Linda Fairstein - Final Jeopardy

Once those were erased, I skimmed through the in-house equivalent of help-wanted ads. Has anyone ever used a ballistics expert who can tell the effect of weather conditions on the sound of gunshots? Has anyone seen the case jacket that was inadvertently left in the courthouse coffee shop (and which, by the way, contains all of the witness interview notes that the defense shouldn’t get to see till the middle of the trial)? Does anyone want to piggyback on a telephone dump that we’re preparing for a rackets investigation?

Has anyone ever qualified an Albanian interpreter (Gheg dialect, not Tosk) in the Grand Jury and can he or she get here on short notice? It’s faster to send an urgent message through to a co-worker by Pony Express than by an e-mail system over clogged with the individual requests of six hundred lawyers and thousands of support staff users.

I moved on to messages addressed only to me. Lots of notes from friends in various bureaus offering consolation, advice, support, and free drinks (that last being a typical law enforcement solution for most traumatic events) because of Isabella’s death and my connection to it. A notice that Rod was calling a bureau chiefs’ meeting for Tuesday afternoon at four, so I put that in my book. Updates from Sarah on the new matters that had come in over the past few days and suggestions about witnesses who needed to be interviewed. Reminders from Laura about appointments she had scheduled for me and penciled in my calendar for the week. A note from Battaglia’s assistant, Rose Malone, suggesting that I stick my head in later today to see the boss.

I got to work knocking out some correspondence on the word processor that Laura could clean up and print out for my signature when she got in. Two were disposition letters, informing victims of the pleas I had taken in both cases, resulting in lengthy prison terms and sparing the women the need to confront their rapists at trial. One was a letter confirming a request to present a lecture about date rape to the freshman class at Yale at the beginning of the next semester, and another accepted a meeting to bring Sarah with me to Mount Sinai Hospital to lecture to the staff on the protocol for the examination of sexual assault victims at Grand Rounds in early January. I did as much as I could before the doors opened to the general public around 9AM and all of my colleagues went into high gear.

Laura was the first one to check in with me when she arrived. We caught up on what I had missed the previous Friday and she went over the day’s appointments with me. I usually liked to leave some open time on Monday morning because weekends often generated a disproportionate number of cases that needed emergency triage at the beginning of the week.

“I had you set for a ten o’clock with a woman whose ex-boyfriend came back to the apartment to pick up some clothes, then smacked her around and raped her,” Laura began.

“But she left a message canceling on my voice mail.

Her name’s Shaniqua Simmons here’s the number. Call it yourself you’ll see why she’s not coming.“

“Anybody need that space?”

“Yeah. Jackie Manzi called from Special Victims. She’d like you to see a Hunter College student case came in yesterday morning and she doesn’t know whether to make an arrest. Wants you to decide and let her know.”

“Fine. Call and tell her to get her witness down as soon as possible she can have Shaniqua’s spot.”

“Rose Malone said to ignore her e-mail. Battaglia wants to take you, Rod, and Pat McKinney to lunch to brainstorm for some ideas on bringing down the arrest to arraignment time. She warned me that he also wants to see how you’re functioning under all this stress.”

“Thank her for the warning.”

“Then at two you have that interview with Ellen Goldman, the woman who’s doing the profile for USA Lawyer’s Digest.”

“I really don’t have the patience to sit for that kind of thing today. I have too much to make up here.”

“Well, I doubt you’ll be able to put her off much longer she’s very persistent. Plus the District Attorney thinks it’s good PR. for the office, so don’t fight it.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I smiled and bowed my head in deference to Laura’s sound advice.

“Anything else?”

“An avalanche of calls some media, some friends you can go through them yourself. And one guy kept calling all day Friday. Wouldn’t leave his name or a message says he must talk with you about Isabella and will try you again today. You want to take it?”

“Sure.”

“And Alan Glanton called already. He’s opening in the Bodega rape case this morning. Judge Callahan told him he’s much more likely to rule favorably on the prosecution’s objections during the trial if you give Alan the same ”equipment“ you Used so successfully in the Boynton trial. Can he stop by and pick them up before he goes to court?”

I laughed and walked over to the last filing cabinet along the wall, which held all of my personal belongings. Shoes with varying size heel heights, pantyhose in a wide variety of shades to guard against daily snags and runs, makeup and perfume for unanticipated evening invitations. And my way to Judge Callahan’s heart: packages of Stick-Ups, the air freshener, deodorizers in different scents, which adhere to wood surfaces. Philip Boynton, a serial rapist I tried last spring, refused to shower from the day he was arrested till the trial. His stench was so overwhelming that none of the court officers wanted to work Callahan’s part. I brought the Stick-Ups to court every day and we covered the underside of the defendant’s chair and counsel table with spearmint, peppermint, and evergreen to make life bearable for the personnel. Bodegaman was in the same category so I gave Laura my secret stash to pass along to Alan.

When Laura left I sat down to return calls, and started with the message from Shaniqua Simmons. It was common for domestic abuse victims to cancel appointments after making an initial police report, but it always concerned me in case they had been threatened or re victimized because of the meeting with a prosecutor. Her phone rang twice, then kicked into an answering machine which played a recording.

“Hi, this is Shaniqua,” in her sultriest voice.

“Me and Nelson can’t come to the phone right now, ‘cause we got some makin’ up to do.” The background music, quite appropriately, was written by the immortal Marvin Gaye, advising Shaniqua that this was the time for sex-u-al healing.

I tried to look at the bright side. It did give me an extra hour to get Manzi’s victim an interview without any delay.

There was plenty of work to busy myself with until the Hunterstudent arrived shortly after eleven o’clock. Laura buzzed me on the intercom: “Beverly Vaughan is here she’s the witness in Jackie Manzi’s case.”

“Fine. Please start me a screening sheet and I’ll be out to get her in a minute.”

Laura handed me a screening sheet, which“ was the printed form we used to record all the data about each case interview, including the pedigree information about the victim, which was how I usually began the conversation.

I introduced myself to Ms. Vaughan and explained the process we would be going through.

“I’ve got a lot of questions I need to ask you, but before I begin, is there anything you want to ask me?”

“Yes, Ms. Cooper. I want to know why Steven wasn’t arrested last night. The police know exactly who he is they even talked to him last night. I want to know why he isn’t in jail.”

“As I understand it, Beverly, there are some questions you weren’t able to answer for Detective Manzi, some things you didn’t remember about Saturday evening. You told them you ”thought“ you had been raped, but you weren’t sure…”