Guilty As Sin

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