James Patterson - Judge & Jury

PRINCETON 1989 IVY LEAGUE FOOTBALL CHAMPS

I had bones that still ached just thinking of those days.

I took the pasta and some wine into the living room and sat there with my feet propped up on an old steamer trunk that acted as a coffee table. I picked up the book I'd been reading, Clinton's My Life, and found the page where I'd left off, on the Camp David Middle East peace talks. I thought about turning on the Knicks game. After a few minutes I lifted my eyes without reading a single page.

Did I love her? Was this going to work? Ellen was terrific, but right now we were just going in different directions. And this trial wasn't going to help.

Are you going to fight for this, Nicky?

I reached for Popeye."C'mon, you look like you could use a date."

I grabbed my old college alto sax from the corner and, with Popeye in hand, went up to the roof. This was where I worked it out sometimes.

It was a cold, clear night. The stars were out over Manhattan. The Empire State Building was lit up red, white, and blue. Across the river, Jersey City might've been Paris, it so dazzled with lights. So I sat there, a few days before the most important trial of my life, Ellen's cat purring at my feet, and played.

Clarence Clemons's riff from Springsteen's"Jungleland." A clunky version of Coltrane's"Blue Train." I came to the conclusion that there was a hole in my life, and no matter how long I put Cavello away for, I wasn't going to fill it.

You either fight for it or you don't, Nick. You fought for everything. So why won't you fight for Ellen Jaffe?

I TOOK MY PLACE in the front of the courtroom on Monday morning. My blood was pounding. It always did on the first day of a trial, and this one was huge.

The lawyers for both sides filled up the first two rows of the courtroom. Joel Goldenberger was the government's lead prosecutor. He was younger than he looked, maybe thirty-three, tall, self-assured, with light, bushy hair and an agreeable smile. But inside he was a fighter, a real believer. Everyone was talking about him as a future star in the Justice Department. He had already won three well-publicized Wall Street trials.

On the other side sat Hy Kaskel, paging through his notes. The Ferret stood no taller than five five in lifts, with short boxer's arms, but he resembled his nickname in every way when it came to discrediting a witness. Today he wore a dark navy pinstripe suit and striped club tie, a pair of fancy gold cuff links peeking through the sleeves.

In the front row of the gallery I saw Cavello's family. A plump, pleasant-looking woman in a plain but tasteful suit, needlepointing away. And a grown daughter, with wavy, long blond hair, sitting loyally by her mom. Security at the courthouse was tighter than I'd ever seen it before. Hell, I was probably responsible for half of the fuss. Every bag was being opened, every juror's pass double-checked, every press credential checked back against a photo ID. Armed cops were manning the barricades all over Foley Square.

Cavello was being brought through an underground passageway from the Manhattan County Jail two blocks away, where he was being held in his own wing on a maximum security floor. From there, he was transported to the seventh floor in a guarded elevator.

I only wished we had sequestered the jury. This was the biggest organized crime trial in years. But the judge wanted to make a name for herself. Miriam Seiderman had her eye on the state supreme court. She had assurances from the lawyers, from the defendant himself. She wanted the trial conducted in the open light of day.

The door finally opened near the rear. A buzz of anticipation rippled through the air.

Two burly-looking marshals led the defendant inside. Cavello's hands were cuffed in front of him. He was dressed in a brown checked sports jacket and a restrained olive tie, his graying hair nicely trimmed. He didn't look like the animal everyone was expecting. More like a normal, everyday citizen you might see riding next to you on the train.

Cavello took a look around and nodded, as if impressed with the crowded room. The marshals took him to a chair next to his lawyer. They freed his hands. Kaskel leaned over and whispered something in Cavello's ear that made the defendant smile. Our gazes met for a second. His eyes lit up, and he smiled again as if to say, Good to see you here, Nicky. You really think you can beat me?

Sharon Ann Moran, the judge's clerk, stood."All rise."

Through the side door, Judge Seiderman entered the room. She was a smallish, attractive woman with graying hair, a pleasant face, and a tastefully short skirt beneath her judge's cloak. This was the biggest case of her life, too. She took her seat behind the bench and motioned everyone down.

"Mr. Goldenberger, is the government ready?"

"We are, Your Honor." The prosecutor stood and nodded.

"Mr. Kaskel?"

"Yes, Your Honor. The defendant is ready too, and eager to prove his innocence." The Ferret arched his eyebrows. He looked like he was itching for a fight.

"Then, Ms. Moran"-the judge nodded to her clerk, who headed over to the jury room-“you can bring in the jury now."

ANDIE DEGRASSE was fifteen minutes late that morning. That morning of all mornings. How could it have happened? Well, easy…

First, Jarrod couldn't find his math book. Then the IRT was backed up, signal switches down. Then, when she finally reached the City Hall station, the two blocks to the courthouse were barricaded off, all because of this damn trial.

It took her fifteen minutes just to get herself through security. A heavyset female guard in a blue blazer went through her purse like it had al Qaeda emblazoned on the buckle. They checked her cell phone like it was a WMD. Finally, Andie said,"You know that big Mafia trial up on the seventh floor?" The security guard nodded."Well, it's not starting without me."

By the time she had burst through the jury-room doors, everybody was sitting around the large conference table, looking nervous and tense.

"Sorry." Andie sighed loudly, acknowledging a few familiar faces."You don't even want to know."

" Ms. DeGrasse, " Sharon Ann announced, checking off names,"it's really good you could make time for us in your busy schedule."

Already in trouble. Andie sat down sheepishly. She found herself next to Rosella, the Hispanic woman she had been next to during jury selection.

"That leaves only Mr. O'Flynn." Sharon Ann looked at the list, unamused.

A couple of men were reading or doing crosswords. Two of the women had brought paperback novels. There were bagels and muffins and coffee on the table, courtesy of the judge.

"Here," Rosella said, passing her the tray.

"Thanks." Andie smiled, delighted to shift the attention off herself. She took a muffin in a napkin."No latte, I see."

There were a few chuckles. She looked toward Sharon Ann for at least a hint of a smile. The clerk was as tight as a drum this morning.

The door swung open, and in burst John O'Flynn, red-faced and sweating profusely."Jeez, guys, it's like a jungle out there, a zoo. The L.I.E. at rush hour. Unbelievable."

"O'Flynn," Sharon Ann confirmed derisively,"I was starting to think I was going to have to put out an APB on you. Nine-thirty tomorrow, Mr. O'Flynn." Sharon Ann tapped her pencil.

"Aye, aye, ma'am." O'Flynn saluted. He plopped himself on a chair next to Andie.

"Nine-thirty tomorrow?" Hector, a cable guy, groaned."You mean this trial's gonna last that long?"

"Eight weeks, Mr. Ramirez," Sharon Ann replied."Something better you have to do for the next two months?"

"Yeah, maybe earn a living," the cable guy replied glumly.