Reversible Error by Robert K. Tanenbaum Read Free Book Online

defectives, zanies, homeless families, retired lawyers, bureaucrats on the coop.
    In this medieval atmosphere was accomplished much of the real business of the building, the actual courts being used largely as a form of record-keeping. Since most of the people arrested for criminal offenses in New York are indigent and since the immense majority of such offenses are disposed of without trial, criminal justice in New York County is largely a business of conversations between assistant district attorneys and the men and women of the Legal Aid Society, who act as public defenders in the city's courts.
    These people met throughout the day in the corridors and offices of Centre Street, which they made into a continuous legal bazaar. Things were especially bazaarish toward the end of the day, when the overworked representatives of both the accused and the People attempted to dump whatever they could of the next day's business before the resumption of court in the morning, and the new intake of cases from the coming night's criminal escapades.
    Marlene bought a cardboard cup of coffee from the snack bar and opened her stand in the hallway just outside its steamy portal. Word got around; Legal Aids with cases for which she was designated prosecutor found her and made their offers, which Marlene either accepted or rejected. Within broad limits, the rest of the ponderous system would support her in these decisions. The Legal Aids understood that too. Those who played hard-ass for their clients would be brought up short by their own management, who just as much as the ADA's had to stay on the good side of the judges, who insisted above all else on the expeditious clearing of their calendars.
    So Marlene flipped through the case files with practiced speed, looking for the decisive detail. Was there serious violence, was this the second or the thirty-second arrest, did the cops seriously want the guy off the street, was the guy in jail, and for how long?
    Here was a kid, ripped off a tourist's gold chain in front of Grand Central, arrested, in Rikers Island for six weeks. The tourist was back in Missouri. OK, go for a six-months-suspended, the weeks in Rikers were enough. Thus spake Marlene, playing judge and jury with the authority and aplomb of an Ottoman pasha.
    After an hour or so, the crowd thinned out. Marlene stepped into the main hallway. One of the advantages of having an enormous boyfriend, Marlene reflected, was that you could spot him at a mile: he was, in fact, standing at the opposite end of the block-long hallway. She waved to him, but he was locked in a Mutt-and-Jeff tableau with a short portly man in a pin-striped suit.
    As she approached, she heard Karp say, "In that case, I guess I'll see you in court, Mr. Simoney." The man opened his mouth to say something, thought better of it, nodded curtly, and stalked away.
    As Marlene walked up, she was struck once again by the haggardness of Karp's face, like that of a fighter about to lose a fifteen-round decision. There were circles under his eyes that hadn't been there a few years ago, and lines carving down from the high cheekbones. He was looking Lincolnesque, in a Jewish sort of way. The pile of her own crap that she was about to lay on him drifted away, and she put on a happy face.
    Karp brightened when he saw her. "Hi, cutie," he said. "Having a nice day?"
    "Assistant D.A.'s never have a nice day, as you well know," replied Marlene grumpily. "I see you made Simoney mad again. He ran away without even saying hello, and he's one of my favorite slime molds."
    "He's the defense for Lattimore."
    "The pusher who shot his partner? Is there a problem? I thought you had a good confession."
    "We do," said Karp. "But while he was resisting arrest the cops bopped him a couple on the head. He came to, the cops were there, read him his rights, and he voluntarily confessed. Good procedure for a change. Simoney is now claiming the confession was offered when Lattimore was not in his right