Free Guilty as Sin by Joseph Teller Page B

and Clarence Hightower were both black. Yes, today they’d be African-American, but this was 1986, and back then they were black. So Jaywalker picked up the phone and dialed Kenny Smith’s number.
    Kenny wasn’t exactly an investigator. Not in the sense that he was licensed or had a carry permit, or would make much of an impression if ever called to testify. What Kenny was, was a former client of Jaywalker’s and a friend. And Kenny was not only black but lived up in Harlem, as had Alonzo Barnett until his arrest, and Clarence Hightower until his vanishing act.
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    Kenny showed up at Jaywalker’s office an hour later. Standing a full six foot five inches, at forty he still looked like the professional basketball prospect he’d once been until good friends and bad decisions had combined to derail his dreams, even if they’d failed to wipe the broad smile off his face. Kenny said he’d never heard of Clarence Hightower, but he’d be more than happy to see if he could find him.
    Jaywalker handed him a subpoena, just in case Kenny were to get lucky. It wasn’t a judicial subpoena, the kind that had to be signed by a judge. Jaywalker was concerned that if he went to Levine, Pulaski might find out about it. So he’d used an attorney’s subpoena, which was just as good. Well, almost kinda sorta.
    â€œI’m afraid the most I can pay you is a couple hundred bucks,” he told Smith, knowing that only investigators whose names were on an approved list could submit their hours and get reimbursed through the system. “But I’ll pad my voucher, make it look like I was out looking for him myself.”
    â€œDon’t worry about it,” said Kenny. “I owe you.”
    Which was true, Jaywalker would have had to admit. He’d gotten Kenny out of more than a few jams over the years. But still, didn’t Smith’s comment have an awfully familiar ring to it?
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    A few days later, more out of frustration than anything else, Jaywalker sat down at his desk—he’d had one in those days—and knocked out what he called a Demand for a Supplemental Bill of Particulars. In it, he asked that the prosecution be directed to furnish him a laundry list of things, including the names of trial witnesses, all reports they’d prepared and any past disciplinary actionstaken against them. He wanted not only the lab reports and chemists’ notes, but the right to an independent analysis of the drugs by his own expert. He requested more specificity regarding the precise times and locations of the various sales. And then, even though he’d seen the answer with his own eyes, he asked whether any confidential informers had been involved in any way with the case. Did he distrust Daniel Pulaski? Yes, as a matter of fact. But that wasn’t the point. Pulaski was only the assistant district attorney. He’d caught the case after it had already been made by New York City detectives, New York State Police investigators and federal agents. Maybe he didn’t really know if there’d been a CI involved. Maybe that pink sheet of paper with NONE inked on it didn’t know, either.
    Besides, a part of him wanted to send Pulaski a message, to put him on notice that unlike Alonzo Barnett’s three previous lawyers, this one wasn’t going to roll over and play dead. With nothing to work with, Jaywalker might not be able to win the case, but he sure was going to give it his best shot.
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    He received Pulaski’s response in the mail four days later. It argued that motions had already been made within the statutory forty-five-day period allowed following arraignment, responded to in a timely fashion by the People and decided by the court. Mr. Jaywalker, Pulaski pointed out, was exactly 195 days late in asking for the relief he sought.
    And despite her good nature and sense of fairness, Judge Levine found herself compelled to agree the next time the