Michael Baden - Skeleton justice

Mr. Park was a delicate man with the bright, watchful eyes of a songbird. He took his duty seriously, both as an employee of the Happy Garden deli and as a witness in federal court. Juries automatically liked earnest, hardworking people like him. Even though there was no jury present today, Manny felt she had to be careful. It had been okay to make that pompous ass Olivo look like a fool; it wouldn't do to humiliate Mr. Park.

Manny tuned in as Lisnek took the witness through the preliminaries. No, he didn't own the deli; his cousin did. Yes, he had been working alone there on the night of May 17. He worked every night. "Cousin only trust me to work overnight shift," Mr. Park said.

Six young men had come in together that night; Mr. Park's eyebrows drew down as he recalled what had happened. "They try trick me. They give twenty-dollar bill. They take back, give ten. They add candy bar, take away chips, switching, switching. Try confuse so not have to pay for everything."

Manny glanced over at Travis, who had slid down in his seat. So far, Mr. Park's memory was accurate. This man had the power to send her client to prison for a long time, but Manny found herself sympathizing with him. An immigrant, struggling to make it in a tough town, protecting his family's assets-who couldn't feel for the little man as he was hassled by a group of kids?

"On way out the door, that boy"-Mr. Park pointed at Travis with assurance-"take apple from bin. No pay."

With ever-increasing confidence, Lisnek led Mr. Park through his testimony about the explosion. Did Mr. Park get to the door of the store in time to see the boys reach the mailbox? Yes. Did Mr. Park see the boy who had stolen the apple take a bite and then throw the apple in the gutter? Yes. Did that same boy then bend down and place a package under the mailbox? Yes, most emphatically. Did the mailbox then explode? Yes, yes, yes.

"No further questions." Lisnek turned his back on the Korean store clerk and strode back to his seat.

Manny rose and smiled at the witness. "Good morning, Mr. Park. Thank you for that account. You're obviously a very observant person."

Mr. Park nodded, pleased that Manny recognized his good qualities.

"Mr. Park, did you see one of the other boys also take an apple from the bin?"

"No, just that boy."

"Were all six boys at the cash register at the same time?"

"No. Come and go."

"So one of the other boys could have taken an apple while you were busy with the ones who were paying."

"I watch all customer. Make sure no one steal."

"I'm sure you do, Mr. Park. But while some of the boys were trying to trick you as they paid, maybe another also took an apple. Is that possible?"

He shrugged reluctantly. "Maybe."

"When you followed the boys out onto the sidewalk, did you see the face of the one who put the package under the mailbox?"

"No. See boy who took apple bite it, then throw down. He one who put package."

"What was the boy wearing?"

"Blue jean. T-shirt."

"What color T-shirt?"

Mr. Park hesitated. "Dark."

"What were the other boys wearing?"

"Same. Blue jean, dark T-shirt," the witness replied promptly.

Poor Mr. Park. He was so eager to be honest and do a good job that he didn't even realize how he had undermined his own evidence. This was why eyewitness testimony was so unreliable, especially cross-racial identification. Most people didn't lie intentionally. They said what they were sure they saw. But there were so many variables, so many subtle differences that could create the same reality.

Manny looked Mr. Park in the eye and spoke without any hint of accusation. "So, if all the boys were dressed similarly, and you couldn't see their faces from where you were standing, and it's possible one of the other boys also took an apple, isn't it possible that the person you saw eating the apple and placing the bomb was not my client, Travis Heaton, but one of the others?"

Mr. Park's eyes darted from Lisnek to the judge and back to Manny, searching for some guidance. The courtroom was silent.

"Mr. Park, please answer the question," Judge Freeman said. "Is it possible that the person you saw placing the bomb was not Travis Heaton?"

Mr. Park seemed to have shrunk inside the cheap black suit he'd put on for this important occasion.

"Possible," he whispered.

"Mr. Park, after the explosion, when all the boys ran, did you notice if one of them ran in a different direction?"

"Yes. One run down Washington Street, turn up Eleventh. Go toward hill, Sinatra Drive. Others stop on corner. Then police come."

"Did you see if the one you thought placed the bomb ran straight or turned down Eleventh Street?"

Mr. Park bit his lower lip and lowered his eyes, concentrating. Then he looked up at Manny. "Cannot say for sure. Explosion big bright light, everyone running. Then one boy turn, others go straight. Not sure which." Mr. Park was the soul of honesty. Yes, you had to like this man.

"Thank you, Mr. Park."

Mr. Park looked around the courtroom, expecting praise from every corner. Judge Freeman smiled benevolently. Manny beamed. Brian Lisnek's lips were compressed in a thin line, his eyes focused resolutely on the yellow pad before him. He never looked up as the Korean grocer exited the courtroom.

"Well, you've certainly established reasonable doubt, Ms. Manfreda." The glance Judge Freeman cast at Lisnek implied he thought the prosecutor better get busy improving his case. And that was the risk of this bail hearing-it gave Lisnek an advance look at her defense, allowing him to prepare for her best shots. The information Sam had provided was her ace in the hole. Would she have to use it?

"I'm inclined to grant Ms. Manfreda's request for bail," the judge continued. "My only concern is the implication that this bombing is part of some larger conspiracy. What evidence do you have to support that, Mr. Lisnek?"

Lisnek turned to the other lawyers on his team. A lot of low murmuring and head shaking ensued. Finally, the assistant U.S. attorney rose.

"We would prefer not to reveal that information at this time, Your Honor."

Manny's eyes narrowed. Did that mean he had nothing to back up his claim, or did he really have information that she should know but didn't?

"We will agree to the bail of five hundred thousand dollars, cosigned by his mother," Lisnek continued.

"Five hundred thousand!" Manny protested. "It might as well be ten million. My client can't make that!"

"We're not releasing a terrorist on his own recognizance." Now Lisnek was up and shouting, too.

Manny turned to Judge Freeman, trying to tap into the sympathy she'd felt coming from him. "Your Honor, what is accomplished by holding this young man in prison with truly violent rapists and murderers? It's like a death sentence before he's even convicted of any crime."

"No need for melodrama, Ms. Manfreda. We'll hold him in protective custody," the judge said.

Manny's heart rate kicked up a notch. Protective custody was just another word for solitary confinement-more punishment, not less. The government could drag its feet for months on this case. By the time they got to trial, Travis would be a total head case from spending twenty-three hours a day alone in an eight-by-ten cell. But Judge Freeman wouldn't be moved by that argument. Manny aimed below the belt.

"Protective custody didn't help Roberto Vallardo."

Manny saw the judge flinch. Vallardo, awaiting trial for molesting his young stepdaughter, had been killed by other inmates while supposedly being kept in protective custody. Two days later, DNA evidence proved that someone else had raped the child.

Judge Freeman tapped his pen and studied Travis. Manny kept her mouth shut, letting her client's scrawny arms and hunched shoulders do the talking.