Free No Lesser Plea by Robert K. Tanenbaum Page B

until he arrived at 100 Centre Street in the morning. When that happened, as it had this morning, Karp’s total preparation time for a case ran to about two minutes.
    The Hutch case included a sworn affidavit given to an assistant DA in the complaint room by the arresting officer, a detective. The detective stated that he had received information from a tenant in a housing project that Hutch—also a tenant—was burglarizing apartments. The follow-up investigation found another tenant who said he saw a man fitting Hutch’s description leave an apartment—not his own—carrying a stereo. The detective had obtained a search warrant and found stolen stereo components in Hutch’s apartment. Hutch was arrested, but the witness was unable to pick him out of a lineup.
    The file also included Hutch’s yellow sheet, which showed numerous burglary, breaking and entering, and possession convictions. OK, Mr. Hutch is a career burglar. He’s pleading innocent to the burglary charges. This is a hearing to determine whether there is probable cause to charge him with the crime. We have physical evidence to prove that Hutch was holding stolen goods, but no evidence to show that Hutch stole them.
    As Karp scanned the file and considered what to do, the judge said to the defendant’s counsel, “What’s your motion, Mister Steinberg?”
    Marty Steinberg was a typical small-time defense lawyer, who represented dozens of petty and professional criminals every week, and who was as much a fixture of the Criminal Court as Jim McFarley. Graying, sixty-odd, slightly shabby, he cruised the Streets of Calcutta like a pretzel vendor, occasionally stopping at a pay phone to dictate a motion to his secretary, whom he rarely saw.
    “We are now ready to proceed, Your Honor.”
    “Are the People ready?” the judge asked Roger Karp.
    Karp asked, “Your Honor, may I approach the bench?”
    Karp and Steinberg now stepped outside the record and into the dark and oily crankcase of the criminal justice system, where the real work was done. They spoke in low voices. “Judge, the People feel we can make a disposition on this case right now,” Karp said.
    “How so?” asked Yergin.
    “We’d be willing to drop the burglary charge, if, and only if, the defendant agrees to take a guilty plea on the charge of criminal possession.”
    “Sounds OK,” said Steinberg.
    “Hold on, Marty,” said Karp. “The defendant must also agree to maximum time. We’re talking a year in the pen.”
    “What? Why maximum?” complained the defense attorney.
    “Because if it’s not max, we’ll go to trial on both burglary and possession, and we’ll win on possession at least, and get max time from the judge anyway. We could also get lucky and win on burglary, in which case you’re looking at a lot more time.”
    Yergin’s eyes met Karp’s in understanding. This was what the judge had been talking about. The threat of trial greased the system and made it possible to render justice in fact, if not in form. “Counsel, this sounds reasonable to me,” Yergin said.
    “Let me discuss it with my client,” said Steinberg, and went back to his table to confer with Hutch for a few minutes. He returned to the bench and said, “Your Honor, I’m ready to proceed.”
    Yergin now spoke out loud. “Mister Karp, do you have any motions?”
    “Your Honor, the People wish to drop the charge of burglary against the defendant.”
    “Charge dismissed.”
    Steinberg spoke now. “Your Honor, my client wishes to change his previously entered plea of not guilty to guilty of the crime of criminal possession of stolen property.”
    With that, Judge Yergin sentenced Hutch to a year in prison. The gavel came down. Bang. Next case.
    The morning wore on. The wheels creaked. Assault, one year. Assault, no defendant, bench warrant. Larceny, assault, no defendant, bench warrant. Shoplifting, sentenced to time served. Assault, no witnesses. Where are the witnesses? Not here, Your Honor.