23

 

 

INDICTMENT

 

 

 

Mayor D’Andre Patterson walked into the crowded courtroom. He had just a little dip in his walk and just a little swagger in his the stride. He was confident and he wanted everyone to know it.

The room was filled with city officials, court watchers and media. They lined the walls and pointed their cameras his way. He was genial, shaking hands and pointing to familiar faces. He did flinch a little when he saw CNN on a man’s camera but no one noticed.

Outside, in front of the courthouse, there was a massive crowd that had overflowed onto St. Antoine Street. The police had to control the throng and maneuvered them onto either side of the street.

Patterson could have stopped the hearing from being televised but he and his family had decided it would be a mistake. The city wanted this soap opera and if he denied it, it would just make things worse. But if this was a media circus, he was determined not to be their clown.

When the indictment came down, both newspapers had run stories but what had hurt him deeply were the ones that ran on the front page of the New York Times, USA Today and the Washington Post. Detroit was a constant national joke and he had just added another terrible punchline.

Patterson was wearing a new suit and had a fresh haircut, shave and manicure. His attorney had told him that it was important for him to look good, calm and serene.

He stopped and said hello to Yvette Riddeaux who sat next to Taisha and Tony Hill. Next to those three, were his mother and father. His brother Ahmad was conspicuously missing. Patterson wondered why but then remembered Ahmad hated crowds.

Marshall Jackson and another attorney named David Van Buren flanked Patterson. Van Buren was a former trial lawyer, professor and federal court judge and had a lot of respect in the legal community.

Marshall told Patterson that Van Buren was a strategist but Patterson knew Van Buren was an image to make him seem more important and respected. He welcomed it.

“You sit in the middle,” said Marshall, “and remember, look Presidential.”

“Always,” said Patterson.

Jesse King walked in with some prosecutor types and sat opposite them. No sign of Michelle Romano, thought Patterson. Just like her, he thought. He was disappointed to see Jesse had taken the case. He had been on his allies list. Not any more, Patterson thought dimly.

Jesse didn’t look at the opposition. He sat down and conferred with the two lawyers who accompanied him. Both were women, one black, and the other white.

“I thought King was a friend,” Patterson whispered to Marshall.

“No talking about anything personal,” said Marshall. All the mics in here are hot.

“Got it, “ said Patterson. “Sorry.”

They waited in silence for a while. The courtroom hummed with conversation and the sounds of camera equipment.

The arraignment was a simple procedure and in truth, Patterson could have skipped it. But he knew something about his people that women like Michelle Romano, didn’t. Black people, the inner city dwellers, idolized the Wrongfully Accused Man. It was a very logical mentality when you thought about it but most white people didn’t. They only thought about their own notions of guilt and tried to force everyone to adhere to it. But the stories of wrongfully incarcerated men were still told and retold within the black community. Black people distrusted government because it had been used so often to abuse them.

Black Detroit would see him as a defiant soldier in the cause of justice. How could they arrest a Mayor and drag him into court? Especially when he came from a good family, spoke well and wore such nice clothes. He would remind them of their sons, brothers and legends from the past. Patterson would stand nobly for the short time it took to do this and the image would be burned into their heads. And if they were called for jury duty, they would be that much more on his side.

The bailiff called the court to order and they all rose as the judge walked in. Judge George Namood was one of the first Arabic judges in the city. He had been a lifelong resident of Detroit and was a Patterson ally. Jesse King might have objected but the trial judge would be someone else.
“People versus The Honorable D’Andre Patterson,” said the bailiff. “Defendant is charged with felony perjury.” “Appearances?” said Namood.

“Jesse King for the People.”

“Marshall Jackson for the Mayor of Detroit.”

Jesse gave an irritated look at the use of the word Mayor instead of defendant.

“We are here for arraignment,” said Namood mechanically. “How does the defendant plead?”

Patterson stood. “Not guilty,” he said loudly.

Applause broke out in the crowd. Namood did not gavel, he just waited until it stopped.

“Okay,” said Namood. “As to the matter of bail, Mr. Prosecutor, what’s The People’s request?”

“The People ask for bail at ten thousand,” said Jesse casually.

“Mr. Jackson?” asked Namood who had already raised his gavel in anticipation of the answer.

“My client cannot meet the Prosecutor’s bail request,” said Marshall. “He will surrender to the Sheriff forthwith.”

There was a small beat of silence as the disbelief registered with the gallery and then there was a literal explosion of sound.

And now Namood gaveled wildly and demanded silence in the courtroom. The bailiff yelled and reporters ran for the doors to deliver messages to those camera crews waiting outside.

In the commotion, no one noticed that Marshall and Jesse had locked gazes across the room. The looked that passed between them was an old one, filled with their past resentment. Jesse remembered Marshall’s indictment of him in the press when he was on the run. Marshall saw Jesse holding and kissing his wife. They were at war.

“Excuse me,” said Namood when the din subsided. “Did I hear you right, Mr. Jackson?“

”Yes,” said Marshall. “We’ve heard the Prosecutor’s request and we will not contest bail. My client is ready for incarceration.”

“Your Honor,” said Jesse. “This is obviously a media stunt. Surely, the Mayor of Detroit can afford a low bail like this.“

“If the People want to withdraw the bail request, we are willing,” said Marshall.

Patterson tried to hide his smile. It was a clever trick. The court would have no choice but to arrest him and everyone in the city would see him treated like a common criminal. If Jesse changed the bail request, then the prosecutor would all but be admitting the Mayor was not a risk and perhaps innocent.

“Sidebar, Your Honor,” said Jesse.

“Are you serious, Mr. King?” said Namood.

“I’m afraid so,” said Jesse.

Marshall and Jesse walked up to the judge.

“All media microphones off,” said the bailiff.

Jesse and Marshall walked to the judge. They were both striking men. Marshall, the taller of the two, was particularly impressive-looking in an expensive suit.

“Your Honor,” said Marshall. “I don’t know why we’re talking.”

“Judge,” said Jesse. “This is clearly an attempt to make us all look bad. The Defendant can make bail.”

“If the man wants to go to jail, we will accommodate him. And no one can change that,” said the judge.

“Your Honor can override my request and release him,” said Jesse.

“I see,” said Namood. “You want me to help you save face with your boss.”

“Not at all,” said Jesse. “I want you to help us all save face and stop this case from becoming a joke.”

“Sorry Mr. King,” said Namood. “I send ordinary men to jail all the time because they can’t make bail. If I make an exception for this defendant, you tell me if I’m violating my oath.”

Marshall’s chuckle drew another nasty look from Jesse.

“Don’t think you’re slick, Mr. Jackson,” said Namood. “I’m sending him to jail, but not my nice lock up with the phone and the bathroom with walls. He’s going to county with the real criminals. He wants jail, I’m going to give it to him.”

And now it was Jesse’s turn to laugh. “That works for me,” he said.

“Your Honor,” said Marshall suddenly alarmed. “He’s a public official.”
“He’s a defendant who can’t pay his bail. And if you think I’m going to let you pay it minutes after he’s perped-walked out of here, you should know my backlog will take a day to get to.”

Marshall’s brow furrowed. He had obviously not seen this one coming. “Okay Your Honor, it’s your call.”

Marshall and Jesse went back to their respective tables. Marshall whispered something to Patterson.

Patterson was upset but this was the price you paid for boldness. He nodded to Marshall then whispered to Taisha whose face flushed visibly.

“Back on the record,” said Namood. “Mr. Prosecutor?”

“The People will not revoke its request,” said Jesse.

“Mr. Jackson?” asked Namood.

“We maintain our position, Your Honor.”

“So be it,” said Namood. “Bailiff will arrest the defendant. Prelim is set for three weeks from today.”

The courtroom gallery booed as Patterson happily surrendered to the Sheriff. He was handcuffed and walked out of the courtroom.

They had scored first in this fight, Patterson thought. He had friends in the county lock up and by noon, he’d be eating a gyro and returning phone calls with the guards.

Michelle Romano had better pray for some kind of win, he thought, because when this was over, there would be hell to pay.

Patterson smiled a little as the bailiff turned him to the exit at the side of the courtroom. He raised his handcuffed hand and the crowd cheered and applauded. His smile faded as he took one last look at the gallery.

In the back of the courtroom, mixed in with the excited crowd, Patterson saw Danny Cavanaugh watching him. It was the last thing he saw before the bailiff guided him through the door.

 

 



 

 

Danny saw Patterson make see him from across the courtroom. He wondered what the Mayor was thinking. He was going to jail voluntarily and Danny knew it was an appeal to the blacks in the city to be on his side. And the sad thing was, it would probably work.

Marshall’s stunt was beautiful. Then again, Danny knew Marshall would do something clever. Jesse King was good but his friend was brilliant.

Marshall hadn’t seen Danny as the former left the courtroom. Danny didn’t want Marshall to know he had attended the hearing. Danny also watched the Mayor’s family and his bosses, Tony Hill and Riddeaux leave as well. He saw the Mayor’s wife and mother walk out next. He knew their reputations. Two tough chicks, he thought absently.

When Danny was sure they were all gone, he slipped out of the building. There was still a massive crowd outside.

He moved past the reporters and others and walked to Clinton Street where police vehicles were double-parked. He made a call to Erik.

Danny filled Erik in on the hearing. Erik’s howl of laughter was so loud, Danny had to pull the phone away from his ear.

Erik was officially out of the house and had moved into a little apartment near downtown. Danny knew he was seeing a woman but he was waiting for Erik to tell him. His partner was in good spirits. No reason to mess with that.

Danny hung up the phone and walked toward the parking lot. As he approached, Danny saw a white man and a black woman having what looked to be an intense discussion. Danny recognized the pair and his mind raced at the connection.

Don Przybylski stood looking red-faced. Danny hadn’t even seen him in the courtroom with the Mayor’s people. His presence here was understandable. But what in the hell was he doing having an argument with Joyce Watson, the dead girl’s aunt?