Payback, p.15
Payback, page 15
“He was hanging around here before we broke for lunch. That’s all I know.”
One of the other uniformed bailiffs called out to Lester, and he hurried away. An assistant DA walked in with a couple of defense attorneys chasing after him. I thought I would join them and ask the ADA about Donald Rudd’s whereabouts.
“Millie, just take a seat back here by the door. I’m going to talk to some people.”
Millie took a hesitant step toward the old wooden bench on the left side of the aisle. “You really want me all the way back here?”
“Yeah. Make yourself comfortable. It may be a while.”
She sat, looking glum. “But you’re going to be up there at the front? I don’t understand.”
Millie showed signs of a bad case of FOMO, but I knew it would be best for all concerned if she could stay out of the way. I gave her shoulder a reassuring pat. “You’ll be able to hear everything that goes on. They have a sound system.”
I didn’t inform her that the sound systems in the courtrooms were glitchy. No point in borrowing trouble.
She pointed at the graffiti etched into the wood on the back of the bench directly in front of her. Sounding scandalized, she said, “Do you see that? Who would dare to vandalize a court of law? My sister would never believe it.”
Over the years, most of the benches had been defaced by unhappy people using sharp implements to leave angry messages behind. I’d never paid much attention to it. Millie leaned forward, running her fingers over letters dug deep into the wood that read: “DIE BITCH.”
I got that prickly feeling that comes when my superstitions flare up. I started to rub the skin by my thumb. But at that moment, the courtroom door opened, and Donald Rudd marched down the center aisle.
“Gotta go,” I whispered to Millie, and then I followed him to the front of the courtroom.
I called out, “Donald! I’m Kate. We talked over the phone. I’m here on the People versus Rodney Lamar Bryant.”
“Bryant?” He paused, his brow furrowed, as if trying to recall. “Is it set for a plea?”
I wanted to punch him. How had he already forgotten our conversation?
I said, “No, we need to work out the issue of bail. Rodney is being held in detention at Rikers. It’s an error, some kind of fluke. He’s just charged with a misdemeanor, so he shouldn’t be in there at all. I’d like to get him released without bail.”
Rudd carried an armful of hard files. He sat down on the first bench of the spectator seating and started to rummage through them. I was wondering whether he’d forgotten to bring the file to court when he finally pulled it out. He opened to the first page and studied a roster of handwritten scribbles.
“He was arrested on an assault charge a couple of months ago,” he said.
“That’s right.”
“And the judge set bail, and he made bond with a commercial bonding company. That’s what I’m seeing here.”
I was aware of that. It happened immediately after we crashed the party on Ian Templeton’s yacht. Millie and I got away, but Rod was busted. And he put up a good fight with the security guards before they handed him over to the police.
“And that’s the only charge he’s being held on now,” I said. “Misdemeanor assault, not a felony.”
“Yeah, looks like it.”
“So he shouldn’t be held at Rikers, right? He should be out.”
He flipped through the pages in the thin file. “Oh, here’s the problem. Looks like the bonding company pulled out. They revoked the bond. Told the court he wasn’t complying with conditions. Thought he was a flight risk.”
I knew that the bondsman had taken steps to revoke his bond. Clearly, our benefactor’s protection had disappeared, and this was the outcome for members of the group who fell from favor. The indemnitor had decided to kick Rod to the curb and put him behind bars. And it put us in a vulnerable position.
There was no way to explain the situation to Rudd. I tried to play it cool. “So? It’s a misdemeanor charge. He’s presumed innocent. There’s no need to lock this guy up pretrial.”
“Hmmm.” He continued to scan the notations on the pages in the file. Watching him, I started to worry. Were new charges against Rod in the works? We didn’t really know what we were up against, didn’t know who was pulling the strings. As I waited for him to weigh in, I grew increasingly nervous. My voice cracked when I said, “Come on, Donald. This is New York, not Alabama. We have bail reform in this state. Requiring cash bail is a way to penalize people for being poor. You know that.”
“Where’s that coming from?” Rudd looked at me with a wary expression. “You were with this office for three years, right? We’ve all seen the damage done by bail reform in this city.”
“But not this guy. He’s a vet. Served his country.”
“Yeah, well, we get a lot of crazy vets coming through the criminal courts. Hell, Kate, you know that.”
I attempted a cajoling tone. “Donald, he’s a friend of mine.”
He shut the file and slapped it down on the wooden bench next to him. “Take it up with the judge. I’ll stand silent. That’s the best I can offer.”
At that point, the judge emerged from chambers with his robe hanging over his arm. We weren’t appearing before Callahan. Because I’d filed for a change of judge, we were taking the case up with Judge Robertson instead. He had a reputation for being reasonable and even-handed. I hoped he wouldn’t rubber-stamp Callahan.
Judge Robertson donned the black robe as he chatted with the court reporter. After he zipped it up, he ambled over to the bench and took his seat.
The bailiffs were still chatting with one of the clerks, laughing about some private joke. The judge said, “Okay, let’s get started. Court is in session.”
When he spoke, his voice rang out, making me want to cover my ears. The sound system utilized in the courtroom was set at a punishing volume.
The clerk handed a file to the judge. He opened it and said, “In the case of Rodney Lamar Bryant, are the parties present?”
Rudd and I walked up to the dual podiums facing the judge.
The judge frowned down at me. “Is your client late?”
“No, your honor. I’m Kate Stone, counsel for Rodney Lamar Bryant. He’s not late. He can’t be here. Mr. Bryant is detained at Rikers.”
Rudd said, “I’m here on behalf of the People, your honor.”
The judge sighed. “Okay then, we’re doing this remotely. Bailiff, can you get him on the screen?”
A large video monitor sat in court, angled toward the bench. I went up on my toes and leaned over my podium, but I couldn’t get a view of the screen.
The judge squinted his eyes. “Bailiff, turn on the microphone and camera. Is that him? In the corner? Bailiff, did you get the spelling of his name right? Is that him?”
Apparently, the tech side of the courtroom proceedings was experiencing difficulty. The judge spoke directly into his microphone, the sound loud enough to burst an eardrum, making me wince again.
“Mr. Bryant, can you see me? Hear me?”
I still couldn’t see Rodney, but a garbled voice came through the sound system. “Can’t see you very well, but now I can hear you, Judge.”
The judge turned to his clerk and gave her a nod before looking back into the monitor. “Mr. Bryant, we’re going to do your court appearance remotely. Is that all right with you?”
“Yes, your honor.” At last, the system picked it up clearly. It was Rod’s voice, I was certain.
Millie heard it, too. “Rod!” she cried, her voice sailing through the room. “Baby, I’m here!”
I turned around to see her running down the aisle toward me. Giving her a stern glare, I whispered, “Millie, sit down!”
Though I didn’t mean to share the remark with the courtroom, the microphone at my podium picked it up. Mortified, I jerked back to face the judge. “Your honor, Mr. Bryant is being held at Rikers pending trial on a misdemeanor charge. The pretrial detention is an illegal violation of state bail policy. I urge the court to grant my motion for an ROR. We request that he be released today.”
Millie reached the front of the courtroom and stood at my shoulder. I covered the mic with my hand this time. “Sit. Down.”
The assistant DA spoke up. “The people have no objection, Judge.”
I was relieved to see the judge nod, looking amenable to the defense request. And he didn’t seem rattled by Millie’s outburst. He ran a fairly informal forum in his court. But as he glanced over the file that lay on the bench, he paused. His eyes darted across the page. He cleared his throat and coughed into his hand.
After a long moment, he said, “Mr. Rudd, are you sure the people don’t want to speak to this issue?”
Rudd and I exchanged a look. He was baffled, I could tell. There shouldn’t be any cause for debate. Under state law, Rod was entitled to the release. Judges didn’t have much discretion under the new bail reform statute.
As the moments ticked by, I was growing distinctly uneasy. Millie picked up on it. She tugged on the sleeve of my jacket. “What’s happening?” she said in a loud stage whisper.
The judge continued. “Because, from my file, it appears that there have been incidents in detention. Violent assaults allegedly committed by the defendant against fellow inmates since he’s been in custody.”
Rod’s voice crackled through the speaker. “Your honor, I had to defend myself—”
Millie was quicker to the draw than I was. “Rod! Don’t say anything!”
Donald Rudd was tearing through the pages of the DA’s file, trying to find what he’d missed. “I want to amend my position, Judge. The people oppose the release.”
I jumped right in. “The DA’s position has no bearing on the matter. State law requires the court to release him.” In my agitation, I’d forgotten to modulate my voice. My loud volume made the microphone screech in protest at the end of my argument.
Robertson removed his eyeglasses and rubbed his forehead with a pained expression. Maybe I’d given him a headache.
He said, “I think this is an appropriate case for release conditions.”
I kept my mouth a safe distance from the microphone. “Your honor, the law supports the defense—”
He cut me off. “I’m talking about nonmonetary release conditions. Under the circumstances of this case, I believe I should consider certain restrictions that will ensure Mr. Bryant’s appearance in court.”
“Yes, your honor,” Rudd said.
But I was wary of the judge’s proposal. “What restrictions? Mr. Bryant will comply with any reasonable request. We request that the court state the restrictions on the record, and we’ll go forward with the release.”
The judge grimaced. “I think it merits some thought. I want both parties to weigh in with written suggestions. We’ll take the matter up again in two weeks.” The judge closed the file. “Next case.”
“No!” Millie shrieked. “Rod! I have to see you. I need to talk to you!”
I wanted to see him, too. I needed to eyeball him to make certain he hadn’t been physically harmed. I left the podium and ran up to the bench, hoping to get a look at the monitor and communicate with my client. But the screen was dark.
Rod was gone.
Looking back, that was definitely an omen.
Chapter 28
Conditions in my studio apartment had grown crowded. After Mom booted us out of her house in New Jersey, Steven had returned to his bachelor accommodations at the shelter. But Millie was still at loose ends due to my inability to get Rod out of Rikers. She went into a deep funk after the court hearing. Mad at the judge, mad at the world—kinda mad at me, too. Part of the burden the defense attorney bears, I was learning.
But she couldn’t live alone, not right now. So I still had a roommate. And because I had a roommate, I had a frequent visitor.
Millie sat on the sofa with my brother Leo close beside her. They were huddled together over my laptop, watching old episodes of a TV comedy—Friends, from the sound of it. Leo was laughing uproariously at the dialogue, but Millie looked subdued. Worrying about Rod, I suspected.
A pizza box lay on the coffee table because Leo had surprised us by delivering dinner. Two big slices still remained in the box. I hoped they’d go uneaten because I had designs on them. Cold pizza was a breakfast delicacy at my place.
As I eyed the box, wondering whether it was too soon to snatch it up and take it into the kitchen, Leo glanced up at me. “You want to watch with us, Kate? There’s plenty of room for you.”
He scooted on the couch, edging closer to Millie, as he patted the spot beside him on my battered sofa. She didn’t appear to notice, just remained focused on the screen.
I was fairly certain that I knew what the draw was for Leo, what had brought him to my apartment in Morningside Heights. He’d visited daily since he and Mom had walked in on us in my mother’s living room. Whether Millie had caught on, I didn’t know. I hoped not. She hadn’t said anything.
Leo and I needed to have a talk, but we couldn’t do it in my one-room space. I resolved to call him the very next day, to nip his crush in the bud. Millie had a boyfriend, one who could flatten Leo without exerting himself. And Rod wouldn’t remain in Rikers much longer, not if I could help it.
I wanted to take Rod’s case up with Rubenstein. After I’d filed my written suggestions with Judge Robertson, I’d cc’ed them to Rubenstein with a long email describing the outcome of the hearing, but I was waiting to hear back from him. If he didn’t respond, I planned to hit him up when the advisory committee met. I’d received notice that there would be a formal gathering on Friday outside the Oculus. It would be a showy press affair with a cocktail reception following. Rubenstein was a hard man to run down, but the reception should provide the opportunity I needed.
I looked at Leo, sitting shoulder to shoulder on the couch with Millie. He was gone on that girl, totally smitten. “I’m not interested in the show, thanks, Leo. You two can spread out. I’ll sit right here.”
I dropped into the other seat in the room. It was my dad’s recliner, the chair I’d inherited from his place after he died. I figured that, if I put my earphones in, it would drown out the laugh track from their program.
But someone pounded on the apartment door before I had the chance. A man’s voice called out, “Kate? You in there?”
Millie looked up at me, startled. Rising from the chair, I reassured her. “It sounds like Bill. He’s a friend of mine. Nothing to worry about.”
I went to the door and checked the peephole, to be certain. He stood in the hallway, adjusting his glasses.
I was surprised to see him. Bill lived in Brooklyn, and rarely came to my neighborhood. It took a minute to unfasten the locks I’d installed. When I opened the door, Bill looked over my shoulder, into the room. Sounding sheepish, he said, “Guess I’m interrupting. Sorry, Kate. I didn’t think you’d have people over. Is this a bad time?”
“No, come on in. What are you doing?”
He walked in. Standing uncertainly just inside the doorway, he shoved his hands into his pockets. “I’ve got a meeting, just about a block away from here, and I’m early. I thought I’d see if you were home. I figured we could talk, catch up.”
“Great, glad to see you. You know my brother, right? And this is my friend Millie. Millie, Bill and I worked together, back when I was in the Manhattan DA’s office.”
She fixed him with a resentful glare. Representatives of the DA’s office were low on her list since she had accompanied me to court. But Leo was friendly.
He said, “Hey, Bill, I brought some pizza. You want a slice?”
I wanted to shut the cardboard box, wished I’d stowed it in the fridge before we had a new arrival. I was relieved to see Bill shake his head.
“I’m good. Just dropped by to say hello, that’s all.”
He walked over and sat in my dad’s chair. That exhausted the seating options, so I sat cross-legged on the floor. “Did you say you’ve got an appointment up here? Where are you going, Bill?”
“It’s a meeting.”
“Really?” I was curious. “Is it work?”
“No, not business. It’s that thing I told you about.” Sneaking a glance over at the couch, he sounded self-conscious when he added, “My therapy.”
“All the way up here? I thought you met in Midtown.”
“We do. This is more like a social gathering. One of the guys in the support group is a musician, plays the saxophone. It’s a jazz night at a bar on Broadway, so we’re meeting up there to hear him play.”
Millie’s left hand clutched the arm of the sofa. “What kind of support group?”
Bill cleared his throat. “It’s some people who are working to overcome their anxiety.”
His face flushed when he spoke, like he was embarrassed to announce it. But both Millie and Leo perked up.
“What kind of anxiety?” Millie asked.
“All kinds. Social, performance anxiety, generalized anxiety. We talk about it in group. Learn about tools to control it. If you have the issue, it’s helpful to know you’re not the only one who struggles with it.”
Millie tapped the computer keyboard with a finger, muting the sound. “I suffer from anxiety. For years. Seems like I’ve been battling it forever.”
My brother turned to her. “Really? That’s unbelievable.”
She gave him a chilly look. “Why do you say that?”
“Because you’re so .…” He didn’t finish the sentence. Instead, he lifted his shoulders in a shrug and confessed, “I have test anxiety. Always have, ever since I was a kid.”
Maybe it was wrong of me—in fact, I’m sure it was. But I didn’t want to hear Leo reveal the trouble he’d had with the New Jersey bar exam. He had taken and failed it, more than once. It was a sore spot with our mother, and the topic always set me on edge. Out of long habit, I changed the subject.
“Hey, Bill, what’s the word on Ian Templeton? Has anything surfaced at the DA’s office?”
He gave me a baffled look. “Like what?”
“Like a criminal charge. What do you think? He’s a crook, I’ve told you that so many times, I’d think you’d recall it. I hope to see an announcement of his downfall any day, but I’m always disappointed.”
