JUST AN OLD FASHIONED GIRL–Part 6 (Conclusion)

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I drove us to the diner Tuesday morning. I could tell that Rosie was antsy. She told me of her feelings as I drove into the diner’s parking lot. “I’m nervous, Steven. What if I’m not pregnant?”

“I don’t know how you couldn’t be. You haven’t had your period in almost two months, but even if you’re not we’ll just keep trying until you are. Then we’ll try some more.” I was grinning wildly as we exited the car.
We had our usual breakfasts. By now I think Mona could get them in her sleep. We were boringly predictable at breakfast. We saved most of our creativity for the bedroom.

I dropped her at the library, but only after she had kissed me for more than five minutes. I was still at the office early. Geoff walked in to my office with the forms for discovery on the Jones case. They could be mailed, but then the Suffolk DA could claim that he hadn’t received them, or that they were misplaced. I knew that Geoff would drive all the way to the Suffolk County Courthouse in Riverhead and get a signed and stamped copy for our records.

I spent the rest of the morning catching up with Jeff and Marv. Apparently they’d been busy during my absence, Jeff especially, handling New Year’s Eve DUI’s and what we referred to as D & D’s—drunk and disorderly. There were too many over the holiday season. Throw in a few public urinations and some sexual assaults and you’d understand why criminal lawyers never take vacation at this time of the year.
I closed up my office at 3:00 and began to walk out. “Good luck,” Joyce commented as I approached her desk.

“Don’t I have any secrets from you?”

“Nope. That’s what secretaries are for.”

“Okay, so long, Jerse.” She wadded up a piece of paper and threw it after me, but she had a big smile on her face. Fifteen minutes later Rosie and I were on our way to see Dr. Kirkpatrick at her office near Huntington Hospital, the same place I’d been to when that idiot Sheila had perforated my nipples. Now, almost a year later Rosie could still see through each of them.

I felt self-conscious sitting in the waiting room—the only male in a sea of mostly pregnant women. We learned at check-in that Dr. Kirkpatrick had a delivery in the early morning so appointments were almost an hour behind schedule. Luckily, we didn’t have to see the doctor. Rosie and I were led to an exam room once her vitals were taken. She weighed all of 110 pounds with excellent blood pressure at 112 over 68. I didn’t understand how she could be so calm. My heart was going a mile a minute. I figured my pressure would be sky high. The nurse sent Rosie to pee on a few more test strips and they all came back positive. Then she drew blood and told us that someone would phone us Thursday, probably in the afternoon, with the final results. “I wouldn’t be too concerned,” the nurse commented. “These home pregnancy tests are rarely wrong.” Just wait a minute and I’ll see if Dr. K has a minute for you.”

Sure enough, Dr. Kirkpatrick stepped in just a few minutes later. “Well, I guess congratulations are in order.” She explained all about diet and exercise and had her staff schedule a number of appointments. I paid the bill and we went home.

Looking across the console I could see Rosie beaming. “I think this calls for a celebration, don’t you?”

“You bet! Let’s get home and get naked.” I couldn’t hold back a hearty laugh. I was still gasping for breath when I suggested dinner first. I drove us downtown into the Village of Huntington where there must be a restaurant every twenty feet. We had plenty of choices, but Rosie told me she was too excited to eat much. I parked in front of FH Riley’s which is part pub and part restaurant. We ordered Irish onion soup au gratin then Rosie opted for English fish and chips while I had a skirt steak dinner. The food here has always been great and so has the beer, but Rosie stuck to iced tea for obvious reasons. We talked about the party we planned to hold on Saturday night. We’d distribute all of the gifts from Hawaii and Rosie would share our great news. She made me promise to let her do it her way and not spill the beans. She laughed when I “pouted” about her lack of trust.

Geoffrey and I were working on our strategy for the Jones murder case Thursday afternoon when Joyce told me I had a phone call. “Can you ask them to call back?”

“No, Steven…it’s Rosalie.”

I couldn’t get to the phone fast enough. “Hi,” I said hopefully. “What…what did she say?”

Rosie laughed. “She said you’re going to be a dad. I’m so happy.”

“Me, too. I wish you were here so I could show you how much.”

“That will have to wait until tonight then I can show you how happy I am.”

“I can’t wait.” I told her how much I loved her and returned to work.

I was surprised the following morning when I received a phone call from Robert Sullivan, the Suffolk County District Attorney. We’d met before at Bar Association functions and I had always been amazed at the man’s arrogance. So far as I was concerned it was matched only by his incompetence. Apparently, he was a far better politician than he was a lawyer. (Steven…how nice to speak with you again.)

“Same here, Bob; what can I do for you?”

(I hear you’re representing Jones. I’m thinking we should make this go away.)

“Good thinking; all you have to do is drop the charges.”

(Um…you know I can’t do that; public opinion, and all that. Perhaps you could encourage your client to accept a plea deal. We’d make sure he got a suspended sentence…no jail time.)

“Yeah, but he’d still be a convicted felon for a crime he didn’t commit. That doesn’t sound like much of a deal to me.”

(If you had seen the evidence that I’ve seen you wouldn’t feel that way.)

“I’m glad you brought that up, Bob. I’ll be in court Monday morning with a writ demanding full discovery on the evidence.”

(Fuck you, Steven; we haven’t even had that a week! God, you’re such a pompous asshole.)

“You should talk, Bobby. You know God-damned well that I haven’t seen any evidence yet and here you are trying to sucker me into a deal. Well, I may have been born at night, but it wasn’t last night. See you in court, Bob.”

I hung up the phone just as Joyce stepped into the office. “Was that wise, Steven? Why antagonize the opposition?”

“Because much of this case is going to be fought in the media–I’ll leak Monday’s court appearance to the newspapers and to Channel 12 before I leave here today. I want them to know that we’re going to attack the DA’s office. They’re going to be very sorry that they gave into ‘public opinion’ before completing a thorough investigation. This is the kind of thing that happens when the DA is up for reelection.” Joyce returned to her desk and Geoffrey and I returned to the task of preparing a defense.

I wasn’t at all surprised the following morning when I received two large boxes containing documents and DVD’s of the dash camera showing Patrolman Jones’s entire shift. I sat in the dark with Jeff and Geoffrey for more than an hour viewing and reviewing the entire event. Just before leaving the office that afternoon I placed a phone call to Michael Halloran. I needed his help again. We agreed to meet tomorrow morning at my office. Being Saturday I anticipated we’d be alone. I was wrong; both Jeff and Geoffrey joined me and we hadn’t been in the office five minutes when Joyce came in carrying a thermos of hot coffee.

Michael viewed the DVD several times before making a copy. Then he suggested that I hire another specialist—an audio analyst. He knew one—a top man—from his lab at NYPD headquarters. I spoke to the man—Henry (call me Hank) Winkle. I made a copy of the 9-1-1 phone call as well as another DVD of the camera video and we broke for the weekend. I thought we were making a lot of progress.

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Our guests began to arrive before I was even out of the shower. I dressed hurriedly then ran down the stairs to greet my in-laws and Rosie’s brother Michael and his family. The house was filled with friends and relatives less than twenty minutes later. I made everyone’s first drink, following an old tradition established by my grandfather. After the first they were on their own. We were sitting in the basement family room when Rosie took charge of the group. “We have some gifts for everyone from Hawaii. First, the kids.” She handed Andrea’s two a bag with toys and sweatshirts and bathing suits from Maui. Then she followed up with Michael’s and Anita’s kids. “Okay, next…all of the men. She hefted the bags and delivered one to each of the men. Each bag held a silk polo shirt from the shops on Front Street in Lahaina and a golf shirt from Kapalua where the PGA plays an important tournament every January.

“Great shirts, Steven,” Harrison called. “You must have let Rosalie pick them out.”

“I did. You should have seen the one I originally picked out for you. Let’s put it this way—you’d never need to put the lights on at home again.” Everyone laughed, even Harrison. They couldn’t guess how serious I was.
Finally, came the women’s gifts—the black and gold pearl earrings. “I held these for last because once you have them I’ll be able to tell you about my gifts from my wonderful husband.” The expressions on their faces as they opened the Maui Divers boxes made the expense totally worthwhile. “Oh my,” exclaimed Nadia. “I’ve seen these online so I know what they cost. Thank you so much.” That pretty much summed up everyone’s reaction.

“Now I can tell you about the presents I received.” She walked out into the kitchen while she continued speaking. “Steven sort of tricked me when we were in the store, not that I’m complaining, but he asked me to try these on then surprised me by buying them for me.” She emerged from the doorway with the spectacular South Seas Golden pearls around her neck and the bangle earrings hanging from her lobes.

No one gasped as much as Nadia. “Damn, Rosalie, those things cost a fortune. They’re beautiful and they look perfect on you.” Of course, all of the women had to come up and touch, but that was okay. I’d read that touching pearls helped their luster.

“I’m not done yet. That was when Steven mentioned my ‘other’ present. I really must remember that I married a lawyer. I looked him straight in the eye and asked if it cost as much as these did. He told me, ‘No! Absolutely not!’ and he was right. He bought me a brand new BMW SUV that cost more than three times as much.”

“Well, I didn’t lie, did I?” Rosie laughed as she sat in my lap and kissed me.

“No, you were completely truthful and now I get to tell everyone about my best gift. It’s something I’ve always wanted.” She leaned down to kiss me again then turned to our guests and said, “I’m pregnant!”

There was understandable pandemonium as everyone jumped from their seats. Rosie’s mother was crying and so was her dad. Mine just beamed. We stood together receiving the hugs and kisses and back thumping for more than ten minutes. Everyone was still cheering when Nadia and Harrison approached. I couldn’t understand why they weren’t first until Nadia whispered, “So am I!” It was just loud enough for everyone to hear. Then the cheering began anew with Harrison and Nadia receiving the accolades this time.

Rosie and Nadia retired to the small basement kitchen where they pulled several large pans of fried chicken and baked ziti from the oven. I had a four-foot Italian hero out in the garage that I placed on the table. A hefty Greek salad finished our preparations and dinner was served. It was simple, but nobody complained. In fact, most everyone had seconds and even thirds.

The party started to break up around nine with everyone thanking us for their gifts and congratulating us on our impending family. Soon enough only Harrison and Nadia were with us. I knew why. Harrison wanted to talk about my murder trial.

“So…how’s it going?”

“Better than I thought. They must be nervous about the case. Sullivan phoned me on Thursday to offer a deal.”

“Kind of quick.”

“Yeah, too quick. He knew damned well that I hadn’t even seen any of the evidence and I don’t think I would have for a month or more if I hadn’t threatened to go to the judge about it. Now I think we’re on track to crack it wide open. Unfortunately, I’ll have to convince Judge Abraham to offer one of my witnesses immunity. He’ll never testify without it.”

Harrison and I spoke for quite a while Rosie and Nadia went on and on about their pregnancies. Harrison and I chuckled several times at their enthusiasm before they finally left around 10:30.

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At home Rosie and I began our planning for our child. There was so much to do—furniture, decorating, clothes. I’d never dreamed that such a tiny human being could need so many clothes. Some we gratefully accepted from Nick and Andrea or from Michael and Natalie, but most we bought on our own. We had the furniture selected and the room decorated with new wallpaper and carpeting by the Fourth of July.

That was a big time for me at work, too. We had begun voir dire—the preliminary process of juror selection. I had used the press and the local television stations to publicize our case for weeks, criticizing the district attorney as an overly ambitious politico interested only in feathering his nest at the expense of an innocent and dedicated police officer. Oh, how I tugged on the heartstrings of the public, but now in early August we were ready to go to trial. It would be quick. I thought their case was weak and I had several aces in the hole I could barely wait to play.

I sat calmly with my client as the ADA moved forward with his case. This time around I was going up against one Branford Clyde who was, if possible, as big a snob and an even bigger asshole than his boss. He was methodical and thorough–I had to give him that–but his case was unspectacular and had as many holes in it as a slice of Swiss cheese. It was all I could do to stifle a yawn as he described the scene of the crime in the driest tone imaginable. He had completed his technical case—analysis of the fired bullets and acknowledgement that they had come from Officer Jones’s weapon– when I asked to approach the bench. It was a good time to disrupt his case.

“I need to speak at some length about my defense, your honor and I suggest that my remarks would be best made in chambers where we will have complete privacy.” Of course, Clyde objected—repeatedly, but I won in the end in the “interest of justice.”

Once in chambers our deliberations were much more informal. “Your honor, I need to have immunity for one of my witnesses. He will not testify without it. I’ll never even get a chance to ask my first question. Additionally, I need a warrant to have him taken into custody as a material witness. The police have him under surveillance as we speak.”

“May I ask why, Mr. Sloan?”

“He is the leader of the Hispanic street gang, ms-13, in Brentwood. I have reason to believe that he was involved in this matter from the start.”

“Surely, you’re not going to paint the poor dead victim of this tragedy as some gang-banger? Really, Sloan, that’s too much—even from you.”

“You can say what you want, but I can and will prove my client’s innocence if given the opportunity and I need this witness to do it. I think you will find that the real victim of this matter is my client. That’s an unfortunate thing to say, but it is true. He was targeted by this gang and only escaped by sheer luck.” We went at it for almost an hour before I walked out with my warrant. I handed it to a lieutenant in the Suffolk County PD before returning to my seat. Suffolk County SWAT officers served the warrant, arrested Felix Acevedo, keeping him in solitary at the County Jail as a safeguard.

The following morning, Clyde called the victim’s mother—Julia —to the stand. I would have thought that she was describing Abraham Lincoln or George Washington instead of her son, Eduardo Mendez. I rose to cross-examine after she had stated for almost an hour what a saint her son had been.

“Mrs. Mendez,” I began, ‘I want you to know how sorry I am for your loss. No parent should ever have to mourn and bury their own child. However, I am the defendant’s lawyer and I have a job to do here. From your earlier testimony I understand that Eduardo was a student at Brentwood High School. Is that correct?”

“Yes…he was a good boy…a good student.”

“He was sixteen?”

“Si…yes!”

“As a sixteen year-old boy he should have been in either tenth or eleventh grade. What grade was he in?”

“I don’t know. I am too upset to be able to answer.”

I retreated to the defense table where Geoffrey passed a packet of papers to me. “According to this transcript and according to these report cards Eduardo should have been in eleventh grade.” I handed copies to the ADA and to the clerk who marked them for identification—Defense-1. “I see that Eduardo was still a ninth grader and has been for the last three years. He was absent from school 146 days last year and 137 the year before that. His report card is all failing grades. Isn’t that true?”

“I sorry. I no understand.” I turned to the jury and smiled.

“Mrs. Mendez, if necessary I can prove that you were born in Queens at Long Island Jewish Hospital and that you graduated from the New York City Public Schools after attending Catholic parochial school through eighth grade. You are a citizen of the United States and so was your son. You have worked as a clerk in an accounting office so you obviously know enough English to understand my questions. I need to remind you that the penalty for perjury is very severe in New York. Your honor, please direct Mrs. Mendez to answer the questions.”

“You must answer, Mrs. Mendez, and I must warn you about perjuring yourself. You must answer truthfully.”

It took a while, but I eventually pulled the story out of Mrs. Mendez. Her son was a good boy and a good student until he became involved with ms-13 then his grades went to hell and so did he. In response to my final question she admitted that Eduardo had gone out that night with someone who was dressed as though from ms-13.

“He wore a purple scarf around his neck. Oh yeah…he had a tattoo of a black widow spider and a spider’s web on his left wrist.” I had no additional questions so I returned to my seat, taking the time to pat my client on the shoulder as I did. You can trust me on this—juries notice little things like that and I wanted them to understand that I was very pleased with how the testimony had gone.

Clyde had a few more witnesses, but none of the lab techs were going to hurt us. I had already stipulated to my client having killed the perpetrator. That’s what I called him—the perpetrator. I wanted the jury to think of him as the criminal in this case. That’s because he was.

Clyde could have finished up his case in a day—two at most–but he tended to be long-winded, much to the annoyance of the judge who told him several times to move along. I thought at the time that I might be able to take advantage of the judge’s good will. However, Douglas Abraham is nothing if not a fair arbiter. I knew I’d have to wait for the right time.

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I began my defense on a Monday morning after working all day Saturday and Sunday on my opening remarks and the series of questions I’d want to ask. I reviewed where and how I’d want to stand—when to face the jury and when to turn away. Sure, it’s theatrical, but that’s exactly what a jury trial is.

Once I had finished my opening statement I called my first witness—Michael Halloran. I worked my way through his experience with the NYPD and was pleased when Clyde stipulated to Halloran’s experience and expertise. I showed the clip from the dash camera in Jones’s patrol car. Clyde had already introduced it as a prosecution exhibit. We ran through it twice at regular speed before I asked my first question. “This sequence of events occurred at 11:32 p.m., Lieutenant. It was a moonless night so I guess that’s why the video is so dark.” Okay, not quite a question, but enough for Halloran to take the ball and run with it.

“That is one of the beauties of digital photography. Had this been regular photographic film this is all we’d ever be able to see. However, digital video can be adjusted, that is made either brighter or darker. The average person does this every day with programs like Photoshop. In this case the process is somewhat more complicated, but I was able to lighten it significantly.”

“Has this procedure ever been used in courtrooms before, Lieutenant?”

“Yes, probably dozens of times and appeals courts in California, Pennsylvania, and Washington, DC have ruled that it is a legal and proper technique.” I had the citations in hand, passing them first to Clyde and then to Judge Abraham who decided that we should proceed. Clyde’s objection died in his throat.

I could see the jurors lean forward as the bright screen lit up the darkened room. It showed Jones’s patrol car pull into the alley behind the strip mall in Brentwood. A row of dumpsters filled the area behind the stores with their heavy steel security doors and their tamper resistant stainless steel padlocks hanging from secure hasps. Jones was seen moving from the vehicle, his hand on his pistol, but not yet drawn. Suddenly, a figure sprung from between two dumpsters, raising a black object from his hip to just in front of his chest. It was Mendez—clear as could be.

Jones could be seen drawing his weapon and heard telling Mendez to “drop your weapon.” Mendez didn’t, aiming what appeared to be a semi-automatic pistol and pulling the trigger repeatedly. Finally, he charged Jones who fired in self-defense. After checking on Mendez he returned to the car and could be heard calling for an ambulance.

“That’s not all, is it, Lieutenant?”

“No, it’s a bit hard to see around Officer Jones, but if we replay the video slowly you can clearly see that there is someone else in the alley.” Geoffrey reran the video in extreme slow motion and a thin hand could easily be seen snaking out to pick up and remove the black object. He ran away once Jones had turned to face the approaching ambulance and walked toward the rear of the patrol car.

“Is it possible to enhance the video so we can see exactly what was removed and any identifying marks on the other person?”

“Yes, a computer can identify and fill in pixels. I can show you how the process works with a brief demonstration.” I asked the judge for permission which he gave. Thirty minutes later Lt. Halloran had demonstrated how the process would work–now for the critical part.

“Did I ask you to attempt this procedure on this video?”

“Yes, you did. I have this program on a computer in my lab at the NYPD.”

“Did you perform this work while actively working for the New York Police Department?”

“No, I first received permission to use the equipment from my superior officer and then I did it on weekends and evenings when the computer wasn’t being used on an open case in Manhattan.” I produced written authorizations from a deputy chief and distributed them to both parties. I was done with Lt. Halloran once he had shown two photos that had been enhanced from the video—one of a black semi-automatic pistol and another showing the back of a man’s wrist with a tattoo of a black widow spider and spider’s web. Clyde asked a few meaningless questions then we broke for lunch.

I normally like to leave the courthouse for lunch, but there was so much press coverage for this trial that it had become impossible to have even the slightest privacy even in Hauppauge where the New York State courts were located. Instead, we had a catered lunch brought in. I spent the two hours reviewing testimony with Jeff and Geoffrey and reassuring my understandably nervous client.

After lunch I called Felix Acevedo. I began by explaining that he had been given immunity for anything I might ask him during the trial. “Normally you would not be required to answer any question that might incriminate you, but now that you have immunity you MUST answer. Also, the judge has declared you to be a hostile witness so I can ask you leading questions that you are to answer either yes or no. Do you understand?”

“What? You think I’m stupid?”

“No, but lawyers are good at tricking people into saying things they really don’t want to say. Be assured that I have no intention of tricking you.” Then I asked for his name and address and I asked if he was involved with the notorious street gang ms-13. “Aren’t you, in fact, the head man for the group located in Brentwood?”

“Yeah, I am. So what? It’s something I earned. I get a lot of respect. Everybody in Brentwood knows the name Felix Acevedo.” I gave him plenty of opportunity to talk and talk he did. The more he talked the better I liked it. I meandered around, sometimes on topic and sometimes not and giving him plenty of rope, for more than an hour with mostly meaningless questions and I was sure that Clyde would object any second now when Joyce walked in to the courtroom to signal me.

I turned quickly to face the judge. “Your honor, I would like to interrupt my questioning of this witness to bring on an expert whose testimony is essential to my defense. I would like Mr. Acevedo to remain in the courtroom during this testimony to ensure that he will return to the stand once I am done with my expert witness.” Judge Abraham questioned me as to the necessity of such a step and, of course, Clyde whined a few times, but I knew I would win. This was the penalty Clyde would pay for dragging his heels during the prosecution case. I called Henry Winkle as Acevedo was returned to the custody of the bailiffs.

He was sworn and seated before I began my questions. “Who do you work for, Mr. Winkle and what do you do there?”

“Technically, it’s Dr. Winkle. I have a PhD. in electrical engineering specializing in electronic analysis of sounds. I am also a captain in the NYPD crime laboratory. I work with Lt. Halloran, but I work with audio while he works with video. We often work on the same cases, but from different points of view much as we did on this one.”

“Have you had the opportunity to examine the video from the dashboard camera in this case?”

“Yes, I have. Like Lt. Halloran I worked in the lab with the permission of the Chief of Police.”

“Did you find anything unusual on this DVD?”

“Yes, but before I testify about that I need to explain exactly what I did with the dash cam video. I think the court should be advised ahead of time that my testimony will take at least four hours and probably longer.”

“Go ahead, Captain,” Judge Abraham advised. “The prosecution spent plenty of time presenting its case. There’s no reason why Mr. Sloan shouldn’t have the same opportunity.”

“Would you please explain your procedure, Captain? And please remember that none of us have PhD’s in any kind of engineering.” He smiled as he assured the court that his testimony would be strictly in layman’s terms.

“The first thing I do is remove the audio from the video. Then it’s possible to separate all the sounds from one another. Part of that is done by identifying every starting and ending point and part is by identifying the pitch—whether the sound is high like a woman’s voice or low like a man’s. There are 127 separate sounds on this brief video. Once I have that done I feed them into a computer I have at work to identify them. The computer has more than 250,000 sounds on it. Then I return to the original video and match the sounds so I can see exactly what caused them. Of course, there are some sounds for which there is no corresponding video.”

He started at the beginning with the sound of Officer Jones unbuckling his seatbelt. “That’s obviously not on the video, nor is the next—the sounds of the car door opening and closing.” Many of the more interesting sounds were not caused by anything that we could see, but Dr. Winkle explained that thoroughly and completely. “That’s the sound of wind blowing an old rusty sign nearby.”

“That’s the sound of sneakers shifting back and forth on gravel.”

“That’s a rat scurrying on the blacktop.”

It was almost 10:00 the following morning when we heard, “Click! Click! Click, click!”

“That’s the sound of a pistol’s hammer striking the plate at the rear of the combustion chamber repeatedly. You can see Mr. Mendez aiming what has been identified as a pistol at Officer Jones. That clicking sound occurs forty-one times. Each was an attempt to fire the weapon.”

“Any idea why the pistol didn’t fire?”

“No, but some semi-automatics are prone to jamming and that’s especially true if the weapon is dirty. Dirt, often in the form of burnt powder residue can cause the bullet to turn on a slight angle when it enters the chamber. That makes the weapon useless until the jam is cleared which must be done manually. Some people never clean their weapons.” I brought up the enhanced video of the pistol that Lt. Halloran had produced once again. Winkle described again the process he had used to eliminate background noises and enhance the sound of the hammer striking. Everyone in the courtroom could clearly hear the “clicking” noise every time Mendez pulled the pistol’s trigger. Then I shifted gears. I had clearly proved Mendez’ intent: to kill an officer of the law.

“Was this video the only analysis I asked you to perform?”

“No, you also asked me to test the 9-1-1 recording that brought Officer Jones to the alley initially.”

“Have you reached any conclusions about this recording?”

“Yes, the initial phone call that began this dreadful situation was made by the previous witness…a Mr. Acevedo, I believe.” Then he launched into a lengthy description of voice tonality and how it varies from person to person even between people in the same family. “I had more than an hour yesterday afternoon to check the speech patterns of this witness as he testified and I was able to identify several unusual auditory patterns in his speech. They appear in the 9-1-1 call and they appeared in his testimony, as well. It is possible that others might exhibit one or maybe even two of these patterns, but in my estimation, highly unlikely that another person would exhibit all six of them.” He followed with an explanation and demonstration of the electronics involved that took us to 11:47.

Judge Abraham closed for the noon recess. It was just after two that afternoon when I called Felix Acevedo back to the stand. My first question would seal the case for my client. “Mr. Acevedo, will you please show the court the back of your left hand and wrist?” He sat silently, glaring at me, even after I reminded him that he had immunity for his testimony. Finally, acting on the judge’s instruction, the bailiff grasped Acevedo’s left wrist to show the tattoo there—a black widow spider in a spider’s web. It was identical to the one Halloran had developed in the dash cam video. I shared the photo with the jury to emphasize my point.

“We already know that you were present in the alley, Mr. Acevedo. Was this an ms-13 activity? You wore your purple scarf and Mendez had one in his pocket.” Acevedo remained silent, glaring at me, the judge, and the jury again. I could have insisted that he answer, but his silence told the jury everything they needed to know–besides I didn’t have to prove my case, only demonstrate that reasonable doubt existed.

“Let me tell you what I think.” Technically, this was a major breach of legal protocol. I should have been asking questions, not answering them. However, Clyde didn’t object so I just continued with my editorializing. “This was an ms-13 initiation. A person involved in another gang has explained to me that young men being initiated are required to commit crimes…usually violent crimes like rape, armed robbery, and even murder. Eduardo Mendez was given something on a grand scale. You set him up to murder a police officer and it might have worked if only you had taken better care of the pistol. I’m sure that the Suffolk County Police will be very interested in learning how you have targeted them.” I turned my back on Acevedo and walked back to my seat. I was already there when I turned the witness over to my opponent. Not surprisingly, he had few questions. His case had been destroyed.

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Closing statements were brief. There wasn’t much point in long-winded verbiage when the true facts had been so clearly and convincingly presented. The defense always goes last and I finished my brief remarks in which I simply summarized the evidence my two experts had presented by requesting the charges be dismissed with prejudice, meaning that they could not be reinstated at any time in the future. Judge Abraham considered my request for less than a minute before dismissing the charges. Reporters ran from the room as the PBA congratulated me and the entire Jones family broke into tears of joy and appreciation. I was hugged so many times that I lost count. Now there was only one thing left to do. I held an “impromptu” press conference on the courthouse steps as we left the building.

“There is no question that justice has prevailed in this case. What bothers me is that this trial occurred at all. The District Attorney has the same resources available in the Suffolk County lab that my experts used in analysis of the video and 9-1-1 call so why didn’t he make use of them? I’ll tell you why…because he is more interested in getting votes from an unknowing public than he is in justice. This trial has wasted well more than a million taxpayer dollars, has taken almost six weeks of the court’s time, and has kept a conscientious and capable police officer from performing his duty for more than six months. What is the cost of that in terms of personal safety? This entire mess should never have happened.”

“You sound like you’re running for office, Mr. Sloan.”

“Ha! That’ll never happen. For one thing it doesn’t pay enough to interest me and, for another, I have no interest in all the bureaucratic B.S. I worked for the Manhattan D.A. for three years. That was more than enough for me. Now I’m sure that Officer Jones has some things to say.” I stepped back to allow D’Anthony Jones speak to the media. He thanked the Policemen’s Benevolent Association for standing by him, complimented our expert witnesses on their professionalism, and praised me for putting together a successful defense. Then he thanked God his ordeal was over before hugging his wife and his mother.

I was physically and emotionally exhausted when Rosie met me at the door that evening. “I saw your press conference, Steven. I’m so proud of you. Can you believe that Uncle Robert phoned to thank you?” She pulled me into her arms, no mean feat considering her swollen belly. We thought Rosie would be due in just two to three weeks.

Her pregnancy had mostly been uneventful. She had suffered morning sickness, but bore it stoically, telling me that is was a small price to pay for becoming a mother. She had worked at the library until the end of June then she had taken a medical leave of absence even though we had agreed that she would never return to work. Instead, Rosie would fulfill her dream of becoming a full-time mother. She already was my full-time lover.

Near as we could figure Nadia was roughly two weeks ahead of Rosie in her pregnancy. We had laughed when we determined that she was due on the first Monday of September–Labor Day. Of course, we also prayed that she and Rosie and the babies would be okay. The other big topic of discussion was how Harrison’s and Nadia’s handsome son would no doubt fall in love with our beautiful daughter. Matthew and Brianna—it even sounded good.

Nadia was three days late, giving birth at 7:13 a.m. on Thursday, September 7th. Rosie and I were among the first visitors to see the beaming Harrison and his exhausted wife. We were in the parking lot on our way home when Rosie grasped her abdomen and cried out in obvious pain. “I think it was a contraction, Steven. What should we do?”

I turned her around and walked her back into Obstetrics, asking if Dr. Kirkpatrick was still in the hospital. She was and about ten minutes later she walked in to find Rosie in obvious distress. “My goodness, you’re not supposed to deliver for another two weeks, but you’re obviously dilating. I knew you and Nadia were close, but this is too much, Rosalie.” She gave the nurse instructions to time the contractions than returned her attention to us. “You have a long way to go, Rosalie, but I think you should stay here. Steven, I’m sure you have a bag packed for Rosalie so you might as well go home and get it now. She won’t need you here with her for hours…maybe even not until early tomorrow morning. There’s no way to tell. Every woman is different. Don’t worry; she’s in excellent hands.”

I took Dr. Kirkpatrick’s word and kissed Rosie good-bye for now. Instead of going home I walked down the hall to Nadia’s room. Harrison was just getting ready to leave and Nadia was halfway asleep. “You won’t believe this,” I began. “Ever hear about sympathetic labor pains? Well, Rosie has them and, apparently, they’re real. She’s in a room just down the hall.”

Nadia perked up quickly. “That’s our Rosalie, Steve. I’ll try to get down to see her later.”

I leaned down to kiss her, commenting that she needed to rest now. “There will be plenty of times to get together. You take care of yourself. You have two babies to deal with now. You know how inept Harrison is, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do, but I love him anyway.” I kissed her again, hugged Harrison as I once again congratulated him on his handsome new son, and hurried out to the parking lot to my car. It was rush hour, but I was going against the traffic so I was able to drive the ten or so miles in just thirty minutes, running into the house to pull the bag from the hall closet at the same time I phoned the office. Joyce wasn’t in yet, but Jeff and Marv were. I explained what was happening, asking them to postpone the important meeting that was scheduled for ten that morning.

I usually took several days off after a big trial, but this time I returned to work immediately, knowing that I’d want to take some time off when Brianna was born. There is incredible stress during a murder trial with absolutely no room for mistakes. Screw up even once and your client could spend the rest of his life in solitary. It’s that simple. I hadn’t been in the office for more than a month. Jury selection had taken more than three weeks and I’d spent close to another week before voir dire reviewing the questionnaires that each of the more than three hundred potential jurors had completed. Then the trial had taken almost another two weeks even though it could have been done in one.

I had barely walked into the office when Marv Cohen asked to see me. “Steven, I’m picking up work so fast I can’t keep up. I need another attorney to help me. I know we’re pressed for space, but I think I might have the solution to that, too. I’m sure you know Ed Sarner, the engineer next door. Did you know that his wife is really sick? Ed told me that she has terminal pancreatic cancer…maybe six months, at most a year to live. He wants to close his business and move to Florida where they have children and where the weather will be better for her.”

I was sorry to hear that. I liked Ed. I had tried to help him with some legal questions years ago and I had refused to charge him. He was grateful and we had become relatively close acquaintances. “He has a long-term lease at an excellent rent, but there’s a no cancellation clause.”

“Is that legal? Can’t it be broken?”

“Ah, but I don’t think we want it broken. There’s nothing in the lease to stop Ed from sub-leasing to a tenant…like you, for example.”

“Marv, you are a sly dog. Let’s get together with Jeff and Ed and see what we can do.” That was exactly what we did. The wall between our offices was not load-bearing so we could cut an opening that would connect both office complexes. Ed’s office was bigger because he needed space for architectural drawings, models, and testing equipment so if we moved the conference room there I’d have room for at least two additional offices. I’d keep the criminal law part of the firm in our existing suite and everything else would go next door, including larger waiting and conference rooms. Ed’s skill with scale drawings and blueprints was a huge help in setting up our new offices.

We spent almost two weeks reviewing everything and developing plans for the move. All that was left was signing the sub-lease and meeting with the building owner. It would be a two-edged sword for him. On the one hand he would continue to receive rent on the office suite. On the other, the rent would be substantially below what he could expect on the open market. Now the meeting had to be rescheduled.

I don’t usually use my phone while driving, but today was an obvious exception. I phoned my mom first. She agreed to meet me in the hospital in an hour or so. I knew that she would phone Andrea and Nick. Next I phoned Rosie’s mom. Her dad was working, but she said he’d gladly leave the job site for his daughter’s delivery. “Don’t forget that this could take all day, Mom.”

“Don’t you think I already know that, Steven? I am a mother, you know?” I laughed at my obvious stupidity, but she just shrugged it off. “It’s okay, Steven. I know you’re nervous. We’ll see you soon…Harrison and Nadia, too. It’s a wonderful day, isn’t it?” I had to agree.

Dr. Kirkpatrick turned out to be quite the seer. Rosie’s water broke around seven that evening and Brianna entered the world just after one the following morning. I tried to help Rosie in every way I could, but she had to do all the hard work herself. I realized then just how tough my wife really was. She was exhausted when Brianna was first brought to her arms and her breast, but she smiled broadly the entire time. Our parents cried openly as they hugged and kissed everyone in sight. I held my daughter ever so carefully even as I marveled at the strength Rosie’s seemingly delicate body possessed. Finally, just before two I shooed everyone out of the room so I could kiss my incredible wife good-night. She was asleep before I could reach the door. I closed it quietly then joined our parents for a group hug before driving home.

>>>>>>

Nadia and Matthew left the hospital later that morning and Rosie and Brianna followed the next day. I took the rest of the week off, but learned rather quickly how extraneous my presence was, even in my own home. Mom and my mother-in-law moved in and took over. I was reminded somehow of Sherman’s march to the sea. There were several times over the next week that I had to remind them that they were guests—welcome guests, but guests nonetheless.

I was actually relieved to go to work on Monday morning. I shared photos on my phone with my staff then retreated to my office to prepare for the big meeting at ten. The building owner and his attorney were in the conference room with Ed, Marv, and Joyce when I walked in. “Listen, Sloan—I’m sorry about Ed’s wife, but there’s no way I’m giving up on this lease. I happen to know that it can’t be broken. Even a hot shit attorney like you can’t do it.”

“Good morning to you, too—Mr. Specter—and I assume this is your attorney. Paul Sorenson, right?” I extended my hand and he shook it, congratulating me on winning the Jones case. “Actually, Mr. Specter, we’re not here to try breaking the lease.”

“Then why are we meeting?”

“Ed is closing his office effective immediately, but he is sub-letting the suite to me. Here is our agreement and Joyce here has your first month’s rent. I want you to know that we will be making minor modifications to the premises as permitted in Section 17 (b) of the original lease which describes the lessee’s right to make the premises meet the business’s needs. I’ll be happy to send you a copy of the changes if you wish.”

I could see him doing a slow burn. “You can’t do that. I won’t allow it.”

“I suggest you review the document in detail. I know that Mr. Sorenson is an excellent attorney. I also know that he is not responsible for this lease. Paul and I took and passed the Bar at the same time and this lease predates his practice by several years. You were so interested in locking Ed into a long-term lease that you omitted a ‘no sub-lease’ section, not that it would have done you any good. The courts have ruled consistently that such covenants are overly restrictive. You could have one or the other, but not both. You went for the money and I can’t honestly say that I blame you. The country had just entered a severe recession in 2008 and real estate was tanking. You made an excellent deal at the time, but now you’re stuck with it.”

“Steven, would you mind if I caucused with my client for a few minutes?”

“Not at all, Paul; Joyce, please show them to my office and close the door to allow them privacy.”

“Thank you…I don’t think we’ll need more than fifteen minutes.” He rose and led my furious landlord out the door.

“Well, I think that went marvelously, Steven.”

“What would you do differently, Marv? There’s no sense beating around the bush with someone like Michael Specter. We could spend two hours with him or less than half that. The lease speaks for itself, doesn’t it?”
“It does. You have him locked up for the next twelve years, at least. I’m sure he’ll want to renegotiate by then.”

“That’s okay. By then maybe we’ll want to go elsewhere, although I doubt it. Maybe we’ll take over the other offices on this floor, too.” We shared a laugh and then coffee. Specter and his attorney joined us less than ten minutes after leaving.

“Okay, Sloan—you’ve got me by the short hairs.”

“I don’t see it that way at all. We could go to court and—trust me on this—we could sew you up in court for months, maybe even years with continuances and appeals. In all that time you’d collect no rent on the property. I know that the real estate business is up over the past year, but there are also three new high-end office buildings in the area so it is also possible that the suite could be vacant for a year or more and a potential client could demand major renovations at your expense. Instead, you will have a continuous revenue stream and no real outflow.”

“Perhaps, Steven–if you could tell us what renovations you have in mind.”

“Sure, Paul; first, we’re going to create a pass-through in the wall between the suites. We also intend to build a low wall to separate a waiting area from the clerical area in Ed’s main entryway. Marv, why don’t you distribute the list and drawings we created? You’ll see, Mr. Specter that we have created a budget for each item and I am prepared to cover those expenses from my own pocket. That’s only fair.” The truth was—I’d made a killing on the Jones trial, investing more than a thousand hours preparing and enacting the defense. The PBA had an insurance policy fortunately because my total bill came to more than $750,000, including $100,000 for the expert witnesses and $50,000 for Geoffrey’s and Joyce’s time. Then there was the time that Jeff had spent assisting me. I could easily handle the costs of renovating and decorating the new offices.
We spent another thirty minutes reviewing everything with him and the meeting broke up on a much more cordial note than the way it started. Ed was relieved. He was out from under the lease and he had been able to place his entire staff with competitors. He hugged me then turned and left.

“He’s a good man, Steven. He doesn’t deserve all of these problems.”

“You’re right, Joyce, but there’s nothing more we could do to help him. It’s a shame about his wife. I’ve met her a few times. She always impressed me as a really decent person, but cancer isn’t picky about who it strikes. I know how I’d feel if Rosie….” I couldn’t go on. The thought was just too much for me. I showed her once again how much I loved her the second I returned home.

>>>>>>

We had planned all of the renovations carefully and work had begun just a week later with Marv supervising the crew. I actually left work a little early on Friday, eager to see my wife and baby girl. I strode in the door around five o’clock, surprised to find the house not quiet, but silent. I found Rosie seated in the living room with a bottle of white wine and two glasses.

“Quiet for a change,” I commented.

“I just put Brianna down a few minutes ago and the mothers went home.”

“Voluntarily?” This was something Rosie and I had discussed several times. It was great having their help initially, but after a week their presence began to wear a bit thin.

“Ummm, no; I told them to leave. I thanked them for all of the help, but told them that you and I had to learn to deal with Brianna on our own and there was no time like the present—right before the weekend. They weren’t happy, but I gave them no choice.”

“I hope they don’t get too pissed off.”

“They won’t. They want to see their granddaughter so they’ll get over it. I didn’t want to use my ace in the hole. Your father and mine phoned to complain that their wives belonged at home. I agreed.” She poured two glasses of wine and toasted with me then she climbed into my lap and kissed me. “I wish I could do a lot more.”

“Yeah, me, too, but our time will come.” I leaned forward and kissed her again. We stayed there for almost an hour until Brianna interrupted us. Rosie jumped up and trotted down the hall, returning with our daughter seconds later; two weeks old and she already had us wrapped around her tiny fingers. Brianna was unusual in that she cried when she was wet or when she was hungry, but not for any other reason. She had cried tonight to get our attention, but once Rosie picked her up she stopped. We theorized that she wanted to be held, but—of course—that was just a guess.

We spent a great weekend except that I couldn’t satisfy Rosie sexually. She wanted to take care of me, but I felt guilty taking, but not giving and I would until Rosie had completely healed. She’d had fifteen stitches in her torn vagina from the birth—no sex until her doctor gave the green light. That time would come three weeks later.

Once again I walked into a silent house, but this time I couldn’t find Rosie anywhere in the living room, dining room, or kitchen. I found Brianna sound asleep in her crib and continued down the hall to our bedroom. Rosie was there wearing what I assumed was a new teddy that looked mighty sexy on her slender body. I would have asked how her appointment with her doctor had gone, but I already knew the answer to that question. “I guess you’re okay, eh?”

“Not yet, but I will be pretty soon. Don’t worry about Brianna. She’s not due to wake up for another two hours. Let’s get those clothes off, Steven. I’ve waited much too long for this.” I had to agree. I couldn’t get my clothes off fast enough. Rosie pulled me to her then rolled me over onto my back as she straddled my hips. “I don’t want any foreplay, Steven. I don’t think I could possibly be any hotter for you than I am now.” She leaned forward to kiss me, her tongue plunging deep into my mouth. As she did she raised her hips and took me into her hot silken pussy in a single thrust. She moved forward, grinding her clit into my abdomen even as I drove up into her hot cunt.

I knew I wouldn’t last very long after my self-imposed period of denial, but I also knew how orgasmic Rosie was. Tonight our love making went perfectly according to script. I had thrust into Rosie only five times when her back arched violently and she suffered a massive convulsion. She had barely covered her mouth with her hands in time to stifle her scream.

We continued, our pace increasing until we were rutting like animals. Rosie came again, her body shaking wildly, as I drove up with all the strength my body possessed. I must have shot into her a dozen times, making up for lost months in just seconds. I was drained when Rosie collapsed onto my chest. She laid there, her head resting against my neck for more than ten minutes before stirring. “Oh God, I’ve missed that, Steven. I hope you plan on doing me again tonight.”

“As many times as I can get it up.” Rosie laughed and gave me a look that told me I’d have a lot of help.

“How is your expansion coming along?”

“Good; all of the modifications are done and we’ve moved the conference room. I hired two new attorneys—one a woman—from the DA’s office on Jeff’s recommendation. I also hired an established civil attorney who had his own small practice to help Marv. He’s also very knowledgeable in the area of estate planning which will be a huge help. I still need one more civil attorney, but I’ll leave that up to Marv.” Rosie and I stayed in bed for another half hour before walking together to the shower. We played together—that was another thing we had missed. I’d never take a chance with Rosie’s safety.

We spent most of the weekend in bed making the most incredible love to each other. When we weren’t, Rosie and I took several long walks, pushing Brianna in her carriage. The weather was cool, but she was warm in her sleeper and blanket. We walked to visit Harrison and Nadia on Saturday afternoon. Like us they were struggling to deal with Matthew’s schedule, but unlike us they had to go it alone. Nadia’s family was in Russia and Harrison’s parents, though local, were virtually useless when it came to parenting skills. Instead, Harrison had hired a nurse to help out during the day. At night they were on their own.

>>>>>>

It’s always great to win a trial, but when you win a major case with national media coverage the impact carries over for months. It was good that I had planned to expand because we were hit with multiple new clients every day for the next three months and by then I was involved in another major trial. They all began by saying that they wanted me, but there are limits to what I can do and I had to remind all of the potential clients that I charged $600 an hour while my associates charged half that sum. I promised to oversee each case and help in the development of the defense with Jeff and the new attorneys–Mark, and Lucy. I also hired two new legal secretaries and two new paralegals.

The next six months set the stage for the firm’s future. During that time I took over the entire fifth floor as the accountant agreed to move to an open suite on the third and the other tenant went bankrupt and out of business. By year’s end I had twenty attorneys and had taken Jeff and Marv as junior partners by gifting each of them fifteen percent of the practice to form Sloan Barnes Cohen, LLP, a full service law firm second in Nassau County only to Bell Jacobs, Harrison’s firm.

Rosie decided to go off the pill the following September and she was pregnant again by Thanksgiving. Over the next five years we had three more children—Riley, Joanna, and Emily, all girls and all as beautiful as their mother, spaced almost exactly two years apart.

By that time my role in the firm had changed from primary trial attorney to managing partner as my administrative duties had more than tripled. I still handled a share of the major criminal cases, but Jeff became the lead defense attorney unless the case demanded more than he could handle at the time. It was those major cases that brought in more business than we could handle. I raided the district attorney’s offices from Nassau and Suffolk Counties as well as the Boroughs of Brooklyn and Queens to fill the firm’s ranks. I can’t begin to tell you how many angry phone calls I received from county executives and district attorneys in protest. My response was always the same—I wouldn’t be successful if you would just pay your employees better. You can’t blame me for wanting the best and most experienced attorneys for my firm and you can’t blame them for wanting more money and better working conditions than you give them.

Rosie and Nadia became even closer than ever, often walking the roads of Centerport together, pushing carriages and later strollers up and down the area’s numerous hills. We spent many weekends together as our families grew. Harrison and Nadia quit after three—two boys and a girl.

Other than just before and just after giving birth Rosie and I continued to make love daily well into our fifties when we cut back a little. Unfortunately, Mother Nature and Father Time began to take their toll on me then. Still, Rosie and I expressed our deep love for each other every moment possible. Our girls often laughed when I would sneak up behind Rosie, take her into my arms, and kiss her wildly. They may have laughed, but they also told us that our relationship was much stronger than those of their friend’s parents, many of whom were divorced.

Brianna and Matthew were understandably close, having been together almost from birth. They attended the same schools from kindergarten through twelfth grade, often sharing advanced placement classes. Neither set of parents objected to their dating through high school, nor were we surprised when they agreed to attend the same university. I howled in laughter at Harrison when they turned down Harvard for Princeton. Matthew showed just how smart he was by opting for a career in dentistry over one in the law. He proposed to Brianna on the day of his graduation from Tufts Dental in front of both sets of parents. Nadia and Rosie cried as they hugged each other. Harrison and I just smiled. I had predicted that they would wed years ago when they were just in high school.

Riley, Joanna, and Emily were outstanding students who also attended excellent universities. Riley loved children and became an elementary teacher. Her husband was also a teacher who later became a successful principal. They’d never be rich, but they didn’t care. They had enough money to live comfortably and they were obviously in love and that was more than enough.

Joanna had always been a numbers whiz. She attended Wharton, graduating with an MBA specializing in finance. She made a successful career in banking before marrying a colleague and retiring to become a full-time mother just like her mom.

Emily was the rogue in our family—the one who was always picking up strays from dogs to injured birds and even to homeless kids. She also graduated with a business degree, but turned her efforts to working with and raising money for numerous charities, especially those for impoverished children. She met and married a philanthropist, an heir to an industrial fortune, then she gave almost all of his money away.

I retired at sixty-eight a multi-millionaire, but that wasn’t the source of my fortune. That was derived from my wife, an old-fashioned girl who, for some reason I had never fully understood, had loved me with every breath she took. She had old-fashioned morals and old-fashioned love and old-fashioned loyalty. That was more than enough for me.

>>>>>>

Oh yeah–there’s one more thing I need to share with you. I got quite the razzing at Thursday night basketball after Rosie had shaved me. I followed her advice, telling my friends, “My girlfriend doesn’t like hair in her mouth.”

“You mean that Sheila you’ve been seeing?”

“No, she’s history. I haven’t seen her in more than a month. I’m talking about my new girlfriend, Rosalie.”
That gave them something to think about and next week Rosie asked if she could come with me just to watch. I got a chair for her from the school cafeteria and she sat at midcourt while we played. I could see some of the guys sneaking looks at her during breaks in the game.

I joined her after my shower with a hug and a kiss. We were almost to the door when she turned to face my friends. “I know what you’re thinking…what you’re wondering,” she said with a smile, “so I’ll answer the questions for you—two or three times a week—more if I can get Steven to agree– and I always swallow.” I laughed and Rosie joined me as we walked out into the night. The next week I wasn’t the only one shaved. A month later there was only one of us with pubic hair. Rosie laughed wildly when I told her then she grinned slyly and led me to bed. Enough said!

Robert Sullivan lost his bid for re-election in a landslide. I was pleased to have played a small part in that.

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