Guilt by Association

by Kelvin L. Reed

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  His palms were sweaty. Jayson’s, not the judge’s.

  Jayson stared at the papers in O’Hare’s hands, trying to count how many sheets he held. In his experience as an attorney, a judge holding several sheets of paper meant the granting of a motion. Unfortunately, O’Hare only held a couple of sheets.

  Jayson noted that superior court judges in the Commonwealth of Massachusetts secured lifetime tenure. They didn’t have to bother with the indignity of running for re-election as in some other states. Nevertheless, they tended to be an ambitious lot, hoping for a higher appointment from the governor, perhaps being favored for one of only seven coveted Supreme Judicial Court seats, or a spot on some high-profile blue ribbon panel. Consequently, no judge wanted to be seen as soft on crime, so when granting a defense motion to dismiss a complaint or suppress evidence the judge usually laid out a myriad of reasons with great care. The pronouncement tended to be long, with the words, “The court has no choice but to…” almost always preceding the decision.

  Jayson studied O’Hare, who, at precisely 11:05 a.m., put on a pair of reading glasses and filled the crowded room with his loud, raspy voice.

  “This case,” he opened, “presents one of the most difficult tasks a sitting judge can be faced with: whom to believe. On the one side we have the word of a young woman at the beginning of her career as a law enforcement officer.”

  Jayson glanced at Stone, who appeared stiff and frightened, like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming automobile. Jayson had advised the young man to expect the motion to be denied. He generally dispensed this advice because that was the outcome in the overwhelming majority of cases. Jayson wanted his clients to prepare for a long, tedious slog. Contrary to what appeared on television, the wheels of the criminal justice system turned very slowly. Stone’s two-year stint at the Suffolk County Jail awaiting trial wasn’t uncommon. Jayson had seen the time between arrest and trial for some defendants stretch to three years.

  O’Hare continued: “On the other side we have a man who has served the public for over nineteen years…”

  Jayson had found Stone, as defendants go, to hold more contradictions than most. He hadn’t graduated from high school, but read voraciously. He had lived in the home of a black family for a year and admitted open affection for its matriarch, but expressed clearly racist beliefs. He longed for what he had never enjoyed—the intimate companionship of a woman, but was disconcerted by the amorous attention of several women. He considered himself a religious man, yet he had willingly committed an act of terrorism. Finally, rather than repeatedly profess his innocence to Jayson—as almost all clients did—Stone had repeatedly attempted to confess his guilt.

  The tone of O’Hare’s voice rose a half note. “For this court to determine which witness is more credible—Gary Scott or Alexis Washington—it must examine who has the most to lose if his or her testimony is true.”

  Jayson glanced at Connie. She shrugged and crossed her fingers.

  “In this situation it’s clearly Officer Washington,” O’Hare asserted. “In fact, Officer Washington has everything to lose by volunteering her testimony, including her career, her reputation, and quite possibly, her freedom…”

  Jayson dared not take the judge’s opening remarks to mean a positive outcome for his side. He sneaked a quick look at Rahmani and Anderson. Rahmani sat emotionless. Anderson as usual, looked like a man who had just lost a sporting bet.

  O’Hare shifted from an assessment of people to an assessment of evidence. “Not only was a credible witness produced by the defense, but so was substantial evidence corroborating the claims of that witness.”

  Jayson checked on Stone. How long could a man stare without blinking?

  Judge O’Hare shuffled his papers to the next page. “However…”

  Jayson hated that word. It meant “close but not close enough.” He made brief eye contact with Stone and shook his head to indicate they had lost.

  “…evidence of current or recent wrongdoing does not necessary mean such behavior occurred in the past.”

  Damn it, Jayson thought, but he did have a few ideas for other motions.

  “It can, however…”

  Jayson sighed. There he goes again with that however business.

  “…provide evidence supporting a claim of a pattern of behavior.” O’Hare peered above his glasses and resumed reading. “That leads this court to ask, does the evidence presented support the defense claim of past behavior?”

  Jayson clenched his fists. Here it comes.

  “The court finds that it clearly does.”

  What? Jayson widened his eyes. Did he hear the old man right? Now his silent reactions mirrored the call-response pattern at church.

  “Does the evidence support the defense claim that the police did in fact misrepresent the truth when reporting the circumstances surrounding the search of the defendant’s vehicle?”

  Well?

  “This court finds that it clearly does.”

  Clearly does!

  “Does the evidence support the defense claim that the police did in fact misrepresent the truth in order to obtain a warrant to search the defendant’s residence?”

  Go ahead, Your Honor!

  “This court finds that it clearly does.”

  Thank you!

  “The Supreme Court of the United States has been unequivocally clear: Mapp v Ohio held the Fourth Amendment prohibition against ‘unreasonable searches and seizures,’ and therefore the exclusionary rule, extends to defendants in federal and state court.”

  Preach!

  “The people have asserted that United States v Leon and Arizona v Evans extend to ‘good faith’ exceptions. Their point is accurate and well taken, but clearly this was not a ‘good faith’ error on the part of the police…”

  Clearly!

  “…but deliberate disregard for proper search warrant procedure.” Judge O’Hare stopped and sighed. “This court’s reservations notwithstanding, it has no choice but to find the search of the defendant’s vehicle and the warrant used to search the defendant’s residence were in fact tainted by police misconduct. Therefore all evidence obtained therein is inadmissible.”

  The spectators gasped, then talked loudly among themselves. O’Hare pounded his gavel, silencing them.

  Jayson stood. “Your Honor, in light of the court’s decision, the defense moves for dismissal of all charges.”

  O’Hare addressed the ADAs. “Do the people have any evidence other than the map and the contents from the defendant’s apartment?”

  Rahmani stood. “Well, um, Your Honor, we, um, don’t think so but—”

  “Then the defense’s motion is granted.”

  Anderson stood. “Your Honor, the people ask that the defendant remain in custody pending an immediate appeal. He has no ties here in Boston, poses a significant flight risk and—”

  “Your Honor,” Jayson interrupted, “the defense ask that the defendant be immediately released.” He mounted the perfunctory protest for show.

  “Forget it, counselor,” O’Hare told Jayson. “Mr. Anderson is correct. I’ll hold my decision in abeyance. It’s back to jail for your client pending the appeal. The people’s request is granted. Take the defendant back into custody. We’re adjourned.” He banged his gavel one last time.

  Immediately after O’Hare descended from the bench, the reporters lunged toward Jayson. Stone’s three female admirers called to him, but he didn’t turn toward them. Four court officers, spread out between the spectators and the attorneys, kept the crowd back.

  Jayson faced Stone. “It’s not over yet, Brian. It’s a hot case. O’Hare did the right thing because he’s retiring.”

  Stone glanced at the approaching court officer, brandishing handcuffs, and held out his hands while turning his face to ask Jayson a question. “What happens now?”

  “They’re going to appeal. I told you they would if we won.”

  “How long will it take?
”

  “Could be days—or weeks,” Jayson replied. “I’ll do everything I can to speed it up.”

  “Wh-what should I do?”

  Jayson leaned closer to Stone. “Be patient, and remember: Don’t talk to anyone about the case. Nobody. Especially now.” He pointed at himself. “I’ll handle the reporters.”

  Jayson asked Connie to take care of his briefcase and Stone. He squeezed past the hordes of spectators and stepped into the hall. Rahmani and Anderson stood a few yards away already busy putting their spin on the results.

  “This certainly isn’t over by any stretch of the imagination,” Rahmani insisted. “We expect this ruling to be overturned almost immediately by the Appellate Court.”

  Anderson fumed. “No child will be safe if this ruling is allowed to stand. It’s a—”

  The reporters abandoned the ADAs in order to stick their cameras and microphones into the victor’s face. “Jayson, how does it feel to be a winner?” one woman asked.

  “I’m not the winner. It’s the people of Massachusetts who are the winners,” Jayson retorted. “Because of the courage of one Boston police officer, and the wisdom of one judge, the rights guaranteed to all of us by the United States Constitution have been affirmed.”

  “Are you disappointed the judge didn’t let your client go free?”

  “Well, Brian and I are disappointed, but we understand the judge’s position.”

  “What do you say to comments that Stone’s life isn’t worth last week’s newspaper if he manages to walk on account of a technicality?”

  Jayson opened his hands. “Legally, Brian Stone is presumed innocent. If he goes free it’s because in the eyes of the law he’s an innocent man.” The reporters, eager to see a public brawl, cleared a path for Reverend Bradley. Jayson frowned.

  The reverend snorted like an angry bull. “How does it feel to betray your people and help a white man who murdered an innocent little black girl to go free?”

  Jayson maintained eye contact with the reverend, whose breath stank from coffee consumption. He didn’t want a heated confrontation with a grieving father to play on the news. “I’m very sorry for your loss, sir,” he said calmly, “but the judge has ruled. The best thing everyone can do is to proceed from there.”

  “This isn’t over,” Reverend Bradley declared. “We’ll get justice for my little girl!”

  Jayson said nothing. Fortunately, a six-feet tall, male court officer stepped near Jayson, his silent presence ensuring that matters would not get out of hand. Jayson answered a few more questions, then waved the reporters off. They respected his wishes and focused on Reverend Bradley, a man not known for turning down a microphone.

  Jayson and Connie boarded an elevator, already occupied by several people obviously unaware of the drama that had recently unfolded. Attorney and paralegal would say nothing about the hearing until they reached his car, as was their practice. While the elevator carried him down to the lobby, Jayson imagined the headlines in the papers echoing what Anderson, Rahmani and Reverend Bradley had all said: “This isn’t over.”

  •

  Jayson watched the large television mounted eight feet off the ground on the second floor of Terminal B at Logan International Airport. Business dropped off considerably after seven o’clock, so less than thirty people stood or walked in his vicinity. The twenty-four-hour New England-oriented news station featured a handsome Latino with a smooth, velvety voice. The station identification and current time, seven-fifteen p.m., were displayed electronically below the breast pocket of the anchorman’s suit. Jayson paid attention to the current story.

  “This morning an appellate court in Boston denied the appeal of the Suffolk County district attorney, which had sought to overturn last week’s dismissal of all charges against accused murderer Brian Stone.”

  Jayson checked the other large screen a few feet away for Renee’s flight number. She would arrive a couple of minutes before eight; a bit early. She had attended a work-related, three-day conference in Chicago; her last duty for her current employer before she would smugly give a month’s notice. Highway traffic had been better than expected, so Jayson had reached the airport early, a feat he rarely accomplished. He refocused on the news story.

  “The Massachusetts seven-member Supreme Judicial Court is expected to announce whether it will grant a hearing on the matter sometime within the next few days.”

  Jayson felt relieved the reporter hadn’t mentioned his name. Since Judge O’Hare had granted his motion, a uniformed police officer had been assigned to watch his law office twenty-four hours a day. He had received numerous threatening and nuisance telephone calls, and the police scanned all packages he received for possible dangerous contents.

  Jayson took a few steps forward while listening to the end of the report and spotted the last person on earth he wanted to see coming toward him. She toted a large overnight bag and purse.

  “Hello, Jayson,” Leslie purred and stopped about two feet from him. She wore jeans, a tight fitting, short-sleeved blouse that zipped up the front, and a pair of high heel shoes. She turned her head left and right, apparently checking for the presence of anyone else.

  Not wanting to be seen in public with her, Jayson checked as well. “What are you doing here, Leslie, following me?” he snapped. Although greatly annoyed, he noticed she had lost a little weight, which made her sexier than ever. He also noticed the pleasant scent of her perfume but chose to keep that fact to himself.

  “Get over yourself,” Leslie grumbled. “I was going to ask if you were following me.”

  Jayson glanced at his watch, then hustled Leslie to a nearby dark, enclosed bar and grill. He bought two diet sodas, which they carried to a small table farthest from the door. The other ten people scattered about paid them no attention.

  Leslie clutched her bag with her left hand and managed her drink with her right. “Guess I’m the last person on earth you wanted to see, huh?”

  Jayson sighed. “What are you doing here, Leslie?”

  “We’re at an airport,” she said. “I’m catching a flight. Duh.”

  “Where?”

  “Back to Costa Rica, thanks to your ass,” Leslie informed him sarcastically.

  “I didn’t do much,” Jayson replied, responding as if the remark had been sincere. “I just called your lawyer and made a few suggestions. The drug case was weak. She probably would’ve done those things anyway.” He noticed Leslie holding her breath. “What’s wrong?”

  “Shit,” she muttered and furtively stared at a person standing near the door.

  Jayson scrutinized a tall female security officer who had barely entered the room. “Take it easy,” he advised. “Drink your soda.”

  “I beat the drug rap, thanks to you,” Leslie whispered, “but Immigration’s still looking to deport my ass.”

  Jayson snickered. “Leslie, she’s airport security, not Immigration. That’s in the second place. In the first place they’ve got millions of people to contend with, not just you.” He chuckled. “Look, didn’t they let you walk out the front door after the drug charges were dropped when they were supposed to keep you for a deportation hearing? They’re not exactly famous for their efficiency.” He made a slight gesture with his head. “See? She’s leaving.”

  “I just can’t go back to being locked up,” Leslie whined. “You don’t know what it was like.”

  Jayson shrugged. “Then you’re doing the right thing, getting the hell out.”

  “Bet you’re glad to get rid of me.”

  “Yes I am.”

  “Then why’d you help me?”

  “You wouldn’t understand.”

  “Try me.”

  Jason sighed again. “I helped you because you needed help, because I could help and because you’re Jennifer’s mother.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah. So how’s the kid anyway?”

  “Her name’s Jennifer. She’s fine. She’ll turn seven in a few days.”

  “Um-hmm,” Leslie
mumbled. “So you’re holding the gun now. If I bother you again you’ll pull the trigger and I’ll get my ass picked up by Immigration.” She paused to sip her drink. “Guess I should’ve known better than to tangle with the great lawyer, Jayson Cook.” She changed her demeanor and smiled. “You spanked my ass good—but not the way you wanted to, I bet.”

  “Get over yourself already,” Jayson retorted. “You need to start a new life. What are you going to do once you get back to Costa Rica?”

  “Leslie leaned forward and grinned. “I got nearly ten grand in cash in this bag.”

  Jayson widened his eyes. “Really?”

  “Damn straight. A little present from that asshole they picked me up with for keeping my mouth shut,” Leslie added. “He told me to take ten, which I already wired to myself back home, but you know how I like a big tipper.” She jiggled the bag. “And I got me some fake ID shit that’ll get me out of the country.”

  Jayson whistled. “Jesus, Leslie. What if they check—”

  “They don’t check out nothing but these honkers,” Leslie said and kneaded her breasts with her right hand. “I could sneak a goddamn battleship past them.”

  Jayson shook his head. Same old Leslie. She’d never change. He stood. “Well, if there’s nothing else, I better go.”

  Leslie grabbed him by the hand. “Do you have to go already?”

  Jayson looked into her eyes and detected intense loneliness. She reminded him of Connie, a little. But while Connie still believed in love, Leslie obviously didn’t know the meaning of the word. “We shouldn’t be seen together,” he finally answered. “I’ve been in the news lately. The last thing you need is some nosy reporter bothering us.”

  Leslie looked around. “You’re right. You better go.” She stood also.

  For an awkward moment, Jayson didn’t know what to do. How does one say good-bye to his blackmailer? Leslie answered his silent question. She grabbed him by the tie, pulled him toward her and kissed him on the lips. Jayson didn’t resist.

  Leslie whispered in his ear. “I chose the right father for the kid, whatever the reason.”

  Jayson smiled. “Thank you,” he said. “Go with God, Leslie.”

  She smirked and backed away shaking the bag. “I’m going with more than that.” She turned and fired one more parting shot. “You might see me again.”

  Jayson reached for a paper napkin and wiped hard to remove the woman’s lipstick from his mouth. Any trace and Renee would surely go ballistic. He watched Leslie sashay away and garnered pleasure at seeing Leslie’s backside—for more reasons than one.

  He waited for five minutes before leaving the bar and grill. As he exited the place he heard his telephone ring and answered it.

  “Jayson, guess what? I located that person,” Connie announced.

  Jayson became excited. “Really? And?”

  “Once we hear from the SJC about Stone, we’re all set.” Connie’s voice indicated concern. “Um, Jayson, are you sure about this?”

  “No, but I can’t think of any other way,” he replied, and swerved to avoid colliding with a running child. “Hey, Renee’s flight is due so I’ll talk to you later. Thanks.” He hung up and considered his plan involving Stone, about which his client knew nothing. He recognized his idea constituted a gamble, a gamble way outside his comfort zone.

  * * * * *