Counterplay

called a “racially motivated railroading” of his clients by overzealous prosecutors.

Although it wasn’t part of his job description, Karp had taken on the case at the request of the city’s new mayor, Michael Denton, who didn’t trust the corporation counsel, the city’s attorney at the time. At trial, Karp had proved that the original prosecution had been a good one and that, in fact, Villalobos had been forced by the gang of rapists into testifying otherwise.

Karp considered the trial a win, although justice had been meted out in an unusually lethal manner. In garish courtroom cross-examination, Karp forced Villalobos to recant his “confession.” The leader of the gang, Jayshon Sykes, had than seized a court officer’s gun and killed Villalobos. The uncommon fireworks ended when the rape victim shot and killed Sykes.

Hugh Louis was arrested for his part in the planning of the schemes and charged with capital murder among other major felonies. He would be going to trial later that fall, and was now claiming again that Karp’s defense of the city had been racially motivated.

It is immaterial that my client, who is no longer here to defend himself, may or may not have committed a crime, the former dapper Hugh Louis, now dressed in his jailhouse jumpsuit, ranted to the press from the Tombs dayroom. The big picture here-are you with me-is that the city called in its “top gun,” a man who has been accused before of racist acts, because my clients were African-American, and is now after me because-although I was duped by my clients-I am African-American. It is another example of The Man sending a message to people of color, “Do not attempt to seek justice or we will silence you one way or the other.” Well, no one silences Hugh Louis.

When an incensed Murrow read the quote to Karp from the Times and demanded that they issue a press release to counter it, Karp told him to drop it. I think the public sees through this crap. I’m not going to dignify it by responding every time Louis, or Rachman, or anybody else wants to play the race or gender or religion or politics card.

Murrow winced at the mention of Rachman. As he’d predicted, when Guma had convinced Karp that he had enough to reopen the Stavros case, a decision that was vindicated when the grand jury indicted Emil, she’d howled with outrage. She’d blasted Karp, saying he was showing his true colors by resorting to Tammany Hall politics to stay in power.

Stavros’s attorney had, of course, joined the chorus. The attorney, Bryce Anderson, a glib, frequent commentator on legal issues for CNN, was beside himself with indignation at a hastily called press conference on the steps of the Criminal Courts building.

This is an absolute outrage, he huffed. It’s obviously a shameless attempt by the district attorney to pull out old rumors to embarrass and damage a man who opposes him politically. It’s vengeance, pure and simple, for all the funds that are pouring into his opponent’s war chest, and he’s starting to feel the pinch in the polls. Mrs. Stavros abandoned her family fourteen years ago, at which time Mr. Stavros was completely exonerated of any wrongdoing. Should this farce be allowed to continue, we will fight these charges with every ounce of our energy, and when we are victorious, we will work to make sure that this new “Boss Tweed” is chased from office by the good people of New York City.

Murrow had wanted to go on the attack then, just as he did now. But Karp wouldn’t let him answer Rachman or Anderson, other than a brief comment: A duly formed grand jury heard the evidence and determined that probable cause existed to warrant the charges against Mr. Stavros. We will reserve further comment for the courtroom. Nor would he let Murrow go off now. “If I can’t run on my record and what I have to say, then I don’t want to win anyway.”

“Well, then, that means you agree to all these appearances,” Murrow said.

It was Karp’s turn to hold up his hands. “You win, Gilbert,” he said. “As long as it doesn’t interfere with doing the job or cut into all of my family time.”

“That doesn’t leave much,” Murrow groused. “I think you’re getting stretched pretty thin.”

Karp downplayed the comment but thought: He’s right. I am feeling a little stretched. It wasn’t just the day- to-day stuff of running the District Attorney’s Office, either. The hunt for Andrew Kane and his accomplices was running into dead ends, according to the almost daily reports he got from Jaxon. Nor was there much to indicate what Kane was up to beyond revenge. Apparently, there’s been an increase in internet chatter that seems to indicate that something’s up, Jaxon said. And the NSA’s “man on the inside” is still trying to get close. In the meantime, Ellis said to tell you he’s “got your back.”

Karp had rolled his eyes at that one. It was almost a game now trying to figure out who among the hundreds of people walking the sidewalks around Crosby and Grand every hour were really federal agents assigned to protect him and his family. Was it the street workers who’d showed up one morning but didn’t seem to do much except pop in and out of a manhole down the block? Or was it the old couple he’d never seen before walking their miniature poodle? You don’t like this guy Ellis much, do you? Karp said to Jaxon the last time they talked.

The telephone was silent for a moment before Jaxon spoke again. It’s not that I like or don’t like him. I mean, the guy’s obviously a pro. He’s just not much of a team player, if you know what I mean, or maybe he doesn’t see me as being on his team. But I might just be grousing about playing second fiddle in my own neck of the woods.

Karp tried not to dwell on Andrew Kane and what he might be up to, especially as it affected his family. But it was pretty hard to entirely ignore a homicidal maniac who has promised to wipe your DNA from the planet.

So he’d tried to turn the negative into a positive by focusing on spending quality time with his family, in particular Marlene. Their marriage had survived a few recent rocky patches, but was still challenged by recent events. If it wasn’t Kane, then she was dwelling on the January death of her mother and the increasing mental deterioration of her father. So he’d taken to sending the kids out to a movie or some other activity-with a police escort-so that he and Marlene could spend more time together just necking on the couch or discussing the issues of the day. They’d even managed a couple of dinners out, which she seemed to appreciate, especially when she’d spent the day dealing with her father.

Meanwhile, Lucy was living in New Mexico, but there was nothing much he could do about that. He liked her boyfriend, the cowboy Ned Blanchet, who’d proved himself more than competent in tight situations, and John Jojola, the Indian police chief of the Taos Pueblo, was also out there keeping an eye on them.

Somehow, he’d even found more time to spend with the twins. Zak and Giancarlo were studying for their bar mitzvah, which unfortunately had just been scheduled for late October, right before the election. Karp was still teaching classes at the behest of the young rabbi at their synagogue for those taking their bar mitzvah (and even a few girls studying for their bat mitzvah). That ate up another night of the week.

With all that attention to the family and the job, he knew he wasn’t being fair to Murrow, who’d been working his butt off on the campaign. “I’ll try to pass off some of this office stuff so that I can attend as much as I can,” Karp told his assistant.

Karp saw that the next item on Murrow’s yellow pad was “Television Ads” for which he had a particular aversion, but was saved by the buzzing of the intercom. He reached forward and punched the answer button. “Yes, Mrs. Milquetost.”

“There’s a Mr. Espey Jaxon on the line for you,” she said. “He says he’s calling from California and that it’s urgent.”

Karp felt his stomach muscles tighten. I believe a harbinger of bad tidings will soon arrive from California…“Put him through, please,” he said, hitting another button to engage the speaker- phone.

“Hello, Espey, you taking up surfing?” he asked, leaning back in his chair and wishing the conversation would remain as light.

“I wish,” Jaxon replied. “Can I talk freely?”

Karp glanced at Murrow who asked with sign language if he should leave. But Karp shook his head. “Gilbert Murrow is here, if that’s okay,” he said. “I’d trust him with my life.” He winked at his aide who blushed and smiled.

“Yeah, sure, I know Mr. Murrow…hi, Gilbert…. Anyway, I’m afraid I have some bad news. Fey’s been murdered.”

Karp knew his jaw was hanging open, hopefully not as far as Murrow’s, but he couldn’t help it. He felt suddenly prescient in that he knew the information was only going to get worse. “When?” he asked, not sure why