Haunted (Michael Bennett 10)

I didn’t wait for permission as I pushed my way back into the courtroom.

Chapter 14

I marched up to the prosecution table, where a chunky middle-aged man was berating a young female attorney about something. I waited a moment, then cleared my throat.

The man turned, recognized me, and smiled. Then he caught himself. I was the enemy today. Or at least the father of the enemy.

I said, “Can we talk?”

Laing said, “We shouldn’t. This is a little awkward, to tell you the truth.”

“I just feel like you’re going to be unnecessarily tough on my son.”

Now he faced me and stood straight. He was a couple of inches shorter than I was. Maybe six foot one. “Do you feel like we’re unnecessarily tough on the suspects you arrest? Because all I ever hear from the NYPD is what pussies we are. How we never go for a harsh enough sentence. Sound familiar to you, Detective?”

“Brian’s a good kid. He’s never been in trouble.”

The ADA said, “You mean he’s never been caught before. What are the odds that the cops saw him on his first day in the business? He had two grand in cash, bags of meth, and refused to talk to the arresting officers. Give me a break. He knew how the system worked.”

I kept my cool, but it wasn’t easy. “It would be a shame to ruin his life at seventeen.”

“What about the kids using the shit he sells? Is he building their lives? I’m sorry. He pleads straight up or takes his chances at trial.”

“Pleads in front of Judge Weicholz?”

The ADA giggled as he scratched his balding head. “Ironic how you guys all love the hanging judge until it’s someone you know in front of him. I have to do my duty.”

“You don’t have to enjoy it so much.”

“I never enjoy it, but it is satisfying. I think this conversation is over.”

The door next to the empty jury box opened. I turned quickly and saw Brian being led into the courtroom by a bailiff and a corrections officer. He was wearing his only suit. A simple blue single-breasted. One we’d delivered to Rikers Island just for the trial. He looked like he was going to his confirmation. He looked like a little boy to me. Except his hands were cuffed in front of him through a standard waist chain.

My son was a prisoner.

I had never felt so helpless.

Chapter 15

Once the judge entered the courtroom, it was showtime. Mary Catherine, Seamus, and I took our seats on the first hard wooden bench directly behind the defense table. I noticed someone had scratched the words police suck dick on the wooden railing in front of me.

Brian sat next to his attorney with his hands folded on the table in front of him like he was a student in history class. I could feel Seamus as tense as a board next to me. This was a new experience for all of us.

I had never spent any time in Narcotics. After my early years working in patrol, I did the usual detective stints and special assignments before I landed in Homicide. But I never did time investigating drug crimes. As soon as the jury was selected and the prosecution got rolling, I realized that this was nothing like a homicide case. It moved like lightning.

First the narcotics detective explained that he and his partner had received complaints of increased meth use in the area. The detective, a young hotshot with a neatly trimmed beard and ponytail tucked into the back of his jacket, explained that there had also been two young women who almost died from ingesting too much ecstasy and not taking in enough water at a club.

The detective had somehow discerned that whoever was selling the ecstasy was also selling methamphetamine. It seemed like a leap in logic to me. But now I was on the other side of the justice equation.

The Narcotics team from the area, who worked out of the precinct, had done a series of surveillances. They also started talking to their informants.

On the stand, the detective said, “That’s how we noticed the defendant moving between Amsterdam Avenue and the park near 110th. We also followed him onto the Columbia campus once or twice but lost sight of him. On the third day we saw an actual exchange and stepped in to make the arrest.”

When she went into her cross-examination, Brian’s defense attorney asked if Brian had offered any resistance. She questioned the detective’s experience. He only had a year in Narcotics. She didn’t make a dent in his overall testimony.

I considered what the detective said. This wasn’t just an accident. Brian had met with the supplier somewhere near Columbia University.

The twelve-member jury looked like the city itself. Three African Americans, two Asians, two Hispanics, and five housewives from the Upper West Side. They all seemed to listen intently and would occasionally look over to the defense table at Brian.