Proof Positive (2006) (3 page)

Thinking about his failed marriage depressed Doug. Fortunately, the Justice Center came into view and he turned his thoughts to his new case. All he knew about it was that Jacob Cohen a homeless man had spent time in prison for attempted rape. Convicted sex offenders had to register when they were paroled, and Cohen had been arrested for failing to register. A conviction could send him back to prison.

Doug hauled his briefcase up the Justice Center's broad steps. The sixteen-story concrete-and-glass building was separated from the Multnomah County Courthouse by a park. In addition to the Central Precinct of the Portland Police Bureau, the Justice Center was home to a branch of the Multnomah County District Attorney's Office, several courtrooms, State Parole and Probation, and the Multnomah County jail, where Doug's client was currently residing. The jail occupied the fourth through tenth floors of the building, but the reception area was on the second floor. To reach it, Doug walked through the center's vaulted lobby, past the curving stairs that led to the courtrooms on the third floor, and through a pair of glass doors.

The sheriff's deputy who was manning the reception desk checked Doug's ID, searched his briefcase, and motioned him toward a metal detector that stood between Doug and the jail elevator. He passed through without setting off an alarm, and the guard walked him to the elevator and keyed him up to the floor where Cohen was being held.

After a short ride, Doug found himself in a narrow hall with a thick metal door at one end. Next to the door, affixed to the pastel-yellow concrete wall, was an intercom, which he used to announce his presence. Moments later, a massive African-American jail guard peered at Doug through a plate of glass in the upper half of the door, then spoke into a walkie-talkie. Electronic locks snapped, and the guard ushered Doug into another narrow corridor, which ran in front of the three contact-visiting rooms, where prisoners had face-to-face meetings with their attorneys. Doug could see into the rooms through large windows outfitted with thick, shatterproof glass.

Waiting for him in the room farthest from the elevators was an emaciated prisoner with deranged hair, wild eyes, and a complexion that was one step removed from albino. Dressed in a shapeless orange jumpsuit, he sat in one of two molded plastic chairs that stood on either side of a round, Formica-topped table that was bolted to the floor, although sat did not quite describe what he was doing. His body was twisted on the chair, his knees were drawn up to his chest, and he looked like someone preparing to flee.

You watch yourself with this one, the guard said. He isn't playing with a full deck.

I'll be okay, but thanks, Doug said. The prisoner's obvious insanity was unsettling, but Doug didn't want the guard to know that he was nervous.

Hey, I don't want to have to waste my day filling out reports, the guard answered with a smile. Then he opened the door to the contact room and stepped aside. Cohen's eyes fixed on Doug. The guard pointed to a black button that stuck out of an intercom affixed to the yellow wall.

Press that when you' re through or, he looked directly at Jacob Cohen, if you need help. I'll come and get you. Then, before closing the door, he pointed at the prisoner. And you, behave yourself, you hear?

Jacob Cohen glared at the guard but stayed mute. As soon as the door closed, his sunken eyes shifted back to his visitor.

Hello, Mr. Cohen. I'm

Cohen is not here.

You' re not Jacob Cohen? Doug asked, confused by the prisoner's answer. Of course, it wouldn't be the first time that the jail had screwed up and brought the wrong person for an initial interview.

Cohen is not here.

Okay, who are you?

John Doe. He smiled strangely. I'm nameless and faceless. They' ve given me a number.

Doug was too tired for this bullshit, so he decided to ignore the weirdness and play it straight.

Okay, Mr. Doe. My name is Doug Weaver and I' ve been appointed to be your lawyer.

A self-satisfied smile spread across Cohen's face. He dropped his feet to the floor, crossed his arms across his chest, and leaned back in his chair, suddenly at ease.

Do you think I'm stupid? Who controls the court? They do. I'm no fool. I see right through you.

By ' they' do you mean the government?

Cohen just smiled, and Doug felt drained, even though the interview had barely started. It was a case like Cohen's that brought home how unsuccessful he was. A big-time criminal lawyer wouldn't be stuck handling a court-appointed failure-to-register case. But Doug wasn't earning enough to be able to turn down even a low-paying court appointment.

Well, Doug said halfheartedly, if you do mean the government, you' re half right. I will be paid by the state because I'm taking this case on as a court appointment. But I don't work for the government. I'm in private practice. He laid one of his business cards on the table and sat down. I specialize in criminal defense, Mr . Doe and you' re charged with a crime.

A so-called crime, Cohen corrected, manufactured from thin air by that slut and her minions.

The DA is saying that you failed to register as a sex offender.

Cohen was suddenly AWOL mentally, his focus clearly turned inward.

If she profane herself by playing the whore she shall be burnt with fire. Leviticus 21:9, he muttered.

Doug forged on. Mr. Doe, when you were released from prison, were you told that you had to register as a convicted sex offender?

Oh, they told me, and I tried, but they conspired against me. ' And he saith unto me, the waters, which thou sawest, where the whore sitteth, are peoples, and multitudes, and nations, and tongues. And the ten horns which thou sawest upon the beast, these shall hate the whore, and shall make her desolate and naked, and shall eat her flesh, and burn her with fire.' Book of Revelation 17:15u 16.

So you knew that you had to register and you' re telling me that you tried to register, but you think government conspirators made it look like you didn't try.

You work for them, so you should know what they did.

Doug sighed. I guess you wouldn't believe me if I told you that I usually work against the government.

Cohen smiled his weird smile and said nothing.

Well, I do. The court-appointment system was set up to provide lawyers to people who don't have the money to hire counsel. We' re paid by the state, but I'm not an employee of the state and I'll work like hell to defeat the state so you can stay out of prison. But I don't suppose you believe that?

I believe that lies come easily to your lips.

Let's pretend that I'm not lying and that I'm really on your side. Or, better yet, let's pretend that you' re the lawyer and you' re giving your closing argument. What would you tell the jury about these charges?

Ah, the jury. A jury of my peers. Cohen laughed. I' ve met them before. They saw and heard the woman sitting on her scarlet-colored beast, full of names of blasphemy, having seven heads and ten horns, the mother of harlots and abominations of the earth. And they saw and heard me. And they chose.

His head nodded up and down. Then he looked at Doug.

They can control them, so it wouldn't matter what I said.

We' re pretending here, so just tell me your story.

Cohen laughed. Why not? I have nothing better to do. I was living in my car. It's not really mine. I found it in a lot, abandoned, so I slept there. I didn't at first. Two years ago, when I got out of prison, I was staying in a hotel and I had a job, but I lost the job and I couldn't pay my rent, so I moved to the lot. He flashed his weird smile. No rent in my lot, no rent in my car.

What did you do about a mailing address?

I had my mail sent to the parole office. They' re supposed to keep it for me. But I don't get all of my mail. I think they take it.

The police report says that you were supposed to register every year within ten days of your birthday and you didn't do that this year. A detective tried to find you at the address you listed as your home on your last form and concluded that it was a false home address.

Suddenly Cohen looked spent and defeated. I don't want to go back there, he said.

To prison?

He nodded. I am tormented. His hands gripped and tore at his frenetic, Brillo locks. It's hell on Earth. Then he grew quiet, and Doug thought he heard his client say, But it's what I deserve.

Doug suddenly saw through the facade. Jacob Cohen was definitely crazy, but he was also terrified and lost in a world that overwhelmed him. Doug's heart went out to his new client.

I'm going to work hard for you. Believe me. I am on your side and I will try to help you.

He wasn't certain that Cohen had heard him, because Cohen's head was down, he was staring at the floor, and he was muttering so quietly that Doug could not make out what his client was saying.

Karen was waiting in a booth when Doug walked into South Park. She was a small woman with a narrow waist, large breasts, and straight auburn hair. She wore steel-rimmed glasses because she believed they made her look more serious, and she always dressed for success. Tonight, she was wearing a severe navy blue pantsuit. Doug tried a smile, and his anxiety increased when his wife didn't return it.

Glad you could make it, Karen said, sounding like an investment banker greeting a potential client.

You look good, Doug said as he slid into the booth. He figured that a compliment might lighten the heavy atmosphere. And the truth was Karen did look good. She had always looked good, and she looked her best naked, but Doug didn't want to go there, because it would be a sharp and painful reminder of what he'd been missing since their marriage had turned sour.

Thank you, Karen answered with enough formality to let Doug know that he wasn't going to like what she was going to tell him. Do you feel like a cocktail? I' ve ordered already.

Doug was shocked that Karen was offering him alcohol knowing the effect it had on him, but he decided that he would probably be able to handle what he was about to hear much better if he wasn't completely sober.

Why not? I' ve had a rough day. I can use a stiff drink.

Karen signaled the waiter, and Doug placed his order.

What happened today? Karen asked when the waiter left. Doug didn't think that Karen was the least bit interested in his day. He thought that she wanted him to talk so she could build up the courage to tell him what she wanted to say.

I had to go to the jail to interview a new client, a court appointment. He's a doozy.

Over their cocktails, Doug told Karen about his strange encounter with Jacob Cohen. As the alcohol kicked in, Doug began to feel warm, light-headed, and relaxed.

Are you going to use an insanity defense? Karen asked.

The insanity defense is popular on TV but it's rarely used in real life. If a defendant is really crazy it's so obvious most of the time that a prosecutor can see it too and the case is usually resolved by a plea involving psychiatric care.

Do you think Cohen is faking?

No, I think Cohen's the real deal, a genuine nutcase. If my shrink agrees I'll show his report to the DA.

So far, Karen had maneuvered Doug into doing all of the talking. He decided that it was time for her to tell him why she'd asked him to dinner.

So, what's up with you? Doug asked.

The question seemed to startle Karen.

You did ask me to meet you here, Doug said. I assume you have something to tell me.

I do. Karen paused. I got a promotion. They told me, this morning.

That's terrific, Doug said, faking his enthusiasm and forcing a big smile. The smile faded when he saw the look on Karen's face.

I'm moving to New York. I'm going to be working out of our national headquarters in Manhattan.

Oh.

I'm leaving next week. I I did think about turning them down, but this is very important for my career.

I see.

Karen sighed. Oh, hell, Doug, I don't want to lie to you. I didn't thinkabout the offer for one second. I jumped at it. Our marriage isn't She let out a breath. When she spoke again, she sounded sad. It's an utter failure, Doug. You know that. This move will give us both a fresh start. If I stay in town you' re going to think we have a chance of getting back together. But we don' t. We just didn't make it.

Doug couldn't breathe. He was afraid that he'd start to cry if he tried to speak. Karen's decision to move three thousand miles from him made it crystal-clear that he had lost her forever. Then, for a brief moment, he fooled himself into thinking that she was just waiting for him to fight for her. Only he didn't have the self-confidence or the energy for such a fight, and that, more than anything else, was probably why she was leaving him.

I' ve hired an attorney, Doug heard Karen say. Ben Altman. He's preparing the divorce petition. I hope we can handle this amicably.

Doug nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

The division of assets shouldn't be difficult. We can talk about it after you hire a lawyer.

Okay, Doug managed.

Karen looked away again. This isn't easy for me, Doug. I really care for you. I hope you can stop drinking and pull yourself together. Raymond Hayes was not your fault. You' ve got to