Page 37 of The Presidents Shadow

MADDY, R.J., AND Belinda head to the maze of courts and courtrooms in downtown Manhattan.

R.J. insists he will be handling representation of Belinda at this next hearing, which has been postponed and rescheduled twice already.

Maddy carefully suggests that she might be better suited for the job, given her recent success at court.

When R.J. is adamantly opposed to that, she surmises that he sees this session as a chance to redeem himself.

He has on clean clothes this time, at any rate.

This final hearing is like a trial, but it is not actually a trial. It is what the City of New York terms a “preliminary jury,” six men and women who listen, confer, and then give their evaluation of the situation to the judge. The judge can overrule the jury’s advice, but that is rare.

Belinda and Maddy sit at a small table. Belinda is dressed like the president of a bygone high school’s Young Republicans Club: loose-fitting chino slacks, simple white cotton button-down shirt, a dark blue scarf around her neck.

Maddy helped her with her outfit, still befuddled by the conservative clothing these young drug dealers seemed to prefer.

Maddy and Belinda are extremely anxious about R.J.

’s performance, given his initial stumble.

But his presentation is smart, powerful, downright eloquent.

Gesturing frequently to the well-groomed Belinda, R.J.

calmly and carefully presents the story of a very young woman who was abused by her family and mistreated by the NYC social services system, and fell into the role of drug dealing, just one more victim of that long-running epidemic.

Maddy keeps her eyes glued to the members of the jury.

All six appear to be listening with sympathy.

One woman on the jury—a pudgy little grandma—even seems to nod slightly when R.J.

mentions “the tender confusion of vulnerable youth, and the regret that can follow them for the rest of their lives.”

All is going well until R.J. sits down and the prosecuting attorney stands up. He is an energetic young man from the DA’s office. He begins by saying that he agrees with how R.J. has presented the situation.

“Yes,” he says, “I would, under most circumstances, suggest that this young woman be given parole and entered into a society-rehab program.”

Maddy is cynical enough to know that there’s a big but coming.

The prosecuting lawyer continues.

“But these are not ‘most circumstances,’ as you will see when I share this video recording of our young victim from January of this year on the corner of 53rd Street and Third Avenue in Manhattan.”

The entire room is treated to a video of Belinda speaking to a man whom the prosecutor describes as an undercover vice officer.

Belinda cannot contain herself.

“That’s Bobby McCarthy!” she shouts.

The judge tells Belinda to calm down, and the video continues. Everyone watches as Detective McCarthy slips both his hands inside Belinda’s unzippered jacket, emerging with two baggies, which he holds above his head, taunting her as she tries to get them back. Then the video abruptly stops.

The lawyer smiles. “The tape don’t lie, man.”

R.J. stands up quickly and speaks fiercely. “No, it doesn’t lie. It’s abundantly clear that this girl was robbed and attacked by a full-grown man.”

The prosecutor, his voice dripping with sarcasm, says, “That’s one point of view.”

“Any other pertinent statements?” asks the judge, and when there are none, the advisory segment goes to the jury.

Belinda and Maddy are thrilled that R.J. actually came through for them. Now there’s nothing left to do but wait for the jury to decide.