Guilty As Sin

16

“The People call Thomas Egan,” Miki Shaughnessey announced once the trial resumed Wednesday morning.

For once, Jaywalker-whose organizational skills fell somewhere between extremely compulsive and certifiably insane-found himself at a total loss. He had no subfile for a Thomas Egan, no entry in his master index, no report of any sort. He’d never even heard of Thomas Egan.

“May we approach?” he asked Judge Levine.

Up at the bench, he took a page straight out of the Prosecutor’s Primer and asked for an offer of proof. Only he did it slightly less formally than Shaughnessey had with Kenny Smith.

“Who the f-is this guy?” he asked. Actually said it that way, the F standing on its own, just in case Shirley Levine might have been in a rare testy mood.

Shaughnessey was more than happy to comply. “Captain Egan happens to be the commanding officer of the Manhattan Narcotics Division,” she explained. “Just as he was in the fall of 1984, when this case was made. As such, he not only oversees all field operations but is the police department’s official custodian of all records pertaining to confidential drug informers. Mr. Jaywalker has suggested through his questioning that Clarence Hightower may have been acting as an informer.”

“May have been?” Jaywalker interjected, before Levine silenced him with a withering stare.

“He’s also insinuated,” Shaughnessey continued, “that the task force was remiss in failing to make a serious effort to identify the defendant’s source of supply. Captain Egan’s testimony will put both of those notions to rest once and for all.”

“Mr. Jaywalker?” said the judge.

Jaywalker could do nothing but stand there and shrug helplessly. The truth was, he’d never held out much hope that the whole twelfth-floor/eighth-floor business would fly with the jury, or that Hightower had truly been acting as an informer. But with nothing else to talk about, he’d been reduced to probing those possibilities. After all, the way the burden of proof operated, it wasn’t up to him to convince the jurors about anything on these points; it was up to the prosecution to dispel any lingering doubts as to the defendant’s guilt. Now Miki Shaughnessey was about to do just that, apparently, and in very impressive fashion.

It didn’t hurt that Captain Egan was an extremely good-looking man with a thick mane of silver hair and a pair of piercing Paul Newman blue eyes. Or that he was well-spoken, with an economy to his words, no trace of an outer-borough accent, and none of the usual cop-speak that infected the testimony of so many of his fellow officers.

Shaughnessey began her direct examination with a run-through of Captain Egan’s background and responsibilities within the police department. It was hard to tell which was more impressive. At one time Egan had aspired to be a priest, but the violent murder of a younger brother had steered him toward law enforcement. There he’d risen steadily through the ranks to his present position, accumulating a long list of medals, awards and commendations along the way.

Only when he sensed that Shaughnessey was done with the preliminaries and about to get down to business did Jaywalker pick up his pen and get ready to do some serious note-taking. By sitting back during the resume portion and trying to look mildly bemused, it had been his hope to suggest to any jurors looking his way that this was nothing but window dressing that had no real relevance to the case. The problem was that no jurors had been looking his way. All eyes were glued to Thomas Egan’s silver hair and blue eyes, just as all ears were attuned to his rich baritone voice.

Then, just when Jaywalker was prepared for the worst, Miki Shaughnessey surprised him again. “At this point,” she told the judge, “I think it might be best if we were to approach the bench.”

“Come up,” said Levine.

Once both lawyers and the court reporter had formed a semicircle in front of the judge, Shaughnessey explained that she had an application to make. “Captain Egan is about to name and discuss a highly valued confidential informer of the NYPD. In order to protect that informer from public exposure and possible retaliation, the People ask that the courtroom be cleared and the door locked for the balance of the witness’s testimony.”

Jaywalker was about to oppose the application, but Levine silenced him with a raised hand. Then she stood back and addressed the jury.

“I’m sorry,” she told them, saying the words as though she truly meant them. “But something has come up that requires me to confer with the lawyers at some length. I know it’s still early, but I’m going to have to excuse you for twenty minutes or so. Go have a cup of coffee, or take a walk around the block. Don’t discuss the case. Don’t speculate as to what we’re talking about. Just be back by eleven o’clock. Okay?”

She was answered with a chorus of sixteen “Okays” from the twelve regular jurors and the four alternates. Jaywalker forced back a smile. If all judges treated people the way Shirley Levine did, jury duty might cease to be thought of as a pair of four-letter words.

As he pivoted to walk back to his seat, Jaywalker got another surprise. During the colloquy at the bench, someone had quietly slid into Miki Shaughnessey’s chair at the prosecution table. It took Jaywalker a second to recognize him, but recognize him he did. Staring back at him was Daniel Pulaski, the assistant district attorney who’d had the case originally, before handing it off to Shaughnessey. Jaywalker, never a fan, gave Pulaski a perfunctory nod. As far as he was concerned, the man was a lowlife, a rarity in an office pretty much filled with decent people. Not only that, but he was nowhere near as good to look at as Miki Shaughnessey was.

But look at him was apparently something Jaywalker was going to have to do. As soon as the jurors had filed out of the courtroom, it was Pulaski, and not Shaughnessey, who rose to address the judge and make the case for sealing the courtroom.

PULASKI: If it please the court, Captain Egan is here because I subpoenaed him. I did that out of an awareness of the People’s continuing obligation under Brady versus Maryland.

Under normal circumstances, this would have sounded like nothing but good news to Jaywalker. Under Brady, the prosecution is supposed to promptly turn over anything that might reasonably be regarded as exculpatory-in other words, helpful to the defense.

But these weren’t normal circumstances. First of all, this was the prosecution’s rebuttal case, and Miki Shaughnessey had already said that Captain Egan was there to put to rest any notion that the task force hadn’t tried hard enough to identify Alonzo Barnett’s source of supply, as well as any suggestion that Clarence Hightower was an informer. Beyond that, there was quite another reason for Jaywalker to be suspicious. Daniel Pulaski.

So Jaywalker listened carefully as Pulaski spoke, hoping for the best, but fully expecting the worst.

PULASKI: It has recently come to my attention that a witness called by the People earlier in this trial may have given answers that were less than a hundred percent complete. That witness, I have no doubt, was testifying in good faith and, to his credit, was doing his best to protect the identity of a confidential informer. But as a result of his testimony, the record as it now stands contains what I would characterize as a few minor inaccuracies. I subpoenaed Captain Egan so that we could correct those inaccuracies and set the record straight. However, in order to do that, it will be necessary for Captain Egan to name and reveal the cooperation of a highly valued confidential informer who continues to work with the police department in that capacity. For that reason, the People request that all persons not immediately involved in the trial be excluded from the courtroom during the balance of his testimony.

Jaywalker couldn’t believe his ears. He would have loved to believe that the prosecution was about to admit not a few minor inaccuracies but a lie that was so huge as to be absolutely verdict-changing. That in spite of all their denials and assurances, in spite of that official-looking form Pulaski had shown him weeks ago, Clarence Hightower actually had been acting as an informer when he’d approached Alonzo Barnett. And if that was so, then it had been entrapment, and the case had just gone from a dead-bang loser to a toss-up.

Which meant, of course, that it couldn’t possibly be true.

Pulaski was up to something. He had to be.

For confirmation, Jaywalker looked over at Miki Shaughnessey, suddenly reduced to the status of a spectator seated at the prosecution table. As soon as she caught his glance, she averted her eyes and devoted her full attention to playing with a paper clip.

She was being shoved to the sidelines.

And whatever witness had introduced the minor inaccuracies during the course of his testimony was being hung out to dry.

“Mr. Jaywalker?”

He looked back to the judge, who was evidently awaiting his response to Pulaski’s application.

“The defense objects,” he told her. Then he followed up with a pretty good three-minute, off-the-cuff argument against closing the courtroom.

Not too many years back, excluding the public for substantial portions of a trial was something done on a fairly regular basis. An undercover officer, an informer, a child or the victim of a sex crime was about to testify? Seal the courtroom. Standard operating practice. Then the Supreme Court, the real one, down in Washington, reminded everyone that under the Constitution a defendant was entitled not only to a trial but a public trial. Ever since, judges have been compelled to devise briefer and less restrictive alternatives than simply tossing everyone out and bolting the doors.

Which was the point Jaywalker made, with some degree of success. He made it succinctly, without being overly pedantic about it, and then he sat down. Shirley Levine didn’t need him to teach her the law. She continued writing for a minute before looking up and speaking.

“After full consideration,” she said, “I’ve decided that we’ll keep the courtroom open right up to the point where the witness is about to identify the informer. Then-” She looked from Pulaski to Shaughnessey and back again. “Which one of you is going to do the direct examination?” she asked.

“I am,” they answered in tandem.

“I am,” Pulaski repeated.

Jaywalker watched Shaughnessey as she silently bent the paper clip back and forth. He could imagine the metal growing hot to the touch. Finally it broke. “Mr. Pulaski is,” she said.

“Please let me know when we’re right at that point,” said the judge, “and we’ll ask the spectators to step out.”

Ask, not tell.

They don’t make judges like that anymore.

Once the jurors were back in their places, the trial resumed. The judge introduced Daniel Pulaski to them and explained that he’d be conducting the balance of Captain Egan’s testimony for reasons they shouldn’t speculate about. Miki Shaughnessey fumed silently. But Jaywalker, as sorry as he felt for her unexpected benching, couldn’t dwell on it. He was about to hear Clarence Hightower branded an informer. Wasn’t he?

PULASKI: Captain Egan, did there come a time when you learned that some slightly misleading testimony may have been given in this trial?

EGAN: Yes, there did.

PULASKI: And did you learn that from me?

EGAN: Yes. Apparently an officer who testified earlier in the trial had some concerns and reported them to A.D.A. Shaughnessey. As I understand it, she in turn took them to you. And you called me.

This was all improper testimony, as far as Jaywalker was concerned. Not only were the questions leading, but they called for hearsay. The right way to do it would have been to recall the offending witness and give him an opportunity to correct his misstatements. Still, there was a decision for Jaywalker to make, and make quickly. A good lawyer is someone who knows when to object. A really good lawyer is someone who knows when not to. And right now something in Jaywalker told him to keep quiet, that the ultimate payoff was going to be worth the see-what-good-guys-we-are preliminaries. So he let it go.

PULASKI: Who was that officer, and what about his testimony may have been misleading?

EGAN: The officer was Investigator Lance Bucknell, from the New York State Police. And the testimony in question was with regard to his following the defendant into a building located at 345 West 127th Street.

Shit, thought Jaywalker, angrily enough that for a moment he worried he might have said it out loud. This wasn’t going to be about Clarence Hightower at all. This was going to be about something totally different. Something that would benefit the prosecution and end up doing absolutely nothing for the defense.

Why should he have expected anything else from Daniel Pulaski?

PULASKI: Exactly what portion of Investigator Bucknell’s testimony may have been misleading?

EGAN: As I understand it, Investigator Bucknell testified that he got onto the same elevator as the defendant and saw the defendant press the button for the twelfth floor. That wasn’t entirely accurate.

PULASKI: What actually happened?

Again, this was all going to be hearsay, and Jaywalker could have kept it out had he wanted to. But not only was Egan going to tell the jurors that Bucknell had lied-or given slightly misleading testimony, to use his euphemism-he was going to tell them what had actually happened. What would the upshot be? Jaywalker had no way of knowing. All he could do at this point was tighten his seat belt and hang on for the ride.

EGAN: What actually happened was that Investigator Bucknell made it into the building, just as he said. But by the time he did, the elevator door had already closed and the defendant was riding up in it. Bucknell watched the lights on the panel above the door and saw that the elevator stopped on the eighth floor. He left the building and reported that observation to his supervisor on the task force, Lieutenant Dino Pascarella.

PULASKI: And what did Pascarella do?

EGAN: Pascarella got in touch with me. He said he was concerned because it just so happened that he knew of a confidential informer who lived on the eighth floor of that particular building.

PULASKI: And what did you do?

EGAN: I have a master cross-index of all confidential informers involved in narcotics investigations with the NYPD. That means it can be accessed by name, nickname, address or telephone. I went to the list and conducted a search referencing 345 West 127th Street. And I got a hit. On the eighth floor was the apartment of an extremely high-value informer, someone who’d been providing the department with critical intelligence in major undercover operations for a number of years.

The way he said it conjured up images of special ops capers in Vietnam or Cambodia. Which was no accident, Jaywalker knew.

PULASKI: What did you do when you made that discovery?

EGAN: I convened a meeting with Lieutenant Pascarella, Deputy Chief Finn Murphy-that’s my boss-and a detective named Jeremiah Yarborough. Yarborough was running the CI in question.

THE COURT: Would you mind giving us that in English, Captain?

EGAN: Sorry. Detective Yarborough was the department’s contact with the informer.

THE COURT: Thank you.

PULASKI: What was the result of that meeting?

EGAN: It was decided that the identity of the informer had to be protected at all costs. He was that important. So Lieutenant Pascarella was directed to speak with Investigator Bucknell and have him sanitize his reports in such a way as to keep the eighth floor destination out of them. At the same time, he was instructed to do so without adversely prejudicing the rights of the target of the investigation, Alonzo Barnett, in any way.

PULASKI: And did Bucknell do that?

EGAN: He did.

PULASKI: And that accounts for the fact that he told us in court that Mr. Barnett rode to the twelfth floor instead of the eighth floor?

EGAN: That’s correct.

Years later, Jaywalker would read in astonishment each time the Supreme Court upheld the State Secrets Act, not just permitting, but requiring, lower courts to throw out lawsuits whenever the federal government claimed that letting such suits proceed would compromise national security. Not that he’d be the only citizen to recoil at the notion. But thanks to what he was listening to right now, he’d be one of a precious few to experience a deja vu moment. He would truly be able to say he’d been there, heard that.

But if anything, this was even worse. Egan wasn’t merely suggesting that the authorities could avoid litigating an issue by making the naked assertion that it was too sensitive to talk about, he was advancing the proposition that committing perjury in open court during a criminal trial was acceptable. That it all came down to a balancing test of sorts, in which the end could justify the means.

And the defendant?

Tough shit.

After all, the defendant was nothing but a two-bit dope dealer with a criminal record as long as his arm. How could he possibly stack up against an extremely high-value informer who’d been providing critical intelligence in major undercover operations for a number of years? And this nonsense about doing things in such a way as to not prejudice the defendant’s rights? While that must have sounded good to the jury, since when had it been left up to the police department to be the judge of that? Unfuckingbelieveable.

Yet for the moment, all Jaywalker could do was shake his head in bewilderment and listen as Daniel Pulaski turned to the judge and said, “This might be a good point for us to take up my application again.”

Once the jurors were out of the courtroom, Pulaski stated the obvious, that he was about to ask his witness to reveal the name of the informer. Judge Levine responded by saying that unless Jaywalker had something to add to his previous objection, she was prepared to close the courtroom.

“You bet I have something to add,” said Jaywalker. “Based upon Captain Egan’s admission that there’s not only been perjury committed by a previous prosecution witness, but that the perjury was the result of a deliberate, concerted effort to mislead the court, the defense and the jury, I move to dismiss all charges against my client.”

The judge turned to the prosecution table. “Tell me,” she said. “Did either of you know about this? Did you know, either in advance or at the time Investigator Bucknell testified, that he was telling anything other than the truth?”

“Absolutely not,” said Miki Shaughnessey.

“No,” said Daniel Pulaski.

Jaywalker was inclined to give Shaughnessey the benefit of the doubt. Pulaski was a different story. Still, there was no way he could show that either of them wasn’t telling the truth.

“If I may use a sports metaphor,” said Pulaski, “this is really a case of no harm, no foul. In no way has the defense been prejudiced by-”

“Sit down,” Levine told him. “I’m frankly not interested in your sports metaphors. Mr. Jaywalker is right in characterizing this as a deliberate, concerted effort to mislead the jury. And if I thought for a moment that you or any member of your office was involved in the deception, I would grant the motion. That said, I’m not sure Investigator Bucknell’s lie rises to the level of perjury. Perjury requires that the lie be about some material fact. Can you convince me, Mr. Jaywalker, that changing where the defendant went, from the eighth floor to the twelfth floor, was a material misstatement?”

Jaywalker spent the next five minutes on his feet, giving it his best shot. But the strongest argument he could come up with was that Bucknell’s lie may have led the jurors to disbelieve Alonzo Barnett’s testimony that it had been to the eighth floor, specifically to Apartment 805, that he’d gone. And if they disbelieved him on that point, they could well conclude that he’d lied about other things, as well. But as the judge was quick to point out, Egan’s testimony now supported Barnett’s version. And if that remained unclear to the jurors, Jaywalker was free to emphasize it on cross-examination and argue it on summation.

“So,” Levine continued, “while I think some sanction against the People is warranted, I don’t find that the situation requires dismissal. Any suggestions short of that, Mr. Jaywalker? Such as an instruction that the balance of Bucknell’s testimony be regarded with skepticism?”

“No,” said Jaywalker. For one thing, he couldn’t think of a lesser remedy. For another, he was afraid that anything less than outright dismissal might satisfy an appellate court without really accomplishing anything for the defense.

“I’m willing to tell the jury that Investigator Bucknell may face departmental charges as a result of what he did.”

“Absolutely not,” said Jaywalker. As he saw it, Bucknell was a patsy taking the fall for others. He’d done his job by originally reporting to Pascarella that he’d seen the elevator stop at eight. Then he was told to sanitize his testimony. Sanitize. Now he was being outed as a liar. The last thing Jaywalker wanted was for the jurors to feel sorry for him and return a conviction in an attempt to protect him from being disciplined.

So in the end the judge did nothing.

But Jaywalker had been around the block often enough to know that didn’t mean the incident had had no effect. The fact was, Shirley Levine was now pissed off at the prosecution, and rightfully so. Jaywalker knew that, and while there might be nothing he could do with it at the moment, sooner or later he was going to find an opportunity to turn it to his advantage-and Alonzo Barnett’s. That opportunity might come during cross-examination, summation, or even deliberations, should the jurors, for instance, have a question about what they should make of Egan’s testimony.

But for now, all Jaywalker could do was fret.

When they resumed, the spectator section was cleared. There was some complaining, but a run-of-the-mill drug case doesn’t exactly bring out the scalpers. Had there been reporters present, one of them might have put in a call to his or her legal department. But there were no reporters present. Nothing about Alonzo Barnett’s case had been newsworthy up to this point, and nothing was about to be. The people who were most upset at having to leave were the four of five Jaywalker groupies, retired guys who magically materialized whenever he was involved in a trial.

PULASKI: Captain Egan, would you tell us the name of the informer who at that time resided on the eighth floor of 345 West 127th Street?

EGAN: Only if I’m directed to do so.

Another cute stunt, this one no doubt choreographed by Daniel Pulaski.

THE COURT: Consider yourself directed.

EGAN: The informer’s name was Jackson Davis.

PULASKI: Thank you.

And with that, Pulaski sat down.

As Jaywalker rose to cross-examine, he half suspected a trap. Why hadn’t Pulaski had Egan pinpoint the apartment Davis lived in? Was it something other than 805, as Alonzo Barnett had testified? But Jaywalker knew he couldn’t afford to be cautious at this point. Sometimes you tested the waters, gingerly dipping in a toe. Other times you sucked in a deep breath and dived in. For better or for worse, this was going to be one of those other times.

JAYWALKER: Tell me, Captain Egan, does this master cross-index of yours include apartment numbers?

EGAN: Yes, it does.

JAYWALKER: So what apartment number did Jackson Davis reside in at 345 West 127th Street?

EGAN: Apartment 805.

JAYWALKER: Which just happens to be precisely where Alonzo Barnett said he went. Correct?

PULASKI: Objection. Captain Egan wasn’t present during Barnett’s testimony.

THE COURT: Yes, but I was, and the jury was. And Mr. Barnett did indeed say he went to Apartment Number 805. Next question, Mr. Jaywalker.

JAYWALKER: You also said that your cross-index can be accessed by nickname. Correct?

EGAN: Yes, as long as the nickname is unusual enough. Something like “Lefty” or “Shorty” might pose a problem, for example.

JAYWALKER: How about something like “One-Eyed Jack?” Do you think that might pose a problem? Or would that be unusual enough?

EGAN: No, I’d have to agree that’s pretty unusual.

JAYWALKER: So did Jackson Davis have a nickname, by any chance?

EGAN: Yes.

JAYWALKER: What was his nickname?

EGAN: One-Eyed Jack.

JAYWALKER: Do you happen to know how he got that nickname?

EGAN: I have no idea.

JAYWALKER: Was Mr. Davis working off a case of his own in order to stay out of prison? Cooperating out of the goodness of his heart? Or was he being paid for his services?

PULASKI: Objection. That’s privileged information.

THE COURT: Overruled. Now if you’d said “That’s three questions in one,” Mr. Pulaski, or “It’s irrelevant,” I might have sustained your objection. But as far as privilege goes, there is none. And if there ever was, it’s been waived by Captain Egan’s taking the stand and testifying about the subject on direct examination.

PULASKI: Objection. That’s three questions in one, and it’s irrelevant.

THE COURT: Sorry, too late. Was Mr. Davis paid, Captain Egan? Yes or no?

EGAN: Yes, Your Honor, he was.

THE COURT: Next subject, Mr. Jaywalker.

And by using the word subject rather than question, Judge Levine was making it clear to Jaywalker that he was to move on, that there weren’t to be any follow-up questions like Who was paying him, how much, and on what basis? Because the judge was right. It was irrelevant. Jackson Davis hadn’t testified, so his credibility wasn’t at issue. Technically speaking, the details of his payment had no bearing upon Alonzo Barnett’s guilt or lack thereof.

Needless to say, technically speaking wasn’t exactly Jaywalker’s native tongue. Still, he had to admit that Shirley Levine had given him a couple of favorable rulings to get even with the prosecution. But there were limits to her generosity. So he’d have to try some other way of helping the jurors get acquainted with Jackson Davis.

JAYWALKER: Do you by any chance have a photo of Mr. Davis?

Egan thumbed through his papers and eventually pulled out a photograph, a three-by-five color glossy, and handed it to Jaywalker. It was a mug shot, a pair of side-by-side images of a middle-aged black man, one full face, the other in profile. On the left image, the one where the subject had been directly facing the camera, a placard held against his chest displayed in movie-marquis style the initials NYPD, the department’s blue-and-white shield, the name DAVIS, Jackson, and the date, 01-09-79. You didn’t have to look too closely to see that one of the subject’s eyes was real and focused, while the other was glass, or whatever they made fake eyes out of back then.

Jaywalker had the photo marked into evidence as Defendant’s Exhibit A and passed among the jurors. He wanted to make sure they saw the bad eye for themselves. At the same time, he wanted them to get a good look at the guy their tax dollars were subsidizing because the poor fellow couldn’t make enough of a living selling heroin under the police department’s protection.

JAYWALKER: How about Clarence Hightower? Is he in your index, too?

EGAN: No, he isn’t.

JAYWALKER: You’ve checked?

EGAN: I have.

JAYWALKER: By name, address and nickname?

EGAN: All three.

JAYWALKER: No entry for him?

EGAN: None at all.

JAYWALKER: Did you check under “Stump”?

EGAN: Yes, I did. Negative.

JAYWALKER: So I assume you have no photograph of him?

EGAN: Actually, I do. But only because I took the trouble of hunting one down. Miss Shaughnessey over there [Gestures] told me you’d probably be asking me about him.

Even as Jaywalker looked at “Miss Shaughnessey over there” and the two of them fought off grins, Egan busied himself digging out the photograph and handing it over. It, too, was in color, but it contained only a single exposure and bore no placard with lettering. Jaywalker recognized it as an old-fashioned Polaroid print, the kind you used to snap and wait a minute for it to develop before sticking it onto a piece of gummed cardboard. He’d thought those things had gone the way of hot-water bottles and seltzer dispensers. Leave it to the NYPD to still be using them. Jaywalker flipped the photo over. Early in his career, he’d once made the mistake of not checking the back of an exhibit, resulting in the jury learning that his client was nicknamed “Jimmy the Strangler.” So he’d been burned by his carelessness. But only once. This time Jaywalker saw nothing but the word “asp” inked on the back of the cardboard. Another nickname, perhaps? If so, how fitting.

Jaywalker turned the photo back over. He’d never seen Clarence Hightower in person, but he’d seen another photo of him back when he’d checked his court file, not too long after being appointed to represent Alonzo Barnett. His reaction now was pretty much the same as it had been then. Clarence Hightower was one ugly dude. Not menacing or deformed or anything like that. Just ugly. Still, the photo certainly wasn’t important enough to circulate among the jurors, as the one of Jackson Davis had been, showing as it did the bad eye and hence the nickname. But come summation time, Jaywalker might nonetheless want to hold up Hightower’s photo for the jury to see, as a way of putting a face-and an ugly one at that-on the guy who’d gotten Barnett into all this trouble. Would it have an impact on the verdict? Probably not. But then again, who was to say? Jaywalker had won cases before on things as unlikely as ugliness. So he offered the photo into evidence as Defendant’s B. And with Daniel Pulaski shrugging his shoulders and raising no objection, it was received.

Up to this point, as surprising as Thomas Egan’s testimony had been-one cop admitting that another cop had lied under oath-nothing he’d said had really helped Alonzo Barnett. Sure, it showed Barnett had been telling the truth when he said he’d gone to Apartment 805 and gotten the heroin from One-Eyed Jack. And that Lance Bucknell had made up the business about the twelfth floor. And maybe it made the task force witnesses look bad for protecting an informer at the expense of the truth. Beyond that, however, any advantage gained by the defense was minimal. Now, if Captain Egan had said Clarence Hightower had been acting as an informer instead of Jackson Davis, that would have been a different story. It would have meant something in terms of an entrapment defense. But now Egan had all but slammed the door on that possibility.

JAYWALKER: Does the nickname “Asp” by any chance mean anything to you?

EGAN: “Asp”? No.

JAYWALKER: Would you check your cross-index?

EGAN: [Complies]

EGAN: Sorry. Nothing for “Asp.”

Still, Jaywalker decided to give it one last shot. After all, wasn’t that what you were supposed to do when you were down to a single bullet? Did any gunslinger ever dream of being buried with a live round still left in his six-shooter?

JAYWALKER: Tell me, Captain Egan. Did you yourself ever work narcotics?

EGAN: Yes, I did. For about eleven years, actually.

JAYWALKER: Made a number of drug arrests?

EGAN: More than I can count.

JAYWALKER: What does it mean to “flip” someone, or “turn” someone?

EGAN: Those terms refer to convincing someone to cooperate, in the hope that he’ll be treated more leniently.

JAYWALKER: You’ve done that?

EGAN: Many times.

JAYWALKER: When in the course of a case would you try to do that?

EGAN: Any time after the arrest.

JAYWALKER: Sometimes right away?

EGAN: Sometimes.

JAYWALKER: Would there be any advantage to doing it right away?

EGAN: Sure, I suppose so.

JAYWALKER: What sort of advantage?

EGAN: I’m not sure what you’re driving at, Counselor.

Jaywalker loved it whenever a witness said something like that on cross-examination. He took it as a golden opportunity to testify, no oath required.

JAYWALKER: Here’s what I’m driving at. You make an arrest. Right there on the spot, you flip the guy, convince him to cooperate in order to stay out of prison. Then, before the word gets out that the guy’s been arrested, you have him introduce an undercover to his supplier to make a buy. The supplier doesn’t suspect anything because he doesn’t even know the guy got busted. Anything like that ever happen in your experience?

EGAN: Yes, I suppose so.

JAYWALKER: You suppose so, or you know so?

EGAN: It’s happened.

JAYWALKER: More than once?

EGAN: Probably.

So far, so good. But that had been the easy part, baiting the hook. Getting the fish to bite was another thing altogether.

JAYWALKER: And isn’t that in fact precisely what happened between Detective Pascarella and Clarence Hightower? Sometime in early September, say, Pascarella arrested Hightower, a man with an extremely long record who happened to be on parole. They both knew what that meant for Hightower. Pascarella offered him a deal, right on the spot. “Help us out by introducing an undercover to your man, and we’ll help you out.” Hightower, knowing full well that the alternative meant going back upstate, very possibly for the rest of his life, agreed. In other words, Pascarella flipped him right then and there. And Hightower delivered. It took him a lot of time and a lot of arm-twisting, but he delivered. He delivered Alonzo Barnett, didn’t he?

PULASKI: Objection.

THE COURT: On what basis?

PULASKI: This is all purely speculative.

THE COURT: Overruled. You may answer if you know, Captain.

EGAN: No, that didn’t happen.

JAYWALKER: How do you know?

EGAN: Several reasons. First of all, Hightower would have had to be registered as an informer. He never was. He’s not in the index. Second of all, I’ve spoken with Detective Pascarella, and he told me for a fact that it never happened.

JAYWALKER: So you suspected it, too.

EGAN: Now you’re putting words in my mouth, Counselor. What I mean is, we discussed the case in full. Detective Pascarella told me it began with an anonymous phone tip, that there was no informer involved. And I believe Detective Pascarella.

JAYWALKER: Is that the same Detective Pascarella who directed Investigator Bucknell to leave out the business about the eighth floor and change it to the twelfth floor?

EGAN: [No response]

JAYWALKER: The same Detective Pascarella who orchestrated a witness lying under oath in this trial in order to protect an informer who lived on the eighth floor?

EGAN: [No response]

JAYWALKER: Tell us, Captain Egan. Do you think Detective Pascarella would lie, or have someone else lie, in order to shield the identity of an informer?

EGAN: Yes. No. Maybe. I don’t know.

JAYWALKER: Well, isn’t that exactly what he did with respect to Jackson Davis and the eighth floor business?

EGAN: Only if you choose to look at it that way.

JAYWALKER: And how do you choose to look at it?

EGAN: Jackson Davis was and continues to be an extremely valuable confidential informer. Certain necessary steps were taken to protect him. Steps that in no way jeopardized your client’s right to a fair trial.

JAYWALKER: Suppose Clarence Hightower was an extremely valuable confidential informer. Might it not be equally reasonable to believe that Detective Pascarella would have taken certain necessary steps to protect him, too?

EGAN: Hightower was never an informer.

JAYWALKER: How can we possibly know that, if Pascarella lies to protect his informers?

EGAN: I don’t know how to answer that question, Counselor.

JAYWALKER: Well, maybe the jury will.

It was, as Judge Levine was quick to point out, a comment that was totally uncalled for, and she instructed the jurors to disregard it. But Jaywalker hadn’t been able to help himself. If Hightower, like Davis, had indeed been working with the task force while trying to get Alonzo Barnett back into the drug business, then Jaywalker had a beauty of an entrapment defense. But with Egan adamant that there was no truth to the suggestion, what was left for Jaywalker to do but rant? The whole thing reminded him of a paradox he’d heard as a young boy, back before he had any idea what a paradox was.

All Cretans are liars.

I am a Cretan.

Am I really?

Daniel Pulaski spent ten minutes on redirect, during which he elicited from Captain Egan his assurances that there was a big difference between protecting a highly valued informer like Jackson Davis and an absolute nobody like Clarence Hightower. Besides, Egan insisted, Pascarella never would have made up the stuff about the anonymous caller to shield Hightower. Why not? Because there’d been no reason to. And it would have been wrong. “Also,” Egan added, “that’s the kind of thing you can get into real trouble for.”

“No further questions,” said Pulaski.

“Any re-cross?” the judge asked.

“No,” said Jaywalker. He’d given up trying to crack Captain Egan. He’d even considered the possibility that Egan was telling the truth, that as far as he knew, Hightower hadn’t been an informer. Which narrowed things down to one remaining possibility.

As soon as Egan had left the courtroom, Pulaski stood and announced that the People were resting, having concluded their rebuttal case with a single witness. “Mr. Jaywalker?”

Meaning, does the defense rest, too?

“No,” said Jaywalker, rising to his feet. “The defense has a surrebuttal witness.” He loved that word, surrebuttal. It sounded devious and underhanded, kind of like surreptitious. He half wondered if he’d decided to drag the case out further just so he could hear himself say it.

But the other half of him was dead serious. If he and Alonzo Barnett were going down, then they might as well go down in flames. There was no way Jaywalker was going to let Captain Egan’s denial be the last word of the trial. No way he was going to wake up the morning after the conviction wondering what else he could have done. He lost cases from time to time, Jaywalker did, but never because he hadn’t bothered doing something.

“Very well,” said the judge. “Who’s your witness?”

“Lieutenant Dino Pascarella.”