characterization," Louis said, rising to his feet. "I cannot be held responsible if the members of the journalism profession approach me in public places and ask questions."
Karp started to reply, but Klinger slammed her gavel down. "That's enough," she said. "Mr. Karp, I will decide what does or does not meet with the spirit of my ruling regarding a gag order. And now, since I will assume that nothing more need be said on this matter, I will ask that the jury be brought in."
The members of the jury filed in quietly and took their seats as Louis stood, smiled, and nodded to every one as if each was a long-lost friend. Sykes also smiled at the jurors and nudged his coplaintiffs to do the same.
The jurors, most of them, smiled back at him. It made him laugh inside at how gullible people were. He'd been fooling them all of his life. Teachers had loved him. The mothers of his friends adored him and told their sons to be more like him. The mothers of his girlfriends hoped they'd marry him-not that women really attracted him like that; he liked to rape them and make them cry out in pain. Only once-because of those assistant DA bitches sitting across the aisle near that bitch he raped and beat the shit out of-had his streak of people liking him been broken. That other jury didn't like him, that other jury sent him…brilliant, personable, whole-life-in-front-of-him Jayshon Sykes…to that horrible place for the rest of his life. Well, when this is over, he thought, I'm going to pay a little visit to them bitches, and after I've done every filthy fucking thing I can think of to them, they won't live to tell no one about it.
When they were seated, Klinger invited Louis to give his opening statement. He rose slowly, carefully, from his chair as if lost in deep thought. Patting at his forehead, he began to speak, his shoulders slumped as if he carried a great weight.
"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury…friends…I come before you today with a heavy heart. Heavy because I am a firm believer in our justice system. Despite its failures in the past to protect people of color, I still believed that it was the black man's best hope for this country to live up to that last line in the Pledge of Allegiance, 'and justice for all.'"
Louis sighed. "But years ago, justice was manipulated, and in a rush to judgment, four young black men were convicted of a crime they did not commit. That system-represented by two assistant district attorneys for Kings County, as well as police officers and detectives of the New York Police Department-conspired, yes, conspired to steal, as surely as someone putting a gun to their heads and pulling the trigger, the flowers of these young men's youth."
Suddenly, the big man whirled and pointed a finger at Karp. "Oh, I'm sure the defendants in this case will point out that these were not totally 'innocent' young men. And yes, they were teenagers who did stupid teenage things, like fighting with people on the boardwalk at Coney Island. Pranks for the most part, until one elderly man decided to fight back and threatened to harm one of my clients, Mr. Jayshon Sykes-who, afraid, lashed out. Unfortunately, Jayshon was a strong young man and the elderly man was frail and should not have been so belligerent. It was a tragic accident, something Jayshon has regretted every moment since, and you did not hear him or his companions complain about doing their time in prison for that infraction. And I don't need to remind you about what hideous dens of depravity our prisons have become."
Louis walked over to his table and took a sip of water before turning back to the jury. "I ask each of you, could you cast that first stone? Are you without sin? These boys, now men, committed a sin, surely. But a much greater sin was about to be committed. Because early that next morning, long after these boys had finally gone home to bed…a sin so monstrous that it grieves my heart to even think of it…was committed when a lovely young woman was brutally raped and nearly killed by a vile and despicable man named Enrique Villalobos. You will hear, my friends, from Mr. Villalobos, who, with nothing to gain for himself by this confession, will tell you that he and he alone committed this horrible sin."
Karp listened to Louis drone on about the horrors of prison and the abused, poor, neglected backgrounds of his clients until he felt somewhat nauseous. As expected, Louis launched into a long diatribe about how his clients were "beaten down by The Man" and confessed out of fear and exhaustion. "And being told that they could fry for this one, go to the electric chair…suffer a million, a billion, volts of painful electricity boiling their organs in their own blood and their brains into mush." It was the plaintiffs' turn, as well as some of the audience, to turn green.
After an hour-long, meandering opening, Louis wrapped it up by pleading with the jury "to find for my clients…to the tune of $250 million dollars…yes, a lot of money but what price tag would you put on freedom? What price would you attach for being scooped off the street like so much dog feces as a teenager and then spending the best years of your life rotting away in a prison cell? What price would that be worth? You need to send a statement, a strong statement, to the government that this sort of injustice will no longer be tolerated. Thank you for listening."
With that Hugh Louis sank into his chair like an electric toy running out of juice. Sykes reached over and patted him on the shoulder, and, loud enough for the jury and audience to hear, said, "Thanks, Hugh, thank you for telling the truth."
"Mr. Karp," Judge Klinger said. "Are you ready to proceed?"
Karp glanced up from his notes and nodded. He rose from his seat, wincing a little as he placed weight on his bum knee. He walked calmly to the podium, where he put his notes, and then looked at the audience.
"An interesting opening statement by Mr. Louis," he said. "In fact, if I didn't know anything about this case and was listening, I might be inclined to believe him."
At their seats, the plaintiffs nodded and smiled. "That's right," Sykes said. "The truth shall set you free."
"Except," Karp said, "it was a pack of lies and utter nonsense."
Louis erupted from his seat, spilling the cup of water he'd just poured. "Objection, your honor! Argumentative and…um…unprofessional."
Klinger was glaring. "Mr. Karp, you've been at this a long time, and you know as well as I do that was inappropriate."
"Since when is the truth inappropriate, your honor," Karp replied.
Klinger's face colored angrily. "You've been warned, counselor."
Karp looked back down at his notes as Klinger instructed the jurors to "ignore that last statement by the defendants' attorney." He smiled back at the jury-secretly pleased that he'd planted the seed. Now it was time to move on.
Calmly and matter-of-factly, he ran through the events of the night before Tyler was attacked. The assaults on Coney Island. The attack that nearly killed the elderly Korean man "by Jayshon Sykes, who had a piece of steel rebar in his hand and cracked an elderly man's skull like it was an egg. And before you hear Mr. Louis tell you again about this fight that ended badly, the ninety-three-year-old victim was five foot four and weighed 120 pounds, Jayshon Sykes was six foot three and close to two hundred. I don't think he was afraid."
Louis jumped to his feet. "I object, your honor, this is not a criminal trial with
my clients facing charges. They have been exonerated. This is a civil trial to determine whether the conduct of the agents of the City of New York, that is, the police, rose to the level of malfeasance that would entitle my clients to remuneration."
Karp paused and waited for Klinger to sustain Louis's objection. When she did, he continued. "Well, Mr. Louis is correct-this, unfortunately, is not a criminal trial. But I will demonstrate to you, the jury, that the convictions of these men were valid and therefore, the assistant district attorneys and the police officers who worked on this case did their jobs correctly, ethically, and well. That other jury wasn't mistaken-they knew that there was a missing defendant whose semen had been found on the clothing of Ms. Tyler-but they also knew the truth. Those four men"-he pointed at the plaintiffs' table-"raped and nearly murdered Liz Tyler in a way so heinous, so depraved, that it defies any hint of human compassion."
Karp walked out from behind the podium with his hands in his pockets as he strolled over by the jury. "But I will do more than prove the first jury was right. I will show you how ludicrous the plaintiffs' case is. Heck, they haven't even thought through how the cops could have conspired to frame the plaintiffs when they, the cops, didn't even know if Liz Tyler, who was in a coma, would wake up. And if she did wake up, would say, 'Hey, you got the wrong guys.' So are the cops going to frame people knowing the victim might very well come out of her coma and expose them as frame artists? Further, I will demonstrate to you-through videotapes and witnesses-that these four…what did Mr. Louis say, 'innocent young men'…didn't behave like browbeaten, frightened teenagers. Far from it, they actually bragged in front of numerous witnesses about what they did."
Karp turned around, meaning to gather his thoughts, but caught Liz Tyler looking at him. Tears trickled down her cheeks, but she had a slight smile on her face. He smiled back.
"If this was just about money, and there was any chance that they'd been wronged by the system, I'd say give it to them," Karp said. "But there are a few problems with that. First, they weren't wronged. Second, it goes much deeper. If you let them get away with this, it could destabilize the entire justice system that Mr. Louis professes to champion. Never again will a jury believe a police officer when he takes the stand. Nor will a jury accept as trustworthy a confession offered into evidence. All the good detective work will just be thrown out the window.
"And third…" He paused and glanced sideways at Tyler again. "This is about justice. Not for four bloodthirsty, depraved thugs. It's about an injustice they did to a young mother and wife. She was the one who had her youth and everything she loved stolen from her. She is the one owed a debt that can never be repaid."
30
After opening statements, the plaintiffs' case had taken only the remainder of the day for Louis to present, which demonstrated to Karp that his strategy had worked. It was obvious that Louis had expected to settle and was unprepared for the trial.
Largely his efforts consisted of calling his clients to the stand to talk about their disadvantaged childhoods and how they had been intimidated and threatened into confessing to the rape and attempted murder of Liz Tyler.
Cross-examining each of the first three plaintiffs-Davis, Jones, and Wilson-Karp was satisfied merely to establish that none of them had been questioned without the presence of an adult family member. "And at what point were you intimidated or threatened or coerced?" he asked. None seemed to have a better answer than "the cops scared me."
Otherwise, they sullenly denied making comments in front of the police or to other witnesses that indicated their guilt. He let it be for the time being; he'd return during the defense part of the trial with his witnesses and the videotapes of the confessions.
When Louis called Sykes to the stand, the young man nearly bounced out of his seat as though eager to tell his story. Sitting back down in the witness box, he smiled broadly at the jurors. However, he allowed his demeanor to crumble almost to tears as he described, at Louis's request, the years he'd spent in prison. "They…they do horrible things to you," he said, his voice cracking. "I'm sorry, I can't talk about it."
Louis then asked about the night twelve years earlier on the Coney Island boardwalk. "Mr. Karp in his opening statement described your behavior as 'wilding.' Would that be accurate?"
"No. I'm afraid the police came up with that term, which would be an exaggeration," he said. "It was mostly just pushing and shoving people-admittedly not very nice-but we were just a bunch of poor kids and were trying to get people to give us a little change so we could eat a hot dog. But the Korean man grabbed my arm…he had his hand in his coat pocket and I thought maybe he had a gun. I was scared and hit him just to get him to let me go." Sykes paused and shook his head sadly. "I guess I hit him harder than I intended."
"And you were convicted of that crime," Louis said, "am I correct?"
"Yes," Sykes replied dutifully. "I did the crime."
"And did you do the time?"
"Yes. I was sentenced to six years to serve concurrently with my other sentence. With good time, I could have been out in four years."
"Good time?" Louis asked. "Can you tell the jury about that?"
"Yes," Sykes answered. "I stayed out of trouble and did my time. I was reborn again as a Christian and tried to spread the good word among my brothers in prison."
Louis moved on to Sykes's confession to the police. "I was scared," he said. "I was just a big kid and they kept threatening me. They said I could get the electric chair. They talked about how hard it would be on my momma if I was to be executed."
"So what did you tell them?"
"Actually, I told them what they told me to say for the camera."
"Thank you, Mr. Sykes. Your witness, Mr. Karp."
"Good afternoon, Mr. Sykes," Karp began.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Karp," Sykes replied and gave the jury a small, frightened smile.
"I understand that you struck Mr. Kim with a piece of steel rebar, is that correct?"
Sykes shrugged. "I believe you are right. I don't really remember… I've tried to block that out. I've felt so terrible about it."
Karp walked over to his table and picked up a plastic bag marked with an old evidence tag. Inside was a fourteen-inch piece of rebar. "Did it look like this?"
"Could be," Sykes said. "It was just something I picked up from a construction site."
"Any explanation why it would be found under the pier at Coney Island?"
"Not at all," Sykes responded, looking bewildered. "I dropped it after I hit Mr. Kim. I suppose Mr… um…Villalobos could have picked it up… Or maybe the police just said they found it under the pier."
"Let's move on," Karp said. "You just told the jury that you felt threatened by the police officers and detectives after your arrest. Did anybody do anything to you physically?"
"What do you mean?"
"Did anybody hit you or push you or touch you in any violent way?"
"No."
"So the threat was a verbal one."
"Yes, they sort of hovered over me like they might hit me and said those things to me."
"Do you recall saying to a female police officer, 'I want to lick your pussy'?"
Sykes hung his head as if in shame. He'd been told not to deny this one because it had been taped by the jail's surveillance camera. "I…I may have. I was scared-there were a lot of bad men around me in the jail-and I wanted them to think I was tough so that they wouldn't bother me later."
"I see, and was that the same reason your prison indicates that you were placed in solitary confinement no less than six times for assaulting other people, including a guard?"
"Yes," he said. "You have to understand that in prison, if the other inmates think you won't fight back, they'll do…horrible things to you. Fortunately, I found Jesus and reading the Bible taught me to turn the other cheek."
"Mr. Sykes, did you know Mr. Enrique Villalobos before he confessed to assaulting Ms. Tyler?"
"No."
"Really? A
ll that time spent in the same prison and you never met him?"
"It's a big place. You sort of hang out with your own kind."
"And what might your own kind be, Mr. Sykes?" Karp asked.
Before Sykes could answer, Louis objected. "Your honor, may we approach the bench?"
Klinger nodded. "Please, Mr. Louis."
In front of the judge but out of earshot of the jury, Louis angrily whispered, "Your honor, Mr. Karp knows full well that we…I mean you…already ruled that any reference to my clients' alleged gang ties would be unfairly prejudicial and is off-limits."
Karp snorted. "Alleged? Does the truth ever matter to you, Mr. Louis? Your client is the one who just made the statement that he hung out with his own kind, which I take to mean murdering, raping scumbag pieces of human crap."
"Your honor!" Louis complained.
Klinger pointed a finger at Karp. "You've been told to steer away from this subject, Mr. Karp. I won't warn you again."
When they returned to their places, Karp resumed his questioning. "So, your answer is that you never met Mr. Villalobos?"
Sykes nodded. "That's right."
"What about Igor Kaminsky?"
Sykes looked like he was concentrating for a moment then shook his head. "I'm sorry but I don't recall the name."
Karp studied Sykes for a moment, just long enough for the young man to start to fidget in his seat. "No more questions."
Louis then called a psychologist to the stand. William Randolph Florence, a portly, balding man, entered the courtroom and was sworn in. He testified that "even if the police detectives didn't physically or verbally assault the plaintiffs, they were psychologically intimidated into giving the detectives what they wanted…confessions."
Florence noted that he'd conducted a study in which he'd interviewed 110 incarcerated African-American males who told him that "the mere presence of someone in uniform or in a position of authority was enough to prompt this psychological intimidation response. I call it the Florence Psychological Response Syndrome, or FPRS…Fippers, ha ha."
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