Butler Once a Noble Endeavor

1. Auflage 2015
ISBN: 978-1-4835-5355-9
Verlag: BookBaby
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: Adobe DRM (»Systemvoraussetzungen)

E-Book, Englisch, 177 Seiten

Once a Noble Endeavor is the story of retired police lieutenant and FBI intelligence officer Nicholas J. Brennan. Nick's adventures include wounding a madman in a tavern shooting, upending an attempted bombing of a train station and pursuing an international terrorist bent on killing Catholic kids. Brennan uses his intellect and his brilliant and beautiful wife in chasing his prey.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Butler, Michael J.

Leseproben

Chapter 2

The juvenile courtroom was open and sparse, with two old light brown, heavily scratched tables on an old, dirty linoleum floor covered with black streaks inside the gated area at the front of the room. The judge’s bench made of faded pine was lower than that found in a regular superior court. With the judge seated behind the bench, the clerk called the calendar.

“Index number JD 7111004; People of the State of New York versus Respondent Steven A. Clinton. Mr. Clinton, please approach the bench with your attorney.”

At six feet, Clinton was a big boy for fifteen years of age—with a broad chest and big shoulders. He looked around as he stood up from his seat in the audience. He walked into the courtroom well—the enclosed area nearest the judge. He was wearing discolored and worn jeans and a threadbare tight white tee shirt and was accompanied by a man of portly stature wearing a crisp white shirt, red and blue tie and a nicely pressed and fitted dark pinstriped suit. Carrying a soft leather briefcase, the man said in a deep voice, “Good morning, Your Honor. Shall I note my appearance for the record?”

“Yes, counselor, please do,” the judge replied.

“For the respondent, Robert Epstein 1240 Franklin Street, Garden Park, New York, Your Honor.”

“Thank you, Mr. Epstein. Mister Clinton, do you know why you are here today?” the judge asked.

“Yeah,” Clinton replied.

“Yes, Your Honor,” the judge sternly corrected the disrespectful adolescent.

Pausing briefly and raising his eyes up toward the ceiling, Clinton said, “Yes, Your Honor.”

“Mister Epstein, do you waive a formal reading of the charges?”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

“May I have the county attorney please note her appearance for the record?”

“Yes, Judge. Frances Givens for the People, office of the county attorney, Stratton, New York.”

“Ms. Givens and Mr. Epstein, with your concurrence I am going to close the courtroom to the public and conference this case off the record. Are there any objections?”

“No objection,” said Epstein.

“No objection by the People,” Givens offered.

The judge, a husky, balding man of about sixty years, looked up with his reading glasses carefully balanced on the tip of his nose. He looked to the back of the room and called out to the court officer, “Clear the courtroom and please close and lock the courtroom door, and don’t allow anyone to enter.” The jurist patiently watched as the security man followed his instructions.

“These are pretty serious charges, Mister Clinton. You are accused of burglary and double assault. Ms. Givens, what are the people alleging?”

“Judge,” Givens said as she looked down and read from the formal charges, “the People are prepared to prove at a fact-finding hearing that Steven A. Clinton engaged in juvenile delinquency by breaking into the subject premises detailed in the charges herein at the time and place listed and while stealing liquor and a collection of valuable coins at that time and place was confronted by the homeowner and his wife.”

“What about the complainants?” the judge asked.

“Both of the residents are over seventy years of age and were repeatedly punched and kicked by the Respondent. The male complainant suffered serious contusions and a fractured nose, his wife was knocked to the floor and was badly bruised.”

“Is it alleged that Mister Clinton escaped from the scene?” the jurist asked, looking down at the record before him.

“After the double assault, Clinton fled from the house with two bottles of liquor and a box of coins.”

“Why is the Respondent not charged with robbery?” the judge queried.

“Because the facts don’t support the conclusion that he used force intentionally in either taking or retaining the property stolen, your honor. He just beat them up for fun.”

“How then was the respondent apprehended, Ms. Givens?” the judge asked.

“Your honor, Steven Clinton was arrested several days later by the police when he was named by a defendant in an unrelated drug investigation as the burglar. During an interrogation by police, the informant offered Clinton’s name in pursuit of leniency with respect to the charges he was facing.”

“Did we have identification by both complainants?” the judge asked.

“No, Your Honor—only the husband could identify Clinton.”

The juvenile court was not designed upon the same theory as an adult criminal court—formally it was called the “Family Court,” and as such it generally sought rehabilitation, not punishment. That was the position the jurist was moving towards.

Trying to determine what method of identification was used, the judge continued to probe, “Was the respondent picked from a photo array, Ms. Givens?”

“No, Judge, we didn’t have any photos of him.”

“Did the police conduct a lineup?”

“No, Judge—they picked up Clinton at home and brought him to a juvenile certified facility to interview him. The complainant responded to the police station and identified him at that time.”

“Were Mr. Clinton’s parents or guardian present during the interrogation?”

“No Judge, but Clinton admitted he committed the crime and the police recovered some of the coins.”

“Mr. Epstein?”

“Judge, the whole thing is no good. The eyeball testimony is invalid. The cops essentially conducted a show-up identification a week later in a police station and we have an underage kid interrogated in the absence of his parents. The old man picked Steven out of a lineup of one. Judge, this kid has never been in trouble before, and he won’t ever be again.”

“Mr. Epstein, why aren’t Mr. Clinton’s parents here today?”

“I’m not exactly sure, but Mrs. Clinton said she and her husband were too busy to attend this conference.”

“Mr. Epstein, are you going to contest the admission of the coins?”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

“Ms. Givens, are we detecting any weaknesses in the People’s case?”

“I have to do some research and confer with a supervisor before I would concede any weaknesses, Judge.”

“Look, we all agree we are concerned with the best interests of the child, right? How about we try to work out a settlement including some restitution and counseling?” the judge offered.

“Your Honor, so long as we can ultimately have these charges dropped and sealed with no JD finding, I can say with confidence restitution and counseling are acceptable to the Clintons,” Epstein quickly interposed.

“Ms. Givens?” the judge inquired.

“Let me speak to my supervisor and the complainants, and we will perhaps consider a deal.”

“Ms. Givens, I think you should take a deal and run with it. I want everyone back here in my courtroom on November ninth at 9:00 a.m.,” the judge added.

****

On that day in November 1975, Steven A. Clinton, through his attorney Robert Epstein, had the charges dropped and agreed to pay for the repair of the damage to the house, pay restitution for the coins and liquor stolen, and provided a small stipend for the injuries the old couple suffered. Clinton walked out of the courthouse with a broad smile, without a juvenile record and a simple direction to seek psychological counseling.

****

The day Nick Brennan reported to the police academy he was filled with both apprehension and excitement. Will the academy be like Army basic training, or more like college with guns? he thought. For November in the early cloudless morning, the weather was warm as he walked across the busy street to the Training Center. The building, three stories high with a blond-colored brick exterior, looked modern, but not particularly impressive, Nick thought.

The first day involved introductions to various higher-ups, a swearing-in ceremony, the completion of forms stacked as high as a telephone book and a reading of the rules, including conduct, dress code, scheduling, the calendar of training and an opportunity to meet the police supervisors who would oversee the classes to follow.

Sergeant Yates spoke first to the new recruits. “You were sworn in this morning, and while you have the legal authority to make an arrest, you are directed to not do so, unless instructed otherwise.” He waited for a moment to allow the order to sink in. “You are also legally authorized to carry a pistol, revolver, or other sidearm, but you are directed not to do so,” he said, pausing again. “If you come to this academy licensed to carry a gun, you are directed to surrender that weapon tomorrow morning at the arms room in the basement. If you are a former peace or police officer from another agency and you have a weapon secured there, give me all the information I will need to have that weapon or weapons delivered to our arms room. Now, are there any questions?”

“Yes, Sergeant. When does our actual training begin?” one student asked.

“Tomorrow at 0800 hours, and you are to appear in business attire—a jacket and tie for the men and appropriate business attire and low heels for the...