Five minutes later, settling myself at the defense table, I caught my first break; Judge Knox shuffled into court and took his seat, coughed, and immediately laid out his plans for the day.
“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. Just so legal counsel are aware, I’m playing golf this afternoon, so I have to be away by one thirty at the latest. If your case is not dealt with by that time, your client will be automatically remanded in custody until the next rotation. Call the first case.”
Judge John Knox didn’t give a shit about justice. He liked golf, whiskey, and attractive female clerks. His favorite pastime was threatening the lawyers that appeared in his courtroom. Glenfiddich, high blood pressure, and a sour temperament brought a rosy tint to his cheeks and nose. He was short and had a big dose of small-man syndrome. Knox would sit in court for a few hours and deal with cases quickly, then rise, and everybody else got sent to jail, bail applications unheard. He’d been the subject of judicial sanction in the past and he’d been appealed plenty of times, but he just didn’t give a shit.
The courtroom seemed pretty empty. There were maybe a half dozen lawyers and they represented about as many clients. That left around twenty guys downstairs in the cells, waiting on the public defender. I’d already arranged for Popo’s case to get called first, then David Child’s. I’d called the clerk, Denise, earlier that morning. Told her I needed to get clear as soon as possible and that I’d consider it a personal favor. She obliged. I had a good reputation with the staff.
The custody officer brought in Popo. He was wearing wrist and ankle cuffs and he shuffled into his seat on my left. Around twenty feet away, I could see the conveyor line of prisoners waiting to get their cases called. David Child was at the head of that line, and he looked around the courtroom as if it were a torture chamber. His eyes were wide, and even from this distance I could hear his chains tinkling as he trembled.
Julie Lopez, the prosecutor, stood at probably the same height as Judge Knox: a couple of inches over five feet. Around thirty or more blue files sat piled up in front of her in two equally proportioned stacks. Just like her files, Julie always looked super-organized: hair twisted into a loose bun and pinned in place with a pen, makeup understated, dark suits that were businesslike and impeccably tailored. She took the first file from the left-hand collection and began her day.
“Your Honor, first case is Dale ‘Popo’ Barnes. Mr. Flynn appears for the defendant. Prosecution withdraws all charges, Your Honor.”
Knox didn’t sit in this courtroom very often, so he wasn’t familiar with Popo. He said nothing to the prosecutor at first. Narrowing his eyes, he flicked through the pages of the file, and as he read, a look spread over his face that failed to mask his obvious contempt for me and my client.
“Ms. Lopez, did I hear you right? The prosecution withdraws all charges?”
“Yes, Your Honor,” said Julie.
“But he had enough dope on him to validate a distribution charge, never mind simple possession.”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“So why withdraw the charges?”
To add to his problems, Judge Knox was plenty stupid. Julie looked at me and shrugged. I returned her gaze and shook my head. For a few seconds we just looked at each other and ignored the judge. We were deciding what to do. It would be bad to announce in an open public court that Popo was a longtime police informant and had immunity from prosecution for a wide variety of drug offenses. Maybe I thought the name Popo would give it away. It didn’t seem to work on Knox.
Most judges would take the hint and realize this guy spilled his guts to the NYPD, but Knox wasn’t biting despite an embarrassed smile from Julie.
“Is there something I’m missing here?” said Knox.
Around fifty IQ points was what I wanted to say, but didn’t. Instead my brain suddenly came up to speed and I saw an opportunity for my second persuader of the morning.
“Your Honor, may we speak with you in chambers about this matter? There is a sensitive issue here. Also, I would appreciate the opportunity to discuss the next case on Your Honor’s list in private. It’s a Mr. Child,” and as I said my mark’s name, I looked straight at him and then back at the judge. It was a little early for the reporters to fill up the benches, and even if there were a few crime reporters in the back row, they wouldn’t expect to see David Child in court, so the name wouldn’t ring a bell and they wouldn’t see him unless they were right at the front of the benches. There were no reporters in that position.
Knox recognized him right away, but wisely didn’t want to wake up any journalists who might be in the court. A slight nod of the head was all we needed. Knox got up, the clerk said, “All rise,” and Julie and I followed Knox through the back door of the court, down a small corridor, past the chambers reserved for this court, and into his private office, which doubled as Knox’s little kingdom. There were courthouse rules about judge’s chambers, but none about personal offices, so Knox exploited the loophole. I had time to look around while he got himself comfortable in his seat and adjusted his robes. The little office was painted the same color of cream that seemed to be on every office wall these days. Pictures of Knox with famous golfers hung around the room. There was even a set of clubs against the back wall. There were no family pictures. A smell that was at once familiar and yet elusive seemed to come up off the carpeted floor. Smelled like honey, bleach, and malt whiskey.
“So, Popo first, and then both of you make my day by telling me all about Mr. Child,” said Knox, unable to suppress a grin.
Julie and I remained standing in front of two comfortable-looking leather chairs that faced Knox’s desk. In the judge’s chambers, you didn’t sit until you were asked. As far as I knew, Knox had never asked anyone to sit down. He was that kind of asshole.
Julie tried to balance a blue file, the one relating to Popo, on top of the backrest of the chair in front of her so that she could open it and read her notes. I had neither a file nor any notes for Popo. I had a few of Popo’s old files with me, which I just carried for show. Usually I didn’t create a paper file for Popo because then somebody might audit it and realize that I wasn’t doing anywhere near the hours that I would be billing the NYPD. No file, no audit. If the IRS asked questions, I would say it was misfiled somewhere and they would give me the benefit of the doubt. If NYPD wanted to see the file, I’d tell them to go to hell; it was my client’s file and attorney-client privilege protected it.
I decided to jump right in with the friendly and flattering approach while Julie read her notes.
“Judge, my client Popo is a police informant. He has to carry and use narcotics in his line of work. The DA’s office knows this and they let it slide, for the greater good. My client has provided information that’s led to a number of good arrests.”
Knox’s neck turned the same color as his nose. He was embarrassed about almost dropping the ball on a police informant in open court. I’d handed him a lifeline, a way for him to look smart and save face.
“Mr. Flynn, I simply wanted to check with the prosecutor that the information she was getting from your client was worth the withdrawal of all charges,” said Knox.
“We have a continuing arrangement with Popo and he has an immunity agreement,” said Julie.
“Well, before we talk about Child, are we okay to let Popo walk?” I said.
“Who? Oh, the junkie, sure. Tell me about our billionaire. I glanced at the file. He got a defense?”
“Sure,” I said.
“What’s the prosecution’s attitude to bail?” asked Knox, quickly turning his attention to Julie.
“We’re opposing bail,” said Julie.
“Flat out?” asked Knox.
“Yes, Your Honor. The people feel that the court would be unable to ensure Mr. Child would return for trial even with the most stringent bail conditions.”
The judge leaned forward in his chair and steepled his fingers under his chin. The tip of a pale tongue escaped through his lips, and Knox made a loud sucking noise as he flicked it back into his mouth. The movement was sudden and somehow reptilian. He pretended to consider what the prosecutor told him.
“What bail conditions would your client consent to, Mr. Flynn?”
This was an attempt to short-circuit the bail hearing. If I told him the conditions that my client would agree to, he would grant bail but on additional conditions over and above what I’d told him my client would accept. After I answered that question, he would probe Julie to find out what conditions she would request if he were minded to grant bail. In this way Knox could get both defense and prosecution to accept a deal on bail so he wouldn’t have to have a hearing at all. That way both the defense and the prosecution would be unhappy but neither one would challenge his decision as we would both be fearful of losing what little ground each of us had gained. Knox might have been slow on the uptake, but he’d learned a judicial trick or two.
“I’m afraid I’ll need to seek instructions from my client on bail terms.”
“Good,” said Knox. “You’ve got ten minutes.”
I checked my watch and estimated that I had around fourteen minutes before Gerry Sinton came roaring into court and then it would all be over before we even got started.