Counter Blow by Robert F. Clifton (books to read as a couple TXT) 📖

You know who did it, why they did it and how they did it. What remains now is the trial. The trial is the responsibility of the prosecutor, not you. Aren't you the one who preaches that a police officer shouldn't get emotionally involved in his case. Aren't you the one who says the police investigates, preserves evidence, arrest those who violate law, testify in court and walk away leaving the matter of guilt or innocence to the people?”

“Yes”.

“Then stop concerning yourself about Ernest Haynes robbery case”.

“Hey, thanks for the lecture. I'll be in that court room today”.

“Why?”

“I want to see who shows up. Someone may walk into that court room that knows the location of Leroy Dunbar”.

“You're impossible”.

“Is that the same as saying I'm a pain in the ass?”

“Bingo!”

Two hours later Captain Wallace sat on an antiquated wooden folding seat in the rear of Court Room Four. He watched those seated like himself, spectators to the criminal justice system. People divided in their desire for justice, those seeking a guilty finding, others wanting an acquittal. As much as he wanted to adhere to his own teachings and belief's in this case he wanted Bennett found guilty, imprisoned and the key thrown away.

In the first row of seats directly behind a walnut railing that separated spectators from the lawyers sat Iris Mitchell, seated on the defense attorney's side. She would be as close as possible to her now, husband.

Sitting at the side of the room were twenty five men and women, all under subpoena. Most of them not wanting to be there, many of them tried and failed to get out of serving. Now, they sat, hoping they wouldn't be selected for this jury. Still, they wanted the fee that the court system provided. They would hear and see the evidence that would be presented by the state. They would listen to Bennett's attorney as he attacked that evidence planting seeds of doubts in the mind of the jurors. He only needed one of them to have a doubt. Then, they would be asked to reach a verdict, guilty or not guilty.

For the next two hours Wallace watched Saul Cohen, the prosecutor try to select white, sympathetic, Jews for the panel. At the same time Leonard Goldberg, Bennett's court appointed attorney tried to place as many Blacks as he could on the jury. Each lawyer trying to tilt the odds in favor of their client, the State or the defendant.

To Wallace it was like a game. The prosecutor was the offense. The attorney representing Bennett was the defense. The judge was the referee, making sure that the game was played fair or in this case according to law. The defendant and witnesses were the players. The goal was either acquittal or guilty. Someone wins. Someone looses. Some one walks. Some one pays.

It took until four o'clock in the late afternoon for both attorney's to pick a jury. Judge William Burns noted the time then announced that each lawyer should be prepared as the trial would began tomorrow morning at nine A.M.

Arriving at the County Court House early the next morning, Wallace walked into the diner situated across the street from the court rooms. He sat on a stool at the long counter, ordered a cup of coffee and since there were no lemon doughnuts selected a large fat, jelly doughnut that was one of many covered by a clear, plastic cover.

The diner was busy. People were coming and going. Some were lawyers, grabbing a quick breakfast before their respected cases where to be heard. Others were witnesses or spectators, like him. He looked around and noticed two Black women seated in a booth. One of them was Iris Mitchell, the recent bride of Donovan Bennett.

Wallace was surprised that he felt no animosity toward Iris. Actually his ill will in the marriage that tied his hands in the homicide investigations was generated by the Catholic Priest. The priest knew what he was doing. In the law of the church, canon law, what is referred to as canonical impediment prevents a sacrament to be valid. One of those impediments is murder. So, in Captain Wallace's opinion, Father Presti knew what he was doing, knew the pending charges against Bennett and went ahead with the marriage, eliminating Iris Mitchell as an eye witness. To assure that the marriage was binding somehow, a marriage license was obtained.

Seated in the court room with the other spectators Wallace stood as Judge William Burns entered, took a seat and said, “You may be seated.”

Wallace watched as Bennett turned his head, smiled and gave a two thumbs up signal to Iris Mitchell, now Iris Bennett.

Saul Cohen gave his opening remarks to the jury, followed by Leonard Ginsberg who told the jury that there was no direct evidence to link Donovan Bennett to the robbery of the Inlet Liquor Store and that his client was innocent.

Cohen only had two things going for him. Selma and Abe Silverstein and the sawed off shot gun. After informing the jury what happened that dark and raining night the prosecutor called Abe Silverstein to the witness stand. There, under questioning Silverstein told those in the court room that as he headed for the front door of his store to lock it, he was met by two black men who told him it was a holdup and to give them the money in the cash register.

“And, did you give them the money in the cash register sir”.

“Yes, yes I did”

“Then what happened?”

“The other one, not this one asked for my wallet”.

“Did you give it to him?”

“I'm not remembering if I gave it or he took it. I do know he took what money was in my billfold”.

“And, what happened next?”

“He shot me”.

“I see. No further questions”.

“You may cross examine Mr. Ginsberg”.

“Thank you your honor. I shall be brief. Mr. Silverstein during the robbery, did my client, Mr. Bennett tell you or use the words, this is a holdup?”

“No sir. He took the money from the till”.

“Your honor, I ask that the statement of the witness be stricken from the record. The question was did Mr. Bennett say, This is a holdup”.

“The jury will disregard the statement of the witness, he took money from the till. Mr. Silverstein only answer yes or no to the question. You may continue Mr. Ginsberg”, said the judge.

“Thank you your honor. I'll repeat the question. Did Mr. Bennett say to you, This is a holdup?”

“No sir”.

“Did Mr. Bennett ask for or take your wallet and the money that was contained in it?”

“No sir”.

“Did Mr. Bennett shoot you?'

“No sir”.

“Your honor I respectfully request that the charges of robbery and atrocious assault and battery be dropped due to lack of evidence which resulted in my client being arrested and charged.”

“Your honor, the State has shown and the witness confirmed that the defendant, Donovan Bennett was in the store that night, He came into the store` with Leroy Dunbar. He might not have said a word to the witness. He might not have touched the witness or removed money from the wallet. But he was there. He was there when the robbery took place and he was there when the witness was shot and eventually lost his leg”.

“Your honor. Permission to approach the bench?”, asked Ginsberg.

“You may”.

Both Ginsberg and Cohen stood in front of the bench. In a low tone Ginsberg said, “Your honor, my client is willing to plead guilty to armed robbery with the conditions that the charge of atrocious assault and battery be dismissed and the penalty sentence be less then ten years in a penitentiary”.

“Mr. Cohen, what says the State?”, asked Judge Burns.

“I'm willing to accept providing the penalty phase is at least seven years”, said Cohen.

“Mr. Ginsberg?”

“I request time to speak to my client in private”.

“Granted, you can have thirty minutes”, said Judge Burns.

After both attorney's returned to their tables Judge Burns announced, “Court will be in recess for thirty minutes”.

Forty minutes later with the jury still out of the court room, Leonard Ginsberg stood with Donovan Bennett who pleaded guilty to armed robbery.”

The last words that the pissed off Captain Wallace heard as he walked hurriedly out of the room was “I hereby sentence you to seven years in the penitentiary”.

Bennett could be out in three years, if not sooner”.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Eleven

The Barrio

 

Leroy Dunbar sat at the kitchen table of the rundown house in a Cuban barrio. At one time the hacienda had been a quality home for the middle class. Now, it stood as just a residence in another poor neighborhood in Havana. The white paint was intact as was the red tile roof. However, inside the floors sagged, the doors would not close all the way, swollen and warped. Mildew grew on the walls. Cracks in the jalousie windows had been covered with tape while outside grass and weeds grew tall and unintended.

The front door and all of the windows were open with the hope that eventually a cool breeze would appear and move through the house cooling the occupants. Usually the only thing that moved were the flies.

In one of the bedrooms two whores were fast asleep, tired after walking the streets from seven o'clock the previous night until three o'clock this morning. Dunbar sat and counted their earnings. Like most pimps he wasn't satisfied with the amount his girls turned in.

Dunbar had become a pimp both by accident and by necessity. He had fled New Jersey the day after he shot and killed the night club owner and the cop. Receiving money from friends as well as a new identity he had flown to Canada and from there to Cuba where upon landing there asked for a visa. He received it with no questions asked.

Alone, in a new country, unable to speak Spanish he walked the streets looking for work. He found himself in a place where jobs were scarce and those that were available paid low wages.

One night, hungry and broke he stood on a corner watching old, nineteen fifty seven Chevrolet and Fords held together by wire and makeshift parts go up and down the street. As he did a good looking girl maybe seventeen or eighteen years old spoke to him in Spanish. He could tell by the way she was dressed that she was a hooker. She wore tight ass black shorts, an azure blue, off the shoulder blouse exposing just enough cleavage to get a man interested, but not enough to get arrested for indecent exposure.

Dunbar smiled and said, “Sorry, I don't speak Spanish”.

The girl replied, “No problem, I speak English. Would you like to party?”

“Sorry sugar, got no bread”, answered Dunbar as he walked away. When he got to the middle of the block he heard a woman scream. He turned and saw a guy beating the woman he had just left. At a run he made it back to where the beating was taking place. He pushed a Cuban guy off of the female. The Cuban came back at him and a fight began. Knives flashed in the dimly lit street and Dunbar came out the victor. That night after giving a Cuban pimp a beating and slashing that sent the procurer to the hospital, Leroy Dunbar received not one but two prostitutes willing to walk the streets at night, sell their bodies and turn over their earnings. He also got the house they lived in. In return Dunbar provided protection to his women from john's and other pimps. In his spare time he learned to speak Spanish most of which he learned when living and sleeping with either one of the girls.

To his women and others he was known as Ramon Delgado. Included in the list of others was the National Revolutionary Police and Major Alejandro Guerra the man he paid off once a month in order to stay in business.

The prostitutes, Gabriela age nineteen and Rosalinda fifteen were well known on the street and sought after. Gabriela was tall and black. Rosalinda light