Linda Fairstein - Final Jeopardy

“You thought I’d leap out a window over Jed Segal? I will leave you for the morning with the solemn promise that I have no intention of doing anything that would cause Pat McKinney to have such a nice day. You know, Mike, I met Jed less than four months ago. I fell hard and too fast, and never stopped to scrutinize the relationship very deeply. It just felt good and I liked it. But it isn’t the end of my world. Really, you got me through the first night and I am sincerely grateful for that. I’ll be fine I’ve got a very busy day ahead of me.“ Maybe if I said it out loud I’d start to believe it.

I went into the building and up to my office, pleased that I had arrived early enough to enjoy the solitude of the place to prepare for my court appearance and my next ‘save face’ with Battaglia.

I had worked at my sentencing remarks for nearly an hour before the phone rang for the first time.

I froze at the sound of Jed’s voice.

“Don’t, Jed. There’s nothing you can say-‘

”You’ve got to listen to me, please. I’m not a killer, Alex. I haven’t committed any crime. You’ve got to see me, you’ve got to let me talk with you before this goes any further.“

“You ran out of ”got to’s“ with me when you started sneaking around behind my back. Don’t push me on this, Jed. It’s Chapman you have to talk to, not me.”

“I need your help with all this. I never meant to hurt you or do anything to destroy what we were building. I love you too much for that.”

I placed the receiver back in its cradle without saying another word. I swiveled around in my chair and stared out the window at the roof of the building across the narrow street, which was at eye level with my view. The gallery of gargoyles that decorated the edge of the facade seemed sinister today as they gawked back at me, panther-like creatures with their tongues extended and their eyes rolled upward, mocking me in disbelief.

Most mornings I welcomed their company as I sat at my desk alone, before the office swarmed with colleagues. But today they had turned on me and sneered their disapproval, so I braced my foot against the radiator and kicked the chair back around into place at the desk.

I called Battaglia’s assistant, Rose Malone, and told her it was critical that I see him as soon as he arrived. He had gone to Washington the night before, she explained, to testify at Senate subcommittee hearings on gun control and would not be back until tomorrow. Damn. It was the rare occasion that I didn’t even want to tell Rose the information about Jed, and so I simply asked her to connect me to him as soon as he checked in.

Joan Stafford was my next call, and I was doubly appreciative as I dialed her number that my loyal friend was a novelist and therefore easy to reach at home most of the time.

“You’re a grave, right?” I asked as she answered on the first ring. It was one of Joan’s expressions, meaning that the questioner was confirming that the information about to be given was sworn to deepest secrecy. “Of course. You got something good?”

“I wouldn’t call it good. I’m in the middle of a dreadful mess. No one else but Nina knows this yet and I’m not supposed to tell anyone, but Mike Chapman thinks Jed had something to do with Isabella’s death. Mike thinks he may have killed her.”

“Oh my God.” Her tone changed rapidly from her goodhumored response to one of appropriate concern.

“Tell me-”

“I can’t tell you anything else right now. Can you meet me for dinner tonight?“

“Sure.”

“Don’t you have that fund-raiser for-”

“Don’t be ridiculous. They have my check, they don’t need me. Tell me where and when.“

“I’ve got to be in court this morning. Would you call Primola when it opens? Ask Giuliano for that table in the corner near the bar the one – he kind of pulls the palm tree in front of for privacy. I’m going to try to take amp; ballet class right after work – I’m really in knots. Meet you at the restaurant at eight.”

Laura arrived moments later. I couldn’t bring myself to explain the situation to her, so I sheepishly gave her a set of instructions before packing up my Redweld the rust-colored accordion file – that held my case papers to go to court.

“I’ve got my beeper on if the D.A. calls in from Washington. And you can also beep me if anyone needs me on the murder investigation. Sarah can cover the new cases that come in. If Jed calls, tell him I’m not interested in any messages. I don’t mean to put you in the middle of this, Laura, but my relationship with Jed is over and it’s a bit awkward right now. You’d also better call the switchboard and tell them to disconnect my private line for the time being. I want all calls coming through you, okay?”

She was as discreet as always – no questions, no comments, just an understanding nod.

I left my office and began the circuitous route to the other courthouse up the street originally built for civil cases, but usurped by the criminal justice system when we outgrew our old quarters more than a decade ago. Down and out through the turnstiles of the District Attorney’s Office, around the corner and across Center Street; up the block and into the ugly modern building; through the security check again; and on to another line for an even slower series of elevators. Not bad without a trail of witnesses and the shopping carts we push around for major case trials. This was just a scheduled sentence on the last case I had tried, so no witnesses or police officers were present.

I was lost in thought, somewhere in the events of my life in the last four months, smiling in acknowledgment and responding to greetings as I passed other assistants on their way to courtrooms for hearings and trials.

“Did this case keep you up all night?” I snapped out of my reverie at the sound of Ellen Goldman’s voice when she approached me at the elevator bank.

“No, no not this. Sorry, I just didn’t see you there. I’m a bit preoccupied.” I tried to force a smile, but I had forgotten that she would be back today and the last thing I needed to deal with was a reporter.

“Forgive me for saying this, but you look so pale. Do you feel okay?”

“Oh yes, thanks. I’m, well, it’s just personal. It hasn’t been a very good week.”

I pressed the button for the seventh floor, and the crush of other litigants filled the car completely, so we were able to ride up in the crowd without my having to make small talk with Ellen.

“Judge Hadleigh’s courtroom is around this way to the left,” I said as I led her to the small setting in which the trial of the People of the State of New York against Ernesto Cerone had been conducted.

“Was anything reported about this case, anything in the press?”

“No, actually, not a word fortunately for the victim.”

“Can you tell me something about it, so I know what’s going to happen today?”

I took Ellen through the facts of the case as we entered the room and sat on the front bench to await the arrival of both the judge and my adversary. The victim was a twenty-eight-year-old woman who lived in an apartment building in Harlem. She was mentally handicapped and had the developmental level of a seven-year-old child. A carpenter who was doing construction work in a unit in the building lured her into the empty room one afternoon last spring, trapped her in the bathroom, and sodomized her and raped her. Her screams were heard by a neighbor who rushed into the apartment and actually pulled the rapist off the body of the terrified woman.

Since the identity of the attacker Ernesto Cerone was not an issue, the defense turned the matter around and claimed that there had been no forced assault, but instead, that the victim had consented to the intercourse.