The Perfect Marriage(67)
After the indignity of being booked and processed, Wayne was told his lawyer was here to see him. He was brought to a small room where Alex Miller was waiting.
Alex was Wayne’s age and looked like a lawyer in that he had a certain Atticus Finch vibe, mainly because he was tall and thin and wore round wire-rimmed glasses. Wayne had retained Alex a few weeks earlier. Now he was awfully glad that he had.
It had been Alex who emphasized that Wayne must invoke his rights to counsel immediately upon his arrest. More importantly, Alex had predicted it would unfold exactly as it had. First, they’d find the link in the DNA to Wayne somehow, he’d explained. Then they’d arrest him. Once he was in custody, they’d get a warrant to confirm his DNA matched the blood at the crime scene.
“Here’s how it’s going to work,” Miller said. “Tomorrow morning you’ll be arraigned. That’s like on TV. Thirty seconds. You say ‘not guilty.’ The prosecutor will say that given the severity of the crime, bail should be high. I’ll ask for a bail you can afford. Then the judge imposes some amount. After that, a trial judge is selected. That’s important because we’re going to go straight to the trial judge’s courtroom from the arraignment to fight out the DNA request.”
“Any chance I won’t have to give the DNA?” Wayne asked.
“None,” Miller told him.
22
Jessica came to the hospital early the next morning. She wanted to tell Owen about his father’s arrest before he read about it online.
She knew from the look on his face that she was too late.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“Dad didn’t kill James,” Owen said, a pleading sound to his voice.
“I know he didn’t. He’s got a good lawyer. Hopefully, he’ll be able to convince the judge of that.”
“What if he can’t?” Owen asked.
“Let’s take things one step at a time, okay?”
Wayne was wearing the prison jumpsuit, which was as uncomfortable as it was ugly. He also hadn’t showered, which made his skin itch that much more.
Alex Miller stood beside him behind the table for defendants. Across the room was a young woman who barely looked older than Owen. Alex had explained that she was the arraignment ADA but wouldn’t be the prosecutor on the case. The same was true of the arraignment judge. Wayne thought that was good because he doubted the man would live to see the trial. He looked to be the age of everyone else in the courtroom combined.
“What’s the People’s position on bail?” the judge asked.
“Remand,” the young woman said. “This is a murder indictment, and while Mr. Fiske does have a teenage child, we believe he nonetheless remains a flight risk.”
“Mr. Miller, what say you?”
“Your Honor, we request bail that this defendant can post, which is somewhere in the neighborhood of a hundred thousand dollars.”
“On a murder indictment?” the judge asked incredulously.
“He’s not a rich man. Which also means he’s unlikely to be a flight risk. Mr. Fiske has never been arrested. He’s a teacher at the Sheffield Academy in New York City. He lives in Queens. Most importantly, the son that the ADA mentioned is in the hospital at Sloan Kettering, having just undergone a very serious operation to treat leukemia. Mr. Fiske very much wants to be able to continue to visit his son. Not for himself, but for his son. This is a situation that demands the court’s leniency and compassion.”
“The most compassion I can summon on a murder indictment is two million dollars,” the judge said. “Roll the wheel.”
Wayne winced at the number. It might as well have been two trillion. But even two hundred thousand wouldn’t have mattered. He wouldn’t be able to raise bail, which meant prison would be his home for the foreseeable future.
The law clerk did as requested, turning a crank that looked like the kind used in a retirement home bingo tournament. He then reached inside the cage and pulled out a tile.
“The Honorable Margaret A. Martin,” the law clerk yelled out.
Wayne was still lamenting his predicament when Alex whispered in his ear, “The trial judge is a good pick for us. I’ll meet you in her courtroom.”
For the hearing to obtain Wayne Fiske’s DNA, Gabriel and Asra had to hand the reins over to Joe Salvesen, the Assistant District Attorney assigned to the matter.
Gabriel had asked his wife, Ella, about Salvesen. Ella had spent much of her legal career in the Manhattan DA’s office, and as a result, she knew just about every prosecutor there.
“He’s okay,” she’d said.
Gabriel knew that meant he was well below average. Ella rarely criticized her fellow ADAs. But like they tell kindergarteners, when the assignment of an ADA is made, you get what you get and you don’t get upset.
Gabriel had assumed as much about Salvesen even before asking Ella. The man had crossed fifty and was still a line ADA. By the time you reached the downslide of middle age, you either had been given management responsibility or should have moved to the defense side to make real money. Those who stayed without advancement were, by and large, lazy lawyers.
It was therefore completely on brand when Salvesen claimed he didn’t have time for a proper meeting with Gabriel and Asra before the hearing. “I’ll try to get to court a few minutes early, and you can give me the skinny then,” he said.