Crime & Punishment Pt. 01

"Come on Stan that will leave us with just me to try a case," I said.

"Not exactly, there are still Mark and Tony." Mark Steele, half of the firm Steele and Steele which he ran with his father, was a solid lawyer, but he made his money in his own firm and held the part-time position solely for the state run health insurance. Tony Lorenzo was very slick, but a bit of a character who could handle a trial, but preferred not to. Neither wanted to do any more DA work then necessary.

"What you are proposing is probably doubling my work load. Question is what do I get?" Stan made a long face before replying.

"Bottom line is I got nothing to give you right now. Maybe in a year or two things will open up if Dexter can win the election in November. I know Dex and I will be grateful," he said. I could see his worry at that moment. I could quit which would leave the office in the lurch. A few days ago I would have done exactly that, but that was before my loving wife betrayed me. I was going to need this job so all I could do was eat this for now, but inside something snapped. I had always played things straight; yet here I sat fucked by my wife and fucked in my job, and let's face it, looking at a dead end career. It was time to rethink things. I felt an odd sense of relief.

I smiled as I said, "Anything else boss?"

Stan gave me a funny rather distrustful look, "No that's it. Sorry Pat but I had to make some choices."

And all of them to your personal advantage, I thought. Well that is the way the world works.

Back in my office I closed the door and sat in the one perk I had, a big old leather executive chair left over from some past administration. I inherited the chair from the man I replaced. Tommy Maitland died of a brain hemorrhage one day in court with no warning, he was dead in ten minutes. He was a good guy. Divorced when his wife decided she no longer wanted to be married to him, he had three kids. About a year after his death his wife remarried. It was obvious she was just looking for greener pastures. Well she found them and Tommy was dead at forty six.

Someone knocked on the door and then without waiting entered.

Katrina Gomez was a pretty girl. Short with long black hair and dark brown almost black eyes. She had the loveliest pearl white skin. The skin showed the influence of her Irish mother, the rest came I guessed from her Puerto Rican father. She was a recent addition to the clerical staff. She always had a smile and cheery disposition. One of those people who always goes around happy and wants everyone else to be as well.

"Sorry to bother you Mr. Sullivan. I am collecting for Bea's retirement present," she said. Beatrice Thruman was retiring at the year's end. Katrina as low person on the totem pole was collecting for a present.

"What's the damage," I asked.

A little shyly she said, "We are asking the attorneys for ten dollars apiece and the rest of the staff for five, but really five will do if you can spare it." I knew that she must have gotten quite a bit of grief from the cheap skates on the legal staff foremost of which was the soon to be interim DA Dexter Eling. I pulled my wallet and handed her a twenty.

"I'll give you change you want ten or fifteen."

"Keep it, it'll makes up for the others," I said.

"Oh thanks," she said giving me a smile. Then she seemed to notice the dark office and I guess my darker disposition. "Something wrong Mr. Sullivan?"

"No, what could be wrong. I have a great job and a great life," I said with a lopsided grin at my own joke.

"Ok, well if there is anything I can do, let me know and thanks for the generous contribution, I know Bea will appreciate it."

She left closing the door, but it didn't latch. I had to get up to close it as it began to swing open. That is how I heard them. Katrina must have run into our office manager Marge Zuckerman just down the hall from my office.

"What's wrong with Pat; he seems so sad," Katrina asked Marge.

"Oh nothing, other than being passed over and expected to carry the whole load by himself, I mean the powers that be have really screwed him this time," Marge replied.

I didn't hear any more as they passed down the hall, but the conversation I heard was enough. The whole office knew or would know. I was now doubly pissed because I knew I looked weak, because in fact I was weak. I was unable to stand up for myself on the job or at home. Another man was fucking my wife and I was doing nothing. I closed the door tight and might have just sat there stewing for a while had not fate intervened. My phone rang on the interoffice line.

"Sargent Brandt of the Sheriff's office is here to see you," Sally the secretary I shared with Mark, Tony, and Mary Ellen said.

Sargent Brandt was not someone I wanted to see at that moment. Jack Brandt was the father of Mary Lou Brandt who had been arrested for possession of a controlled substance, cocaine and over an ounce, therefore, a felony. In truth she had been in a car with four other young adults. One of which Larry Washington had two prior minor drug arrests. It was fairly obvious that the occupants had all been using, but poor Mary Lou had ended up holding the goods. Sargent Brandt was a man with an unimpeachable reputation and the hard earned respect of his colleagues. He was not a man to come begging for favors, but he was a father who loved his little girl so he would belittle himself if that would save her. Unfortunately, I had nothing to give him in the current situation. With Stan Kondos looking to run for judge, he was unlikely to permit any leniency to be shown to the daughter of a police officer. As Ed Brandt came in I was impressed by his imposing physical presence. At about six four and two hundred forty pounds he had the physical presence of a John Wayne and the square oblong features of a Jimmy Stewart.

"Mr. Sullivan," he said holding out his hand and giving me a firm, but gentle handshake, "I am pleased to meet you although I wish it was under different circumstances. You have quite the reputation as a prosecutor."

"I also wish we were meeting in different circumstances," I said.

There followed a good hour of unproductive discussion where he told me how his daughter was a good girl who made a single mistake. She was an honor student at the State University and planning on becoming a teacher. She was good at math, but not the best at picking friends. A shy somewhat nerdy girl, she had been easily led into trouble. Her mug shot in the file showed a not unattractive girl who might have been 15, but the record showed she was 19 and no longer a juvenile.

"I'll do anything I must to help my daughter. Tell me what to do Mr. Sullivan."

This near fifty year old hero with almost thirty years in the Sheriff's service was calling me mister, and debasing himself to help his daughter, who I could tell he loved more than anything on this earth. Frankly, I wanted to help him in the worst way, and to fuck Stan Kondos in the bargain, but I saw no way at that moment.

"All I can tell you to do is get Mary Lou into a treatment program. She may not need it but it can't hurt and will look good." Then I added and I did not know why but some instinct was beginning to take over. Some little thought that I could not actually visualize was moving in my brain. "I'll call you if anything more can be done. I promise you to look for a way out for her," I said.

"Thank You," he said rising and took my hand into both of his. I believe I saw the start of tears in the big man's eyes. I walked him all the way out. As I turned back from the front office door, I took a look around. For the first time I contemplated that I was no longer going to just take it. Now was the time to strike, while it appeared I was helpless.

I spent the rest of the day trying to figure what the back of my mind knew that the front did not. I kept coming back to Frank Patterson, rich, arrogant, and ultimately weak of character. I knew this from just looking at him. I just needed the right leverage, and he would fold like the useless piece of crap he was.

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The waitress came over, a short attractive brunette dressed in a short black skirt and a white blouse that looked like a man's ruffled dress shirt. She wore a green name tag that said TRINA in white letters, she looked familiar. It took me a minute to place her. She was one of the witnesses in the Roger Hamilton murder trial. Hamilton was accused of killing his pregnant wife in a fit of jealousy. It was a once in a decade trial with all the requisite publicity and media ballyhoo. Problem was that the Prosecution's case seemed unshakable. The Albany County DA's office was already taking their bows before the trial even opened. Hamilton had to go looking for counsel hard-up enough to accept his case. He found that in Steven Fitzpatrick, my best friend.

Steven and I were inseparable as kids growing up in a part of Brooklyn called Cobble Hill. It has no hill. It was used by George Washington for an artillery emplacement during the American Revolution and when the British drove the rebels out they took out the hill literally; it is just a flat piece of ground now, south of Brooklyn Heights. We went through parochial school together ending up in Brooklyn Law School, walking distance from our home neighborhood. We were in mock trial together- an unbeatable team. I could not resist going to watch Steve in action at the Hamilton trial held in the adjoining county of Albany. Had I been prosecuting, Steven would never have gotten away with his shenanigans he got up to, and Hamilton who was as the saying goes "guilty as sin," would not have gotten acquitted. Lori Lafave was one of the shenanigans. A minor prosecution witness that Steven had flipped. The first time the unprepared Albany County prosecutors learned that fact was when she began to shoot holes in their case from the witness stand. It was the first of a series of blows that inevitably lead to a guilty man going free.

"Hello Lori," I said. The false waitress smile she was wearing slipped a bit and she looked at me hard. Recognition did not come to her.

"I was a spectator at the Hamilton trial." She now frowned a bit. But I smiled and said:

"Steven Fitzpatrick is an old friend." That brought back a smile to her face.

"He's a great guy," she said.

"Yes," I replied.

"What will you have?"

"The Brown Ale."

She nodded and moved off to fetch the drink. As I watched her go I felt my sprits begin to lift. She was the mother of three by two different men. She received child support for only one and worked three jobs to support her family. It was obvious how Steve got to her. When she brought the five dollar pint of brewhouse beer, I gave her a twenty and told her to keep the change. I was sitting in Brown's, a Troy Brew Pub that had expanded by opening a separate whiskey bar selling high end liqueur.

I had been following Frank Patterson for about two weeks. Watching him dine and bed my wife, but also just following to get a feel for the man. Tonight was Thursday and he had come again to Brown's; this time I followed him in. He sat at a table with seven other men all professionally dressed. They were clearly some kind of club or networking group. They were just talking and laughing. Guys having a friendly social boys' night out.

About 8:30, Lori returned to see if I needed a refill. Frank and his friends were still shooting the shit and drinking. They were between their second and third rounds. I was still nursing my first beer.

"You find them interesting," she asked looking over to where I was looking.

"No just one of them."

"Mr. free hands and tight fists," she said.

"What?"

Nodding her head towards Frank she said, "He's always ready to cop a feel if a girl isn't careful, but he is the cheapest tipper of that group of tight wads."

"Well, let me make it up to you," I said handing her a fifty and ordering another beer. For the next six weeks with the exception of the Christmas holiday week, I made a habit of coming to Brown's each Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday. Except for Thursday, I just had a beer and left an outrageous tip. Lori and I became quite friendly. She would be ready when I was. Frank never missed a night with the boys who turned out to be a group of bankers, insurance agents and lawyers, as I suspected a kind of club or network for professional men. Just a bunch of guys helping each other out, and as Lori had pointed out occasionally grabbing the waitress' ass.

I had been watching Frank drive home to Loudonville after his night with the guys. Always well within the speed limit, extra careful not to get stopped. The uninitiated think that one or two drinks will put you over the driving limit for Alcohol, but a big guy like Frank would need more than that and in a very short space of time. His carefulness when driving after drinking had something more to it then innocent caution, and very early on I was determined to find out.

The 30th of December had been Bea's last day. She had done her thirty years with the county, the last sixteen with the DA's office. The party was to start at 2 pm. Chuck Spenser, the junior investigator, pulled the short straw and would be holding the fort while the rest of the staff went to the party at Daisy Bakers, the longtime Troy watering hole in the former Christian Science reading room at the corner of State and Second Streets.

I was due to be there, but at the last minute I appeared to get held up by a call from the State Police. It was a call I had prearranged as an excuse. An hour after the DA's staff left, I let Chuck go telling him to keep quiet about it, and I would cover since I was stuck here anyway. When I was sure he was gone, I locked up but left the lights on. Bea's desk was cleaned out but her terminal was still alive. The IT people would not remove her codes from the system until the following day. I searched around her desk and sure enough she left her password on a sticky note underneath the middle desk draw. I signed in as her and proceeded to access the state's criminal data base. If anyone checked they would see Bea's name on her last day. They would need to look her up in her Florida retirement home just to determine it was not her, if she even remembered.

Searching the name Frank Patterson returned about twenty hits. It took about half an hour to find my Frank Patterson. I had to smile as I read his record. Four years ago an arrest for DUI (Driving under influence) reduced to reckless driving with a fine. About Eighteen months later, another DWI (Driving While Intoxicated) reduced to DUI, a misdemeanor, but another suspended sentence. He lost his license for six months but got very lucky. That meant he had two strikes because the first offence would count as alcohol related even though reduced. I had him, all I had to do was find a way to reel him in. Three strikes is a mandatory felony.

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"Sargent Brandt please come in," I said. I had called the man to discuss his daughter's case. I could see he was grim, but hopeful.

"Did you follow my advice and get your daughter into a treatment program?"

He nodded in response.

"Good, then I have some questions to ask you."

"Anything you want," he replied.

"You said that you would do anything to help your daughter did you mean it?"

He sat up clearly getting a little wary. But with only a little hesitation he said determinately "YES!"

"Good- tell me do you still work road patrol on occasion?"

"Yes, sometimes I fill in for someone who needs the time off."

"You know that strip of Van Patten County that lies between Rensselaer and Albany by the Green Island Bridge, a little strip of land?"

"Yea, about two-tenths of a mile along the highway."

"Well let's suppose a late model silver Mercedes was coming along with say a broken tail light and you were working that night, say a week from this Thursday, and stopped this car and smelled alcohol on the driver. An arrest would take place I suppose."

"Well, at least a sobriety test would be in order," he said looking both confused and intrigued.

"Yes, a test certainly, since the occupant could be a high powered attorney and everything would need to be by the book."

"I am not quite sure I see," he said.

I picked up his daughters file. "Now your daughter's case seems like a slam dunk and no real reason to cut her any slack, but a lot of things happen in an office like this. Files get lost and when some ADA has been stupid enough to combine everything into a single case file that goes missing, well a case is just lost. Dismissed -subject to being expunged. I could easily see this file getting lost say a week from Friday."

Brandt looked at me hard. I could see it in his eyes, hope and a grim understanding that he was being asked to do something immoral, but legally unquestionable. The wrong doing would all be on my part. Even if I was discovered, he would be untouchable-just doing his job. The driver would either pass the sobriety test or fail.

"Just a test or an arrest?" he asked.

"A test that is sure to be failed followed by an arrest. But no worries when the party gets to the town court the best defense attorney will be waiting and the worst ADA. Those as they say are the breaks."

Sargent Brant nodded his head. "I know I will be working road patrol on that particular Thursday probably with a very loyal partner. But what time if you have any idea hypothetically of course?"

"Oh I would say 9:30 pm through 11 pm would be sufficient." Then we shook hands on it and he parted.

The last piece was the one I dreaded the most. I hated to ask but I didn't see any other choice. As I have said Steven Fitzpatrick was my best friend. For our meeting Steven picked the Legislators' dining hall in the Empire State Plaza in Albany just outside the Justice Building. An odd place until you realize no one would be interested in us and the place seemed designed for private little luncheons. Steven without even being told knew that what I wanted needed to be private.

"How you been Pat?"

"Good, Steve and you?"

"Only as can be expected," he replied. It was an odd situation. Steven and I were closer then brothers, but very different. His wife Susan was a lot like Laura. Susan was thirty two to his twenty seven. She was very successful. Susan was the most beautiful woman I had ever met in person. She had film star looks and an aurora of sexuality that you could literally feel enveloped her. She was also promiscuous. For years she had been having affairs with a succession of men. All taller and more powerfully built then her husband. Steven was short about five seven and slim to the extent that he appeared almost fragile. This was a misconception because I knew him to be incredibly strong and to have the endurance and speed of a race horse. He was also the smartest and the best looking man you would ever hope to meet. Plus he seemed to have a sixth sense for things. Susan could never have hidden her affairs from him so she just flat out came out with it and apparently they had reached some accommodation that allowed her one discreet boyfriend at a time. Now I was about to ask his help screwing my cheating spouse and I had no doubt he would help me. He was not just my friend he was the ultimate defense lawyer. He had not a judgmental bone in his body. After I had explained what I wanted and why, Steven looked at me with sadness in his light blue eyes.

"You sure about this Pat? This is just not you. I understand the anger, but perhaps in a month or two this will just blow over, why throw your wife away like this. Laura is not Susan she will come back to you; no doubt overly contrite and determined to make it up to you. That's when you tell her you know and are prepared to forgive her if it doesn't happen again."