Crime & Punishment: The Prequel Ch. 06

"Tell me why you wish to work for the US Attorney, other than the obvious step up," Jake Greenwald said. He was medium height, balding prematurely and had the slight build that was called skinny although twenty pounds overweight and hopelessly out of shape.

Lynda Segal kept the smile on her face that she had worn all through the interview with this officious jerk. She didn't consider the switch from the Westchester DA's office to the office of the US Attorney for the Southern District as a step up. At best it was sideways and, in fact, it was the end of her naïve law student dream of being the white knight prosecutor. Moreover, the Westchester DA's office was notable for sending its staff into higher and better offices, and it was a place where women had and were excelling for decades.

"I'm looking for new challenges. I don't want to get pigeonholed in criminal law," she said having anticipated the question and prepared the response. The real reason would not have gotten her the job. She was gun shy, unable to pull the trigger on a prosecution case, the result of having come so very close to convicting an innocent woman of murder. Since the fateful day, she had opened Pandora's box in the form of Steven Fitzgerald's trial notebook; she could not face a prosecution without second-guessing herself.

Lynda had always played the game rough. She was a no holds barred and take no prisoners attorney. She was Might Mouse defender of truth and justice, and that was her current trouble. She had earned her "Might Mouse" nickname. Like the cartoon character, she saw herself as a crusader. She had always believed in her only infallibility without reservation, but that arrogant confidence was gone. Two women had fooled her, and they weren't even working together. The betrayed wife who destroyed her husband's suicide note to preserve the secret of his illegitimate birth, and the girlfriend who was willing to forego two million to get what she saw as justice for her man. Two women who loved the same man who in his last act betrayed them both. Who could figure that, but Steven Fitzgerald had known. It wasn't a guess or an attorney's opinion formed by the size of his fee. It was a kind of extra sense that made the difference between good and great.

Deputy US Attorney Jake Greenwald could not pass up the shot he was about to take at the pretty diminutive attorney with the big trial reputation, "Not still smarting over that loss in the Wheatmore case."

Jake was no trial attorney. He thought of himself as the administrative power of the office. That the US attorney was looking to beef up the trial staff was well known. It was Jake's job to find the talent to fill the slots. This woman came with a sizable trial reputation and with big political endorsements. However, the Wheatmore trial had been a spectacular loss, and she was not Ivy league like the other candidates.

"No. I accept the jury's verdict," she gave the bland, flat answer she had been giving since opening that damn notebook. She could say nothing because she had improperly gained knowledge. She was honor-bound to keep the secret that the woman she prosecuted was innocent.

"Well don't feel too bad, immoral characters like Fitzgerald eventually get exposed for the charlatans they are," Jake said.0

"He had only six weeks to prepare, but he knew the case better than I did. I had the home-court advantage and a favorable judge, but he won the jury over. He was better. It's that simple," she said with brutal honesty, and Jake suddenly thought, this woman might be exactly what the boss is looking for.

"You know the job you applied for is in the civil division, but it overlaps with white-collar crime. Our office record of wins in the financial cases is not great," he said.

Lynda had no problem with the white collar cases because the issue was never what happened, but how to interpret the facts. It was just what she was looking for all clean and clear-cut, no Solomonic decisions of guilt or innocence. She could ply her trade with an easy conscience, and it was an excellent opportunity for her to advance here because the words "not great" are lawyer speak for "dismal."

"It's just what I'm looking for a new challenge," she said.

Lynda didn't say it also meant she would not be facing Steven again which avoided a possible conflict. Their affair had burgeoned after that first sexual encounter. She had never known a man like him. Lynda was not a girlfriend by inclination. The longest previous relationship she had was two weeks. One-night stands were her forte. Long weekends often seemed too long. She told herself she was a career woman. There was no place in her life for long-term relationships., but after being with Steven, this seemed a self-told lie?

The truth often haunted her late at night. She was a slut who didn't believe any man could want her for more than sex. The moment a man's interest seemed to wain she move to get out But, it was different with Steven. Steven was different. She knew that from the moment she first saw him. He was sitting waiting for the judge to enter the courtroom. He was all alone but some how she could feel his presence filling the room.

She refused to believe in love at first sight. There was more to what they had together. They had a common interest. They were trial lawyers. It seemed to dominate every aspect of her life, and he was the same. She was an avid Sinatra fan. Original records, CDs, and films, she had it all. Her contemporaries found this strange. Steven didn't judge. He would sit and listen with her. The sex had been the best she had known, but the time they spent out of bed together had been better. This was the first time she could remember having a comfortable, yet intimate relationship with a man. He could just be there with her. It was such a new and astounding feeling to have a man of her own.

Except he wasn't hers. After all, he was married. His wife was both beautiful and rich. However, the little prosecutor had hope. Her rival might have all those graces Lynda lacked, but she had one clear and prominent disadvantage. His wife was a blatant and unrepentant cheat. It angered Lynda on two levels. First that such a vile woman could possess the man who should belong to her, and that Susan Fitzgerald could so disrespect and fail to appreciate her remarkable Steven.

Lynda and Steven had to work to get together. They lived hours apart, and if she took the new job, she would be moving further away. However, so far they had managed to see each other two and three times a week. It made their time together special. She was hoping they could continue their frequent meetings when she moved to the US attorney's office. She had no doubt that she would be busy trying to adjust to the demands of a new job. She planned to move to an apartment closer to the City, but nearer to the highway. She had it all worked out, and it was only temporary until he rid himself of what she had come to think of as "The Bitch."

Lynda was letting herself dream for the first time as a woman in love. She was being patient and changing jobs.

****

Steven Fitzgerald sat in his new office at Rosewood & Associates, attorneys at law. It was not the largest office or even the second largest, but still, one fitting his new stature as a full partner in the firm. It was a status that was announced at the firm's January partners' meeting. He had managed to skip the designations of senior associate and junior partner because they wanted his now famous name on the office door. Various partners and associate attorneys were busy trading on his name to gather business to the firm. It is a fact of legal existence that while trials garner publicity, they enrich no one. The money is made on the deals. Real criminal attorneys make money negotiating plea deals. Personal injury attorneys seek settlements.

On all these arranged cases, Steven Fitzgerald was useless. He was even less valuable in client relations that art of making the customer happy to be overcharged. This meant that absent a case that might actually see a courtroom; Steven had little to do. He was no more than a show horse brought out every so often to impress the customers.

Steven was bored and very isolated in his new office. Few of the firm's attorneys had spoken to him before his recent courtroom successes, and now that he was a partner a combination of fear and resentment deterred the firm's staff from his company. Those who shared the profits were happy, but this had but slight impact on the firm's staff.

"You have a call on line three from Jason Applewood. He says he's an old classmate," announced Patty Stanton. She was his new executive assistant, and not particularly happy with the position.

Steven couldn't help but think that Patty must be as bored as he was. This is why, she put the call right through, he thought. Steven could remember no one named Applewood from Law School or College. He knew several Jasons but doubted either would be calling.

"Hello this is Steven Fitzgerald," he said.

"Hello," pause "I knew—or rather I knew of you at St. Ignatius," this Jason managed to say.

An icy chill seized Steven's spine, and he could almost guess the substance of the next words.

"I'm calling about father Danbury," the unknown Jason, who suddenly had an indelible connection with Steven Fitzgerald said.

Steven collected himself and fell into lawyer mode his brain thinking at a fast clip.

"Where are you calling from?" he more demanded than asked.

"I'm here in Albany. I came up early this morning by train. I was— I could come to your office and—"

"Precisely where in Albany?"

"Well actually, I'm still at the train station. I think they call it Rensselaer."

"Get a cab to the corner of State and Eagle. There is a sandwich shop one block east on Eagle. I will meet you there. I will be in the back."

Twenty Minutes later, Jason Applewood walked into the little street front sandwich shop. It was an inexpensive place, but one with pretensions. Bean sprouts figured on several of the sandwiches. There were wraps listed on the menu above the counter, and the names of dishes included state and city names. An hour and a half before noon, it was empty except for the diminutive lawyer seated at the back most table.

Jason was a shade above middle height. He was balding which made his thirty some years appear a decade older. He had put on his best gray suit for this occasion. It was rumbled from the trip north. He had no trouble spotting the person he had come to meet.

Jason approached the back table slowly, and with a clear bit of trepidation. Pulling out a chair, he said, "May I."

Steven Fitzgerald nodded and gave a small wave with his hand toward the chair, "Please have a seat and tell me how I can help you."

Steven's words seemed to relax some of the tension that Jason felt.

"I know you don't really know me. I was more than several years before you in school, but we both knew Ed Danbury," Jason said and waited for some acknowledgment.

"This brings you to see me why?"

Applewood looked down at his hands folded on top of the small table, and said, "Perhaps we could have something to drink, and then I could tell you."

"Surely, I'll get it. What would you like?" Steven said.

It took a few minutes, but Steven procured a tea for Applewood and coffee for himself. As they sipped the warm beverages, Applewood told his story of sexual abuse by Father Danbury, and how it had affected his life. It was a sad tale of broken relationships and unfulfilled promise. It had the static feeling of a story told too many times.

"You see, I need closure. All the victims do, and we thought that we would reach out to you considering..." Jason paused and looked steadily at Fitzgerald.

Steven looked back not flinching or showing any emotion. He was silent waiting for the man to go on.

Jason plunged forward, "You were one of the victims. We know this. We've done our research. You were his last victim. He was caught with you, and they couldn't completely cover it up because of the other boy, the one who beat him up.

"You've made quite the legal reputation lately, and we thought that you could help with the effort to get justice for the victims. We've received no justice. Unlike in other states, there were no criminal prosecutions, and no reparations paid. However, we are organized now, and we feel—"

"What do you think, I can do for you?" Steven asked

"Well, you're a famous attorney. You could file a lawsuit."

"The reason there are no prosecutions or lawsuits in New York is the short statute of limitations. It is three years. If the victim is under eighteen, the statute runs from his eighteenth birthday. I'm twenty-nine, and as you point out Danbury's last victim. The statute ran eight years ago.

"The state assembly voted four times to reopen the statute for a one-year period, but the state Senate refused to consider the legislation. Moreover, the assemblymen would never have voted for the measure did they think the senators would approve it. The politicians don't want this in the courts."

"But that's just it. We believe we have a way around the statute of limitations."

"May I ask just who we are?"

"We're the New York Alliance of Sexual Abuse Victims—NYASAV. We're a new organization only three years old, but we believe we've found new evidence."

"Evidence of new crimes?"

"No, a file about the old crimes."

"As I said, the Stat—"

"You don't understand there was a conspiracy. They took actions in furtherance of—"

"You want to prove a conspiracy to abuse children?" Steven said with a raised eyebrow.

"No, not to abuse, but to conceal the abuse. As I said, there is a file."

"It would have to be quite the file."

"It is. It has names and dates, lawyers, police, prosecutors, and judges. A veritable who's who of state politicians."

"You have this file?"

"No, we don't actually have it, but we know it exists."

"May I ask how you know?"

"Someone we trust saw it."

"This person is willing to testify as to the contents of the file, and where it is kept?"

"Well, he would have."

"Would have?"

"You see he died. He told one of our members on his deathbed. Father Estes died in a hospice. He recognized the nurse who was caring for him from his work in the diocesan legal office. He knew the nurse had been a victim and begged forgiveness before he died.

"He spoke of the file and its contents, in particular, the assault by the priest Danbury on you, and the subsequent conviction of Patrick Sullivan. The police knew the fight between Sullivan and Danbury was the result of the sexual assault. The defense attorney was prepared to offer a justification defense. Sullivan had after all discovered Danbury attacking you."

"I'm familiar with what happened, and what they did to Pat," Steven said beginning to lose patience.

"But do you know the lengths they went to cover up the truth, the parties involved. The police, prosecutor's office, and the courts were all involved in covering up the incident, including the law firm that defended Sullivan. It's all documented in the file with names and dates," Jason said by now he was almost pleading.

"You believe that you can sue based on the conspiracy, but what was the last act in its furtherance?"

"Father Estes said it was ongoing. They are still involved in concealing the facts. They still make payments to police, lawyers, and judges. They've corrupted the system."

"Well, I wish you the best of luck. However, please leave my name out of it, but thank you for the information," Steven said preparing to rise.

At that point, Applewood reached across the table to grab Steven's wrist and stop him from leaving. His action had been reflexive, but he knew his mistake the instant he made it. Steven froze. The long-repressed memory was set off by the other man's touch. The conversation about Father Edward Danbury brought the recollection dangerously close to the surface of his consciousness, and Applewood's grab crossed the long-suppressed line.

"Sorry, sorry, I didn't mean—" Jason said.

With an exercise of will, Steven composed himself enough to ask, "Mr. Applewood, what do you want of me? I have put Father Danbury's actions where they can no longer hurt me. I have made a life for myself not as a victim, but as a defender of those in need. So, please tell me what this meeting is about?"

"We the members of New York ASAV need your help to start a lawsuit and get discovery of this file. Make them turn it over to us."

"Surely you have other attorneys available."

"No, and certainly none with your skill and reputation. They will have to take you seriously."

"They won't take me very seriously when my only evidence is the hearsay testimony of a dead man about something he read in a file."

"But—"

"But nothing! It's all but hopeless, and I have better uses for my time. My advice is—get over it. If you try, you can."

"I see. Well, thank you for your time and the tea. Perhaps, I will have better luck with Mr. Sullivan."

Steven had been standing up, but on the mention of Applewood contacting Sullivan, he sat back down. Pat was that kind of man. Of late, he had done some things under provocation that would have once been anathema to him, but Patrick Sullivan remained a good and decent man who would not turn from someone in need. Pat would follow the noble course of action to his own detriment. Had he not as a boy of twelve taken on Edward Danbury a man who was a half foot taller and fifty pounds heavier.

The fight between Pat and the priest had been one of strength against determination. The courageous boy had appeared to have won and been arrested for his brave actions. Steven was in no doubt that Pat would help these victims. The newly appointed DA of Van Patten County would once again risk all for the righteous cause.

"Alright, I will help you, but I have two conditions. First under no circumstances do you or your group contact Pat Sullivan, and second, you follow my advice to the letter."

"Of course, if that's what you want."

"Good, we have a deal," Steven said extending his hand.

Jason Applewood took the offered hand as gently as he could; realizing what it must cost the other man to touch anyone at that moment.

"What do we do now?" Jason asked.

"You go home and contact your group to set up a meeting at a convenient spot. I will start work at my end."

"What will you do?"

"That you don't need to know at this point, but you must trust me, and do exactly as I say."

Steven took Applewood back to the train station and made sure he left on the first train to Manhattan. As he sent Jason Applewood off, he had an odd sense that an old burden had begun to lift from his shoulders.

****

Defense attorney and one-time special prosecutor, Jimmy O'Reilly was reading once again the memorandum he had been given by the Governor of New York. Whoever had written it was one fine lawyer. In three brief pages, he had outlined a legal theory and assessed its possibility of success. Unfortunately, like many legal minds, he failed to see the tremendous possibility that came with failure or any consequence that existed beyond the narrow issue of his brief.

The writer had outlined a theory for avoiding the effects of the statute of limitations postulated on the concept that a deliberate concealment could in some circumstances toll the running of the statute. The idea was that the statutory time only began to run when the injurious act was discovered. The act in this instance not being the original assault, but the fiduciary misconduct of those who took actions to conceal the injuries suffered by the victims.

It was a lawyerly argument, and there were even better lawyerly arguments against it. A good law school problem that would make a fine decision if the high court reached it. O'Reilly didn't dispute the ultimate conclusion presented in the memorandum. He did not believe the existing law would permit a successful result for those who were abused as children. It was too late, and that is what the high court would say.