Damaged Goods Sample

A story of patriorism, courage and heroism, and the physical and mental toll war takes on the hearts and souls of young men.

DAMAGED GOODS

A NOVEL

By JAMES SHEEHAN

PROLOGUE

Washington D.C.

August, 2006

The days were consistently hot and muggy this time of year but that didn’t stop Aniket Patel from taking his evening walk. He liked to go with his wife, Catherine, but she often had to attend late night meetings for one reason or another as part of her job as a United States Congresswoman from New Jersey. Thus, on this night as on many nights, Aniket walked alone.

He had been a general practitioner in New Jersey for thirty years before retiring. Now he was a house husband. Aniket smiled to himself as he walked. He enjoyed every minute of this stress-free life. His big activity for the day was planning dinner.

When he arrived at his townhouse, Aniket saw a young man who seemed to be passed out on the front steps. He could have just stepped over the man, but Aniket was a doctor. He wanted to make sure the man was okay. He shook him gently.

“Wake up.” He said. No response. He shook him a little harder. The man opened his eyes. Aniket smiled at him to let him know he meant him no harm.

The man sprang at Aniket like a mountain lion pouncing on his prey. Caught off balance, Aniket fell back onto the concrete. The man pounced on him, his two hands grabbing Aniket’s neck and squeezing it.

Across the street, an elderly woman watched in horror from her living room window. There was nothing she could do but pick up the phone and dial 911. If she opened her window and screamed or yelled, the man might turn his wrath on her.

The police were there in minutes and, surprisingly, the attacker was still there standing over his victim with both hands on the side of his head covering his cars while he shook his head back from side to side.

As they both approached the perpetrator, he offered no resistance. They handcuffed him and put him in the back of the squad car. The ambulance arrived moments later and started administering CPR to Aniket.

“He’s not responding.” One EMT, a dark-haired woman, said to the other.

“Let’s get him in the ambulance and get him to the hospital.” The other EMT, a short stocky man, said. They loaded Aniket into the ambulance.

Catherine Simpson was known on the Hill as an outspoken, in-your-face Jersey woman. Nobody ever had a problem knowing where she stood on any issue. A former prosecutor for the state of New Jersey, Catherine was a petite, attractive woman which made her personality all the more surprising. Nobody ever expected such a tiny woman would be so aggressive. On the Hill, her opponents often referred to Catherine as “the bulldog”, a nickname she did not take offense to. She even relished it and for a particular reason. Her strongest asset was that she was a chess player, never looking at the next move but the move far off in the distance. The “bulldog” moniker always kept her opposition focused on her next move.

Catherine stayed up all night crying the night Aniket died. They had a special relationship. Aniket was the sweetest man Catherine had ever met. She fell in love with him on their first date and kept on loving him for the next thirty-five years. His steady calm demeanor was her rock.

By morning, Catherine’s sorrow had turned to anger. She personally drove herself over to Attorney General, Randy Wagner’s house. The Bulldog had formulated a plan, a plan she wasn’t sharing with anyone.

“Catherine what’s wrong?” Randy asked her when

Catherine appeared on his doorstep banging on the door.

“I want that son-of-a-bitch dead. And I want you to indict him today.”

“Who? What are you talking about?”

“You don’t know?”

“No. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Aniket’s dead. He was strangled last night on the steps of our own home. Some drug crazed idiot. He was standing there when the police arrived. Admitted to the whole thing. I want him dead. And I want him indicted today.”.

“I’m so sorry.” Randy told her. “I’ll look into this right away.”

“That’s not good enough, Randy. I want him indicted today.”

“Catherine, that’s not the way the process works. The grand juries that are in session– and most of them are off on Fridays–are working on other cases. We can’t just pull them off.”

“Look Randy, I was a prosecutor myself and we pulled jurors off cases all the time to run another case by them so don’t feed me that crap. I could put this case on in a half hour. All you need is the arresting officer.

Randy was rarely at a loss for words, but Catherine was a close ally of the President. He couldn’t just dismiss her demands.

“I’ll make some calls. See what we can do.” He said, hoping that would pacify her.

“T’ll wait.” She replied, causing Randy to remember that her nickname was ‘the bulldog.”

“Okay.” Randy said and started to leave the room. It was a little after 9 A.M. on Friday morning.

“Make sure it’s for first degree murder.” She said to his back.

Randy came back in the room less than thirty minutes later.

“The grand jury is going to meet at two this afternoon. The police officer will be there. If everything is as you said it is, and I have just about verified everything you said, we should have an indictment by five. There’s no federal jurisdiction, however, so there’s no death penalty.

“The assailant is having his presentment at 1 P.M. today. From everything I can tell, he is going to tell the judge he is guilty and that he doesn’t want an attorney. The judge will probably hold him over until Monday. When he shows up Monday, we will have a formal indictment. This will be his arraignment. He will have had the opportunity to confer with counsel. If he says he doesn’t want a lawyer and pleads guilty, it’s over. It will then be up to the judge to sentence him appropriately.”

Catherine loved the strategy. She already knew about the death penalty part. She was willing to give up on that part for the time being. She had a plan for that, but it was down the road, and she wasn’t sharing it with Randy until all the pieces were in place. Even in her state of mourning, she was still setting up the chess board.

“One other thing.” She said as she put her teacup down and stood up.

“What?” Randy asked with a politeness he did not believe he could muster. 

“Danny Radesi.”

“Yeah. What about him?” The politeness was wearing off quickly.

“He’s your best prosecutor, isn’t he? I hear he hasn’t lost a case in something like seven years.

“Something like that.”

“I want him on this case.”

“He’s working other high-profile cases at the moment. I can’t just pull him off them.”

“Yes, you can. This case will probably be over Monday morning. Even if it isn’t, it’s a two-day trial at most. The public defender probably won’t even put up a fight.”

“Alright. You’ve got Danny.”

The Bulldog wasn’t through yet. “What about the judge.” 

Wagner was done at that point, friend of the President or not. “That’s a random appointment by the Clerk’s office. I can’t do anything about that nor would I.”

“Really?” She gave him that look again.

“Really.” He stared back at her.

Courtroom C10 in downtown Washington D.C. was an arraignment courtroom so it was large enough to accommodate a large number of defendants and their lawyers as well as prosecutors, public defenders, court officers, court reporters and deputy clerks. When court was in session it was a little bit like an old silent movie with people running to and fro, attorneys shuffling through files looking for cases, deals being made on the sidelines, and the judge arraigning individual defendants in the midst of it all.

On this Monday morning however, Courtroom C10 was empty except for two spectators, Congresswoman Catherine Simpson, who sat on one side of the spectator’s gallery, and a large unidentified black man who sat on the opposite side. At ten minutes to nine, Danny Radesi, the top prosecutor in the Attorney General’s office, entered the courtroom and sat at one of the attorneys’ tables facing the judge’s dais. At five minutes to nine a deputy clerk and a court reporter entered and took their place on each side of the judge’s dais followed by the defendant who was in chains and accompanied by two guards. The defendant and the guards all stood directly in front of the judge’s dais, facing the bench. At two minutes to nine, two other individuals, a man and a woman, entered the courtroom and sat at the attorneys’ table opposite the prosecutor.

At nine o’clock sharp, the judge entered the room. He was a tall, elderly man with thick gray hair. Everybody stood. The judge told them to be seated and sat down himself. The guards placed the defendant in a seat next to the two lawyers and stood against the far wall.

“This is the case of the District of Columbia versus William

Wright.” The judge said. He looked around and then directly at the defendant. “The Defendant will rise.” He said.

William Wright stood up again.

“Is this man represented?” The judge asked.

One of the lawyers stood up, the man.

“Yes, Your Honor, we are representing him. My name is Jack Tobin, and this is my colleague, Paula Haynes.

“Your reputation precedes you Mr. Tobin. However, I just thought you did death penalty appeals these days.”

“When necessary, I do try cases from time to time, Your Honor.”

Danny Radesi stood up after Mr. Tobin.

“Danny Radesi for the District of Columbia, Your Honor.”

“Thank you, Mr. Radesi. I am Judge John Graham.” The old man said to the group, all of whom, except for the defendant, knew exactly who he was.

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