'Isn't that what we're doing here?' I asked. 'Finding a way to punish them?'
'Yeah. But the lawsuit is about money.'
I made a face as though I didn't understand. 'But the defense is going to claim that you made up these charges to extort money. They're going to say that your lawsuit proves, in fact, that you're interested in money.'
'I am interested in money,' Chamique said. 'Did I ever say I wasn't?'
I waited.
'Aren't you interested in money, Mr. Copeland?'
'I am,' I said.
'So?'
'So,' I said, 'the defense is going to claim it's a motive to lie.'
'Can't do nothing about that,' she said. 'See, if I say I don't care about money, that would be a lie.' She looked at the jury. 'If I sat here and told you, money means nothing to me, would you believe me? 'Course not. Same as if you told me you didn't care about money. I cared about money before they raped me. I care about it now. I'm not lying. They raped me. I want them to go to jail for that. And if I can get some money from them too, why not? I could use it.'
I stepped back. Candor-real candor-smells like nothing else.
'Nothing further,' I said.
Chapter 8
The trial broke for lunch.
Lunch is usually a time to discuss strategy with my subordinates. But I didn't want that right now. I wanted to be alone. I wanted to rework the direct in my head, see what I missed, figure out what Flair was going to do.
I ordered a cheeseburger and a beer from a waitress who looked as though she wanted to be in one of those want-to-get-away? commercials. She called me hon. I love when a waitress calls me hon.
A trial is two narratives competing for your attention. You need to make your protagonist a real person. Real was much more important than pure. Attorneys forget that. They think they need to make their clients sweet and perfect. They don't. So I try to never dumb it down for the jury. People are pretty good judges of character. They are more likely to believe you if you show your foibles. At least on my side, the prosecutions. When you're doing defense, you want to muddy up the waters.
As Flair Hickory had made abundantly clear, you want to bring forth that beautiful mistress known as Reasonable Doubt. I was the opposite. I needed it clear.
The waitress reappeared and said, 'Here, hon,' as she dropped the burger in front of me. I eyed it. It looked so greasy I almost ordered a side of angiogram. But in truth, this mess was just what I'd wanted. I put both hands on it and felt my fingers sink into the bun.
'Mr. Copeland?'
I didn't recognize the young man standing over me.
'You mind?' I said. 'I'm trying to eat here.'
'This is for you.'
He dropped a note on the table and left. It was a sheet from a legal yellow pad folded into a small rectangle. I opened it up.
Please meet me in the back booth on your right.
EJ Jenrette
It was Edward's father. I looked down at my beloved burger. It looked back at me. I hate eating cold food or anything reheated. So I ate it. I was starving. I tried not to wolf it down. The beer tasted damn good.
When I was done I rose and headed toward the back booth on my right. EJ Jenrette was there. A glass of what looked like scotch sat on the table in front of him. He had both hands surrounding the glass, as if he were trying to protect it. His eyes were transfixed on the liquor.
He did not look up as I slid into the booth. If he was upset by my tardiness, heck, if he noticed it, EJ Jenrette was hiding it well.
'You wanted to see me?' I said.
EJ nodded. He was a big man, ex-athlete type, with designer shirts that still looked as though the collar was strangling the neck. I waited.
'You have a child,' he said.
I waited some more.
'What would you do to protect her?'
'For one,' I said, 'I'd never let her go to a party at your sons frat house.'
He looked up. 'That's not funny.'
'Are we done here?'
He took a long pull on his drink.
'I will give that girl a hundred thousand dollars,' Jenrette said. 'I will give your wife's charity another one hundred thousand.'
'Great. Do you want to write the checks now?'
'You'll drop the charges?'
'No.'
He met my eye. 'He's my son. Do you really want him to spend the next ten years in prison?'
'Yes. But the judge will decide the sentence.'
'He's just a kid. At worst, he got carried away.'
'You have a daughter, don't you, Mr. Jenrette?'
Jenrette stared at his drink.
'If a couple of black kids from Irvington grabbed her, dragged her into a room and did those things to her, would you want it swept under the rug?'
'My daughter isn't a stripper.'
'No, sir, she isn't.
She has all the privileges in life. She has all the advantages. Why would she strip?'
'Do me a favor,' he said. 'Don't hand me that socioeconomic crap. Are you saying that because she was disadvantaged she had no choice but to choose whoredom? Please. It's an insult to any disadvantaged person who ever worked their way out of the ghetto.'
I raised my eyebrows. 'Ghetto?'
He said nothing.
'You live in Short Hills, don't you, Mr. Jenrette?'
'So?'
'Tell me,' I said, 'how many of your neighbors choose stripping or, to use your term, whoredom?'
'I don't know.'
'What Chamique Johnson does or doesn't do is totally irrelevant to her being raped. We don't get to choose like that. Your son doesn't get to decide who deserves to be raped or not. But either way, Chamique Johnson stripped because she had limited options. Your daughter doesn't.' I shook my head. 'You really don't get it.'
'Get what?'
'The fact that she's forced to strip and sell her self doesn't make Edward less culpable. If anything, it makes him more so.'
'My son didn't rape her.'
'That's why we have trials,' I said. 'Are we done now?'
He finally lifted his head. 'I can make it hard on you.'
'Seems like you're already trying that.'
'The fund stoppage?' He shrugged. 'That was nothing. A muscle flex.' He met my eye and held it. This had gone far enough. 'Good-bye, Mr. Jenrette.' He reached out and grabbed my forearm. 'They're going to get off.'
'We'll see.'
'You scored points today, but that whore still needs to be crossed. You can't explain away the fact that she got their names wrong. That will be your downfall. You know that. So listen to what I'm suggesting.'
I waited.
'My son and the Marantz boy will plead to whatever charge you come up with so long as there is no jail time. They'll do community service. They can be on strict probation for as long as you want. That's fair. But in addition, I will help support this troubled woman and I will make sure that JaneCare gets the proper funding. It's a win-win-win.'
'No,' I said.
'Do you really think these boys will do something like this again?'
'Truth?' I said. 'Probably not.'
'I thought prison was about rehabilitation.'
'Yeah, but I'm not big on rehabilitation,' I said. 'I'm big on justice.'
'And you think my son going to prison is justice?'
'Yes,' I said. 'But again, that's why we have juries and judges.'
'Have you ever made a mistake, Mr. Copeland?'
