Robert Tanenbaum: Fury

Karp tilted his head toward the full pot of coffee. "For that unkind remark, you can help yourself, Ciampi," he pouted. "Mild exertions? I don't remember that there were any complaints last night."

"How could you? You rolled over and went to sleep as soon as you'd had your way with me."

"Lies…spurious innuendo and unsubstantiated rumors," Karp sputtered good-naturedly. The banter had been a part of their sex life from the beginning; neither took it seriously as neither had ever had cause to complain. Still, his "hurt look" had its desired effect, as Marlene circled around behind him, gently kissed him, and began massaging his shoulders, which elicited a deep groan of pleasure.

"Hey, don't just sit there while I do all the work," Marlene demanded, "tell me what's in the paper."

Marlene's command brought Karp back to the moment, and he remembered what he had intended to show her even before her wintry arrival. Usually he picked up the Times outside the justice building at 100 Centre Street at Dirty Warren's newsstand but had given in to the local newspaper boy's relentless campaign to at least have him deliver the Sunday paper.

Karp pointed out the top story of the day, which ran beneath the headline "Judge Backs Plaintiffs in the Coney Island Four Case." The city's last attempt to have the lawsuit dismissed had been denied by U.S. District Court Judge Marci Klinger. The Coney Island Four case would go forward unless the city settled.

Like most of the general public in the five boroughs, Karp had followed the story predominantly through the newspapers and television. There'd been a little of the intraoffice gossip and rumor between the DA offices in Manhattan and Brooklyn that floated around any big case, but he'd pretty much ignored it. He'd been flipping through the channels looking for a basketball game when he stopped to watch the Brooklyn Insider show. But he'd been so repulsed by Natalie Fitz's fawning over Louis and Sykes that he'd soon moved on to ESPN.

However, the newspaper story had sparked memories of the crime when it occurred some twelve years earlier. He recalled the horrific nature of the attack-young woman, set upon by a gang, raped, and nearly beaten to death-and how he'd felt a personal connection just because it had happened beneath the pier at Coney Island. He'd spent countless summer days at that beach, wandering the boardwalk with his buddies, riding the Ferris wheel at the amusement park and, best of all, wolfing down hot dogs at Nathan's Famous on the corner of Surf and Stillwell Avenues. He took it personally that a gang of vicious thugs had sullied the place.

He recalled that the trials had seemed pretty much a slam dunk. The perps had confessed, and they'd been linked to other assaults on the boardwalk that night. He'd given no more thought to it over the years, until the Times broke the story about the inmate who had come forward to confess that he had done the crime by himself. The inmate-Karp glanced at the newspaper for the name, Enrique Villalobos-had apparently "come to Jesus" and wanted to make it right.

When Karp first read about the confession, he'd rolled his eyes. Inmates were constantly finding religion, which they all apparently believed would help them out with the parole board. The fact that Villalobos was serving a true life sentence as a serial rapist/killer didn't change Karp's skepticism. Sometimes inmates confessed to crimes they didn't commit as a favor, or out of fear for another inmate, and thereafter received favored treatment by Corrections.

However, in this case, he'd been willing to concede that perhaps this time an inmate had told the truth when a little later the Times again reported-and the Brooklyn District Attorney's Office concurred-that Villalobos was a match for the DNA evidence found on the victim's clothing. It certainly warranted an investigation.

However, he was surprised when Brooklyn DA Kristine "Just call me Krissy" Breman immediately agreed to a motion filed by Louis to vacate the rape and attempted murder convictions of his clients. Karp figured that some details were being withheld that would explain the rush to the judgment. He was, however, disgusted when Breman appeared on the steps of the courthouse in Brooklyn with Louis and apologized for "this terrible miscarriage of justice."

Then again, the more he thought about it, the less surprised he'd been by her behavior. He'd known Breman almost as long as Marlene. They'd all joined the New York DA's office within a couple of years of each other, but Breman had almost immediately gravitated to management. He thought of her then and now as an empty pantsuit who'd never tried anything more challenging in her life than a misdemeanor Peeping Tom.

However, her family was connected with the Brooklyn DA, who gave her a sweetheart deal to become his spokeswoman and attend all the political functions he had long ago tired of. She'd schmoozed her way up the party food chain until her boss retired, when she'd been a natural with the clubhouse pols to assume the top spot at the DAO.

Karp had to hand it to her in one way; she could sidestep blame better than most matadors avoided a bull. Following Villalobos's confession and press conference, the press, as well as the demagogues and race baiters like Louis, had pilloried the former DA-a decent if burned-out man named Steve Colella-and the NYPD for the "racist railroading" of the poor young men. Breman had quickly gauged the sentiment and joined the chorus. Anxious to distance herself from any association with her predecessor, she had been outspoken regarding "this travesty of justice…which, unfortunately, occurred before my tenure or it would have been stopped in its tracks."

Breman had reminded the press that in her younger years with the New York DA's office she'd prosecuted sexual assault cases-a stretch, as she'd never actually gone to trial in the three months she was with the Sex Crimes Bureau. The "overzealous and callous prosecution" of the Coney Island defendants, she said, had "set back the course of sexual assault prosecutions a hundred years."

Along with the rest of the public, at least judging by the letters to the editor, Karp had assumed that the assistant DAs and cops had botched the case. The DNA evidence was pretty difficult to refute, and he assumed that even Breman would have taken a pretty good look at the case files, as well as questioned witnesses, including Villalobos, under oath before jumping on Louis's bandwagon.

One thing had bothered him, though, about the stories in the press. The two suspended prosecutors-Repass and Russell-were formerly protegees of his wife's when she ran the New York District Attorney's Sex Crimes Bureau. As they were junior assistant DAs, he had known them only in passing, but they had reputations as solid, aggressive litigators who'd modeled themselves after his wife. Only after Marlene left did they agree to cross the river and work for the Brooklyn DA, lured by the opportunity to start their own sex crimes bureau.

After the stories naming them broke, Marlene had refused to believe that they'd messed up. "They're as good, as thorough, and as honest as anyone who has ever come through that office."

But the Brooklyn DA didn't seem to have the same opinion. "Looks like your two ladies are going to take the fall for the Coney Island case," Karp said, and pointed to where the story noted that Breman had placed Repass and Russell on "administrative leave" until an investigation by her office could be completed.

Karp read the next paragraph aloud for Marlene. "'An investigation,' Breman said, 'that will include aggressively pursuing any malfeasance on the part of her office staff or actions by members of the NYPD that resulted in "coerced false confessions" from four innocent young men of color.'"

Marlene stopped rubbing his shoulders and leaned forward to peer down at the newspaper. There was a file photo of her former assistants leaving the courthouse after the convictions ten years earlier. They looked satisfied, but there were no smiles or gloating; they had still followed her admonition, given when they were working for her, to remember Vince Lombardi's quote that he expected his players "to act like you've been there before" when they scored touchdowns.