X - Chapter Thirty Five "The Thirty Percent Solution"

 

"The Thirty Percent Solution" 

Chapter Thirty Five 

      It rises like a massive monument of beige veined marble from its park-like grounds in lower Manhattan. That cube structure houses the main offices of the New York District Attorney’s administrative and operational functions, most importantly enforcing the law and prosecuting lawbreakers. Located at 1 Hogan Place, it is surrounded by other government offices, judicial courts, green parklands and a network of highly trafficked roadways. 

      Shortly after nine-thirty in the morning, a white police van pulled into the entrance of the rear parking garage. With its tires squealing over the slick surface, the vehicle passed through the rows of official vehicles directly to the secure internal elevator. 

      There, two NYPD officers opened the rear doors, climbed inside the vehicle, and unlocked the handcuffs securing one small man in orange prisoner’s overalls to the bench on the right side. They pulled him from the vehicle, reattached the handcuffs behind his back, and dragged him to the elevator. Once inside, they pressed the button for the 19th floor, where they pulled him down a deserted hallway to Room 1907 and pushed him inside.  

      The metal door banged open, and it slapped against the interior wall with a loud clap. Grant Stauffer stumbled into the room. He righted himself and then just stood still for maybe ten seconds, trying to keep his balance. To steady himself, he could not reach up to the blank beige wall because of the handcuffs.  

      He was a changed man. Besides the orange prisoner’s overalls, his complexion was blotched with patches of pinkish skin, and white stubble covered his chin. His hair had been sheered on Rikers Island to a short crew cut. His eyes searched the coldness of the room, the blank windowless surfaces with only a large mirror directly across from him. 

      Stauffer blinked at the alarmed expressions of Captain Rafael Jimenez, Special FBI Agent Vincent DuBois, Assistant DA Clive Stewart and Kerry Westhoff, a case supervisor from the DA’s office, as though they were visitors from another planet.  

      Clive Stewart glared at the two police officers and ordered them to remove Stauffer’s handcuffs. Then Stewart led Stauffer to a seat at one of the two tables that had been pushed together to accommodate the officials.  

      After ejecting the two police officers from the room, Stewart addressed Stauffer: “Mr. Stauffer, I’m sorry . . . . You could have been treated with a little more respect. Please let me know if there’s any problem, but I’m assuming your defense counsel will be here pretty soon. You can’t imagine the number of bureaucratic barriers we had to climb over to make this meeting happen.”

      Grant Stauffer raised his gaze from the Formica table. Suddenly, his right hand brushed across his forehead, as though he was automatically brushing his hair – hair that was no longer there – away from his eyes. 

      Slowly, Stauffer appeared to be getting his bearings. Looking straight at Stewart, Stauffer spoke slowly, “Golden, the young one, he said he’d be here by ten. Coming through that door any minute.” 

      Minutes passed. The four men making up the prosecution team kept glancing at their watches, at each other and then at the door. Finally, there was a knock, and Stewart jumped to his feet and rushed to open the door. 

      “Boy, your security team, I gotta compliment . . .  ,” Daniel Golden started talking as he entered the room, but he stopped himself. “Okay, I know you gotta be careful, but I could’ve been here a while ago. Let me introduce you to Rudy Saurez, also with our firm.”

      Rudolph Saurez was a tall man with a full head of short gray hair and a tanned face. He was somewhat older than Golden and showed the confidence of a more experienced lawyer. “Gentlemen, I’m not gonna say it’s a pleasure. That depends what we can accomplish. But thanks for the meeting and for the welcome.” 

      Daniel Golden took the seat next to Stauffer. Immediately, Golden patted Stauffer on the back and whispered something in his ear. Golden was the image of elegance; he wore a finely tailored dark-blue suit, had a full head of jet-black hair and a face with sharp, handsome features.  

      After the introductions were made and hands shaken, Clive Stewart took charge of the meeting. “Your client asked for this meeting, and just to let you know, we bent more rules than in the Criminal Code to make it possible. What do I want to know? It’s simple: What do you want, and what are you offering.” 

      “Okay, fine, we got it, understood,” Golden said. “Of course, why waste time on small talk. Let’s get right to it. My client believes he’s been caught up in a conflict that doesn’t concern him. First of all, the murder charge is totally unjustified. It did not happen. My client did not kill Ted Merritt. Yes, he did play some role in the fraud side of the case. But it’s clear that his role was minor, and he was basically following orders.”

       As Golden began speaking, he came across as poised and bright, truly articulate, but young and lacking experience. Saurez, who had handled many criminal cases during his career, listened carefully to Golden, just in case he needed guidance. 

      Golden paused for a few seconds and looked around the tables, at each face to assess the reaction of the prosecution team. Then he continued. “My client’s willing turn state’s evidence, to tell you everything he knows. He wants justice to be done, but he doesn’t want an innocent party, like himself, punished for someone else’s crime.”  

      Golden stopped. Then all eyes turned toward Clive Stewart. 

      “First of all, just a bit of admin,” Stewart began. “Let’s all recognize that it’s the defense that requested this meeting. And in agreeing to it, the Office of the District Attorney makes no promises. Let’s just say it’s a good-faith effort to get at the truth. And of course, your client has been Mirandized, I think several times already. So, every statement becomes part of the official record. 

      “Now, to be perfectly frank, I doubt this little session’s gonna change much,” Stewart continued. “We can talk about it, but I’m not sure we can do much for you. I’ll be pretty open with you. It’s not that I’m a nice guy. But we’re obligated by the rules of disclosure to reveal the basis of our charges; that is, we gotta tell you at some point what evidence we got. But basically, we believe our case is very strong.” 

     It was clear. It was Stauffer’s turn to talk. Everyone in the room turned toward him. 

      But Stauffer sat with his head bowed, with both arms lying flat on the table. His pose gave the impression that he was praying. Little by little, he began making sounds, strange sounds growing from vague humming and then becoming a meaningless mumble. As he slowly raised his head, words started to become recognizable, indistinct but they had meaning. “Me, I’m guessing it’s me. It’s my turn, my turn to defend myself. Okay, I’ll do it. I’m a lawyer, a chief counsel. It’s up to me, up to me.” Suddenly, his right hand again swiped across his forehead to push aside his absent hair. 

      Then, with little hesitation, he began speaking clearly, forcefully in his full sonorous voice. “When I got to his office, Ted’s body was on the floor. No doubt, there was no doubt. He was dead. He was laying on the floor. You wouldn’t believe. It was shocking. The place was a mess, covered with documents all over, and blood, Ted’s blood. Strange, I felt strange, like I shouldn’t be there, that it wasn’t real, the whole scene. Light-headed, I felt faint. Like I was gonna pass out.  

       “I saw some documents I needed. Yeah, I needed them. So I did, I grabbed some documents . . . But I didn’t touch Ted. No way.” 

      Stauffer stopped. He closed his eyes for just a few instants, but he kept his head erect. Then he started mumbling. “Dead, he deserved it. Not by me.” 

      Clive Stewart broke in. “The gun, what about the gun? It was there, did you bring it?” 

      “The gun? Let me picture . . . ” Again, keeping his head erect, Stauffer closed his eyes. “I’m looking for it.”

      “Just let me advise you,” Stewart spoke in a bland, official tone. “You were observed some time after the murder meeting with Steven Bucknell. Your meeting took place at the Café Figaro, downtown in the village. You were seen handing Bucknell a small package. We have photographs of that transaction. That package could have contained a small pistol, similar to the firearm that was seized from Mr. Bucknell at the Trinity Cemetery.”

      Daniel Golden pushed himself back from the table and stared at Stauffer. “We’d like to . . . I think we need to confer.” He turned and started to address Rudolph Saurez.

      But Stewart didn’t give him a chance. Raising his voice, he said, “Here, I think the question is, why you, Mr. Stauffer, possessed that weapon, and who used it, used it to murder Mr. Merritt?”

      As if he were frozen in place, Golden didn’t utter a word. 

      Stewart took advantage of the few seconds of silence. “From the autopsy, we know that Mr. Merritt was only killed once. There were not two killers. Both you and Mr. Bucknell had access to that weapon, which we confirmed was the murder weapon. And both you and Mr. Bucknell were in the office with Mr. Merritt, at different times, but alone, alone with him.”

      Stewart stopped. Then he looked straight at Stauffer and shouted, “Who was it? Was it you, or was it Bucknell? It was one or the other!”

       The question hung in the air. No one dared speak. The short silence seemed endless but was broken when . . .   

      Stauffer shouted back. “It was me! It was me! It was an accident.” As though he tapped an inner strength, Stauffer stood and leaned over the table. “It was an accident. Me and Ted, we were fighting over the gun. I wish it never happened, Oh God! Ted wanted to kill himself, and I was trying to stop him. He was stronger than he looked. I was trying to get it – the gun – away from him, it went off.”

      More silence. No one dared interrupt. It was a confession, they understood, and it was all coming out.       

      Then, speaking slowly and carefully, Stauffer resumed. “Steve just left, and he left his gun behind. Steve and Ted were arguing. They were drunk. They didn’t know what they were saying. Steve told Ted he was a failure, that’s what he told me. He called Ted a failure because he never had an idea of his own. It was always, he stole other people’s ideas. Steve called Ted a parasite, always using other people’s ideas. Then Steve beat the shit out of him, really pounded him, and then left without his gun. He got out of there. When I got there, I tried to stop Ted. But it had an easy trigger. Oh God!” 

      Exhausted, Stauffer  fell to his chair. 

      Stewart spoke up again. His voice was cold and factual. “Mr. Stauffer, I’m so sorry. Really, I’m so sorry. But that can’t be true. It just can’t. When you look at the trajectory of the rounds, the shots were fired from a distance. And on the clothes you were wearing, and Mr. Merritt’s clothes, there were no powder burns. No powder burns on your clothes, or Mr. Merritt’s, proving the gun was not close to you when shots were fired. But there was gunshot residue. It was on the seersucker jacket you love. You fired the shots. I wish your story were true, but it’s just not.” 

      “Okay, that’s it!” Golden shouted, the young lawyer was on his feet, his left hand resting on Stauffer’s shoulder. “We’re gonna stop this now. Right now, I’m declaring this session . . . ” 

      “Do you intend to deny your client the right to speak?” Stewart broke in, his voice raised, nearly shouting. “This session is in our offices, and I’m running it.” 

      Golden lowered himself to his seat, meekly. 

      More silence, and Stauffer did not move. He was frozen. Then, he spoke. “Okay, I’m finished with the bullshit. I knew it wouldn’t work. This is all bullshit. I killed him. I didn’t want to, he made me do it.”

      Stewart rose to his feet, leaned over the table and glared at Stauffer. The prosecutor’s voice was loud and menacing. “How can we be sure? You already tried to sell us two fabrications. How can we believe you this time? Frankly, I’m tempted to end this session and throw all of you outta here. We got enough evidence already.”

      Suddenly, Stauffer became his old self, confident, rational, the negotiator seeking to calm the situation. 

      “Okay. Let’s go back. Let’s start over. I’m going to tell you the truth. This is the truth about I how killed Ted Merritt. Yes, I killed him, but I didn’t plan it. And it wasn’t that naïve kid, Steve Bucknell, he just doesn’t know how this city, how our firm, how Ted Merritt – how it all works. I don’t want that kid to take the rap. I had it all worked out, how to blame him. Can I continue? Will you give me the chance to come clean?”

      Stewart sat down, and with disgust in his voice, he said, “Okay, I’ll give you a chance. I’ll give you the chance to try.” 

      “Thank you. This is sincere, thank you,” Stauffer said. He waited a few seconds, breathed in, touched his forehead again, and began speaking with new conviction. “You know what kind of a human being Ted Merrit was. A plotter, a manipulator, and he drove himself to grow our firm. But most important, he had to control everything. He demanded all the credit and all the material reward, all the money.”

      Stauffer stopped and looked around the tables, studying each person who was studying him. “That night, I came into the office. I saw Ted. It was terrible. It made me sick, so much blood. He was laying there. He was trying to get up, but was having a hard time. That must’ve been Bucknell. It was terrible. My first reaction was to help him, get help, I don’t know, call 9-1-1.” 

      A short pause, a few deep breaths, and Stauffer, in measured tones, resumed. “But then Ted started telling me I was a weakling. I was a sucker. He told me that it was easy to manipulate me all these years, because when he pushed, I gave in. I don’t know why he said all that. Maybe it was like the corporate pecking order. Bucknell could beat him up, but he could push me around. And I gave him everything. When there was a problem, I fixed it. I turned in all my values, all the dreams I had about my legal career, and this is what I got. Then, I saw the gun sitting there. It was on the table near the couch. I stared at it. He told me I was weak, I was a weak failure. He laughed at me, and he dared me. He told me I couldn’t pull the trigger. That wasn’t me. I was beside myself. And then he started laughing at me. He dared me. He kept saying, ‘Go ahead, you midget, you little nothing. You don’t have the balls, the gonads. You can’t do it.’ I don’t know what came over me. I thought about how he ruined my life, and these feelings kept growing. I couldn’t stop. I did it. I pulled the trigger. I pulled the trigger. Then I looked at what I did, and I didn’t believe it. I ran. I didn’t understand. I just ran.”

       Stauffer stopped and looked down at the table. The, raising his eyes, his voice filled the room, “Ever since that moment, the pain, I been feeling this pain in my gut ever since. It’s still there. But now that I got this out, it hurts less. This is all the truth. I swear it’s the truth.” 

      Stauffer slumped in his chair, his arms hanging at his sides. He brushed the hair that wasn’t there once again. His head fell forward. His eyes closed. And he remained still. 

      Strangely, Golden appeared relieved. “Gentlemen, thank you for your understanding. Mr. Stauffer’s statement has the ring of truth. I’m sure if you review the evidence, and most of all, if you consider the personalities of the individuals involved, this, Mr. Stauffer’s testimony is consistent and brings the different strands of the case together.” 

      Golden, in his turn, looked over the audience and tried to assess the impact of his statements. Finally, Golden looked toward Saurez, who almost imperceptibly nodded.

    Golden said, “Therefore, I’d like to suggest that the charge against Mr. Stauffer be reduced to murder in the second degree. That’s based on the fact that there was obviously no premeditation. The murder occurred in the heat of the moment, after Mr. Stauffer was taunted and manipulated.”

      Suarez stood and spoke with authority. “Gentlemen, I believe we can come to an agreement. I believe second degree, as Mr. Golden has suggested, is reasonable. And, as for the fraud case, I think it’s gonna be difficult, when the main actor, the initiator and perpetrator who was really pushing it, is now dead.” 

      Stewart fought to maintain control of the session. “Let’s just slow down for a second. Sure, the defendant is a skilled . . . speaker, litigator. But let’s not forget, this is one of several versions of what occurred in Mr. Merritt’s office. Let me assure you, we’ll take your proposals, we’ll take everything under advisement. I can’t make a decision, no one here can. Not now. We have to inform the court, Judge Esposito. It’s not simple. For the time being, the charges remain.”

      “I’d just like to emphasize just a few points.” Golden wanted his presence felt. “Murder two appears quite reasonable, unless you want to consider manslaughter. Just remember, my client felt used, abused for years. He was the fixer for a monster. He found himself in that office, being taunted by a maniac. He lost his perspective, his sense of reality. He was being ridiculed, diminished, told he was a coward, to the extent that he perceived he had to stop the vindictiveness, the criticism, he became unbalanced. He had to stop that wave of insult flying at him. Mr. Merritt was a master at that.”

      Suarez waited a respectful moment and then spoke. “One other small point: 

Since Judge Esposito plays an important role in the final decision, I’m sure you won’t mind if we file another brief with the court. Just to summarize and make our position clear. And of course, we believe it would be good for the prosecution to do the same thing.”  

      “Agreed,” Stewart said. “And now, gentlemen, am I justified in assuming that we had a useful discussion, and we can call it quits for the moment? I think we’re entering a process where there’s going to be a certain amount of back and forth. So, it’s more than likely that this won’t be the last time we speak.” 

      Like a considerate senior partner, Suarez turned to Golden and nodded. 

      Golden took the cue. “We’d like to express our appreciation to you for organizing this meeting and for your reception. Of course, we all have the same goals: Fairness and justice based on the truth. Thank you again.” 

      Stewart dialed a number on his phone, and it seemed, within seconds the two NYPD officers who delivered Stauffer to the meeting, entered the room. 

      Stewart looked straight at them. “Officers, before you return Mr. Stauffer, let me make one request. Mr. Stauffer has been convicted of no crime. He has been charged, but he still deserves to be treated with consideration and respect.” 

      The officers mumbled and nodded in agreement. Almost in exaggerated gestures, they pretended to be overly considerate with Stauffer. Stewart watched them and feared he made a mistake. He realized that Stauffer could be subjected to more abuse, not less, on the return trip.

-0-

      With the departure of the defense contingent, the prosecution was alone in the room.  

      “Okay, gentlemen,” Stewart said to open up the new session. “What we got?”

      Kerry Westhoff waited maybe ten seconds to exercise his role as a DA case supervisor. “Jesus, I haven’t been close to this case, like you guys, from the beginning. But I gotta say, that Stauffer, he deserves an Oscar.” Westhoff was a big man, over six feet and near three hundred pounds, and he was used to being listened to. “I’m a big film fan. But I haven’t seen a performance like that in a long time. So, I’ll be frank, and blunt. I think we oughtta go after that guy for the max. That’s murder one. He was trying to convince us on three scenarios. Who knows if the last one was the real one. I sure don’t. They want a grand jury? Let ‘em have it.  I’ll tell ya, Stauffer’s looking for sympathy. But he’s not the victim. Okay, that Merritt was no sweetheart, but he was still the victim. Let’s not forget, he’s dead. I read all your reports. We got a lot we can use against him, thank heaven for you’re your guy Barnsey.”

      “Sure, you got a point, maybe more than one,” admitted Stewart. “Sure, Merritt was a tough guy. But, Jesus, Stauffer was the chief legal officer of Winshire, and he had to do a lot of tough stuff. You’d think he could’ve stood up to Merritt. But I think what’s gonna happen is that Judge Esposito’s gonna have a lot to say. The judge, he’s strict and all that. But you never know what direction he’s gonna go in.” 

      “And the fraud side of the case, that conspiracy thing,” Westhoff went on, turning toward Vince DuBois. “Correct me if I’m wrong, Vince, ‘cause this is really your side. But this side of it started before Merritt got taken out. So now, the main force behind the conspiracy is . . . He’s just not there any more. And what you got? You got two minor players, two subordinates with Bucknell and Stauffer. We gotta admit that the Thirty Percent thing was really pushed by Merrit. But that’s more up to the U.S. Attorney’s office than our DA.”

      “I hate to admit it,” DuBois began, “but right now, the Southern District’s swimming in cases. And I keep hearing that from guys over there, and also at the FBI, everyone’s complaining about resources – too many cases and not enough manpower. Frankly, I’m gonna have to report this up the chain, and I fear what’s gonna come back down.” 

      Westhoff continued using his position in the DA’s hierarchy to control the session. “And you, Raf?” Westhoff said, turning to Captain Jimenez. “You been very quiet. What’s your reading on all this?” 

      Jimenez appeared just a bit surprised. But he was never one to hold back on his opinions. “I don’t know how to put it, but it looks a lot of stuff is getting lost on a kinda fog. You know, I gotta admit that I might’ve had a hand in that, ‘cause I’m the genius who made a major misstep. I happen to be the guy that jumped up and charged the wrong person with murder. So, now, maybe it’s more appropriate to talk about quicksand than fog. I’d say it all depends on what direction Judge Esposito goes. If the judge goes soft on Stauffer, then everything’s gonna sink in the quicksand. Then all we got’s a naïve kid, that’s Bucknell, and we got Gloria Merritt. And I fear we’d look kinda wimpy if we try to put a naïve kid and a grieving widow in jail. Just saying.”

      “I’m not giving up,” Stewart said. “I’m gonna write my brief. And yes, Kerry, we’ll talk it over. But I think settling for a guilty plea to murder two isn’t too bad. Stauffer would be spending a good stretch of time in the lockup. We’d be sending a message to some of these holier-than-thou consultants that they’re being watched. And we wouldn’t be walking away empty handed.”

      “And Raf,” Westhoff said. “I’m wagering that some of your priorities’re changing.”

      “Okay, you guys, I’ll come clean.” Jimenez flashed a rare smile. “I’m being rewarded for all my good work. I been promoted. I don’t know when it’s gonna be announced, but I’m joining the Major Case Squad, ya know, that elite bunch at One Police Plaza.”

      “Way to go, congratulations,” Stewart said. “You sure been doing your part. I’d say you earned it. But how about Barnesy? We all know he’s responsible for a good part of our case, as is SOP.”

      Jimenez looked up at the ceiling, as if he was getting a bit emotional. “I’m the first to say that, been saying it for long time. So, guess what? I put Barnesy in for a promotion. And it was getting approved up and down the chain of command. And what’s the reaction of Barnesy? He turned it down. He did agree to a salary hike. I just bet he’s gonna hang it up and retire pretty soon.”   

      “And since this is a personal show-and-tell session, I want you guys to know something,” Jimenez said. “I’m gonna give my best effort to the Major Case crowd, but I’m gonna try and be reasonable. All I can tell you is that I’m working on bringing my family back together, if I can, thanks to some help from Vince.”

      Stewart saw that the moment arrived. “Okay, all you guys good? I think we kind of surrounded our case for now. For me at least, it’s the time for writing a strong brief and waiting to see what Judge Esposito has to say.”