50
On Memorial Day, the Atlanta Times ran a front-page story on the mess in the Milton County judicial system. For the first time, the story connected the deaths of Ricky Powell, Rontavius Eastbrook, and Jimmy Brandywine to the no-plea-bargaining pact among the felons. The story quoted heavily from “a source with ties to the Milton County prosecutor’s office and police department,” and I knew it had to be LA.
The source noted that plea bargains had stopped right after Caleb Tate had spent a few days in jail. Tate’s firm now represented leaders from two of the most powerful gangs. The writer stated that Tate had not been charged with any crimes other than the murder of his wife, but anybody with half a brain could have read the article and connected the dots. They were the same dots LA and I had connected shortly after the inmates launched their rebellion.
I called LA. “Nice article,” I said.
“There’s an article? In today’s paper?”
“Right.”
He laughed. “Are you implying I’m the unnamed inside source? Do you really think I’d give Caleb Tate that much free publicity? His phone’s probably ringing off the hook with clients.”
There were rumors that LA was having a fling with one of the female reporters at the paper. But then again, there were rumors about LA having flings pretty much everywhere.
“Have you come up with anything concrete tying him to the three killings mentioned in the article?” I asked.
“Not yet. But when I do, you’ll be the first to know.”
The next day, everyone in our office received a memo from Bill Masterson. The subject: our new response to the plea bargain crisis.
I’ll be holding a press conference later today to announce a change in strategy for dealing with the crisis in the Milton County judicial system. I wanted you to hear it from me first.
As you know, enabling legislation authorizing me to deputize private-firm lawyers has gone nowhere. Accordingly, we’re taking a different approach.
First, we need to increase personnel. Ten large firms in the Atlanta area have each volunteered to send one of their associates to me for the next six months. This means the firm will pay the salary of the associate, but he or she will be an employee of the Milton County DA’s office and accountable to us. A similar arrangement has been made with ten other firms that will help the public defender’s office. We don’t need enabling legislation to do this, because they will be treated as employees, not volunteers.
In two weeks, once these attorneys are trained, they will be responsible for handling a large chunk of our misdemeanors. But still, this increases our workforce by only 25 percent, whereas our caseload has gone up 900 percent. And these new attorneys won’t be ready to handle felonies for several weeks. Which leads me to part two of the plan.
From now on, each of you should triage your cases. We can’t continue to prosecute all the cases that come across our desks. Prioritize. Devote your attention to violent repeat offenders and reputed gang leaders. Let the small operators and nondangerous felons go.
Which ties in with part three. A big challenge for us right now is the overcrowding of our prison system. In the last few days, three federal lawsuits have been filed alleging that the jail is overcrowded to the point that it constitutes cruel and unusual punishment. This situation will only worsen as we warehouse criminals awaiting trial.
Accordingly, starting this week, we will release all nonviolent offenders on a personal recognizance bond. In addition, we will no longer seek jail time for nonviolent offenders.
Our first responsibility is to protect the citizens of Milton County from those who would inflict physical harm or death. In the present crisis, we need to make some difficult choices. Either we can continue down the current path and allow many violent offenders to slip through the cracks, or we can crack down on them and allow others a second or even third chance.
Please see the attached guidelines that divide the crimes into violent/nonviolent categories and specify the types of bond requests and sentences we will now be seeking.
Bill Masterson held his news conference at eleven. I wasn’t able to watch because, like the other prosecutors, I was busy in court. But over my lunch break, I heard that Masterson had explained the new guidelines and handled a myriad of questions in his normal blunt and straightforward manner. The story was now a national news feed, and commentators were applauding Masterson’s leadership in a time of crisis. They liked the emphasis on prioritizing violent crimes and believed this could be a template for other jurisdictions facing similar challenges.
I had mixed emotions about it. I understood the practical need to prioritize, but I hated the thought of drug offenders getting off without any jail time. Addicts would eventually turn to violence, if that’s what it took to feed their addictions. When they did, innocent people would die, and families would be shattered. Families like mine.
But I didn’t have a better plan, so I didn’t criticize Masterson’s. Somehow we had to break the back of this criminal cartel.
When I returned to Milton County Superior Court that afternoon, LA was waiting for me on the other side of the metal detectors with a blonde-haired woman who looked to be a few years younger and three or four inches shorter than me.
“Jamie, this is Megan Armstrong, Rafael Rivera’s probation officer.”
I shook hands with Megan. “Nice to meet you.” I turned to LA. “I’m running late for court; can you walk with me?”
“Sure.”
We headed down the hallway and up the escalator, LA at my side and Megan trailing half a step behind.
“Somebody tried to kill Rafael Rivera last night,” LA said.
I muttered a curse but didn’t slow down. It seemed like the bad news just kept piling on.
“Drive-by shooting. Rivera’s got the shattered windows and bullet holes in his car to prove it. Fortunately—or unfortunately, depending on your point of view—he managed to get away.”
“Without him there’s no case against Caleb Tate. So I guess I’d reluctantly fall into the ‘fortunately’ camp,” I said. We were now going up the escalator steps as fast as I could, and Megan was falling farther behind.
LA lowered his voice. “I talked to him this morning. He’s actually running scared.”
“Good.”
“We can’t lose him. And we don’t have the resources to give him any kind of protection.”
We arrived at the top of the escalator, and I checked my watch. Already three minutes late. And it was Judge Westbrook, who liked to start on time.
I nodded toward a corner. “This has got to be quick,” I said as Megan finally caught up.
“It will be.”
The three of us huddled together, and LA explained his idea. He suggested that we get a private hearing with one of the judges and ask for modification of Rafael’s probation terms. We could send him to California, where he would be supervised by one of LA’s friends who worked as a probation officer. We could also make Rivera call Megan daily and update his status. “We need to get him out of Atlanta,” LA said. “At least for the next few months, until the trial starts.”
I didn’t like it. I was afraid Rafael was just playing the system and would disappear once he got outside the jurisdiction of Georgia’s courts. “Can’t we send him down to Savannah or someplace like that?”
LA shook his head. “I checked out his car, Jamie. These guys are playing for keeps. We’ve already lost three convicts who copped a plea. We can’t afford to lose Rafael.”
LA was right. But I didn’t have to like it.
“I’m supposed to be in Judge Westbrook’s courtroom,” I said. “After I finish, let’s find Judge Brown and see if he’ll modify the terms of Rivera’s probation order.”
At nine o’clock the next night, Rafael Rivera boarded a plane to California. LA promised me that I would see Rivera again on August 20, the first day of Caleb Tate’s trial.
Mace James was fired by text message. Caleb Tate didn’t have the guts to call or even the class to send a letter or at least an e-mail. No, he shot off a text message. Actually, two text messages, back to back, because it wouldn’t all fit into one.
There was no mention of the trouble swirling around Mace from the Antoine Marshall mess. But Mace wasn’t stupid. And in a way, he couldn’t blame Caleb. Caleb Tate had enough problems of his own right now. He didn’t need a lawyer who was being investigated by the state bar and who had just been suspended from his job at Southeastern Law School.
And frankly, it was good riddance. Though Mace believed in Caleb’s innocence, he was pretty sure Caleb was behind the no-plea-bargaining strategy that had already cost three men their lives. Mace didn’t want that kind of blood on his hands.
By the time he read through the text messages a second time, Mace actually felt like he could breathe a little easier. In addition to his concerns about Caleb Tate, Mace had only two months and a few days before the scheduled execution of Antoine Marshall, and he wanted to devote all of his time and energy to saving his client’s life. Caleb Tate’s case was scheduled to start just thirteen days after Marshall’s scheduled execution. And now Mace had been granted a reprieve on Tate’s case.
He felt like a bit of a new man.