New York Lawyer
November 27, 2007

As I lie in bed, tears dripping off the side of my cheek, Sammy walks in the front door. “What timing” I thought. I muster up the energy to speak, and in a broken voice “hey babe.” Sammy puts his bag on the ground, and walks over to the bed, sits on the side of the bed and kisses my forehead. I sniffle, but can’t speak. “How you doing babe?” he asks. I sniffle again. I look over at the wine bottle on the floor by the front door. “I hope he doesn’t ask me. I know it’s the second this week” I sigh to myself. “How are you?” I ask. It is so painful for me to speak, but he needs to know that I am thinking about him. I know he needs me to ask him. “Doin’ alright” he sighs.

Sammy is fairly short (only about 5’6”), with thick, jet black hair. He’s adorable, really, with large, bulging brown eyes and long eyelashes. I always tell him he could be an underwear model if only he was a little taller. Of course, being Sammy, he blushes at that. He begins to undress, and I look over at him, and see his naked back. He has the habit now of turning away from me when he gets undressed at night and dressed in the morning, like he is ashamed. “Ashamed? I’m his wife for God sakes!” Sammy and I have been together for eight years, and now, after the accident, he turns away from me when he changes. My eyes well up again, and I turn over, only to have the tears stream down my face and onto the bed. Sammy hears this and knows why I am crying, he doesn’t even have to ask. “Babe, we’ll be alright” he says in his sweet, sensitive voice. “We’ll get through this. We’re gonna try invitro. The doctors said there’s a 25% chance it’ll work. That’s better than nothing. And besides, we can always adopt. I mean, look at your brother and Kelly. Can you imagine them being any happier? Teddy is an amazing kid. There’s no reason that can’t be us.” I know he’s right, but I can’t help myself, and I yell “I want my own child Sammy!” Sammy throws the pillow on the floor. “So do I Kim! But I can’t give that to you!”

It’s now 10:30 a.m. All of my cases have been brought over to court, and I’m about to start working when I hear a loud “knock knock knock” on my door. Great, just when I was about to get started. It’s probably one of the new guys. They are always asking questions. “Yeah” I yell half-heartedly. I open the door slightly only to see the face of my boss. He looks very serious and very mad, as he does most of the time. “Yeah? Is that how you address me these days?” “Sorry Chief” I say meakly. “Come on in.” His mean face melted away into a smile. When I first started in the office, I was deathly afraid of Chief, whose real name is Joseph T.L. Sullivan, an old school Irish prosecutor from Queens. He’s been in the office forever, and is a legend for being a tenacious prosecutor; and when it comes to being, well, Chief of the unit, he’s famous for showing no mercy on defendants. With the accident, though, I saw a compassionate side of Chief. He came to the hospital, made sure my cases were taken care of, and gave me the comfort of knowing that my position in his Bureau was safe. Even after I came back from the accident, if I needed to cut out early to take care of Sammy, or go to the doctor, or just to feel bad for myself, he’d give me the nod “Kimmy, go home.” I didn’t even need to ask.

After the accident I went back to work fairly quickly, two weeks I think it was. Sammy was doing rehab, and I couldn’t help him with that. I needed to be busy and to be working. But since I’ve started again (it’s been over 2 months), I haven’t gotten any real cases. I told Chief I was ready for a heavier load, or at least more challenging cases, but he hasn’t given them to me. I guess he thinks I’m not ready. Maybe he does now.

His smile dissipated. “Kim, I’ve got a case for you. I know you’ve been looking for more cases. I think this is a good one. But I need you to tell me the truth whether you can handle…” I cut him off “I can handle it, what’s not to handle?” “Well, if you didn’t cut me off, I was gonna tell you that it’s a DWI (he pronounces it dee—wee) case.” I feel a wave of nausea come over me. “I don’t want it” I scream to myself. But I don’t say anything. I just stare at my desk. “Kim, you don’t have to take it. I just thought maybe it would help you deal with your accident. The perp (short for perpetrator) in your case got away with it, right? So maybe you’ll feel good about helping the victim in this case, where we do have a defendant.” I stick out my hand and he hands me the white case folder. I open the folder, scan it, and read the complaint aloud: “Arresting officer observed defendant behind the wheel of a vehicle, which was still operating and which had crashed into light pole on Baychester Avenue. Defendant was observed to have bloodshot eyes, an odor of alcohol on his breath and to have slurred speech. Michelle Yu, date of birth 8/13/1998, was in the backseat of the vehicle without wearing a seatbelt. Defendant refused breathalyzer examination.” Looks pretty standard Chief, and as I looked up, I noticed he was staring at me with a pensive look on his face. “Of course, you know there’s a twist right?” he says with an enormous grin on his face. “Ah, there’s always a twist” I quietly add. The defendant, Charles Yu, is an Assemblyman. He covers the Highbridge District in the South Bronx. The victim is his six year old daughter who was sitting in the back seat while he was driving. She’s got a broken collar bone, among other injuries.” I raise my eyebrows, and Chief does the same in response.

After a second’s pause, I say “hey, has this hit the papers at all?” “I was waiting for you to ask me that?” he smiles again. “No, it hasn’t, but it will. Remember, you get any calls, refer them to Chip Feldman.” I smile, and Chief knows why. “I know all the women love calling Chip.” He’s right. Chip is our office press liaison who happens to be extremely handsome. As Chief is stepping out, I remark “I may have to make a personal trip up to Chip for this case.” Chief then smirks, “now, don’t be wasting your time. You’ve got a lot of work to do on this case.” He begins to shut the door but then stops just before it closes. “Kim, I’m serious—if you’re not up for this case, just let me know. It’s not a problem to get it re-assigned.” I nod my head with gracious acknowledgement and he steps out. I run back behind my desk and plop on my chair. “Of course I’m up for this—doesn’t he know who I am? I can handle anything. I’m gonna get Yu” I chuckle to myself.

I begin going through the folder anxiously, and right away I notice something strange. In the back where there is a case summary, there are a number of cross-outs. It appears that it was drafted initially as a simple DWI case, with no accident or injuries. I immediately pick up the phone and call the ADA who drafted the case that night, Cara Smalls, who happens to be a buddy of mine from law school. “Yo, Crabby (my nickname for her.) Hey, it’s KB—what’s going on?” “How are you doing?” she asks. I just realized I’ve only spoken to her once since the accident and it was in passing. “I’m fine. Sammy’s not as good, but doing okay.” “Is he walking again?” she asks bluntly. I have always admired her candidness. “He is walking, slowly though. He just got rid of his walker last week. The doctor’s are impressed by his recovery thus far.” “Kids KB?” Again, she is so freaking candid. “Well, he’s got some sperm frozen. When I’m ready, we’re gonna try invitro.” This is more than I would like to talk about, and I shift the conversation. “Hey, I’m actually calling because I see that you wrote up that DWI case involving Assemblyman Yu.” “Oh KB, what a mess. I had this weird feeling that you might get this case. Well, get this, the A/O (arresting officer) comes in, tells me about the case, and it sounds pretty straightforward. You know, we write up a million of these cases.” I cringe at these words because I know that her unit, the General Crimes/Intake Unit, bears the brunt of drafting all cases post-arrest. She recognizes my pause, and continues “so, I start writing the complaint as if it were a typical DWI stop—you know, A/O sees D (meaning the defendant) behind the wheel of operating vehicle, and believes D to be intoxicated because X, Y and Z. But then, I start reading the police paperwork and realize that there was an accident. So I ask him, straight out, ‘Officer, was there an accident?’ He says nothing, just looks at me. So, I said again, this time very loudly, hoping maybe that the supervisor in the back would here me, ‘Officer, was there an accident?’ Well, he admits that there was, and I began asking all of these follow-up questions, like, ‘was there another car involved, any witnesses, and of course, any injuries.’ And get this, he says, there were no other cars involved, and the defendant was not hurt. I said ‘okay, I don’t really care. Was anyone else hurt?’ Finally, he admits that defendant’s daughter, 6 years old, was hurt, and was at Jacobi Hospital with (probably) a broken collar bone. So I had to re-draft the complaint.” “Did you call him out on it?” I asked her. “Yeah, and he just gave some bullshit excuse like he was really tired, and just figured you’d look at the paperwork.” “Oh, this is gonna be fun” I said in a rather sarcastic tone. “Yeah, KB, good luck with this one” she replied, in an equally sarcastic manner. “Thanks Ca. I really do appreciate your help.” “Any time KB. Hey, we should grab a drink soon.” “Yeah, we should!” I really meant it. I hung up the phone, and blew out a huge sigh. I then grabbed a large white note pad and began writing: People to contact: 1) A/O, 2) victim, 3) A/O’s partner?, 4) any other eyewitnesses??, 5) someone from the Internal Affairs Bureau (IAB).

I walk into my apartment that night and am heartily greeted by Maggie, with her tale wagging wildly and, with a toy in her mouth, she lays down on the ground and rolls halfway over, and cries. I kiss her on her fluffy head, and rub her belly for a minute “you wait all day for this, don’t you Mags?” Now the really big decision of the day: do I go for a run or relax, cook a nice dinner and crack open a bottle of wine? “You know what, Kimmer, you had a rough day today—wine it is!”

The next thing I know, the door slams. “Hey Mags” says Sammy.” “What time is it babe?” “12:30” he says, sounding so tired. This is third time this week that I’ve fallen asleep on the couch. “It’s sooo late babe” as I roll off the couch and shuffle over to the bed (it’s only a matter of steps because we live in a studio.) “I have this case, babe” I am half asleep now. “It’s a DWI accident, little girl got hurt, and, oh yeah, the defendant is an Assemblyman.” “Oh really” Sammy drawls. I knew this would peek his interest, being a politico and all. He changes his tone. “You up for this babe?” he asks seriously. “Yeah, I think it’s gonna be good for me” as I drop my head down to the pillow, and tonight, I am fast asleep almost instantaneously.

The next day, I make my way into work. “I’m in no mood to fool around today” I say to myself as I walk past the secretaries and give a quick “hey” to my colleague in the office next to mine, Danny Watson. Danny’s a great guy. He and I are always bouncing cases and ideas off of one another. I feel bad giving him a token “hey” so I peek into his office “Hey Danny, how’s it going?” “Hey Kimmy, going well. Just trying to get through some of these tapes.” He is talking about wiretap tapes. Only more experienced ADA’s in the Bureau are assigned wiretaps. Although I am a little jealous, I know my time will come and from what I hear, they are a bitch to work on. “Later Danny.”

I shut my door, walk over, turn on my ancient computer, which takes what feels like an hour to boot up, and I check my phone messages. Two new messages: one from Sammy, (I get the same message just about every morning) “Kimmy, just checking to see if you fed Mags. Call me.” “Yeah, I’ll call him back later.” The second message is from the defense attorney for Charles Yu. I’ve never even heard of him, but judging by the 212 area code, I guess he’s a Manhattan attorney. I call him back immediately. “Mr. Baumgartner please.” “Hold on one moment–can I ask who’s calling?” “ADA Brooks, regarding Charles Yu.” He breaks in almost immediately “good morning ADA Brooks. Thanks for getting back to me right away. Listen, you know, this whole thing is bullshit. My guy wasn’t even drunk.” He sounds serious. “Are you kidding me!” I laugh out loud. “Sir, with all due respect” I say indignantly “he was drunk and he almost killed his own child because of it.” The rest of the conversation continued in a similar manner, with arguments back and forth, until I realized it was utterly futile to continue speaking with him. There was no question: this case was going to trial.

Cara and I decided to meet for lunch that afternoon. It was a glorious spring day. All sun, no clouds. It’s days like this that make me forget about the accident and the heartache it has brought into my life. Today, we’re meeting at the Tavern, my favorite place. The food is bad for you, but tastes oh so good. I walk in there and see a bunch of people, mostly lawyers I guess, sitting around the bar area. “God, I hope this will never be me” I say to myself. “Having, or should I say needing, a cocktail or two at noon on a Monday. Not good.” I look towards the back and see Cara. “Hey sorry I’m a few minutes late.” I know she doesn’t care and so I don’t even explain why I’m late. Cara is a rail-skinny blond, who is a compulsive smoker and therefore, has a raspy voice. Neither of us have much in common, other than the fact that we like to booze it up once in a while. She’s a lot of fun, though. “How’s it going KB?” She asks as she punched me in the shoulder. She is a very unaffectionate person, but I know she has a good heart. “Things are fine” as I try to relay a smile. “I mean, you know, things could be a lot worse.” She knows what I mean by that, which is that I could have lost Sammy in the accident. The waitress comes by and we give her our orders, the exact same thing: chicken caesar salad and a diet coke. “I don’t know, Ca. This DWI case I have, I know it’s just a misdemeanor, and certainly no one was killed, but it is so emotional for me. It’s very strange.” “KB, it would be strange if it wasn’t emotional for you after everything you’ve been through. I mean, a drunk driver swerves, nearly hits your car, causes you to hit a tree, causes your husband to break his pelvis and he has become essentially impotent as a result.” “There’s that candidness I love so much about her” I chuckle to myself. “Can I be honest with you though KB?” I chuckle to myself again. She is always being honest. “I’m telling you right now, if you’re looking for redemption with what happened to you and Sammy, you’re not going to find it with this case.” “I know” I say with a sigh as I look down at my salad, not feeling very hungry anymore. I continue, “I know this case has a lot of problems. I spoke with the arresting officer and he is adamant now that he didn’t believe that the defendant was intoxicated. I can’t figure it out, though. Why is this cop covering this up? I mean, he is covering it up, right?” Cara nods her head aggressively as she chomps on her salad. “I spoke with the A/O’s partner who was at the scene and he says unequivocally that the defendant was drunk. Why would the A/O cover this up? The defendant is a politician, not a fellow cop. What is the connection?” I stated rhetorically. “I have no idea KB. What did Internal Affairs say?” “They can’t figure it out either. And there’s no real proof that he is lying. In fact, the paperwork is consistent with what he is saying. The only inconsistency, of course, is with the complaint that you drafted and he signed. You may be a witness.” “Oh great,” as she rolls her eyes. “Hey, did he ever indicate to you that he didn’t want to sign the complaint, or that what was written in the complaint isn’t really what happened?” Cara waits a minute before answering. “Well, KB, he was a little hesitant, like I told you earlier, about giving me all the facts of the case. And he acted like he didn’t want to have anything to do with the case. But he did sign the complaint by his own free will...which means that if he testifies to anything other than what’s in the complaint, he’ll commit perjury.” I pointed at Cara and, with a smile, said “bingo.”

I enter the courtroom, which is on the lower floor of the criminal court building. It’s a very unimpressive courtroom, maybe a little larger than my studio, with a jury box for only nine jurors, and only three rows for spectators, all of which were filled. This case received a fairly substantial amount of press. The Assemblyman, who represents the 77th District in the Bronx, has been in office for more than twenty years. He is undoubtedly beloved by his constituency. In the eight months that I have had this case, I’ve received over one hundred letters from politicians (local and state), his family, and from ordinary citizens in his district, all of whom have had nothing but praise for the Assemblyman. I never responded to a single letter; I just simply forwarded them along to Chip Feldman (by hand of course). I wanted to respond to them, though, and ask: “would you feel the same if it was your child or grandchild in the backseat? Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He needs to accept responsibility for his actions that evening, period.

“Good morning your honor. ADA Kimberly Brooks for the Office of the District Attorney.” “Good morning your honor, John Baumgartner for the defendant.” “Good morning counselors. Are we ready to proceed to trial.” “Yes your honor” both defense counsel and I say gleefully in unison. I’ve only been before Judge Richman on one other occasion because he is fairly new. He seems extremely polite, although sometimes judge’s demeanors sour when tricky, sensitive issues arise during trial which puts the judge in the terrible position of having to make real decisions. I’ll reserve my judgment until after the trial.

After jury selection, we convened for lunch. We then finished up with jury selection in the afternoon and did our opening statements. On my way back to my office that evening (it was ten minutes after five o’clock and it was like a ghost town) I popped my head into Danny’s office. I see that he’s still listening to his tapes “Poor guy” I think. I begin to walk away, and he yells, almost in desperation to talk to a real person, “hey, how’s it going.” “Eh, fine so far.” I pause, then ask, almost fearfully, “Danny, how do you think the jury is going to react to not hearing from the A/O” I genuinely inquire. “Defense counsel mentioned it in his opening and I saw some eyes pop. I’m a little worried.” “Well, listen, you know it’s not a great case. But you do have some solid witnesses who believed he was drunk that night. You’ve got a shot at this. Just stay positive.” “Thanks Danny” I say energetically. “Let the fun begin” I say sarcastically to myself.

“People, call you first witness.” “Thank you your honor. At this time, the People call Police Officer Kevin Williams.”

“Good afternoon, Officer.”

“Good afternoon.”

“Officer, how long have you been a member of the police department?”

“14 years mam”

“And have you ever made any arrests involving DWI.”

“Yes mam, at least 15 or so.”

“Officer, directing your attention to March 18th, 2004: were you working on that day?”

“Yes mam, I was working a 4 to midnight tour. I was in a marked patrol car with my partner Angel Rivera, when we got a call out at approximately 8:08 p.m. that there was an accident over on Baychester Avenue. So, we responded to the scene. When we pulled up, I saw the defendant’s car, an older model Toyota Corolla I believe, smacked up against a light pole. The front of the car was smashed, the tires were blown out, it was a mess. I immediately ran over to the driver side of the vehicle, and saw the defendant, who is seated over at that table now (pointing to Mr. Yu), to be behind the wheel, which was still running. It was clear the accident had just happened. He was shaken and seemed out of it, you know, but he was conscious. I started asking him questions to see if he was okay, and I could tell immediately that he was drunk. He was slurring his words, his breath smelled of alcohol, his eyes were blooshot. Then I looked in the back of the car and was stunned to see a little girl. She was rolled up like a ball on the floor. My partner was on that side of the case and opened to door. “She’s alive. Where are the paramedics?” he shrieked.

“Did the paramedics arrive officer?”

“Yeah, it was only like a minute or two later. The little girl was a mess though. She didn’t have her seat belt on, obviously, and so her shoulder I could see was popping out, plus she had blood all over her face from smashing into the side window.

“What’d you do after that officer?”

“Well, since I knew the defendant was drunk, I called the Sergeant and he said ‘take him.’ so we did. For some reason, my partner really wanted this collar” he then turned to the jury and smiled and said “which means arrest, sorry. I assumed it was because he needed the arrest for his monthly stats. Didn’t matter to me, so I gave him the arrest. After that, we went to the precinct. And there, he refused to take any of the DWI tests. And that was it. Oh, and at the precinct is when I learned that the defendant was an assemblyman because he had like all of these people there.”

“Thank you officer. I have nothing further for this witness.”

“Mr. Baumgartner, do you have any questions for this witness?”

“Yes your honor, just a couple.”

“Officer Williams, you said you made arrests in the past for DWI, right? Did any of those involve accidents?

“No, actually, this was my first.”

“Your first? Now, you also said that you went up to the car and was really smashed up, correct?”

“Yes, I said that, yes.”

“And that the defendant was in the driver’s seat and looked out of it I believe you said., right?”

“Yes.”

“Now, you said his daughter was hurt, right?” Was my client injured at all as far as you could tell?”

“Yes sir, I believe he must have banged his head on the windshield. He had a large gash on his forehead and there was a crack in the windshield.”

“Officer, isn’t it fair to say that the defendant might have been out of it from hitting his head on the windshield? And that’s why he had red eyes and slurred speech?”

“I don’t think so, sir. I believe he was drunk.”

“And officer, you said you smelled alcohol from the defendant, right? There was vomit on the floor next to the defendant wasn’t there?”

“Yes there was. He said he got sick.”

“He got sick from the accident, isn’t that right?”

“I don’t know what he got sick from sir.”

“Didn’t the smell of alcohol in fact come from the vomit that was on the floor?”

“I guess it’s possible.”

“And that even if someone had had only one beer, if they just vomited, you’d smell that alcohol probably pretty strongly, wouldn’t you?”

“Objection your honor. There is no basis for this questioning.”

“I’ll allow it. Officer, you can answer the question.”

“I have no idea” the officer stated, with a disgusted look on his face.

“I have nothing further for this witness.”

“People?”

“Nothing judge.”

That was it for the morning. “Boy, that was rough” I said to myself, and I could feel my stomach churning. “I don’t know if those are hunger pains or anxiety pains” I say, as I push the courtroom door open and rush out of the building.

The next morning, I put on the rest of my case. It went much better today. The EMT was by far my best witness. He was completely unshaken by defense questioning along the lines of the defendant being dazed from the accident and not intoxicated. Plus, we had an eyewitness testify that she saw the defendant’s car swerving before it hit the pole. I certainly feel that we have a good shot at this point.

“Do the People rest?” “Yes your honor.” “Mr. Baumgartner, any witnesses?” “Yes, your honor. Defense calls the arresting officer Angel Rivera to the stand.” I thought my head was going to explode. “You’ve got to be kidding me. This guy is gonna perjure himself?”

“Good afternoon officer.” “How long have you been a member of the police department?”

“15 years.”

“Are you a Bronx native?”

“Yes I am, born and raised and lived here all my life.”

“Now, in your time with the police force, have you made any arrests involving DWI?”

“Yes I have sir, several.”

“Okay, Officer, directing your attention to March 18, 2004 at approximately 8:05 p.m.: you arrested someone then didn’t you?”

“Yes I did.”

“And who was that?”

“Assemblyman Charles Yu.”

“Why’d you arrest him?”

“Because my Sergeant authorized me to”

“Officer, did you think he was intoxicated?”

“Well, at first I suspected he might have been impaired at most. And my Sergeant wanted him collared because there was an accident. And I signed the complaint that the ADA wrote up. But in retrospect, I really don’t think he was drunk or impaired by alcohol in any way. I think he was just messed up from the accident, you know. And like I said, I’ve seen accidents before and his behavior seemed consistent with someone who had been in an accident. I did smell alcohol, but can’t tell you if it was from the vomit or not. It wasn’t very strong at all. Could have been from one beer. And that ain’t getting him drunk.”

“Thank you officer. I have no more questions.”

“ADA Brooks?”

“Yes your honor, one moment please.” I sat there in shock. “It’s all over” I kept repeating over and over in my head. As I sat there, I scribbled notes, read the notes I had written–but it was al mumbo jumbo. I didn’t know what I was reading or writing. I just needed to look like I was doing something. “Okay, relax, relax. Motive, motive. Why is he saying this? Why?” At this point I didn’t have to look up to know that the judge, jurors and defense counsel were all staring at me. “Well, here goes.”

“Judge, I have a couple of questions for this witness.” “Go ahead then.”

“Officer, you said you lived in the Bronx all your life right?” “Objection, judge. “No counselor, you brought it out on your direct.” Judge, turning to the officer “officer, you can answer that question.”

“Yes, all my life.”

“And officer, what parts have you lived in?” “Objection judge. May we approach?” with a sigh, “come on up counselors.” “Judge, the jury does not need to know where exactly this officer lives. That’s private information.” “Judge, I am only seeking general areas of the Bronx where he has lived. And for reasons that will become clear in a minute, it is absolutely relevant.” The judge scrunched his eyebrows up and down and then said “I’m gonna allow it–just don’t ask his specific addresses, okay ADA Brooks.” “No problem Judge.” Turning to the jury, Judge says “okay, we’re gonna proceed now. Officer, you can answer he last question which was I believe ‘what areas of the Bronx have you lived in.’”

Okay, I’ve lived in the Pelham section, by Kingsbridge, Highbridge, Castle Hill. All over, really.”

I was busting at the seams. “Officer, you mentioned the Highbridge section of the Bronx? When did you live there?”

“Oh growing up, you know, elementary school and high school and stuff.”

“Tough area, huh?”

“Yes mam, it was, and still is.”

“That’s the 77th Assembly District isn’t it officer?”

“ I don’t really know the numbers.”

“That’s the defendant’s district, isn’t it officer?”

“Yes mam, it is.”

“And he has represented that district for over twenty years, hasn’t he?”

“I don’t know exactly mam, but a long time, yes.”

“And you knew him back when you lived there, didn’t you?”

“Yes mam. He’s extremely well respected. He has done so much for that area. He’s even helped me and my family personally, you know. I mean, he would come to parent-teacher meetings, and talk to my parents and stuff. And there was a time when I got into a bit of trouble, you know, just teenage stuff. But he was like a real guidance for me, kept me on the straight and narrow, you know.” I could see as he was answering these questions that he genuinely believed that he was helping the defendant with the things he was saying. “He’s one of the main reasons I became a cop really.” “Holy shit, you got him! Stop now” I yelled to myself. “Thank you officer. I nothing further your honor.” I looked over at defense counsel. He looked dumbfounded, and stood up slowly. “Nothing further Judge. Defense rests.”

At that point, we did our summations. Defense made some really good points, but I pounded him. I had this summation ready since the minute I got this case with one exception: the officer’s motive for having the only inconsistent story for what happened that night. And I found it in the nick of time. It was like finding a hundred dollar bill in your jacket pocket used last winter. And then, there came those words: “guilty on all counts.” I stared at each one of the jurors as they stood up and walked out. They looked like they were on an assembly-line and were done with work for the day. I smiled at each one of them, thinking “thank you for doing your job.” I could not contain my smile.

After the verdict, I looked behind me and noticed Chief was sitting in the front row. He had a wry smile on his face. “You know I never doubted you for a minute.” “Yeah right!” I said, as I slapped his arm. “Who wanted the lesser charge?” We both laughed, but simultaneously turned serious. He asked me bluntly “retribution?” I sighed, “no. This is just my job. That is my life. It doesn’t really change anything for me. But it’s okay.” He nodded, and I walked out of the courtroom. A half second later, I heard him come behind and say, “hey Kimmy, congrats! You kicked ass. Go home and have a glass of wine.” I chuckled to myself, “oh, I will alright.” I then walked briskly back to my office, almost skipping. I was dying to call Sammy. I sat at my desk, and just before I could pick up the phone to call Sammy, my cell phone rang in my pocketbook. “Could that be Sammy?” I then looked at the screen and recognized the number. My stomach sank to the floor. “I haven’t heard from him in a while. Why does he have to call me now, or ever? Just leave me alone!” I answer it anyway. “Hey Sergeant McCalin, how are you?” “Oh good, good A.D.A. Brooks. How are you doing?” “Oh, pretty good” I say, going through the motions. I was in no mood to talk to him now. But for some reason, I kept talking. “Sammy and I are doing okay. Not great, it’s hard, you know?” “Yeah, I know. Hey, I’m calling because I heard about your trial. Congratulations. You must be really happy, huh?” “Wow, news travels fast” I say to myself. “Well” I said “I do believe justice was done here. I mean, he could have killed his daughter, and God knows who else. I hope he has learned his lesson from this.” The pain is just too much. I break down. I look up to make sure my door is closed. I’ve lost it. I am sobbing uncontrollably now. I can’t stop it. I don’t want any of my neighbors to hear me, so I muster the strength to pull myself together. “ADA Brooks? You okay? You okay?” I have trouble catching my breath. “No, no I’m not.” And it all comes back to me. My head is pounding, and I look over and see Sammy. “Oh my God” I remember thinking. “Is he dead? Is my husband dead?” But he started moving, and moaning, as he was slumped over onto door. He had blood everywhere, all over his face, his hands, everywhere. And he was holding his groin. He was holding his groin, and moaning, wailing almost. How did this happen? It was so fast. It must have been another car that sideswiped us. There is just no other explanation. “There was no other car, mam.” That was the first thing I heard Sergeant McCalin say. “You must have lost control of the car mam.” Another flashback to the hour before. We were at my uncle’s party. Out on Long Island. I told Sammy he could drink that night. He’s always the designated driver. “I’ll drive this time babe” I said. “You had a shitty week at work. You’ve earned it.” But the wine was flowing, and everyone was drinking, and drinking heavily. Did they think that I was pouring soda? I guess the wine and soda carafes looked alike. And I was so thrilled that no one noticed, or at least no one said anything. And then it was time to go home, but I didn’t have the heart to tell Sammy that the last few glasses were not soda. So we got in the car, with me driving and Sammy in the passenger seat, and drove home. “Sergeant?” was he still there? “yeah ADA Brooks?” “Do you think anyone knows?” “I promise you, ADA Brooks, no one knows.” It was my fault. I drove drunk.

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