Guilty as Sin Read online

  He called Kenny Smith, who’d come so close to interviewing Clarence Hightower, only to lose him out a restroom window.

  “Any luck?” Jaywalker asked him.

  “No, man,” said Smith. “The guy’s disappeared, with a capital D. Gone. Vanished off the face of the earth.”

  Jaywalker spent another hour flipping through the rest of the reports. His head was throbbing, and he was beginning to see two of every word on the pages in front of him.

  Still nothing.

  He made himself a pot of strong coffee. Downed two cups black and sweet and hot enough to burn his tongue. The combination of caffeine and sugar made his heart race, but did nothing for his headache and double vision.

  He pulled out his own exhibits. The way it worked was that each side was responsible for the custody of whatever items it had put into evidence. The drugs and lab reports and the money that had been seized from Alonzo Barnett all belonged to the prosecution, People’s 1 through 7. All the defense had contributed were two measly photographs. Defendant’s A was the double mug shot of Jackson Davis, showing his glass eye. Jaywalker had introduced it to show that Barnett had been telling the truth about having obtained the heroin from “One-Eyed Jack.” Defendant’s B was the single Polaroid photo of Hightower. About the only reason Jaywalker’d had for putting that in was to show the jury how ugly the guy was.

  He looked at it again now, forcing his eyes to focus on the face. “Talk to me,” he told it. “Say something. Anything. Give me a fucking clue, will you?”

  But the face wasn’t talking. Not the thick lips, not the broad nose, not the crooked teeth or the short gray hair. Not the double chin or the thick neck. Not the dirty gray sweatshirt or the navy T-shirt peeking out from underneath it at the collar.

  Nothing.

  He turned the photo over, just as he’d done in the courtroom after Captain Egan had dug it out and handed it to him. The word asp was still there, still a perfect descriptive for the man who’d set this whole case in motion some twenty months ago by insisting that another man repay an old favor. But at such a terrible price. For in a few days, for all practical purposes Alonzo Barnett’s life would be over. Already over fifty, he was pretty much guaranteed to spend the next fifteen to twenty-five years sitting in state prison. Damn near a death sentence, when you thought about it.

  And the guy who’d called in the favor, who’d set the whole thing in motion? The asp? He was in the wind, nowhere to be found.

  Just as he had in the courtroom, Jaywalker turned the photo back over and studied the image once more. There had to be something more to the story. There had to be. But he had absolutely no idea what it might be, what he was missing.

  “The defense calls Dino Pascarella in rebuttal,” Jaywalker announced when the trial reconvened Friday morning.

  Although there had been no spectators in the audience when they’d recessed on Thursday, there were a handful now. Asked by Judge Levine if his examination of Pascarella would reveal the identity of any confidential informers, Jaywalker had replied, “I sure hope so,” and she’d cleared the courtroom again.

  Again Jaywalker found himself double-teamed by Daniel Pulaski and Miki Shaughnessey. Though from the sullen expression on her face, Jaywalker guessed that Shaughnessey wasn’t happy about reprising her new role as a nonspeaking extra.

  One more thing bears mentioning.

  The average lawyer wouldn’t even dream of putting a witness on the stand without having spoken to him in advance. Jaywalker, of course, was about as far from average as possible in just about everything he did. So he’d called witnesses “cold” several times in his career and would continue to do so whenever the situation warranted it. But almost invariably those witnesses were minor players. An interpreter to testify to some nuance in translation from Spanish to English, a court clerk to read from a file, a corrections officer to describe a defendant as a model prisoner. Never before had he called a central figure in the trial without so much as a run-through of the questions he’d be asking and the answers he’d be expecting.

  Lawyers have been suspended or even disbarred for such omissions, convictions overturned for ineffective assistance of counsel. Not to mention that no lawyer in his right mind would risk getting clobbered by a hostile witness he hadn’t taken the trouble to interview in advance.

  Then again, no one had ever accused Jaywalker of being in his right mind. He paid attention to conventional wisdom about as much as he did to the daily horoscopes in the supermarket tabloids. His thinking on the subject tended to be simple and straightforward. If you’re winning, play it safe. If you’re not, what do you have to lose?

  JAYWALKER: So who’s the asp?

  PASCARELLA: The asp?

  JAYWALKER: Yeah, you know. Asp, A-S-P. Like snake?

  PASCARELLA: I have no idea what you’re talking about.

  JAYWALKER: The word means nothing to you?

  PASCARELLA: Nothing at all.

  Jaywalker pulled a photo out of his pocket and handed it to the witness.

  JAYWALKER: I show you Defendant’s Exhibit B in evidence. Do you know who that is?

  PASCARELLA: I’m not sure. It looks like Clarence Hightower.

  JAYWALKER: Very good. Have you ever seen that photo before?

  Jaywalker watched as Pascarella turned it over, just as he himself had. Only where he’d seen writing on the back of it, he knew Pascarella wouldn’t. Jaywalker had seen to that.

  PASCARELLA: No, not that I know of.

  JAYWALKER: Yet you were able to recognize Mr. Hightower, weren’t you?

  PASCARELLA: Yes.

  JAYWALKER: From where and when?

  PASCARELLA: From arresting him the same day we arrested Mr. Barnett. And from processing him later that day at the precinct house.

  JAYWALKER: Anything else?

  PASCARELLA: Like what?

  JAYWALKER: Well, was that the only day you saw him? The day of his arrest?

  PASCARELLA: Yes.

  Jaywalker pulled out another photo. This one he’d retrieved earlier that morning, with the help of the same friendly court clerk who’d helped him early on in his investigation of the case. He had it marked now as Defendant’s C for identification and handed it to the witness.

  JAYWALKER: How about this one? Recognize it?

  PASCARELLA: I’m pretty sure that’s Hightower, too.

  JAYWALKER: I offer it in evidence.

  THE COURT: Mr. Pulaski? Or is it Ms. Shaughnessey today?

  PULASKI: No objection.

  THE COURT: Received in evidence as Defendant’s C.

  JAYWALKER: What can you tell us about this photo, Detective?

  PASCARELLA: Like I said, I’m pretty sure it’s Clarence Hightower. It looks like it’s his official arrest photo, taken at Central Booking, right downstairs in this building. You must have gotten it from his court file.

  JAYWALKER: I’ll stipulate that the witness is correct. I did.

  THE COURT: Mr. Pulaski?

  PULASKI: So stipulated.

  JAYWALKER: Let’s go back to Defendant’s B, the other photo of Mr. Hightower. What can you tell us about that one?

  Pascarella put down C and picked up B again. Once more he turned it over and checked the back, almost as if he’d expected writing to have magically appeared since he’d last looked at it. Much the same way the Polaroid image on the front of it must have gradually appeared twenty-some months earlier. But no writing had appeared. Jaywalker watched as the witness seemed to struggle to absorb that fact, as if he was wondering if he could rely upon the blank piece of cardboard in front of him.

  JAYWALKER: I’m sorry. We couldn’t hear your answer.

  PASCARELLA: I’m afraid I can’t help you, Counselor. Like I said, I can’t remember ever seeing this photo here.

  JAYWALKER: Ever?

  PASCARELLA: Ever.

  Well, thought Jaywalker, that was about as much as he was going to be able to pin Pascarella down on that point. Before moving on to his next area
of questioning, he paused and drew a deep breath. This was going to be it, he knew, his last chance and Alonzo Barnett’s last hope. Jaywalker had a hunch, an idea that had come to him about four o’clock that morning. If it turned out he was wrong about it, the Fat Lady would have sung, and the case would pretty much be over. So here went nothing.

  JAYWALKER: Detective, do you by any chance have a middle name?

  PULASKI: Objection. Totally irrelevant.

  THE COURT: Mr. Jaywalker?

  JAYWALKER: Give me a minute and I’ll connect it.

  THE COURT: You’ve got half a minute. We’ll take it subject to connection. You may answer the question, Detective.

  PASCARELLA: Yeah, I have a middle name.

  JAYWALKER: What is it?

  PASCARELLA: Salvatore.

  Jaywalker exhaled a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. He was two-thirds of the way there, but it was the easy two-thirds. The final third was going to be a serious leap.

  JAYWALKER: And your first name?

  PASCARELLA: Dino.

  JAYWALKER: Isn’t that short for something?

  PULASKI: Objection.

  THE COURT: Overruled.

  PASCARELLA: Everyone calls me Dino. I’ve been Dino for as long as I can remember.

  JAYWALKER: So it’s not a nickname?

  PASCARELLA: No.

  JAYWALKER: It’s the name that’s on your birth certificate?

  PASCARELLA: You mean officially like?

  JAYWALKER: Yeah, officially like.

  PASCARELLA: No, it’s not on my birth certificate.

  JAYWALKER: So what’s the first name on your birth certificate?

  PASCARELLA: On my birth certificate?

  JAYWALKER: Yes, on your birth certificate.

  And as he waited for an answer, Jaywalker held up a piece of paper for the witness to see. It may have been old and yellowed around the edges, but it was a genuine New York City Department of Health birth certificate, right down to its Old English type font, its official inked-in signature and its circular raised seal.

  PASCARELLA: On my birth certificate it’s Andino. My mother’s family name. But like I’m telling you, everyone calls me Dino. Everyone.

  JAYWALKER: Would you spell that for us, please?

  PASCARELLA: Spell what?

  JAYWALKER: Andino.

  PASCARELLA: A-N-D-I-N-O.

  THE COURT: Excuse me, Mr. Jaywalker. Would you like to offer the document into evidence?

  JAYWALKER: The birth certificate?

  THE COURT: Yes.

  JAYWALKER: My own birth certificate?

  THE COURT: Never mind. I should have known.

  Jaywalker approached the witness and took the photo from him. Gently he peeled away the backing from it. Not the original Polaroid backing, but the second one, the one he’d added that morning using double-faced tape but being careful to steer clear of the part where the lettering was. Then he handed the photo back to the witness.

  JAYWALKER: Would you please read what’s written on the back of the photo?

  PASCARELLA: It says “asp.”

  JAYWALKER: How is that spelled?

  PASCARELLA: A-S-P.

  JAYWALKER: Whose initials are ASP?

  PASCARELLA: I guess they’re my initials, if you want to get really technical about it.

  JAYWALKER: I want to get really technical about it. Who put them there?

  PASCARELLA: I guess I must have.

  JAYWALKER: You guess?

  PASCARELLA: I put them there. I forgot, was all. I…I didn’t notice them.

  All of a sudden, he was a different witness. Gone were the swagger, the cockiness, replaced by a meekness that would have been almost comical if another man’s freedom hadn’t been at stake. It was almost like watching all the helium go out of one of those giant Thanksgiving Day balloon characters.

  JAYWALKER: Why did you put your initials there?

  PASCARELLA: I honestly don’t remember. It’s what we do.

  JAYWALKER: When did you put them there?

  PASCARELLA: It would have had to be on the day we arrested Mr. Hightower, the same day the other photo of him was taken.

  JAYWALKER: Are you certain about that?

  PASCARELLA: Yes.

  JAYWALKER: Where did you take it?

  PASCARELLA: In the squad room at the precinct house.

  JAYWALKER: Is that where you kept the Polaroid camera?

  PASCARELLA: Yeah.

  JAYWALKER: It was no use to you on the street, was it?

  PASCARELLA: No.

  JAYWALKER: Too bulky, too cumbersome, too slow?

  PASCARELLA: Right.

  JAYWALKER: Now, you didn’t take Mr. Hightower home with you at any point, did you?

  PASCARELLA: Home? No, of course not.

  JAYWALKER: So he could shave and shower, perhaps?

  PASCARELLA: No way.

  JAYWALKER: Or take him shopping for clothes?

  PASCARELLA: Not a chance. The man was under arrest.

  JAYWALKER: Then I don’t suppose you can explain to the jurors the reason why Mr. Hightower seems to be wearing two different sets of clothes in the two photos.

  Because there was no rise in the inflection of Jaywalker’s voice as he reached the end of it, it came out sounding more like a statement of fact than a question. And the truth is, it hadn’t really been a question at all. Questions have answers. This didn’t.

  JAYWALKER: Who took this photo, Detective? The one that’s got your initials on the back of it, in your handwriting?

  PASCARELLA: I guess I must have.

  JAYWALKER: Now look carefully at the two photos, if you will. Not just at the clothing, but at the length of Mr. Hightower’s hair and the stubble of his beard. Any doubt in your mind that they were taken on different days?

  PASCARELLA: No, I guess not.

  JAYWALKER: No doubt?

  PASCARELLA: No doubt.

  JAYWALKER: What happened to Mr. Hightower after he was arrested? Where was he taken?

  PASCARELLA: Like I said, to the precinct house. Specifically, upstairs to the detective squad room.

  JAYWALKER: And from there?

  PASCARELLA: Central Booking.

  JAYWALKER: And after that?

  PASCARELLA: Court.

  JAYWALKER: Did he make bail?

  PASCARELLA: No.

  JAYWALKER: Was that the last you ever saw of him?

  It was one of those wonderful shit-or-go-blind questions Jaywalker loved so much. If Pascarella were to say no, that in fact he’d seen Hightower again—by going out to Rikers Island to visit him, for example—Jaywalker would use his answer as proof that the two of them had had a continuing relationship. From there it would be only a baby step to believe that Hightower had been Pascarella’s informer.

  So instead Pascarella said yes. Yes, the day of the arrests had been the last time he’d ever seen Hightower.

  Jaywalker paused before asking his final two questions. And when he asked them, he did so quietly, gently, with no trace of anger, sarcasm or irony. He had no need for volume at this point, no desire to reach the back rows of the audience. The audience was out in the hallway, after all, locked out of the courtroom. So when the final questions were asked, they were asked with something that sounded very much like sadness, the way a morgue attendant might ask the next of kin to take a good look at the body of a loved one long missing and recently found.

  JAYWALKER: In other words, Detective, you took this photo, the one that bears your initials in your handwriting on the back of it, days or even weeks earlier than the arrest photo. Am I correct?

  PASCARELLA: [No response]

  JAYWALKER: Back before the sales in this case ever took place. Am I correct again?

  PASCARELLA: [No response]

  As the old saying goes, silence can be deafening. And nowhere, nowhere, is that more true than the inside of a courtroom.

  Jaywalker collected the photos from the witness, walked to the defense table and sat dow
n. To his way of thinking, while he hadn’t succeeded in getting Lieutenant Pascarella to admit that Clarence Hightower had in fact been working with him as an informer, he’d at least made it seem like a reasonable possibility. At this point, that was about the best he could do.

  But Daniel Pulaski wasn’t about to let things end there. Rising from the prosecution table, he walked to the lectern, then seemed to change his mind and kept walking another three or four steps before stopping. That put him squarely in front of Pascarella and only a body length away. Had Jaywalker taken up such a confrontational position, he would have been told to step back, that his closeness was intimidating to the witness. For a split second he considered objecting but then thought better of it. Let’s see where this goes, he told himself.

  It didn’t take long to find out.

  PULASKI: Is a detective permitted to use an informer without registering him? Or would that constitute a serious violation of police department rules?

  PASCARELLA: That’s not allowed. It would be a violation.

  PULASKI: A violation serious enough that the detective could be disciplined, perhaps even discharged?

  PASCARELLA: I would certainly think so.

  PULASKI: How about giving false testimony at a trial? Is that an equally serious violation?

  PASCARELLA: I’m sure it is.

  PULASKI: And a felony, as well?

  PASCARELLA: Yes, sir.

  PULASKI: You testified last week that this case began with an anonymous phone call. Was that the absolute truth?

  PASCARELLA: Yes, sir.

  PULASKI: No doubt about it?

  PASCARELLA: No, sir. No doubt at all.

  PULASKI: Counsel seems to be suggesting—

  Counsel.

  When lawyers get angry at other lawyers, they stop using their names and start referring to them as counsel. Kind of the way an irate legislator calls a despised member of the opposing party my most esteemed colleague.

  PULASKI: —that these photographs of Clarence Hightower are some kind of proof that Mr. Hightower was working for you as a confidential informer. Was that the case?

  PASCARELLA: No, sir. Absolutely not.