Joseph Teller - Depraved Indifference

Enter Dr. Jacoby.

Again it was David Kaminsky who did the honors. Again Jaywalker rose to stipulate that the bodies were indeed those of the eight children named in the indictment. Again Firestone and his team rejected the offer. And again Justice Hinkley admonished Jaywalker for grandstanding in front of the jury. Though she did refrain from adding to his contempt sentence.

This time, the prosecution's inflexibility backfired just a bit. Kaminsky had Dr. Jacoby produce a series of packets. The first such packet contained multiple photographs and X-rays taken after the incident, and showing the teeth of the dead children. Each photo bore a number, 1 through 8, as well as the letter X, for "unknown." The rules of spelling, it seemed, were going to yield to the conventions of algebra. Next, Dr. Jacoby identified eight more packets, each containing not only photos and X-rays that had been taken during the lives of the children, but those of close relatives, as well. Each of those items bore the letter K, for "known." But here the numbers ran into the hundreds. And even though Kaminsky had taken the trouble to have all of the items premarked, it still took a good twenty minutes for them to be offered, remarked, and received in evidence. During those twenty minutes, the jurors got to sit on their hands. Jaywalker made a point of yawning several times, and noticed that a few of the jurors caught the bug and followed suit. Never a good sign for the prosecution.

Then Kaminsky began the tedious process of drawing out from Dr. Jacoby the evidence upon which he'd been able to match the teeth of each child with a name, through either prior photos, X-rays, or comparisons of markers, or unusual characteristics, with the teeth of known relatives. At one point Kaminsky got so confused trying to match up the Xs with the Ks that he offered to give up trying and accept the defense's offer of a stipulation.

"Objection," said Jaywalker. "Grandstanding."

Once it had gotten the desired effect of a couple of grins from the jury box, he withdrew the objection and agreed to stipulate. But before sitting down, he made sure to make a point of looking at his trusty Movado knockoff and shaking his head from side to side in mock exasperation over the waste of the jury's time.

But if a handful of jurors had noticed and smiled, Kaminsky remained oblivious. Finished with his direct examination of Dr. Jacoby, he insisted that the photos and X-rays, all 216 of them, be published to the jury. Justice Hinkley complied, but it was a mistake. There were simply too many exhibits, and unlike the video and the previous photos, these were in black and white. The jurors barely looked at them. Could it be that they were beginning to become desensitized to the horror?

Jaywalker could only hope.

Jaywalker half expected Justice Hinkley to relent and let him go for the night, but she didn't. She did permit him to turn his valuables over to Amanda for safekeeping. These included his identification, his keys, his watch and his money, which, assuming the overnight rate of exchange with Samoa hadn't changed, came to $17.42. Then he was escorted into the pen area by an apologetic trooper.

"Any chance I can double bunk with my client?" Jaywalker asked him. "I need to prepare him for testifying."

"I'll see what I can do," said the trooper. "But…"

"What?"

"Nothing."

"What?" Jaywalker repeated. And when that didn't work, he pulled out his trump card. "C'mon," he said. "I used to be on the job." The words might not have meant anything to a civilian, but to anyone in law enforcement, they were the way you said you were one of them, that you, too, had once carried a gun and a shield for a living. They were words he'd learned back in his DEA days, when he'd been out on the street undercover, carrying a bad-guy gun but no shield. And when some gung ho cop would stop him, give him a toss, and discover a. 380 Browning semiautomatic shoved down his belt, with one in the chamber and eleven in the clip-which happened more than once-and was about to crack him over the head with it to teach him a lesson, Jaywalker would mutter the words just in time to save his skull.

On the job.

"Okay," said the trooper. "Just make sure you keep your food straight from his."

"Ten-four," said Jaywalker.

Which was his way of saying he got it. What the trooper was telling him was that Carter Drake wasn't much liked, and there was the outside but nonetheless distinct possibility that things were ending up on his meal tray or in his coffee that didn't exactly belong there. Not that the advice came as a total shock to Jaywalker. He'd once been warned by a court officer never to pour himself a cupful of water from the pitcher of a particular judge who was known to be discourteous toward his staff.

After a pat-down and some processing, including fingerprinting and photographing, Jaywalker was placed in solitary. He caught a nap on a bare steel cot, using his jacket as a blanket and his shoes for a pillow. It wouldn't be the first night he'd spent in jail, and it probably wouldn't be the last, so he figured he might as well make the best of things. After an hour or so, he was awakened and handed a pen through the bars, along with a printed form. He read just enough of it to understand that he was forever surrendering his right to sue the state, the county, the city, and their agents and employees in the unlikely event of assault, rape, death or dismemberment. He signed with his left hand, illegibly enough so that if more than three of those things were to happen, his daughter could claim that the handwriting wasn't his. Then his earlier wish was granted, and he was led down the corridor to a two-bunk cell, where Carter Drake took one look at him, smiled broadly and said, "Hey, it's my cousin Vinny!"

Whatever that w as supposed to mean.

Spending a night in jail may actually have a positive effect on some people. It can serve as a warning to mend one's ways. It can provide an educational experience, even a humbling one. Gandhi is said to have emerged from imprisonment more determined than ever, Martin Luther King more revered. In modern times, at least one politician used his five years as a prisoner of war as a springboard to some degree of political success.

That said, jail does little for one's personal hygiene. Even though Jaywalker had been careful to keep his food-to use the word loosely-separate from that of his cell mate, he emerged the next morning looking like he'd slept in his suit and, well, smelling pretty much as might have been expected. The one-night rate, it turned out, hadn't included shower privileges. And unlike even the cheap motels he was used to on the rare occasion when he traveled, there'd been no cute little soaps, shampoos and conditioners arrayed on the bathroom sink. In fact, there'd been no bathroom. There'd been a sink, a steel thing with a single faucet producing cold water, and a matching toilet, no seat, no lid.

With no mirror in sight, the best he could do was to run a hand through his hair and over the stubble on his chin. He had to tie his tie three times to get the ends right. His shirt was badly wrinkled, but that was nothing compared to how it smelled.

So when Jaywalker walked into the courtroom Tuesday morning to find Amanda waiting for him with a fresh suit and shirt, clean undershorts and socks, a toothbrush and toothpaste, a comb and-most welcome of all-a stick of deodorant, he was beyond grateful. She'd found his address among his identification, she explained, and used his keys to let herself into his apartment. Security had been no problem, there being none.

Justice Hinkley allowed him ten minutes to use a public restroom to change and defumigate. By the time he reappeared, he looked pretty much himself, give or take a day's stubble. Not that pretty much himself was ever going to land him on the pages of GQ magazine. But at least he smelled good, thanks to a generous underarm and overbody coating of Old Spice Original Scent.