Guilt by Association

by Kelvin L. Reed

CHAPTER NINE

  A week after receiving the first nuisance call about the Stone case, Jayson studied the tight faces of Gary Scott and Alexis Washington. Omar Anderson sat between the two uniformed Boston police officers, tagging along as their “observer.” The three had positioned themselves around a wobbly folding table in a small conference room located on the tenth floor of the McCormack Courthouse. They sipped canned sodas purchased by Jayson from the Superior Court’s cafeteria.

  Jayson didn’t believe half of what Officers Scott and Washington told him. The gruff, fortysomething Scott, a middle-aged white male, did most of the talking. His partner, a young, attractive woman with dark brown skin, frequently glanced at her watch. “I know we’ve gone over this already,” Jayson admitted, “but I want to go over it again just to be sure I understand.” He glanced at Victor, sitting next to him. The young man occasionally took notes, stopping long enough to run his fingers over the keyboard of his wireless tablet computer.

  “I’m sure you can appreciate that we’re all very busy,” Anderson declared.

  “And I’m sure you can appreciate that a young man’s life is at stake,” Jayson replied, “and I’ve been trying to arrange this meeting for a couple of weeks.” He skimmed over his notes from the initial interview he had conducted with Brian Stone, then did the same with the ones he had just made, and resumed his questioning. “Exactly where were you two coming from right before you first saw my client?”

  “We were on routine patrol in the neighborhood,” Scott answered.

  “And you were in your cruiser. Is that correct?” Jayson asked.

  “Yes,” Scott said.

  “Who was driving?”

  Scott pointed at himself. “Me.”

  “And what had you been doing right before you saw my client’s vehicle?”

  Scott shrugged, “We were doing our jobs, counselor. Just driving around keeping our eyes and ears open for bad guys.” He folded his arms across his chest.

  Jayson nodded and turned his attention to Washington. “Okay, but what I mean is, had you stopped anyone prior to that—you know, for speeding or running a red light or something?”

  Washington glanced at her partner. “Well…”

  Scott leaned forward. “We can’t remember if we stopped somebody over a year and a half ago, counselor.” He opened his hands. “I mean, c’mon.”

  Jayson made eye contact with Scott, then Washington. “We?”

  “I don’t remember,” Washington declared in a soft voice.

  Jayson turned to Victor and held out his hand. The intern reached into a yellow folder, produced a sheet of paper and handed it to him. “Well, would it refresh your memory if I informed you that according to your log that day, nearly two hours had passed between your previous stop and the encounter you had with my client?”

  Scott smirked and danced his eyes around the room. “Is that right? Musta been a slow day.” He pointed at himself and his partner. “We don’t stop people without probable cause. We respect the rule of law. I’m sure you can appreciate that.”

  Jayson smiled. “Well, Officer Scott, I sure wish there were more people like you and Officer Washington on the force. It would make my job so much easier.”

  “Can we get on with it?” Anderson demanded, gesturing at his watch.

  “Okay,” Jayson said. “Could you please tell me what you did for nearly two hours?”

  “Scott shrugged. “We drove around, making the city safe for you and your family, Mr. Cook.”

  “Where?”

  “Just around.”

  “Just around where?”

  Anderson jumped in. “Jayson, these officers aren’t on the witness stand. There’s no need to cross-examine them.”

  Jayson smiled. “Oh, I didn’t think I was being hostile or anything, Omar. But I’d sure like to know how they spent two hours before they stopped my client.”

  “It was a long time ago. We don’t remember,” Scott said.

  “Okay,” Jayson said, “let’s see what ‘we’ do remember. What prompted you to stop my client?”

  Anderson leaned forward, resting his elbow on the table. “Jayson, they answered this already. They advised you that your client was weaving, he strayed close to the center line and he didn’t come to a complete stop before making a right turn at an intersection. It’s not complicated.” He sat upright and looked at Victor.” We’re not here for you to teach basic interviewing techniques to law students. If you have any new material you’d like to cover, fine. Otherwise I’m going to declare this little get-together over.”

  Jayson glanced at Victor, who showed no sign of emotion. Still, the veteran criminal defense attorney didn’t appreciate Anderson’s remark. “How long have I been asking questions?”

  Victor, clad in a shirt and tie, pushed his shirtsleeve back and checked his watch. “Twenty-six minutes.”

  Jayson leaned forward. “Okay, Omar. If that’s how you want to play it, tell you what I’m going do: Either I ask all the questions I need to ask today, right now, or I’m going to request a pre-trial conference with the judge and tell him that after stalling me for a couple of weeks, the prosecution wouldn’t even let me have an hour with the two officers whose discovery was the basis for my client’s arrest.” He closed his folder, stood, and after buttoning the jacket of his suit, addressed Victor. “Please note the time and how long this ‘little get-together’ lasted.”

  “Okay,” Victor replied.

  Anderson stood also and raised his hands. “Now there’s no need to get all bent out of shape, Jayson,” he whined. “I just don’t see what good it does to ask the same questions over and over.” He pointed and swung his hand to the left and right. “Of course these two public servants would be happy to answer any questions you have, but let’s not keep them with repetition, okay?”

  Jayson allowed the room to remain silent for a few seconds. He had called Anderson’s bluff and embarrassed him in front of three others. Now he would have to give the man something to salvage his dignity. Otherwise, dealing with him in the future would be even more contentious and hostile than usual—and therefore harmful to his clients. “You’re right, Omar. I apologize.” He returned to his seat, as did Anderson. “I just need to clarify a few things. It won’t be much longer, okay?”

  Scott, Washington and Anderson nodded.

  Jayson opened his folder. “Officer Washington, would you please tell me again just how you found the map on the front passenger seat in clear view?” He emphasized the last three words to indicate his disbelief.

  “Um, w–well, um…” Washington stuttered, “it–it was just, um, lying there.”

  “Really?” Jayson asked. “Lying there all by itself?”

  “Um, yeah.”

  “How about that!” Jayson exclaimed, arching his eyebrows and flipping through a couple of photographs in his folder. “These pictures here show my client’s front and backseat cluttered with books, newspapers, clothes, tools; all kinds of objects.” He dropped the photos inside the folder, closed it and leaned back in his chair.

  “Well, um, I guess the map was lying on top of that stuff,” Washington insisted.

  “Um-hmm,” Jayson replied. “But you just said the map was just lying there all by itself when you found it.”

  “Um, maybe I didn’t hear your question right,” Washington mumbled, staring at her fingers.

  Jayson nodded. “And did you open the vehicle’s door or just reach into the open window to retrieve the map?”

  “Washington paused. “I–I reached into the open window.”

  Jayson jerked his head back as if he had been slapped. “Really? The window was down in December? With the temperature in the thirties?”

  Washington looked helplessly at her partner, then back at Jayson. “Right. I mean—”

  Scott jumped in again. “If my partner says the map was in plain view then it was.”

  “Very interesting,” Jayson remarked. He pointed at Victor. “You know what this
bright young man discovered while going over your logs and police reports?”

  “No,” Scott replied. “Please tell us.”

  Jayson stared at the senior officer. “Since you partnered up with Officer Washington here,” he paused and pointed at the woman, “you’ve found more than your share of incriminating evidence in plain view on the passenger seat.”

  Scott smirked and shrugged. “What can I say? I guess criminals have been getting more stupid lately.”

  Jayson shrugged also. “Would it surprise you to know my client claims his driving that night shouldn’t have given any honest police officer reason to stop him?”

  Scott’s smirk evaporated. “He did, huh? Well, I guess he’s—”

  “My client also claims,” Jayson interrupted, “the map wasn’t anywhere in clear view as you—well—your partner claimed, but in the glove compartment.”

  “Well,” Scott said, “I guess it’s the word of a man who burned a child to a crisp against the word of two police officers, one with over nineteen years on the force.”

  “And you, Officer Washington, how many years do you have on the force?”

  “Almost three,” she replied.

  “Three years,” Jayson repeated. “So when you stopped my client you would’ve had maybe a little over a year on the force. Isn’t that right?”

  “So what?” Anderson demanded to know.

  “So opening the glove compartment on a routine traffic stop is the kind of mistake a young, unseasoned officer might make,” Jayson replied, nodding in Washington’s direction.

  “That’s pure speculation,” Anderson said.

  “I think a judge would disagree,” Jayson suggested. “There was no probable cause to open the glove compartment, so whatever was found would be inadmissible. And since all your evidence was obtained with a faulty search warrant, whatever was found in my client’s apartment would also be inadmissible. In other words, you’d have no case.”

  “Jesus Christ, Jayson,” Anderson growled, “that man killed a twelve-year-old child.”

  “Who’s gonna take that racist pig’s word over ours?” Scott asked, raising his voice.

  “Take it easy, Gary,” Washington cautioned.

  “Judges sign search warrants,” Jayson declared, his voice steady and calm, “and they don’t like to be lied to.”

  Anderson rolled his eyes. “Even if your theory’s correct and she opened the glove compartment, you know the courts don’t throw out evidence based on honest mistakes.”

  Jayson tapped his index finger on the table. “The mistake has to be in good faith, Omar. Lying to a judge about how the map was obtained doesn’t constitute good faith and you know it.”

  “I didn’t lie to nobody,” Washington blurted out.

  Jayson pointed at the young officer. “Now that’s an issue for a judge to decide.” He softly tapped Victor on the knee and continued. “But remember, a squad car flashing its lights generates a lot of attention from passers-by and residents in the neighborhood. Wouldn’t it be interesting if I produced a witness who’s able to swear my client’s telling the truth?” He opened a folder and pretended to read. “You know how it is nowadays: everybody’s got a video recorder or camera or phone and just love to take pictures.”

  Anderson checked his watch and stood. “Do you have any more questions, Jayson?”

  Jayson turned to Victor. “Anything?” Victor shook his head, and Jayson turned back to Anderson. “Nope, we’re done.” He stood also. “Thank you for your time.” He watched as the two officers and Anderson left the room with faces as if they had just sucked sour lemons. He turned to Victor again and whispered. “You watch her after I tapped you?”

  “Yeah,” Victor answered. “I got the signal.”

  “How’d she react when I gave her that ‘eyewitness’ line?”

  Victor tapped the screen to turn off his computer and stood. “She looked surprised—and scared.”

  Jayson nodded. “Yeah. She’s the weakest link in their case.” He glanced at his watch. “Let’s dig a little deeper into both officers’ background.”

  “Do you think you should file a motion to examine their personnel files?”

  Jayson leaned against the table and examined the scarred, worn tile on the floor. “Their credibility’s an issue, but I don’t think a judge is going to let us poke around in their files based on Stone’s claims.” He stood erect and reached for his briefcase. “No. We’ll see what we can find out on our own. And I’ll ask Connie to check with a couple of people she met on the force when she was dating what’s-his-name.”

  “How about a motion to suppress?”

  Jayson shook his head. “Nope. Same deal. No judge is going to throw out mountains of evidence ‘cause Stone said the map wasn’t on the seat. I was the one wolfing that time.”

  “Okay,” Victor said, and grabbed his briefcase and computer case. “I’ll do some digging when I get back to the office. You’ll be back later, right?”

  Jayson nodded. “Yeah. I’ve got a motion upstairs on the Garcia case. I’ll see you before you leave for the day.” He slapped Victor on the back. “In the meantime, maybe you can chat up Michelle Ling.” He walked to the door and spoke without turning around. “I assume you have her telephone number.”

  Victor blushed. “I, um, well, yes. I think she kinda gave it to me.”

  “Well, kinda give her a call.”

  Teacher and student exited the room and joined throngs of people hurrying about in the corridor. As they waited for an elevator—Jayson to ride up and Victor to ride down—they exchanged opinions about the Boston Red Sox’s pennant chances. After thirty seconds, the “down” elevator door opened, revealing two men and two women, apparently strangers, who had each staked out a corner of the tiny space.

  Jayson slapped Victor on the back again as the intern grabbed his belongings. “You’ve been doing a great job. Keep up the good work.”

  Victor stepped into the middle of the elevator and turned to face Jayson. “Thank you, sir,” he said, his face beaming.

  Jayson pointed at him and displayed a playfully angry expression. “Hey, what’d I tell you about that?”

  Victor smiled. “I mean, thank you, Jayson.” The elevator door closed.

  Jayson felt a sudden rush of pride and affection toward his protégé. He stepped into the elevator next to the one which had carried Victor away and wondered how he would have felt if he and Renee had brought home a son instead of a daughter. He absolutely adored Jennifer, but tended to defer to Renee about the child’s upbringing, assuming a mother possessed more insight about rearing a girl than a father.

  Although only thirty-five years old, Jayson accepted the reality that Jennifer would be their only child. Even with full-time domestic help, he and Renee barely had enough time for one. Still, he thought, it would have been a thrill to have had a little boy, maybe even a little Jayson. The idea caused him to curl up the corners of his mouth.

  He gradually adjusted his expression to a more appropriate poker face as he entered the cramped courtroom on the fourteenth floor. The room showcased high ceilings, dark wood paneling on all the walls, and large pictures of three of the grimmest-looking deceased white male judges he had ever seen. Court officers wearing white, short-sleeved shirts stood on the other side of the bar separating the spectators from the well and escorted handcuffed detainees—all males—in and out of a side door.

  Judge Allen Van Buren, a fortyish, impatient man whose blond hair had turned mostly gray after five years on the bench, feverishly worked to lighten the Commonwealth’s docket with the help of two middle-aged female clerks. Lawyers had already begun taking bets on how long it would take before Van Buren would drop dead from a heart attack, perhaps while perched on his throne in the courtroom.

  Jayson knew his client wouldn’t be present during the hearing, but he searched the room for other familiar faces. He recognized a few but didn’t spot Samira Rahmani, his worthy opponent for the hearing. They were sche
duled to do battle over a speedy trial motion he had filed on behalf of a twenty-one-year-old indigent woman awaiting trial for nearly two years. Jayson believed the prosecution repeatedly requested delays on a very weak possession with intent to distribute case to pressure his client, who spoke very little English, into giving evidence against her former boyfriend, an alleged murderer. Rahmani possessed a huge bag of tricks, but Jayson felt confident his motion would be granted.

  Jayson sat in the back of the court, away from the door, and reviewed his notes for oral arguments, occasionally checking the tall, padded double doors for Rahmani’s entrance. She eventually arrived and saw him but sat close to the door and began chatting with a young woman Jayson recognized as a public defender. Rahmani played the game well, Jayson admitted to himself. She didn’t want to appear too eager to make a deal. Make him wait. He watched her out of the corner of his eye for a couple of minutes then returned to his notes. Eventually, he reasoned, Rahmani would approach him and offer a deal for time served. He would hold out for a misdemeanor plea. She would wolf for a couple of minutes but both would tacitly acknowledge he held the high cards on this one.

  Jayson heard the sound of light footsteps and felt the floor shake as a body plopped down into the seat behind him. “Are we ready to talk, counselor?” he heard the woman behind him whisper. He nodded, prepared to negotiate with Rahmani, but the unexpected faint smell of lavender surprised him. He glanced by the door to see Rahmani twelve feet away, still whispering to the public defender. He closed his eyes and sighed in resignation as he felt a pair of soft, light brown hands gently caress his shoulders. Eventually, Leslie Melendez leaned forward, holding her lovely, smooth, light brown face parallel to his.

  “You’ve been such a naughty boy, avoiding my calls, Jayson,” she moaned softly. “Now you have to buy me a drink.”

  Jayson ground his teeth together and sighed. “Sorry, I–I can’t, Leslie,” he said. “I have to take care of some business here.”

  “I’m afraid I’m gonna have to insist,” the woman whispered. “You don’t want me to make a scene here in front of all your friends, do you?”

  Jayson sighed again. His case could be called next. She had him pinned down with no escape. As Tenika testified, Leslie’s sexy appearance and coquettish manner generated a great deal of attention. His best move would be to get her out of the room as quickly as possible. “Okay, okay,” he conceded. “Wait for me on the bench outside the room and we’ll go somewhere and talk.”

  “Okay. I trust you,” Leslie purred. “I’ll be waiting.” She got up and sauntered out of the room as slowly as she could.

  Jayson kept his eyes on his notes.

  After a few seconds Rahmani took the seat next to his. “God, she’s beautiful—in a street kind of way. Who is she?”

  “Someone I have to deal with,” Jayson muttered.

  * * * * *