landing in a cell on death row," Bogdanovic said in disgust as excited voices coming down the hallway drew his attention toward to the door.
A moment later the familiar figure of the district attorney burst into the small room.
Customarily pictured in newspapers in double-breasted pinstriped suit and glowingly described in articles as taciturn and stoic, he was wearing a navy blue blazer, pale blue polo shirt with open collar, and gray slacks. Looking around the room with ice blue eyes and an expression of unrestrained anger, he demanded, "What's going on here?"
Turning with a smile, Goldstein exclaimed, "Cornelius!" His hand extended in greeting. "I'm glad you got here so quickly."
Fists on hips, Vanderhoff said, "Harvey, an explanation is in order."
"It certainly is," Goldstein said quietly. "I'm afraid we've got a rather sticky mess on our hands. Shall we find someplace where we can talk about it privately?"
As the men left the room, Bogdanovic chuckled and whispered to Dane, "How would you like to be a fly on the wall of the room during that clash of the titans!"
DURING THE NEXT hour and a half, Dane sat in a surprisingly comfortable overstuffed armchair in the parlor of the suite. Observing the activities of the New York City police in action at a crime scene and appreciating the opportunity for comparisons to the work of the Los Angeles police, she found herself recalling a debate with Janus on television years ago in which she had been required to defend the fact that while district attorneys were routinely on scene when an investigation was beginning in order to provide legal advice, supervise the collection of evidence, and authorize the detention of witnesses or approve the arrest of a suspect, defense lawyers were not.
A defender was called in only after evidence was in hand and somebody was expecting to be, or had been, charged with a crime.
Janus had been forceful in insisting that for many hapless and bewildered individuals it was often far too late. Their fates had been sealed, he argued, because they soon discovered that the scales of justice had already been heavily weighted in favor of the prosecution-unless they had the ability to hire a Johnnie Cochran, Robert Shapiro, or F. Lee Bailey, as O.J. Simpson had done. He also cited Roy Black, who had been called in by William Kennedy Smith to fight a rape case. After initial representation by Robert Shapiro, Lyle and Eric Menendez engaged Leslie Abramson and avoided the death penalty.
Others had hired Theodore Janus with an equally satisfying effect, he had pointed out. But, he asked, how many prison cells held hapless, luckless men and women who could not afford such defenders?
"I say that even if it's only one," he thundered in conclusion, "it is one too many."
Now, silently observing the police as they followed the directions of Sgt. John Bogdanovic while he carried out the orders of Chief of Detectives Harvey Goldstein to treat the death of Paulie Mancuso as a homicide, she wondered what the presence of Janus might make of their efforts in a court of law. Would the police find themselves on trial? Might John Bogdanovic again find himself subjected to a withering Janus cross-examination?
For a time she stood at the window and looked down to the sidewalk while the corpse was inserted in a green body bag, then lifted by a pair of husky white-gloved men in blue coveralls into a white van belonging to the medical examiner. In due course the verdict on the cause of Mancuso's death would state the obvious. He died because his plummeting body had slammed into the cement after a nine-story fall.
Turning away from the window, she remembered Leibholz's word for what had happened in the adjoining room and muttered, "Death by defenestration."
Summoned one by one by Detectives Leibholz and Reiter out to the corridor, the three blind mice had gone, tails between their legs, for questioning as to how such a thing could have occurred.
A young woman
A moment later the familiar figure of the district attorney burst into the small room.
Customarily pictured in newspapers in double-breasted pinstriped suit and glowingly described in articles as taciturn and stoic, he was wearing a navy blue blazer, pale blue polo shirt with open collar, and gray slacks. Looking around the room with ice blue eyes and an expression of unrestrained anger, he demanded, "What's going on here?"
Turning with a smile, Goldstein exclaimed, "Cornelius!" His hand extended in greeting. "I'm glad you got here so quickly."
Fists on hips, Vanderhoff said, "Harvey, an explanation is in order."
"It certainly is," Goldstein said quietly. "I'm afraid we've got a rather sticky mess on our hands. Shall we find someplace where we can talk about it privately?"
As the men left the room, Bogdanovic chuckled and whispered to Dane, "How would you like to be a fly on the wall of the room during that clash of the titans!"
DURING THE NEXT hour and a half, Dane sat in a surprisingly comfortable overstuffed armchair in the parlor of the suite. Observing the activities of the New York City police in action at a crime scene and appreciating the opportunity for comparisons to the work of the Los Angeles police, she found herself recalling a debate with Janus on television years ago in which she had been required to defend the fact that while district attorneys were routinely on scene when an investigation was beginning in order to provide legal advice, supervise the collection of evidence, and authorize the detention of witnesses or approve the arrest of a suspect, defense lawyers were not.
A defender was called in only after evidence was in hand and somebody was expecting to be, or had been, charged with a crime.
Janus had been forceful in insisting that for many hapless and bewildered individuals it was often far too late. Their fates had been sealed, he argued, because they soon discovered that the scales of justice had already been heavily weighted in favor of the prosecution-unless they had the ability to hire a Johnnie Cochran, Robert Shapiro, or F. Lee Bailey, as O.J. Simpson had done. He also cited Roy Black, who had been called in by William Kennedy Smith to fight a rape case. After initial representation by Robert Shapiro, Lyle and Eric Menendez engaged Leslie Abramson and avoided the death penalty.
Others had hired Theodore Janus with an equally satisfying effect, he had pointed out. But, he asked, how many prison cells held hapless, luckless men and women who could not afford such defenders?
"I say that even if it's only one," he thundered in conclusion, "it is one too many."
Now, silently observing the police as they followed the directions of Sgt. John Bogdanovic while he carried out the orders of Chief of Detectives Harvey Goldstein to treat the death of Paulie Mancuso as a homicide, she wondered what the presence of Janus might make of their efforts in a court of law. Would the police find themselves on trial? Might John Bogdanovic again find himself subjected to a withering Janus cross-examination?
For a time she stood at the window and looked down to the sidewalk while the corpse was inserted in a green body bag, then lifted by a pair of husky white-gloved men in blue coveralls into a white van belonging to the medical examiner. In due course the verdict on the cause of Mancuso's death would state the obvious. He died because his plummeting body had slammed into the cement after a nine-story fall.
Turning away from the window, she remembered Leibholz's word for what had happened in the adjoining room and muttered, "Death by defenestration."
Summoned one by one by Detectives Leibholz and Reiter out to the corridor, the three blind mice had gone, tails between their legs, for questioning as to how such a thing could have occurred.
A young woman
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