them—the white cop—pulled out his gun while the other one checked Byron’s pulse. When they were sure he was dead, they asked me what happened. I told them I wanted to exercise my right to speak with an attorney before questioning.”
“Bet that made ’em happy.” Caleb was nodding and grinning at the same time.
“One of them, the one with the crewcut, I don’t remember his name. He said, ‘If it was self-defense, there’s a possibility you could walk away from all this. But you gotta tell us what happened.’”
“And what’d you say?”
“I told him he should take his possibilities and stick ’em up his ass. That’s when they cuffed me and took me into the hallway.”
“They didn’t search the apartment?”
“The skinny one, his name was Rodriguez, he went back in.”
“How long did he stay inside?”
“A few minutes, then he came back to wait for the detectives.”
“And the detectives? Did they ask you questions?”
“Not at first. They spoke to Rodriguez, then went into the apartment. About a half hour later, they came out with the coke.”
I laid my arms on the back of the chair and leaned forward. “Lemme see if I’ve got this right. The cocaine was in a suitcase in the bedroom closet. The uniforms didn’t find it. The detectives searched immediately upon arrival, without getting a warrant. That about it?”
“Yeah.” She lit another cigarette. “Is that good for us?”
Actually, it was good and bad. Good because the search was patently unconstitutional, bad because any effort to have the cocaine suppressed would amount to a trial in itself.
“It depends on whether or not the cops tell the truth,” Caleb explained. “Most likely, they’re gonna lie and say the cocaine was out in the open, which makes it admissible. And the judge is gonna take their word for it.”
The news didn’t seem to bother my client. Priscilla nodded thoughtfully, as if she’d already considered the possibility.
“It’s no joke, Priscilla.” I dropped my bully persona (just for a moment, of course) and spread my hands. “What a jury’s likely to do is acquit on the top charge, convict on the lesser, and think they’re doing you a favor. Meanwhile, if the judge is in a bad mood on sentencing day, you can spend almost as much time in prison for the coke as you can for the murder.”
I don’t know what I expected—fear, maybe, or outrage—but Priscilla’s expression didn’t change. I remember thinking, at the time, that her eyes were pewter coins, that they betrayed nothing at all. Even as they probed the fuzzy matter inside my skull.
“Then you’ll have to get me acquitted.” She dropped her hand down onto her lap, the smoke rising from her cigarette to momentarily veil her features. “Why don’t we talk about bail? Is bail a possibility?”
“A possibility, sure. It depends on how much and what kind of publicity we get between now and when you’re arraigned.” I stood up, my bad attitude back in place. “But the thing is, Priscilla, I don’t see what good it’s gonna do you. I mean, where will the money come from? Being as your sainted mother told me five grand was all she had in the world.”
This time, Priscilla’s smile was genuine, an appreciation of the trap she’d sprung on herself. “I love you, Sid,” she said. “I love you to pieces.”
“That’s fine, just fine ,” Caleb said, “but will you still love him tomorrow? When some women’s organization with deep pockets offers to represent you?”
“It’s already happened. The New York Women’s Council spoke to my mother right after …” She paused for a moment. “Right after I was arrested. They offered me a lawyer, but I turned them down. The last thing I need to worry about is my attorney confusing the issues.”
I began to close my briefcase. “Couldn’t agree more. Anything else I should know?”
She stepped back, out of the guard’s view. Her left hand rose to the zipper at the top of her
“Bet that made ’em happy.” Caleb was nodding and grinning at the same time.
“One of them, the one with the crewcut, I don’t remember his name. He said, ‘If it was self-defense, there’s a possibility you could walk away from all this. But you gotta tell us what happened.’”
“And what’d you say?”
“I told him he should take his possibilities and stick ’em up his ass. That’s when they cuffed me and took me into the hallway.”
“They didn’t search the apartment?”
“The skinny one, his name was Rodriguez, he went back in.”
“How long did he stay inside?”
“A few minutes, then he came back to wait for the detectives.”
“And the detectives? Did they ask you questions?”
“Not at first. They spoke to Rodriguez, then went into the apartment. About a half hour later, they came out with the coke.”
I laid my arms on the back of the chair and leaned forward. “Lemme see if I’ve got this right. The cocaine was in a suitcase in the bedroom closet. The uniforms didn’t find it. The detectives searched immediately upon arrival, without getting a warrant. That about it?”
“Yeah.” She lit another cigarette. “Is that good for us?”
Actually, it was good and bad. Good because the search was patently unconstitutional, bad because any effort to have the cocaine suppressed would amount to a trial in itself.
“It depends on whether or not the cops tell the truth,” Caleb explained. “Most likely, they’re gonna lie and say the cocaine was out in the open, which makes it admissible. And the judge is gonna take their word for it.”
The news didn’t seem to bother my client. Priscilla nodded thoughtfully, as if she’d already considered the possibility.
“It’s no joke, Priscilla.” I dropped my bully persona (just for a moment, of course) and spread my hands. “What a jury’s likely to do is acquit on the top charge, convict on the lesser, and think they’re doing you a favor. Meanwhile, if the judge is in a bad mood on sentencing day, you can spend almost as much time in prison for the coke as you can for the murder.”
I don’t know what I expected—fear, maybe, or outrage—but Priscilla’s expression didn’t change. I remember thinking, at the time, that her eyes were pewter coins, that they betrayed nothing at all. Even as they probed the fuzzy matter inside my skull.
“Then you’ll have to get me acquitted.” She dropped her hand down onto her lap, the smoke rising from her cigarette to momentarily veil her features. “Why don’t we talk about bail? Is bail a possibility?”
“A possibility, sure. It depends on how much and what kind of publicity we get between now and when you’re arraigned.” I stood up, my bad attitude back in place. “But the thing is, Priscilla, I don’t see what good it’s gonna do you. I mean, where will the money come from? Being as your sainted mother told me five grand was all she had in the world.”
This time, Priscilla’s smile was genuine, an appreciation of the trap she’d sprung on herself. “I love you, Sid,” she said. “I love you to pieces.”
“That’s fine, just fine ,” Caleb said, “but will you still love him tomorrow? When some women’s organization with deep pockets offers to represent you?”
“It’s already happened. The New York Women’s Council spoke to my mother right after …” She paused for a moment. “Right after I was arrested. They offered me a lawyer, but I turned them down. The last thing I need to worry about is my attorney confusing the issues.”
I began to close my briefcase. “Couldn’t agree more. Anything else I should know?”
She stepped back, out of the guard’s view. Her left hand rose to the zipper at the top of her
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