Robert Tanenbaum - Fury

"Yes," Sykes replied dutifully. "I did the crime."

"And did you do the time?"

"Yes. I was sentenced to six years to serve concurrently with my other sentence. With good time, I could have been out in four years."

"Good time?" Louis asked. "Can you tell the jury about that?"

"Yes," Sykes answered. "I stayed out of trouble and did my time. I was reborn again as a Christian and tried to spread the good word among my brothers in prison."

Louis moved on to Sykes's confession to the police. "I was scared," he said. "I was just a big kid and they kept threatening me. They said I could get the electric chair. They talked about how hard it would be on my momma if I was to be executed."

"So what did you tell them?"

"Actually, I told them what they told me to say for the camera."

"Thank you, Mr. Sykes. Your witness, Mr. Karp."

"Good afternoon, Mr. Sykes," Karp began.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Karp," Sykes replied and gave the jury a small, frightened smile.

"I understand that you struck Mr. Kim with a piece of steel rebar, is that correct?"

Sykes shrugged. "I believe you are right. I don't really remember… I've tried to block that out. I've felt so terrible about it."

Karp walked over to his table and picked up a plastic bag marked with an old evidence tag. Inside was a fourteen-inch piece of rebar. "Did it look like this?"

"Could be," Sykes said. "It was just something I picked up from a construction site."

"Any explanation why it would be found under the pier at Coney Island?"

"Not at all," Sykes responded, looking bewildered. "I dropped it after I hit Mr. Kim. I suppose Mr… um…Villalobos could have picked it up… Or maybe the police just said they found it under the pier."

"Let's move on," Karp said. "You just told the jury that you felt threatened by the police officers and detectives after your arrest. Did anybody do anything to you physically?"

"What do you mean?"

"Did anybody hit you or push you or touch you in any violent way?"

"No."

"So the threat was a verbal one."

"Yes, they sort of hovered over me like they might hit me and said those things to me."

"Do you recall saying to a female police officer, 'I want to lick your pussy'?"

Sykes hung his head as if in shame. He'd been told not to deny this one because it had been taped by the jail's surveillance camera. "I…I may have. I was scared-there were a lot of bad men around me in the jail-and I wanted them to think I was tough so that they wouldn't bother me later."

"I see, and was that the same reason your prison indicates that you were placed in solitary confinement no less than six times for assaulting other people, including a guard?"

"Yes," he said. "You have to understand that in prison, if the other inmates think you won't fight back, they'll do…horrible things to you. Fortunately, I found Jesus and reading the Bible taught me to turn the other cheek."

"Mr. Sykes, did you know Mr. Enrique Villalobos before he confessed to assaulting Ms. Tyler?"

"No."

"Really? All that time spent in the same prison and you never met him?"

"It's a big place. You sort of hang out with your own kind."

"And what might your own kind be, Mr. Sykes?" Karp asked.

Before Sykes could answer, Louis objected. "Your honor, may we approach the bench?"

Klinger nodded. "Please, Mr. Louis."

In front of the judge but out of earshot of the jury, Louis angrily whispered, "Your honor, Mr. Karp knows full well that we…I mean you…already ruled that any reference to my clients' alleged gang ties would be unfairly prejudicial and is off-limits."

Karp snorted. "Alleged? Does the truth ever matter to you, Mr. Louis? Your client is the one who just made the statement that he hung out with his own kind, which I take to mean murdering, raping scumbag pieces of human crap."

"Your honor!" Louis complained.

Klinger pointed a finger at Karp. "You've been told to steer away from this subject, Mr. Karp. I won't warn you again."

When they returned to their places, Karp resumed his questioning. "So, your answer is that you never met Mr. Villalobos?"

Sykes nodded. "That's right."

"What about Igor Kaminsky?"

Sykes looked like he was concentrating for a moment then shook his head. "I'm sorry but I don't recall the name."

Karp studied Sykes for a moment, just long enough for the young man to start to fidget in his seat. "No more questions."

Louis then called a psychologist to the stand. William Randolph Florence, a portly, balding man, entered the courtroom and was sworn in. He testified that "even if the police detectives didn't physically or verbally assault the plaintiffs, they were psychologically intimidated into giving the detectives what they wanted…confessions."

Florence noted that he'd conducted a study in which he'd interviewed 110 incarcerated African-American males who told him that "the mere presence of someone in uniform or in a position of authority was enough to prompt this psychological intimidation response. I call it the Florence Psychological Response Syndrome, or FPRS…Fippers, ha ha."

"So let me get this straight," Karp asked on cross-examination. "You talked to a number of men who had been arrested and incarcerated by other men who were wearing uniforms and/or were in a position of authority?"

"Yes. One hundred and ten to be exact."

"So essentially, convicted felons told you that cops and prosecutors make them nervous? Seems to make perfect sense to me." The jurors and the audience laughed.

"Objection," Louis said. "He's mischaracterizing what the witness said."

"Sustained."

"No further questions for this witness, your honor."

Louis had, of course, saved his "big gun" for last. Enrique Villalobos slunk into the courtroom wearing an orange jail jumpsuit. He took the stand and leered at the women in the jury through his red-rimmed and yellow-jaundiced eyes, his lips pulled back from his brown-stained rodent teeth in what was intended to be a smile but looked like a grimace.

Under Louis's questioning, Villalobos recounted how he was standing beneath the pier that morning when he saw a young woman jogging toward him. "I hid in the shadows until she was close, then I jumped out and hit her. She was out of it pretty good and just lied there sort of moaning," he said, licking his thin purple lips, which sent a shudder of revulsion through every woman in the courtroom. "But I jumped on her and punched her in the face and stuff like that."

"What did you do then, Mr. Villalobos?"

"I decided that I was going to fuck her," he said, smirking. "I took off her shorts and then I did her dirty."

"What do you mean 'did her dirty,' Mr. Villalobos?" Louis asked.

"I fucked her in the ass," he replied, winking at one of the female jurors who quickly looked down at her notepad.

"And when you were finished raping Mrs. Tyler?"

"I hit her again a couple times to kill her so she couldn't identify me."

"Then why after all this time have you come forward now, Mr. Villalobos?"

Villalobos did his best to assume a look of shame but it came off more as constipation. "Well, it was like this," he said. "I have lived a life of sin. I raped women and even some children. But one night in prison, I had a dream that my soul was in danger and that innocent men were in prison because of my sin. The only way I could be saved was to accept Jesus Christ as my Lord and Savior and to confess.

"So I talked it over with the prison chaplain and he encouraged me to talk to the prison superintendent and he told me to write to the Brooklyn District Attorney. And, well, you know the story from there."

"Were you offered any deals for this? Did you get something for this information?"

"Only a clear conscience," he said. "I'm what they call a lifer. The only way I come out of prison will be in a pine box."