Robert Tanenbaum - Justice Denied

Marlene said, “Yeah. By the way, who were you out drinking with? Some woman?”

The sudden change of topic threw Karp’s mind out of the muddy rut in which it had been grinding, and left it spinning on the slick ice of Marlene’s attitude.

“What! No, not a woman. Roland.”

“That must have been fun. What prompted it? A sudden taste for bad lesbian jokes?”

“No, Roland cracked, or seems to have cracked, a big case. That shooting over by the U.N.-they found this pathetic amateur terrorist, an Armenian jeweler. So I thought I’d buy him a drink and discuss the case in congenial circumstances.”

While he was talking, Marlene rose from the couch and went to the bathroom. She took an old blue plaid robe from a hook and carried it over to Karp. Then she busied herself with warming up some food. He watched her work. Her movements were precise, graceful, economical. She closed the refrigerator door just so, she picked up and used implements elegantly-there was never a mess where she had been. He watched her a lot; even after living together for four years, her movements still fascinated him.

Marlene Ciampi was a medium-sized woman just shy of thirty years old, with a thin, muscular body that her single pregnancy had touched hardly at all. She had a face out of the late Renaissance: cheekbones like knives, a long, straight nose, a wide, lush mouth, a strong jaw and chin. Her brows were heavy and unplucked, and underneath them were two large, dark eyes, only one of which was real.

“Discuss the case in a bar, huh?” Marlene turned from the stove and gestured with a spatula. “By which I gather you aren’t in love with his Armenian,” she said.

“How did you figure that out?” said Karp, amazed. He was barely aware of it himself.

“You forget I’m a trained investigator,” she answered blithely. “Look, Roland’s a friend of yours, but you don’t go out of your way to socialize with him outside the office. He spends a lot of time hanging around saloons, and you never go into a saloon. So why should you all of a sudden decide to go into his turf? Because you wanted to break some bad news and, nice guy that you are, you thought it would go easier if he was comfortable and had a couple of scoops in him. Am I right? Yeah. So how did it go?”

Karp made a dismissive gesture. “I brought up a few points I thought he should look at.”

“Such as?”

“You really want to hear this?”

“A little, but I get the feeling you really want to tell it. Here’s your dinner.”

She had made up a little tray, chicken stew and salad and a heel of Tuscan bread and butter, which she placed carefully across Karp’s lap. He tore into the food ravenously. Marlene was a good cook, if you liked good bread, good coffee, and lumps of miscellaneous material generously sauced and served on rice or spaghetti, and you didn’t mind eating the same thing several days in a row. Between mouthfuls he filled her in on what he had learned of the Tomasian case, and described his vague doubts.

“So you don’t think this Armenian did it?” asked Marlene when he had concluded his story.

“I didn’t say that. I said there’s things about the case that would make me uneasy if it was my case, and I expressed that to Roland.”

“How did he take it?”

“Not well. He was doing his massive jaw-clenching routine when I decided to drop the subject.”

“I’m not surprised,” said Marlene. “It sounds like it’s a mega-case that could make him famous, and here’s you throwing sand in the gears. He’s jealous of you to begin with-”

“Roland? He’s not jealous of me. I think he thinks I’m a little wimpy, if anything, because I don’t drink and fuck everything above room temperature and talk tough with the cops.”

“That’s right,” she replied, “and even though you don’t, you’re famous, and you have the best homicide conviction record in the city, and you got to play pro ball-”

“And I’m married to an incredibly beautiful woman-”

“In your dreams, and he can’t stand not being the biggest swinging dick on the street.”

“You know, you’re really being unfair, Marlene,” replied Karp. “Roland right now is probably the hardest-working and most successful A.D.A. in the office. He’s got no reason to be jealous of anyone. Rivalry maybe-he’s a competitive guy. So am I. It’s natural. But I can’t believe he’d let that influence the way he handled a case.”

“Well you’ve always been totally naïve about that aspect of human behavior, especially where pals are concerned. Look, Roland’s been at the D.A. as long as you, right? And, as you say, he’s got a great track record, correct? But you don’t see anyone hurrying to make him a bureau chief. And you know why? He’s got a personality like a Doberman pinscher.”

“So do I,” said Karp defensively. “So do you, for that matter.”

“In court, yes,” replied Marlene. “Not otherwise. That’s a big difference. And we’re not talking about me. We’re talking about you and Roland. I don’t count for him because I’m just a wise-ass cunt, as Roland might put it.”

“You never did like him.”

“I like him fine, Butch. Roland and I have had many interesting and amusing conversations, especially after he finally got it through his blond head that I wasn’t going to crawl into the rack with him. But he’s got a thing going with you. And I’d want to watch him around Bloom and company.”

“What? That’s crazy, Marlene! He hates Bloom worse than I do.”

“Yeah, but he thinks he can manipulate Bloom, which means he’s playing on Bloom’s court. You, on the other hand, decline the game entirely, which is what drives Bloom crazy. You just don’t give a shit. Are you finished with that? I want to clean up.”

“Yeah, thanks,” said Karp, and then sat in silence, flexing his chilled knee and thinking about what Marlene had said. It didn’t make sense to him, but he had learned over the years to appreciate Marlene’s judgments about people, even when he didn’t agree with them, and he treated her pronouncements like those of an expert witness in, say, blood chemistry-recondite but usable in court.

She finished her wash-up and sat down next to him on the couch. She lit her evening cigarette, one of the five she allowed herself each day.

“So what are you going to do about it?” she asked.

“Do? What can I do? It’s his case and it’s a strong case against his guy.”

“But what if he didn’t do it?”

Karp smiled. “Then because our system is just, he’ll walk out a free man.”

“I can see you don’t want to discuss this seriously,” she replied sharply, “but I am simply not going to believe you’re going to let an innocent man get nailed for this, and -don’t interrupt- and let the guilty party walk away laughing, just because you don’t want to hurt Roland’s feelings.”

“Don’t get started, Marlene,” warned Karp. “I meant what I said about getting off, and you know why? Because in court we’re not like the defense attorneys. It’s not a symmetrical thing. They don’t have to prove anything; they don’t have to even believe their client is innocent. That’s not their job. All they have to do is insert doubt. It’s a simpler service, like dry cleaning.”

“I know all this, Butch. What’s your point?”

“My point is, if we don’t believe the guy’s guilty, it does matter. The doubt is there on the prosecutor’s side and the jury can smell it.”

“Oh, what horseshit! You mean to tell me that innocent people don’t get convicted? Christ, there are even words for the process: framed, railroaded-”

“Okay, I’ll modify that: not for homicide, not by conviction where there’s competent counsel and not in New York City at the present time. Sure, in Coon Squat, Georgia, where they have one homicide in a decade, yeah, they grab the town asshole and nail him to a tree. But not here, not recently. Christ, Marlene, that’s why these bozos Bloom put in have been copping stone killers to man deuce. That’s what I’m trying to change. It’s hard to convict someone who you’re absolutely one hundred percent convinced is guilty. Trials are a bitch! And you could get wiped if you don’t know what the hell you’re doing. That’s why they don’t do them.”