Free Close Case by Alafair Burke Page A

the damage inflicted by one rash decision. OK, make that two. Three, maximum.
    “Well, don’t sweat it, Kincaid,” Russ said. “I’m not exactly Dennis Coakley’s favorite person right now either. Duncan and I had a meeting with him this morning about the Tompkins shooting.”
    “Is he worried about the police union?” On the rare occasions that the city tried to discipline a bad apple in the police barrel, the PPA went into overdrive. Two years earlier, the city tried to fire a vice unit lieutenant for having sex on duty in the back of his bureau-issued Crown Vic with a self-described escort . He chalked it up to a “lapse of judgment,” even though the activity had occurred thrice weekly for an eight-month period. The Portland Police Association beefed the termination, and the state Employment Relations Board eventually ordered the bureau to reinstate the backseat lothario, albeit with a demotion and a transfer out of vice. Ever since, I’ve wondered what a cop needs to do to lose the protection of the powerful PPA. That, and I always checked the upholstery before accepting a ride in a bureau car.
    “If my MCT guys are any indication, the union will balk if the city tries to go after Hamilton on the employment front.”
    “Are you kidding?” Frist jeered. “The city would love to see this thing go away. Coakley’s pressuring us to call the shooting clean, so the heat will come to Griffith instead of the mayor and the bureau. And don’t forget the money. The city’s already looking at major liability. A criminal indictment will add a couple of zeroes to the civil demand.”
    “So are you going along with it?”
    “We’ll send the case to the grand jury like all police shootings. But we haven’t decided yet which way to steer things.”
    Any prosecutor who tells you that the grand jury acts independent of the prosecutor’s office is relying on legalistic niceties. Sure, as a formal matter, the grand jury has its own powers to call witnesses, gather evidence, and decide whether, when, and which charges should be brought against a defendant. But there’s no judge or defense attorney in the grand jury room, only the prosecutor and the jurors. It doesn’t take a legal eagle to figure out the real dynamic.
    The opposing theoretical and practical realities are what make the grand jury the perfect vehicle for police shootings—or any other sensitive case, for that matter. Behind the sealed confines of the grand jury proceedings, we nudge the decision, subtly or not. Then, in the public statement announcing the grand jury’s decision, we proudly declare that we presented the evidence to a pool of independent citizens and entrusted them with the final call. It’s the ultimate CYA.
    Jessica had strong feelings about the Delores Tompkins shooting, and she wasn’t hiding them. “Fuck Geoff Hamilton. Some time in the pen would do that idiot good.”
    Russ was obviously more torn. “Maybe you should have this case, then. My whole problem with an indictment is the mandatory minimums that would apply if he actually got convicted.”
    “Listen to Mr. Lefty Lou over here.” Jessica hiked her thumb toward Frist. “It’s not like you’ve got a problem with those sentences when we’re doling them out against the rest of the docket.”
    “Oh, come on,” I interjected. “You can’t seriously believe Hamilton’s like the rest of our docket. He’s got piss-poor judgment, but it’s not like he went out looking to shoot someone. He was just doing his job when a situation got out of control.”
    I’m funny that way. Put me in a room with Mike Calabrese, hailing Officer Hamilton as the great American hero, and I’m ready to slam the cell door myself. Faced with Walter’s unsympathetic excoriation, I become Hamilton’s defender. When confronted with extreme positions, my tendency is to run to the center. Some might call it waffling. Chuck calls it contrarian. I choose to see it as fair-mindedness.
    Jessica