"Well, yes," Swanburg said. "There are any number. However, given that one of-"
"Thank you, Dr. Swanburg, I'd appreciate it if you'd just answer the question I ask rather than try to continue to testify for the defense."
"I was trying to answer the question completely."
"And I can appreciate that but it's also true the defense hired you to appear here today, isn't that so?"
"Yes."
"And they-or I guess I should say the taxpayers of New York-are paying you the handsome fee of $550 an hour, plus expenses."
"Well, yes, but my fees are in line with-"
"Just a yes or no will suffice, doctor."
"Yes, that's all true."
"Thank you. Now, let's move on to the object that was used to strike Ms. Tyler. I believe you testified that it is 'unlikely' that something created by nature, such as a piece of driftwood, would have caused that bruise. But it doesn't rule it out, now does it?"
"No."
"And is there anything on that piece of rebar from the trial that links my clients-who by the way are not on trial here-to it?"
"No."
Karp let Louis make his little speeches and asides without objecting. He was hoping that the lawyer would gain confidence and walk into his trap. Come on, baby, keep walking, he thought.
"Dr. Swanburg, let's for a moment revisit the photographs on the arms of Ms. Tyler," he said. "Now, couldn't these be the marks left by one man who was raping a woman as he held her down?"
"No."
The smile on Louis's face disappeared and reappeared on Karp's.
"No? And why not?"
"Because if you look carefully, you will see that the finger marks were not made by a man having sexual intercourse while lying on top of a woman. They're inverted and were made by someone who was leaning or kneeling at her head and holding her down."
Louis turned away from the jury so as not to reveal that he knew he'd been had. He looked up at Karp and saw the smile. "No further questions."
Karp rose for redirect and the coup de grace. "Dr. Swanburg, what conclusions can you draw from the bruises?"
"That at least three men participated in holding down the victim," Swanburg said. "One on each of her legs and one, as I said, at her head."
Karp nodded. "No further questions."
The rest of the day Karp spent playing the confessions of the plaintiffs. By the time he turned off the video machine, the jurors looked like they'd been beaten themselves. He'd refrained from commenting-if he felt it necessary, he could do that during closing arguments and summation-but for now, the videos demonstrated that the Coney Island Four were not browbeaten or intimidated. There were no big cops hovering over them or yelling in their faces. And he'd ended the session with Desmond Davis laughing about what they'd done to "the bitch" and Sykes shouting at the female police officer, "I want to lick your pussy."
Karp went back to his office feeling that he'd scored the major blows in the trial. But there were still some threads that worried him. The physical evidence placing Villalobos at the scene was irrefutable. Also, what if Louis tried to intimate that Kevin Little had assisted Villalobos-hence his reason for turning on the others-but that the remaining Coney Island Four had not participated? He needed Kaminsky. Kaminsky and the letter would be even better, because then he could go after Breman and Klinger for their participation in this travesty. If they could just have found Hannah Little the problem would have been solved, too.
That evening, Karp was looking forward to a little downtime with his family. Zak seemed none the worse for wear and enjoyed telling anyone who'd listen how he told the fearsome terrorist Al-Sistani to "shove it, asshole," until his father had said enough was enough. The only thing that seemed to truly be upsetting the boy was that he'd been warned that under no circumstances could he talk about the incident with anyone but family. Karp had impressed upon him the seriousness of the population of New York learning they'd come within a few minutes of having weapons of mass destruction used against them. For once his son understood the gravity of the situation, even if he had to remain disappointed that the further exploits of Zak Karp had to remain a secret.
Marlene also seemed to have dealt well with her excursion back into the world of violence. "It's how you look at it," she tried to explain. "In John's culture, a warrior avoids violence unless as a last resort, and I think that was about as last a resort as you can get."
Suddenly there was a buzzing at the security door. Karp sighed and went over to press the intercom button. "Yes, may I help you?" he asked.
A man's voice, heavily accented, answered. "You are being invited to a meeting with an old friend tonight."
Karp raised his eyebrows and looked at Marlene, who shrugged.
"And where am I supposed to meet this friend?" Karp asked with a laugh.
"Not just you…the presence of your wife is also requested."
"Well, that's even better. But as I said, when and where am I supposed to meet my old friend?"
"Midnight at Battery Park near the Staten Island ferry dock."
"Okay, I'm game. Who is this friend?"
"I can't say, other than he asks you to remember the pieces of candy he gave you as a child."
Suddenly Karp took notice. Uncle Vladimir? But why the secret midnight meeting? "Did he say why I might be interested in this meeting?"
"You wish to meet Igor Kaminsky, no?"
Marlene's jaw dropped as Karp said, "No, I wish to meet him, yes."
"Then midnight at Battery Park."
"Wait!" Karp yelled, but there was no other response. He and Marlene hurried over to the window and looked down. A large man jumped in the driver's side of a big, dark, but otherwise nondescript American sedan and immediately sped off.
"Well?" Marlene asked.
"I hear Battery Park is very romantic in the subzero cold on a dark night when the chance of frostbite is ridiculously high," he said.
"Karp, you sweet-talking devil, I'm in," she replied.
32
Wednesday, January 26
Karp looked up from his notes and turned around as the courtroom spectators suddenly began buzzing. District Attorney Breman had entered the courtroom, although today she wasn't smiling or chatting with the press. The previous night's television reports, as well as that morning's newspapers, had jumped all over Swanburg's testimony and its implications for the plaintiffs' case.
The New York Times's editorial board had even opined that "perhaps" Breman had moved too quickly to exonerate the Coney Island Four "and a more studied approach may have been called for." However, Karp noted, the Times reporter Harriman's "news" story had been slanted with words like "ambushed" and "sly district attorney for the County of New York" and "obviously slanted" testimony from the defense forensic expert.
"While the only undisputed fact is that Villalobos's semen was found on the victim's clothes," Harriman wrote. Meanwhile, "sources close to the plaintiffs" were sure that "the jurors are smart enough to see beyond the smoke and mirrors thrown up by Karp."
Harriman was now sitting in the row behind Tyler. In fact, quite a few members of the press, as well as the courtroom buffs, were now sitting on the defense side of the courtroom, apparently voting with their butts for whoever was winning the case.
Breman, however, walked down the aisle looking neither left nor right and took her customary seat behind the plaintiffs' table. Going down with the ship, Karp thought, as he looked at the plaintiffs and their attorney, who sat looking at his notes as he patted the moisture off his face.
Three-fourths of the Coney Island Four sat staring sullenly at the table. Sykes, on the other hand, was staring at him. Gone was the amiable valedictorian with the falsely imprisoned veneer he put on every day for the benefit of the press and jurors. The look he gave Karp now was of unabashed hatred.
"Are we ready to call the jury?" Judge Klinger asked. When she entered the courtroom that morning she'd actually given Karp a slight smile and nod, w
hich left him somewhat nauseous.
"Well, actually, your honor, there is a matter I'd like to bring up first," he said loud enough to get the attention of everyone in the courtroom.
"Yes, Mr. Karp, please proceed," Klinger said nervously.
"Well, before we run into this issue in front of the jury, I wanted to inform the court that I may be calling Captain Tim Carney of the New York Police Department to the stand," he said.
"And I will object to that," Louis said, rising tiredly from his chair. "Captain Carney is not on any list of witnesses I have. Nor was he, to my knowledge, involved in the original case."
"Your honor," Karp said, "I may call Captain Carney as an impeachment witness, and as we all know, such witnesses do not have to be on a witness list."
"And who and what will he be impeaching?" Klinger asked.
"Mr. Villalobos," Karp said. "Mr. Carney can testify to the veracity of a taped conversation between District Attorney Kristine Breman and Mr. Villalobos in which the former admits to having received a letter from another inmate named Igor Kaminsky, who contended that Mr. Villalobos admitted to him that the plaintiffs initiated and participated in the assault on Ms. Tyler."
Karp was gratified to see Klinger turn white as the courtroom erupted into bedlam. Breman stood and fled, with reporters after her like a pack of wild dogs after a deer. "That's ridiculous," she shouted over her shoulder at the questions thrown at her retreating form.
Klinger finally remembered to pick up her gavel and pound until the courtroom-at least those who hadn't run off to file stories or chase Breman-quieted down. "Is there anything else, Mr. Karp?" said the judge, the fear that she would be named next clearly in her eyes.
Let her stew, Karp thought, and wonder if I have a copy of the letter. "Yes, your honor, I ask that Kristine Breman be subpoenaed by this court and notified that she may be required to appear as a witness for the defense."
"Now, hold on a damn minute," Louis said. "I know nothing about these tapes. How were they obtained? Are they even legally admissible?"
"You can ask those questions of Captain Carney if I need to call him to the stand," Karp said. "But first let's see how Mr. Villalobos answers my questions. Perhaps he'll tell the truth, and there'll be no need for an impeachment witness."
"Well, Mr. Karp, unless we know how these alleged tapes were obtained I will not allow Captain Carney to take the stand," Klinger said. "So before that point, I expect that you will ask for an evidentiary hearing first. Now, if the theatrics are over, I'll ask the jury to be seated."
Karp was not particularly bothered by the ruling-he was mostly just stirring the pot, hoping the judge might "find" the Kaminsky letter, using some lame excuse as to why she'd kept it. On a personal level, it had been fun to watch Breman running from the jackals in the press, but he had a bigger bomb waiting in the wings anyway.
When the jury was seated, the judge gave him the nod and he recalled Villalobos to the stand. To warm up he asked the obviously nervous witness to repeat his testimony regarding how he alone had raped Ms. Tyler and that he'd used a piece of driftwood to assault her. He knew that the jurors would be comparing the disgusting persona of Villalobos and his statements to that of Jack Swanburg.
"Mr. Villalobos, do you recall telling anyone that this whole 'confession' was made up?" Karp asked.
"That's a lie," Villalobos hissed, looking at Louis.
"You never said that the plaintiffs were the first to assault and rape Ms. Tyler?"
"More lies. You lie," Villalobos shouted.
"Then, perhaps you've forgotten your former cellmate, Igor Kaminsky?" Karp fired.
"I had a lot of cellmates," Villalobos said. "I don't remember every one."
"Well, then," Karp said, looking toward the back of the courtroom where Clay Fulton, who had been waiting by the door, disappeared, "maybe seeing his face would remind you."
Fulton returned to the courtroom escorting a thin, white male with one arm. "Do you recognize Igor Kaminsky now?" Karp asked.
Marlene and Karp had shown up at Battery Park a few minutes before midnight, standing in the chill until an old man followed by a large younger man walked up to them. "Thank you for coming, nephew," Vladimir Karchovski said, kissing Karp on the cheeks. "Oh, and finally I meet your beautiful bride, the lovely and-so I'm told-quite inventive Marlene Ciampi."
"Marlene, I'd like to introduce to you my great-uncle, Vladimir Karchovski," Karp said.
"What? I didn't know you had a great-uncle Vladimir," Marlene said, extending a hand and blushing like a schoolgirl when the old man took it and raised it to his lips.
"Ah, unfortunately, we are an estranged family due to our…um…career choices," Vladimir said. "But come, it is cold outside and I'd like you to accompany me for a boat ride."
"Where?" Karp asked.
"Why, Ellis Island, of course," Vladimir said.
"Ellis Island? Why?"
"Please, just humor an old man. It is to make a point to you and to someone else important to me. And you know how we Russians love the dramatic gesture."
Vladimir and his bodyguard led the way to a small speedboat that waited at the dock. "Please, step aboard my steed," Vladimir said.
"Aren't you worried about the park or harbor police?" Karp said. "I don't believe that Ellis Island is open at this time of night."
"No," Vladimir said and smiled. "Perhaps not to the general public. But the park police are poorly paid and they sometimes can be persuaded to let an old man visit when the crowds are not so large. Now please, I suggest you get down out of the wind. The ride over can be quite chilly."
The Ellis Island boat dock was empty when they arrived, but waiting on the steps leading into the museum was a tall, gray-haired man whose face had been scarred by fire. "Yvgeny Karchovski," Marlene said. "How nice to see you again. Karchovski-I take it you and Butch's uncle are related."
"He is my son," Vladimir said, turning to Karp. "Which makes him your father's first cousin. I get confused after that but you are cousins of some extraction."
"I don't understand," Karp said. "I've never quite understood the family's connections." He stepped forward and shook Yvgeny's hand. The two men were of almost the same height and build.
They could be brothers, Marlene thought. Although if I remember Alexis Michalik's comments, they would be oil and water, a gangster and a prosecutor.
"I'll tell you the story," Vladimir said. "But let us go inside. I'm, as the young say, freezing my ass off."
As they walked into the building and up the stairs to the great hall where millions of immigrant families had waited to be processed for entry into the United States, Vladimir told the story of another family. "It begins with two brothers, Yakov and Yusef, who were part of a large Jewish family living in the Galicia area of Poland when Imperial Russian Cossacks embarked on one of their periodic pogroms to terrorize and murder Jews.
"Yakov and Yusef survived because they were gone from the village that day, hunting. However, they returned to find their family slaughtered and their home burned to the ground. With many tears, they decided to split up. Yusef was tired of the old hatreds of Europe and dreamed of starting fresh in America, where even a Jew might hope to accomplish great things. He arrived on a ship filled with many other desperate people and waited in this very hall, where they changed his name to Karp for simplicity's sake and set him free to pursue his dreams.
"Meanwhile, Yakov burned with a desire for revenge, fighting first with the Germans against the Russians when World War I broke out; then when the Bolsheviks rebelled, he signed on to fight against the forces of Czar Nicholas. It wasn't so much that he believed in socialism, he just wanted to kill Cossacks. He met Lena, another revolutionary, who in 1918 bore him a son, Vladimir, who you see standing before you now.
"Unfortunately, my mother did not survive the Revolution and was killed outside of Yekaterinburg. An even more embittered Yakov fought on heroically, received the Red Star-the Soviet equivalent of the U.S. Medal
of Honor-and was promoted to colonel, both relatively rare occurrences for a Jew, even in Lenin's new world order."
Vladimir took a seat as he continued his story about how he'd joined the Red Army, too, and fought at Stalingrad against the Germans in 1940. "I met a beautiful woman, Katrina, who also delivered to me a son, Yvgeny here. But I was captured on the front a year later and sent to a slave labor camp. The war ended, but those of us who survived the camps, we learned we were considered traitors in our Mother Country and I was not allowed back in, or to send for my wife and son, who believed me to be dead."
So he had joined the masses of displaced people wandering Europe at the end of the war. The fact that he was also Jewish did not help. "But I got a job working for the Americans as an interpreter-it seems that me and my great-great-niece Lucy share a gift for languages. Through them, I was able to contact my Uncle Yusef who sponsored my entry into this country. I, too, arrived like so many before me and waited here-frightened, not knowing what to expect."
With the help of Yvgeny, the old man rose to his feet and began to walk to the far end of the hall. "I have walked this path many times since," he said. "But that is the one I will remember." They reached the end of the hall. "Because at the bottom of these stairs there is a smaller room, called the 'kissing post,' due to the fact that this is where families were reunited after their long trips. Waiting for me was your grandfather, Yusef. And waiting for you now is someone you want to meet."
"Why all of this?" Karp asked.
"Because this man you seek, if he goes with you tonight, he could very well lose the thing those of us who have immigrated here treasure the most…freedom," he said. "You spend your life putting bad men in prison, taking their freedom, and that is as it should be. But I wanted you to understand the sacrifice this man is making tonight."
Vladimir looked at his son. "At first, my son did not want to assist with this, though he is not as hard as he sometimes gives the impression. You may recall that it was a man with a Russian accent who told your reporter friend Ariadne Stupenagel about a certain meeting taking place at the Sagamore Hotel."
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