Robert Tanenbaum - Enemy within

"What's this I hear about you sending someone to screw up the Benson case?" demanded Keegan without preamble.

"I wouldn't say screwing up. I would say familiarizing myself with a top-priority case that I'm going to have to prosecute one of these days. And it's a good thing I did, Jack, because there's a lot more to Benson than meets the eye."

"The only thing I want to know is, can you convict?"

"Oh, I think so. I think we could probably blow away the usual inexperienced, overworked court-assigned defense attorney we'd probably get on the case. We do it all the time, as you know. Whether we can blow away the capital-defense-unit lawyers, who are in a completely different class, is another story."

"What do you mean?" asked Keegan, frowning.

"Well, if we were in Texas, they'd be loading the needle right now. Benson's a dumb-ass fall guy of the appropriate race, mentality, and background, like they kill in those states every other week. They give the D to a fat-ass crony who sleeps during the trial, and the kid goes down for it. But we are not in Texas, which you can tell because of the tall buildings and the lack of cowshit on the streets." And he proceeded to tell Keegan what Collins had learned and what Karp made of it.

"My prediction," he concluded, "is that if you go for capital murder in this case, you will lose. Those capital-case people are good. They will tear up little Alicia on the stand. Her connection to Oscar and his merry crew will emerge. Benson's mother and his sister will look like solid gold next to little Alicia. He will walk, and you will look like a fool for bringing a case that weak."

Fuller said, "It's not a weak case. We have the diamonds."

Karp rounded on him. "Norton, we're talking legal strategy here, and with all due respect, you don't know dick about legal strategy, but if we need advice on how many paper clips we're going to need or how it will play in the polls, I'm sure you'll have something valuable to contribute." Norton went pale. Karp turned his attention back to Keegan. "Jack, that's my honest opinion. What we have on Benson won't bear the weight of a capital case, not in the state of New York. And we can't start on Simms because we got no entree into it while these people are sticking to their stories. Sorry, but there it is."

The DA calculated silently, his face pursing and knotting in the segments appropriate to devious thought. His head started to move from side to side with increasing vigor until it became a full negative shake. "Uh-uh, we have to stick with it. And we should announce that we're going to seek it as soon as possible. Will this guy plead out to life without the possibility, do you think?"

"If you threaten the death penalty? I doubt it. He says he didn't do it. He's been saying he didn't do it since the cops grabbed him up, and he's been consistent throughout, and the cops were not gentle with him, as I understand it. And when the hotshots on the capital-defense team get to him and take a hard look at our case, I very much doubt that they will advise him to seek a plea of any kind. Because they can win."

"But not until after November," said Fuller. "Am I allowed to say that, Butch?"

Karp ignored the gibe. Keegan nodded, said, "Okay. We go with death for now. I'll announce it tomorrow."

"Well, I won't even mention that it's wrong since that seems to cut no ice around here anymore, but we got a situation where one of these phony stories could break down anytime. I mean before the election. What do you do then? Then you're the guy who wanted to put an innocent man to death on a weak case for political reasons."

"Oh, you're the political adviser, too, now?" asked Fuller nastily. "Something you know dick about, if I may say so."

Keegan waved a hand as if dispersing a stench. "I'll take that chance. Now, what about Marshak, speaking of weak cases? Or no case, as I understand it."

"We're still looking at it."

"What's to look at?" said Keegan. "It looks like simple self-defense. An urban tragedy. Let's move on this, get the grand jury to clear her, and get this out of my craw."

Karp made some noises that could be interpreted as agreement, or maybe not, at which Keegan threw him a sharp look but did not press the point. An urban tragedy, the words Vasquez had used. Karp did not believe much in that kind of coincidence. He recalled how Fuller had used Catafalco's language in the Cooley case, which had confirmed that Catafalco was leaking to Fuller, and now the DA was using Vasquez's phrase. Vasquez was off the reservation, too.

The meeting broke up. Karp drifted back to his office, feeling as alone and isolated as he had ever felt in his life. Clearly the resources of the office were compromised, at least for his purposes. It was therefore time to move into phase two of the plan. He was sitting at his desk, tapping his teeth with a pencil, and thinking about how to accomplish this when the phone rang: Flynn reminding him that he had an appointment in half an hour uptown at Sacred Heart. Karp resisted snarling back that he remembered, for he had not. A good, even a devoted, father, Karp had little experience with kids in trouble, and it irked him, and he took full responsibility. He himself had been a perfect forties and fifties kid, doing homework, obeying teachers and coaches, never causing his parents a moment's worry. Or so he imagined.

The appointment was with the headmistress, Catharine Royal, RSCJ, an actual nun, to discuss his daughter's future at the school. Marlene was to be there, too, and this prospect worried him more than having to discuss his daughter with a nun, which was getting up there on the worry-intensity scale. On the ride up to Ninety-first and Fifth, he calmed his mind by refusing to think about the problem at all, thinking about lists of things he had to do to ravel the few golden threads of truth from the great knot of political lies that Keegan and Fuller had made of the DA's office. That was still worth doing, he thought. And also, if he didn't think of that, if he considered what was happening to his family, he would not be able to function at all.

Lucy was waiting in the hallway outside the headmistress's office. It was class-changing time, and the hallway was full of lively girls in pretty clothes, in dance costumes, in athletic gear. On none of the fresh young faces was the look of bleak despair he saw on Lucy's.

"What's up, kiddo?"

A shrug. "Midterms are back."

"The bad news first."

"It's all bad news. I flunked everything."

"Everything? French? Not French? English?"

"Everything. I cut classes. I didn't hand in stuff." She looked down the hall. "Mom isn't coming?" She sounded hopeful.

"Yeah, she's coming from home." He checked his watch. "Let's go get this done."

Sister Catharine Royal was a heavy woman with a shiny face fringed by short gray hair. Behind large, gogglelike spectacles her blue eyes were concerned, but kind. They sat, and the headmistress went over Lucy's record. Sacred Heart, she said, was not for everyone. It was a rigorous academic environment, and although it also stressed community service, in which Lucy was, of course, exemplary, a certain standard of performance was required, which standards Lucy had not even begun to meet this term. There were alternatives; the school did not give up easily. Stress affected different people differently, and sometimes the most talented students were just the ones who failed to cope. Karp listened and nodded. That was what he felt, too. They were not considering expulsion, yet. But maybe some time off, a chance for tutoring…

Then the door opened and Marlene came in. Stumbled in. You could smell her from the doorway. She was wearing a long, fleece-lined leather coat over a translucent shirt studded with crystals, misbuttoned, and with one tail hanging out of her skirt. She staggered to a chair and plopped her alligator bag on the headmistress's desk.