Robert Tanenbaum - Counterplay

When questioned about the cases noted in Stupenagel’s story, Rachman angrily denied that there was anything materially wrong with them. She said she would have preferred “going forward and letting the juries decide on guilt or innocence. Not some arbitrary decision made by a male district attorney who can’t seem to understand the trauma that women go through in a sexual assault that might leave them psychologically precarious.”

Karp had ignored the attacks and insisted that Murrow and the others working on his campaign do the same. He believed that the public was bright enough to understand that Rachman was blowing smoke.

Still, he had to admit that her campaign was gaining ground. She had a long ways to go to challenge his position in the polls, but she was outspending him four-to-one with television, radio, and print ads. She’d even assembled a small group of former rape victims whose attackers she had put behind bars to give testimonials to the press that she was their “champion” while Karp was nothing more than a figurehead.

Murrow had complained bitterly that he was hobbled by Karp’s refusal to get into negative politics. “I don’t like dirty politics, either,” he griped. “But it’s the way things are done these days. If someone hits you, people want to see you hit back. Otherwise, you’re a big wuss.”

“A wuss?” Karp said. “Well, I guess I’ve been called worse.”

“And still are,” Murrow said. “We’re taking more ‘KKKarp’ hits for the Coney Island Four case.” He handed Karp a copy of the New York Post that had a huge headline over a photograph of flamboyant, race-baiting black attorney Hugh Louis that read: New York DA a Racist?

Karp barely glanced at the paper before tossing it into his wastepaper basket. The so-called Coney Island Four was a gang of young black men who’d brutally raped and almost killed a young woman who’d been jogging along Coney Island’s Brighton Beach one morning more than a decade earlier. They’d been serving time when a vile sex offender named Enrique Villalobos came forward to claim that he’d been the only one to assault the woman. Their attorney, Louis, had immediately demanded that they be exonerated and released from prison, and the King’s County DA had immediately capitulated. Louis had then sued the city of New York and NYPD for what he called a “racially motivated railroading” of his clients by overzealous prosecutors.

Although it wasn’t part of his job description, Karp had taken on the case at the request of the city’s new mayor, Michael Denton, who didn’t trust the corporation counsel, the city’s attorney at the time. At trial, Karp had proved that the original prosecution had been a good one and that, in fact, Villalobos had been forced by the gang of rapists into testifying otherwise.

Karp considered the trial a win, although justice had been meted out in an unusually lethal manner. In garish courtroom cross-examination, Karp forced Villalobos to recant his “confession.” The leader of the gang, Jayshon Sykes, had than seized a court officer’s gun and killed Villalobos. The uncommon fireworks ended when the rape victim shot and killed Sykes.

Hugh Louis was arrested for his part in the planning of the schemes and charged with capital murder among other major felonies. He would be going to trial later that fall, and was now claiming again that Karp’s defense of the city had been racially motivated.

It is immaterial that my client, who is no longer here to defend himself, may or may not have committed a crime, the former dapper Hugh Louis, now dressed in his jailhouse jumpsuit, ranted to the press from the Tombs dayroom. The big picture here-are you with me-is that the city called in its “top gun,” a man who has been accused before of racist acts, because my clients were African-American, and is now after me because-although I was duped by my clients-I am African-American. It is another example of The Man sending a message to people of color, “Do not attempt to seek justice or we will silence you one way or the other.” Well, no one silences Hugh Louis.

When an incensed Murrow read the quote to Karp from the Times and demanded that they issue a press release to counter it, Karp told him to drop it. I think the public sees through this crap. I’m not going to dignify it by responding every time Louis, or Rachman, or anybody else wants to play the race or gender or religion or politics card.

Murrow winced at the mention of Rachman. As he’d predicted, when Guma had convinced Karp that he had enough to reopen the Stavros case, a decision that was vindicated when the grand jury indicted Emil, she’d howled with outrage. She’d blasted Karp, saying he was showing his true colors by resorting to Tammany Hall politics to stay in power.

Stavros’s attorney had, of course, joined the chorus. The attorney, Bryce Anderson, a glib, frequent commentator on legal issues for CNN, was beside himself with indignation at a hastily called press conference on the steps of the Criminal Courts building.

This is an absolute outrage, he huffed. It’s obviously a shameless attempt by the district attorney to pull out old rumors to embarrass and damage a man who opposes him politically. It’s vengeance, pure and simple, for all the funds that are pouring into his opponent’s war chest, and he’s starting to feel the pinch in the polls. Mrs. Stavros abandoned her family fourteen years ago, at which time Mr. Stavros was completely exonerated of any wrongdoing. Should this farce be allowed to continue, we will fight these charges with every ounce of our energy, and when we are victorious, we will work to make sure that this new “Boss Tweed” is chased from office by the good people of New York City.

Murrow had wanted to go on the attack then, just as he did now. But Karp wouldn’t let him answer Rachman or Anderson, other than a brief comment: A duly formed grand jury heard the evidence and determined that probable cause existed to warrant the charges against Mr. Stavros. We will reserve further comment for the courtroom. Nor would he let Murrow go off now. “If I can’t run on my record and what I have to say, then I don’t want to win anyway.”

“Well, then, that means you agree to all these appearances,” Murrow said.

It was Karp’s turn to hold up his hands. “You win, Gilbert,” he said. “As long as it doesn’t interfere with doing the job or cut into all of my family time.”

“That doesn’t leave much,” Murrow groused. “I think you’re getting stretched pretty thin.”

Karp downplayed the comment but thought: He’s right. I am feeling a little stretched. It wasn’t just the day-to-day stuff of running the District Attorney’s Office, either. The hunt for Andrew Kane and his accomplices was running into dead ends, according to the almost daily reports he got from Jaxon. Nor was there much to indicate what Kane was up to beyond revenge. Apparently, there’s been an increase in internet chatter that seems to indicate that something’s up, Jaxon said. And the NSA’s “man on the inside” is still trying to get close. In the meantime, Ellis said to tell you he’s “got your back. ”

Karp had rolled his eyes at that one. It was almost a game now trying to figure out who among the hundreds of people walking the sidewalks around Crosby and Grand every hour were really federal agents assigned to protect him and his family. Was it the street workers who’d showed up one morning but didn’t seem to do much except pop in and out of a manhole down the block? Or was it the old couple he’d never seen before walking their miniature poodle? You don’t like this guy Ellis much, do you? Karp said to Jaxon the last time they talked.