Episode 20: Eyewitness Identification
Day Two
Scene One
At mid-morning, the squad assembled in Fisk's office to bring him up to date on the investigation. "We brought in all of the mugging victims – except Dunbar's buddy Pete, of course – and showed them a photo line-up including Tyree's picture," Marty began, as Karen glared at him and Tom shook his head, looking fed up. Jim took a deep breath, his usual impassive expression masking his reaction to Marty's sniping.
Fisk looked annoyed, but merely said, "All right, Russo, don't be a comedian. Get on with it."
"One of them picked him out and said he looked like the mugger. Another one picked out someone else's picture. The other two couldn't ID anyone."
"Lidia Hernandez picked out his photo, too," Tom added.
"Of course she did," Jim pointed out, "she already ID'd him."
Marty shot a look at Jim but said nothing.
"What about the girlfriend?" Fisk asked.
"She can alibi him for last night," Karen replied. "And both Jim and I think she's pretty credible." Jim nodded his agreement. "I mean, she was pretty specific about what they did during the evening, and – I don't know – she just didn't come across like she was making it up."
"That doesn't mean anything," Marty scoffed, "she and Tyree had plenty of time to get their stories straight before he was collared."
"Maybe," Karen conceded, "but he had no idea we were even looking at him for the muggings and the homicide."
"But if he did them – and he did – wouldn't he be sure to have his alibi lined up?" Tom pointed out.
"I guess."
"What about Pete?" Jim asked.
"What about him?" Marty demanded, belligerently.
"Tyree doesn't fit the description of Pete's mugger at all. He's a big, bulky guy. Pete is sure the guy who mugged him was a lot smaller. Plus, Tyree doesn't have asthma – his girlfriend confirmed that – and he doesn't have a Southern accent like Pete heard."
"Well, maybe Pete got mugged by a different guy," Tom suggested.
"Another mugger with the exact same m.o.?" Jim asked, shaking his head. "Not likely."
"I gotta ask you, Jim," Marty began. Jim turned toward Marty and cocked his head, knowing he wasn't going to like what he was about to hear. "Are you sure you're not just saying that because you want Pete to be right? I mean, maybe you want him to be right because he's blind, you know?"
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"I'm just sayin', maybe you want to prove something. But we have the perp in custody and two eyewitnesses. Get real -- what can Pete tell us? It's not like he's an eyewitness, you know."
Jim turned away and bowed his head, looking defeated.
Fisk had heard enough. "That's enough, Marty," he said firmly. Then he addressed the whole squad. "Where do you want to go from here?"
"What's left to do?" Marty demanded. "We've got two eyewitnesses saying Tyree's the guy. That's enough to take to the DA."
"I don't know," Karen said doubtfully. "Saying Tyree 'looks like' the guy doesn't sound like much of an ID to me – plus the fact that Lidia ID'd him after seeing him in custody at the precinct. And what about the other victims who didn't ID him? Besides, we don't have any physical evidence so far to connect Tyree to the homicide, or any of the muggings."
"Jeez, Karen," Marty retorted, "who're you – the guy's damn defense lawyer?"
"Any thoughts, Jim?" Fisk asked, before Karen could respond.
"We got Tyree on tape during the interview, right?" Jim asked.
"Yeah," Fisk confirmed.
"I'd like to have Pete listen to the tape, see if he recognizes his voice. Then I want to take him back to the scene, see if Karen can spot anything."
"OK," Fisk agreed, giving Marty a warning look. "Tom, Marty, you get on the lab, see if they got anything from the homicide scene or Tyree's apartment." He dismissed the squad. "Hit it."
Scene Two
Jim dropped Hank's harness as he walked in the front door of Pete's apartment. Halfway across the room, he collided with a chair that had never been there before. "What'd you do, Pete, rearrange the furniture?"
"That's right," Pete quipped, "I knew you were coming so I rearranged the furniture."
"You're in a world of trouble, kid, that's assault on a cop," Jim informed him, in his sternest voice.
"C'mon, Detective, you can't bust a blind guy," Pete countered.
"Just doin' my job," Jim told him solemnly. He stepped around the out-of-place chair, then asked, "So, Pete, is there anything else I need to watch out for?"
"No, you're good – really," Pete assured him as he headed for the couch.
Once seated on the couch, Jim reached into his bag for the tape player with the tape of the interview with Tyree Williams. "Ready?" he asked when he found the "Play" button.
"Yeah," Pete replied as the tape began. He listened intently, then shook his head when the interview ended. "It's not the same voice."
"You're sure?" Jim pressed.
"Yeah. The guy's voice was higher, and like I said, he had an accent. It's definitely not the same guy."
"OK," Jim told him. "Let's head out, then."
Scene Three
"It was right around here, I think," Pete told them. "We're in the middle of the block, right?"
"Yeah," Karen confirmed, looking around the block of brownstones and small apartment buildings between First Avenue and Avenue A.
"Do you see anywhere the guy could have hidden?" Jim asked.
"Why would he need to hide?"
"C'mon, Karen." Jim didn't try to hide the irritation in his voice. "The guy had no way of knowing a blind guy would come along. He had to make sure no one would spot him."
"I know, Jim, but that's not what I meant. This street would have been pretty empty at that time of night, and it's not very well-lit. It would have been easy to conceal himself."
Jim waved a hand dismissively. "OK, but look around anyway."
Karen scanned the nearby buildings. "The building two doors down has a stairwell going down to the basement, under the stairs to the first floor. He could have hidden there."
Jim turned to Pete. "You were heading in this direction, east toward Avenue A, right?"
"Yeah," Pete confirmed.
"And he came up from behind you?"
"Yeah."
"Did you hear what direction he went after?"
"Sorry, no, I was out of it."
"Okay," Karen said, "I'll look in both directions. But what, exactly, am I looking for?"
"I don't know," Jim told her, "anything that might have a connection to the guy."
Karen sighed, feeling that she was just humoring Jim, and her efforts would be futile. "I'll start at the corner and work back in this direction." Resignedly, she walked away from Jim and Pete. When she reached the corner, she began systematically searching the sidewalk, curbs and building fronts, finding nothing but meaningless litter. In the stairwells, the trash cans were empty from the morning's garbage collection.
As she approached the middle of the block, Karen interrupted her search to look over at Jim and Pete standing next to the line of parked cars along the curb. Something about Jim's body language told her he was at ease, as relaxed as she'd ever seen him. Their voices were too low for her to make out any words, but as she watched them, Jim smiled at something Pete said. Karen felt left out, as if the two blind men were sharing something she couldn't be a part of. As the only woman in a squad of male detectives, she often felt left out, but this was different, somehow. Then she reminded herself Jim was the odd man out in the squad, too. No matter how many cases he cleared, his blindness would always set him apart from the others. Marty had proved that again, that morning.
She passed Jim and Pete and continued her search. In the stairwell she'd pointed out as a possible hiding place, something light-colored caught her eye. When she picked it up, she recognized it as an inhaler – the kind used by asthmatics. She carefully placed it in a plastic evidence bag, then called out to Jim.
"I got something."
"What is it?" Jim asked as he hurried toward her, followed closely by Pete.
"An asthma inhaler."
Jim grinned at her. "Don't get smug, Dunbar," she cautioned him. "It's in pretty bad shape, no telling how long it's been there. And there aren't any markings on it to tell us who it belonged to."
"Since when have you been taking lessons from Russo?" he countered.
Karen ignored him. "Let's get this over to the lab and have them check it out."
Scene Four
Fisk sighed as he hung up the phone and walked out of his office. He sat at the desk opposite Jim's before he spoke. "Anything from the lab on the scene or the apartment?"
"Not really," Tom told him. "There were no shell casings at the scene, and the lab says the gun found in Tyree's apartment is not the one used in the homicide."
"No surprise – he had plenty of time to get rid of it," Marty pointed out.
Tom resumed. "There were no credit cards or anything belonging any of the victims in the apartment. There was about four grand in cash, but there's no way of telling if any of it's from the muggings. It could be from his drug sales."
"Well, I just talked to the DA, and she says we need more than just the witness IDs before she can file," Fisk informed the squad.
"You gotta be kidding!" Marty exploded.
"No, I'm not," Fisk assured him. "She doesn't think the IDs are solid enough to get a conviction on the homicide or the muggings, without some other evidence to connect Tyree to the crimes. But he will stay in custody, at least until he can make bail on the drug charges."
"Damn, I know he's good for it," Marty insisted.
"Then get me something more to give the DA," Fisk told him as he returned to his office.
After Fisk closed his office door, Marty turned to Jim, "You happy now, Dunbar?" he demanded.
Karen and Tom exchanged exasperated looks. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" she asked, before Jim could respond.
"If eyewitness IDs aren't enough – people who actually saw the guy – I guess we need Dunbar or his buddy Pete to sniff out the perp. Dunbar should be happy about that."
"Give it a rest, man," Tom snapped. Karen gave Jim a worried look as he reached for his earpiece in grim silence and went back to work on his report.
Scene Five
"You're pretty quiet this evening, Jim," Dr. Cohen observed, as the end of the session approached.
He turned toward the psychologist, wondering – not for the first time – what she looked like. In spite of Christie's description of Dr. Cohen as "gray-haired and motherly," he had never developed a good visual image of her. Still, there was something about her – perhaps the warmth and calmness of her voice – that had made him feel comfortable talking to her, almost from the beginning. But, like Dr. Galloway, she didn't let him duck difficult issues if she felt he needed to address them. "Maybe I just don't have anything to say," he replied with a tight smile.
"Of course, you don't have to talk if you don't want to, but something is troubling you, isn't it?"
Jim turned away from her and bowed his head.
"Jim?" she prodded gently.
"Look, it isn't anything about Christie and me, so let's just let it go, OK?"
"All right. But you know, Jim, if something's bothering you, it's going to affect Christie, too, one way or another."
Christie took his hand. "She's right, you know. Whatever's bothering you, it's OK, you can tell me."
Jim pulled his hand away and rested his chin on his folded hands. When he raised his head, he asked, "Doctor, have you ever counseled any other blind people, before me?"
"I have. Several years ago. Is that what this is about?"
He shook his head. "Not the blindness. I can handle that. We can handle it. But – "
Christie took his hand again. "But what?"
"Other people – you know."
Christie nodded to herself. "I know," she said quietly. She understood only too well what Jim was referring to. She sighed.
Dr. Cohen spoke up. "I'm guessing this isn't new, Jim. Why is it bothering you now?"
"It's a case I've been working," Jim explained. "One of the victims is a blind kid – someone I know." He turned to Christie. "You remember me telling you about Pete Steckle?"
"Yes, of course."
Jim continued, "None of the other detectives would even listen to him. What could a blind guy tell them, anyway?"
"You're feeling marginalized by other people's attitudes toward blindness," Dr. Cohen suggested.
Jim managed a small grin. "Well, I wouldn't put it that way, exactly – but, yes."
"Sorry about the jargon. Please continue."
He frowned, then said, "I should be used to it by now, I don't know why it got to me this time – "
"But, Jimmy," Christie pointed out, "you've worked with these guys for nine months now, they know you and what you can do. You don't expect them to be like that – not after all the cases you've cleared."
He turned toward her, nodding, "Yeah, I guess so."
"You do know, don't you, Jim," Dr. Cohen told him, "this isn't about you, it's about them."
"Yeah? It doesn't feel that way."
"I know. But it is. I know it's not enough to say it's their problem. You have to deal with it, so that makes it your problem, too. But you're not the one with the problem, they are. Remember that."
Jim checked his watch. "Looks like our time is up."
"Yes, it is," Dr. Cohen confirmed. "See you next week." She looked thoughtfully at Jim and Christie as they walked out, arm in arm.
When they reached the sidewalk outside Dr. Cohen's office, Christie stopped. Surprised by her sudden stop, Jim stumbled slightly and bumped against her. "Sorry," she told him, "but we need to talk. Something really is bothering you. I haven't seen you like this since – well, in a long time."
Jim shrugged. "I'm OK, really."
"Jimmy – " she cajoled.
"It's just – you know, being blind sucks, sometimes." He turned away and bowed his head.
Christie looked at her husband, knowing how painful that admission was for him. "What happened?" she asked, gently.
"Like I told Dr. Cohen, it's this case. Everyone else thought Pete was a useless witness, because he couldn't see anything." He grimaced, and when he spoke again, his voice had a bitter overtone. "I've been kidding myself, ever since I went back on the job. It doesn't make any difference that I can clear cases. I can't see – that's the only thing that matters to any of them."
"Oh, Jimmy," Christie began. She fell silent when she realized she didn't know what to say. She reached out and gently squeezed his shoulder, hoping her touch would communicate what she couldn't say.
Jim continued, "And Russo's been on my case for the past couple of days. We don't exactly agree about the case, and he decided to remind me I can't see, every chance he got – like I need a reminder." He bowed his head and turned away from her again.
"Dr. Cohen was right, you know," Christie told him. "He's the one with the problem. He hates it that you proved him wrong. And he knows you're a better detective – blind – than he'll ever be. He can't stand it. That's all it is."
"I guess," Jim agreed reluctantly, turning back toward her, "but I thought we had an – understanding. I don't know what set him off."
"Whatever it was, you shouldn't have to take that – not from Marty or anyone."
Jim took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "That's not all," he said. "The victim in our case got shot in the head, but he was still awake and talking when they got him to the hospital, and Karen asked how that could happen. So Marty says she should ask me about it, I'm the expert, and I probably gave a full statement on the way to the hospital after I got shot."
"That son of a bitch." Christie whispered, revisiting – unwillingly – the worst day of her life.
"You got that right. But I'm not going anywhere. Marty'll just have to deal with it. And so will I."
"No," Christie corrected him, "we will."
Jim reached out for Christie and drew her toward him. She put her head on his shoulder. He stroked her hair and kissed her lightly on the forehead, then said, "Let's go home."
Epilogue
Two Days Later
"Hey, Jim," Mike Ciccone called out as Jim and Hank entered the 8th Precinct.
"What's up?" Jim replied.
"We caught another mugging last night."
"Same m.o.?"
"Yep."
"I'll be damned. Tyree Williams still in custody?"
"Last I heard. But you haven't heard the best part yet," Mike told him. "A group of college kids were coming home from a party and saw the mugging in progress. They chased the guy and gang-tackled him. He's in a holding cell, waiting to go to Central Booking."
"You're kidding me."
"Nope. Scout's honor."
"What does he look like?" Jim asked.
"Scrawny little guy, but he looks a little like Tyree Williams in the face. Got quite a rap sheet – out of Alabama. And you'll never guess what we found on him."
"An asthma inhaler?"
"You got it."
"Sweet. Thanks, Mike."
As he ordered Hank forward and headed for the elevator, Jim smiled to himself. He wiped the smile off his face only when the elevator doors opened on the second floor.