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cream cheese. Who s going to check out Lowell Caxton s shooting incident in
the Nineteenth?
I ll swing by there later tonight, Chapman said, barely coming up for air
between bites of his breakfast. I ll also take care of the ladder
manufacturer see how common the brand is and who sells it. He aimed his fork
at Mercer. You see if you can run raps on all the employees at both
galleries, and work on the art hijacking in June. What was it Della Spigas?
Who s Della Spiga, Coop?
I ve got to go back to the books for that one. Ask me again at the end of the
day.
What s your schedule like this week?
Once I knock off the brief on Reggie X this afternoon and argue it tomorrow,
I m free. It ll take the judge a couple of weeks to make a decision and write
his opinion. The sooner I get downtown, the faster I get it out of the way.
Mercer pushed off from the table and took the check from the waitress, while
Mike dredged the last few fries through the ketchup.
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No point in you taking me, I said. My car is right up the street. Just keep
me posted. I waved good-bye and walked to my garage. I pulled the Jeep out
and made my way over to the FDR Drive, while the all-news radio station wedged
the story of Denise Caxton s identification as the murder victim between the
Yankees doubleheader victory last night and reviews of the Spice Girls
concert in Central Park. Maybe Chapman wasn t entirely crazy live fast, die
young, and be a good-looking corpse. Deni s fortune hadn t seemed to offer her
very much more.
I escaped the rest of the hot afternoon and evening by immersing myself in
completing the court papers I had to submit on Monday morning. The case was an
old arrest of Mercer s, and my adversary had used his skills to challenge
every aspect of the police procedures used in the investigation. The hearings
we had just ended included the propriety of the arrest tactics, the legality
of the search and seizure of evidence linking the perp Reggie Bramwell to the
beating and rape of his estranged lover, and the admissibility of statements
that Bramwell made to Mercer in the hours after he was taken into custody.
The case was pending in front of Harry Marklis, a jurist from the old school
who didn t get domestic abuse at all. My last pretrial motion was an effort to
convince the judge to allow my victim, Mariana Catano, to testify to two
earlier episodes that involved the same defendant. One was an attempted
assault that he had pleaded guilty to a year before, and the other was a
confrontation in which he had threatened to set fire to her so that she d look
ugly enough that no other man would want her.
I had argued myself blue in the face, but Marklis was clueless. So, why
didn t she just leave him, Miss Cooper? What the hell d she take him back
for? If I hadn t been able to explain the complex dynamic of a relationship
of battering to a justice of the Supreme Court of the State of New York, I
could only imagine how the average juror would respond to the same issue. Yet
over and over again, my colleagues and I would see the cycle of violence
escalate in these cases, and attempt to understand the complicated panoply of
emotional, familial, and economic binds that kept the partners in place.
Mercer Wallace joined me in my office at nine o clock on Monday morning. He
was keenly interested in the outcome of Mariana s matter and wanted to hear my
argument on this final pretrial issue. Marklis had directed our appearances
for 10 a.m., although he was known for taking the bench late in the morning
and quitting early in the afternoon.
Anything develop last night?
Nope. Wasn t able to reach Daughtry anywhere. Gallery s closed on Sunday and
Monday all through the summer, and his answering service just kept telling me
they d given him my message several times. Trying to get his home address so
we can pay him a visit, but I ll wait till you re done upstairs. Allnighter?
Not too bad. I was home before midnight. Polished this off and started a
rough draft of a warrant on the word processor, ready to go when you guys come
up with something.
All work and no play . . .
Don t go there, Mercer. You re as bad as Mike. I gathered up my file folders
and motioned to him to move so we could head upstairs to Marklis s court part.
I m fine. Got stood up for the weekend cause this guy I ve been seeing was
sent out of town on assignment. But thanks for asking.
The only people in Part 59 were the three court officers and Rich Velosi, the
court clerk. I placed my files on the counsel table and asked if there was any
word from the judge.
Yeah, Ms. Konigsberg just called, Rich answered, referring to the judge s
law secretary. He s working in chambers, she says, so he won t get up here
for another half hour.
The court officers all laughed, knowing that working in chambers was just a
euphemism for The judge hasn t arrived yet. But neither had my adversary.
Prisoner produced?
He s in the pens.
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Mercer began to schmooze with the officers while I reviewed my notes. From
baseball they went to golf, from golf to the first pro football exhibition
games, and from the games to the Bramwell case. Y think Cooper s got a chance
to get a decision on this motion before Labor Day?
Marklis make a decision? Listen, he s got two toilets in the robing room and
it usually takes him twenty minutes to figure out which one he wants to use.
All depends on the troll factor.
Mercer and I both smiled. The officers referred to the petite law secretary,
Ilse Konigsberg, as the Troll. Whatever she whispered in Marklis s ear was
bound to be the law of the case.
It was exactly eleven twenty-eight on my watch when Marklis, short and stout,
waddled through the door and took his seat at the bench as the clerk called us
to order and asked everyone in the courtroom to rise. The defendant had been
brought out from the pens minutes earlier, when his lawyer had entered the
well.
Good morning, gentlemen. Miss Cooper. Why don t you all state your
appearances for the record, and then we ll get started.
Alexandra Cooper, for the People. I spoke aloud and remained standing while
the defense attorney, Danny Wistenson, spelled his name for the stenographer.
It s now nine thirty-five, and we re going to resume argument in the Bramwell
case.
I glanced over my shoulder at Mercer and rolled my eyes in disgust. Marklis
had long protected himself by making a phony record of the time of the
proceedings. My colleagues and I had challenged him on any number of
occasions, but I knew that if I tried it today, it would seal my fate in the
argument I was about to make. His arrogant grin confirmed that he knew he had
me.
I have the papers you submitted in support of your Molineux application, Ms.
Cooper. Do you have anything to add this morning? It was clear that he was
hoping I did not.
I do, Your Honor. I rose to my feet, but before I started to lay out the law
that supported my position, Marklis went on.
You know, evidence of a defendant s prior crime can t be admitted at a trial
for the sole purpose of showing that he has the propensity to commit the
crimes he s now charged with.
I do know that, Judge Marklis. He d obviously done the minimum amount of
homework necessary to get through this process. But Molineux makes it quite
clear that it s admissible when it s probative of his motive, his intent, and
a common scheme or plan.
In the instant case, Bramwell s prior threats and assaults on Ms. Catano are
inextricably interwoven, using the language in the Vails opinion, and
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