Karp made a dismissive gesture. “I brought up a few points I thought he should look at.”
“Such as?”
“You really want to hear this?”
“A little, but I get the feeling you really want to tell it. Here’s your dinner.”
She had made up a little tray, chicken stew and salad and a heel of Tuscan bread and butter, which she placed carefully across Karp’s lap. He tore into the food ravenously. Marlene was a good cook, if you liked good bread, good coffee, and lumps of miscellaneous material generously sauced and served on rice or spaghetti, and you didn’t mind eating the same thing several days in a row. Between mouthfuls he filled her in on what he had learned of the Tomasian case, and described his vague doubts.
“So you don’t think this Armenian did it?” asked Marlene when he had concluded his story.
“I didn’t say that. I said there’s things about the case that would make me uneasy if it was my case, and I expressed that to Roland.”
“How did he take it?”
“Not well. He was doing his massive jaw-clenching routine when I decided to drop the subject.”
“I’m not surprised,” said Marlene. “It sounds like it’s a mega-case that could make him famous, and here’s you throwing sand in the gears. He’s jealous of you to begin with-”
“Roland? He’s not jealous of me. I think he thinks I’m a little wimpy, if anything, because I don’t drink and fuck everything above room temperature and talk tough with the cops.”
“That’s right,” she replied, “and even though you don’t, you’re famous, and you have the best homicide conviction record in the city, and you got to play pro ball-”
“And I’m married to an incredibly beautiful woman-”
“In your dreams, and he can’t stand not being the biggest swinging dick on the street.”
“You know, you’re really being unfair, Marlene,” replied Karp. “Roland right now is probably the hardest-working and most successful A.D.A. in the office. He’s got no reason to be jealous of anyone. Rivalry maybe-he’s a competitive guy. So am I. It’s natural. But I can’t believe he’d let that influence the way he handled a case.”
“Well you’ve always been totally naïve about that aspect of human behavior, especially where pals are concerned. Look, Roland’s been at the D.A. as long as you, right? And, as you say, he’s got a great track record, correct? But you don’t see anyone hurrying to make him a bureau chief. And you know why? He’s got a personality like a Doberman pinscher.”
“So do I,” said Karp defensively. “So do you, for that matter.”
“In court, yes,” replied Marlene. “Not otherwise. That’s a big difference. And we’re not talking about me. We’re talking about you and Roland. I don’t count for him because I’m just a wise-ass cunt, as Roland might put it.”
“You never did like him.”
“I like him fine, Butch. Roland and I have had many interesting and amusing conversations, especially after he finally got it through his blond head that I wasn’t going to crawl into the rack with him. But he’s got a thing going with you. And I’d want to watch him around Bloom and company.”
“What? That’s crazy, Marlene! He hates Bloom worse than I do.”
“Yeah, but he thinks he can manipulate Bloom, which means he’s playing on Bloom’s court. You, on the other hand, decline the game entirely, which is what drives Bloom crazy. You just don’t give a shit. Are you finished with that? I want to clean up.”
“Yeah, thanks,” said Karp, and then sat in silence, flexing his chilled knee and thinking about what Marlene had said. It didn’t make sense to him, but he had learned over the years to appreciate Marlene’s judgments about people, even when he didn’t agree with them, and he treated her pronouncements like those of an expert witness in, say, blood chemistry-recondite but usable in court.
She finished her wash-up and sat down next to him on the couch. She lit her evening cigarette, one of the five she allowed herself each day.
“So what are you going to do about it?” she asked.
“Do? What can I do? It’s his case and it’s a strong case against his guy.”
“But what if he didn’t do it?”
Karp smiled. “Then because our system is just, he’ll walk out a free man.”
“I can see you don’t want to discuss this seriously,” she replied sharply, “but I am simply not going to believe you’re going to let an innocent man get nailed for this, and-don’t interrupt-and let the guilty party walk away laughing, just because you don’t want to hurt Roland’s feelings.”
“Don’t get started, Marlene,” warned Karp. “I meant what I said about getting off, and you know why? Because in court we’re not like the defense attorneys. It’s not a symmetrical thing. They don’t have to prove anything; they don’t have to even believe their client is innocent. That’s not their job. All they have to do is insert doubt. It’s a simpler service, like dry cleaning.”
“I know all this, Butch. What’s your point?”
“My point is, if we don’t believe the guy’s guilty, it does matter. The doubt is there on the prosecutor’s side and the jury can smell it.”
“Oh, what horseshit! You mean to tell me that innocent people don’t get convicted? Christ, there are even words for the process: framed, railroaded-”
“Okay, I’ll modify that: not for homicide, not by conviction where there’s competent counsel and not in New York City at the present time. Sure, in Coon Squat, Georgia, where they have one homicide in a decade, yeah, they grab the town asshole and nail him to a tree. But not here, not recently. Christ, Marlene, that’s why these bozos Bloom put in have been copping stone killers to man deuce. That’s what I’m trying to change. It’s hard to convict someone who you’re absolutely one hundred percent convinced is guilty. Trials are a bitch! And you could get wiped if you don’t know what the hell you’re doing. That’s why they don’t do them.”
“Okay, right, but what if Roland is really convinced the guy did it?”
Karp thought about that for a moment, and then said, “Well, look: this case is two days old. Two days. They’ve made terrific progress, and Roland is hyped up about it. I would be too. Now if, after however many months, Roland brings this case to trial, then he’ll really believe the guy did it, and moreover, if he does, then the guy really did it. Roland is good.”
“You’re going to leave it at that, huh?”
“What do you want me to do, babe? Second-guess him? Conduct a parallel investigation? You know I can’t do that. Meanwhile, Roland’ll do the right thing when the time comes.”
“Well,” said Marlene, “you have touching faith, but faith is as nothing without works. You might think about an ancillary investigation.”
“How do you mean?”
“Where’s the girl? The alibi? She’s missing, a missing person. Her family will be concerned.”
“What are you suggesting, Marlene? That I pump up the cops to find a girl who just happens to be a possible material witness in Roland’s case? What do I tell Roland? Gee, Roland, there are fifty thousand missing persons every year in Manhattan, and I thought I’d pick one and put the max on it, just for laughs, and guess who it is-”
“Okay, okay, it’s a lame idea. Why are we talking about this goddamn case anyway? It’s not like I don’t have my own problems. And speaking of which, since we’re talking shop in the sanctity of our home, I think I can get Harry Bello to come over to the D.A. squad.”
“You can? That’s great,” said Karp, genuinely impressed. Bello was a detective of uncanny skill, whose eccentricity, alcoholism, and general mulishness had caused him to be banished to a backwater in Queens, which had not prevented him from solving, in concert with the Karps, a case that the criminal justice hierarchy in Queens had not wanted solved. Bello had become, as a direct result of this, both dry and Lucy Karp’s godfather, as well as persona non grata from one end of Queens to the other.