A Legal Matter
Part Two
On a Wednesday afternoon, I left work early with a headache and went home. As I walked in the door, the phone rang, and I answered it.
"Mrs. Dunbar?" an unfamiliar voice asked.
"Yes," I answered guardedly, thinking it was a telemarketer.
"Peter Martinson, New York Times. We're doing an in-depth article on your husband's case against the NYPD. I'd like to get his comments."
"He's not available at the moment. And if you need information about the case, you really should talk to our lawyer, Geoff Miller."
"I will. What about you, Mrs. Dunbar? What has it been like for you? Do you support your husband's effort to return to work as a detective?"
"Yes, of course."
"You're not worried about him going back to work in the field?"
"Listen, as I told you before, if you want to know about the case, you need to talk to Geoff Miller. I really don't have anything to say to the press."
"Mrs. Dunbar . . . ," he persisted.
"Talk to Geoff Miller," I repeated, and hung up.
I sank down on the couch, wondering what use Martinson would make of my few words, and how they would be twisted or taken out of context in his article. I realized I'd better call Geoff and alert him, in case he hadn't already received a call from Martinson. Geoff was in court, but his associate, Linda Mayer, assured me I hadn't said anything damaging.
There was no news about the case. It was hard to believe it had already dragged on for six months. There were legal hoops we'd had to jump through before Geoff could even file suit. Once he'd finally been able to file suit, the case had bogged down because of several delaying motions brought by the NYPD's lawyers. In spite of Geoff's detailed explanations, all I really knew was that they involved technical legal issues, and it would probably be another couple of months before all of them were finally decided. In the meantime, there had been endless wrangling about what Geoff called "discovery," centering mainly on his efforts to get the department to turn over documents and records he thought would help our case. Even though Geoff had warned us these kinds of things would happen, Jimmy was becoming increasingly frustrated and impatient with the delays.
Two weeks before, Jimmy had undergone the first of what promised to be several days of grueling questioning by the department's lawyer, in a pre-trial deposition. The morning session went smoothly, but things turned nasty after the lunch break. The department's lawyer went after Jimmy, asking him a series of questions which were obviously intended to embarrass him and get him to admit there were things he couldn't do. At one point, the lawyer pretended to "forget" Jimmy was blind and handed him a document he wanted to ask him about. Jimmy just looked impassive and asked, "And what am I supposed to do with this?" but Geoff was so angry I thought he was going to ask the other lawyer to "step outside." The department's lawyer only backed off when Geoff threatened to walk out of the deposition and inform the judge that Jimmy was being harassed.
Jimmy managed to keep his cool through all this, but I could tell, from his clenched fist under the conference room table and his curt answers, that the questions were getting to him. Fortunately, Geoff had warned him to expect this kind of thing. Besides, as I realized later, Jimmy had had a lot of practice in exercising self-control since losing his sight. When I commented on it that evening, he just shrugged and said it was good practice for when he went back on the job. Still, I wasn't looking forward to the next session of his deposition. And my own deposition was coming up in a couple of weeks.
I took a couple of Tylenol and went to lie down. Thinking about the case had made my headache worse. When Jimmy got home, I told him about the call from the Times reporter. He looked thoughtful, but just said he'd talk to Geoff in the morning.
When I got home from work the next day, I asked Jimmy, "So, did you talk to Geoff? What did he have to say?"
Jimmy nodded. "Yes, I did. Geoff thinks we should cooperate with Martinson."
I couldn't believe it. "You can't be serious," I told him, not bothering to keep the disbelief out of my voice.
"Yes, I am. Geoff talked to Martinson and checked him out. He thinks the story Martinson plans to do is 'NYPD Gives Blind Hero the Shaft,' and this will put pressure on the department to put me back on the job. Apparently, Martinson considers himself some kind of disability-rights advocate. Geoff found out his sister had a spinal cord injury as a teenager, before the ADA, and the family had to fight for her just to be allowed to finish high school." He shrugged. "He's going to write the story, either way. This way, at least we can have some input into what he writes."
"But, Jimmy," I protested, "it won't be just Martinson. The rest of the press will be all over the story. You know what they're like. Our lives won't be our own any more. Besides, I'm sure the department has friends in the press, and they'll stop at nothing to dig up dirt on you."
"So, what's the prob—?" I could see the guilt on his face, as he realized there was a problem.
"Yes, Jimmy, there is a problem. What if they find out about that?"
"I'll handle it."
"You'll handle it?" I threw back at him. "That's big of you. You're not the one who'll be publicly humiliated."
"Christie, please, don't fight me on this. I need to do this to get back on the job. No one will find out."
"Oh, so that makes it okay – you need to do this, and that's the end of it? You know, Jimmy, it's not only about you."
"Christie, please, just stop and think for a minute . . ."
I cut him off. "'Stop and think?' You sure didn't stop and think, before you slept with that woman."
Before he could respond, I turned and stomped angrily into the bedroom and slammed the door. I couldn't believe what had just happened. After Jimmy was shot, I'd suppressed my hurt and anger at his betrayal, deciding to deal with those feelings later. But I hadn't dealt with them. They were still festering. I knew I had to deal with them, but I couldn't. Not now. Maybe later, after Jimmy went back on the job – if he got his job back, that is. I took a deep breath and vowed to bury my feelings again, hoping they would stay buried.
A knock on the bedroom door interrupted my thoughts. "Come in," I said. Jimmy opened the door and stood in the doorway, a glass of wine in his hand. He had brought me a peace offering.
"Come sit next to me, I promise I won't bite," I told him.
"You sure about that?" he asked with a pained grin, but he walked over to the bed and sat next to me, setting the glass of wine carefully on the nightstand. He reached for my hand and kissed it. "I am so sorry about . . . .you know," he said. "I promise you, it will never happen again."
"I know you're sorry, but I don't want to talk about it now."
"Maybe we should."
"I can't talk about it. Not now, Jimmy," I said firmly.
"All right, but I should have thought about how going public would affect you."
"Yes, you should have, but you're too damn single-minded. When you set your mind to something, nothing else matters." I reached out and rubbed his back. "I have a bad feeling about talking to that reporter," I told him. "I hope I'm wrong."
Martinson's article appeared in two parts, on the following Sunday and Monday. He had used a lot of the information Jimmy and Geoff had fed to him, including Jimmy's military service in the first Gulf War, the guns he'd taken off the streets when he worked Anti-Crime, and the cases he'd cleared as a homicide detective. The response was immediate, and as I'd expected, we were soon under siege as the rest of the media picked up the story. By some miracle, Jimmy's affair never became public knowledge. The Friday after Martinson's story ran, Geoff called to let us know he'd heard from a source in the Mayor's office that the publicity was working. Several pressure groups had begun clamoring for Jimmy's reinstatement, and the Mayor was feeling the pressure.
Three weeks after Martinson's story appeared, Jimmy and I were cooling our heels in the reception area at the office of retired Judge Howard Weiss, who was serving as a mediator in an effort to negotiate a settlement in Jimmy's case. Earlier that week, Geoff had called and told Jimmy the department's attorneys had proposed going to mediation "to see if we can resolve the case." When Jimmy called me at work to let me know, I could hear the excitement in his voice.
"What does this mean?" I'd asked.
"According to Geoff, it means they're caving." Jimmy went on to explain, "Geoff says asking to talk settlement doesn't always mean the other side is really interested in settling, but in this case, he thinks the pressure has gotten to them. He thinks the word came down to do whatever it takes to make the case go away. It's not a done deal, obviously, but it's looking good."
"So you're really going back on the job."
"It looks like it."
Now we were waiting while the lawyers and Judge Weiss hammered out the details of Jimmy's reinstatement. As Geoff had predicted, the department's lawyers had agreed to Jimmy's going back on the job, but they had done so grudgingly, making it clear it wasn't their decision.
Geoff came out of the conference room and walked with us to another conference room, where we could speak privately. "Here's where we are. They've agreed to your reinstatement, at your old rank, pay rate, and seniority, and the department will pay your attorney's fees and litigation costs. In return, they want you to agree to a sixty-day trial period and a psychological evaluation, give the department the right to select the precinct where you'll be assigned, drop the lawsuit, and sign a full release."
"I have no problem with that," Jimmy responded.
"The only remaining issue," Geoff continued, "is whether you carry a gun. The department's lawyers want some more time to look into the ramifications of your carrying a gun. I've told them that doesn't need to be decided today, as long as the decision on the gun doesn't affect your reinstatement. Is that okay with you?"
"Not a problem," Jimmy replied.
Geoff returned to the conference room and we returned to the reception area. Five minutes later, he came back out.
"We have a deal," he announced. "Come on in to the conference room."
We sat next to Geoff at the conference table as Judge Weiss summarized the terms of the agreement, and Jimmy and the department's lawyers confirmed their acceptance. All that remained was to prepare the formal written agreement. Jimmy would be back on the job after he got his guide dog next month.
As we left Judge Weiss's office to go for a celebratory drink, Geoff turned to Jimmy and said, "Congratulations, Detective Dunbar, you're back on the job." I was happy for Jimmy, but couldn't help wondering if we had really "won," or if the real battle was just beginning.