The Fury - Jason Pinter [55]
to the docket. Some ended up on Riker's Island, but
many, like James Parker, were relegated to the facility
known affectionately as the Tombs.
The Tombs had actually been the name for several
locations over the years, beginning in 1838 back when
it was called the New York Halls of Justice and House
of Detention (or NYHOFJAHOD for short. No wonder
they called it the Tombs).
After numerous successful escapes and the dete
riorating quality of the cells themselves, the old building
was merged with the Criminal Court building on
Franklin Street, separated by what was called the Bridge
of Sighs.
In 1974 much of the old Tombs had finally been shut
down due to health concerns. Currently the Tombs
consists of two facilities connected by a pedestrian
bridge, with a prisoner capacity nearing nine hundred.
Ironically, in 2001 the Tombs were given the official
name of the Bernard B. Kerik Complex, though in 2006
after Kerik pled guilty to ethics violations (including
several violations of infamous book publisher Judith
Regan in an apartment near ground zero that was
supposed to be used for the rescue effort) the moniker
was removed.
Currently my father was awaiting a grand jury
hearing on the charges of first-degree murder. Accord
ing to Amanda, the prosecution was surely in the
process of collecting evidence to convince the jury that
there was "reasonable cause to believe" that my father
might have killed Stephen Gaines. We both admitted the
The Fury
163
likelihood of a trial at this point, so time was becoming
more and more precious. We had interlocked several
pieces, but we couldn't see the whole puzzle.
The 4 train took us to Canal Street. For some reason,
passing by the massive pillars and intricate scrollwork
adorning the Supreme Court building reminded me I
hadn't yet served jury duty since arriving in New York
a few years ago. I could already imagine the tremendous
sense of irony I would feel upon signing that jury slip.
Maybe if I was lucky it'd be juror appreciation day. Get
a free coffee mug and everything. Leave this mess with
something memorable.
The Manhattan Criminal Courthouse towered above
the city skyscape, with four towers encircling a larger
center with floors in decreasing size, as though you
were viewing a staircase to the sky. In front were two
massive granite columns, and the whole structure was
designed in an art deco-style.
We entered the lobby through glass doors and made
our way to the security stand. We showed our identifi
cation, which the security guard scrutinized intensely
and matched to his logbook before writing us passes.
After that we passed through a series of metal detectors
and, after a search of my bag and Amanda's purse, we
were headed toward the Manhattan Detention Complex,
aka the Tombs.
A tall guard in a neatly pressed blue uniform accom
panied us to an elevator that looked like it was built into
a brick wall. I noticed he did not have a gun on his
holster. Instead, there was a Taser, a can of Mace and a
thin cylinder about a half inch in diameter and six inches
long. The guard noticed I was staring at it.
164
Jason Pinter
"Expandable baton," he said. "Officers have been
complaining about the longer ones for years. They're
heavy as my mother-in-law and an incredible nuisance.
These puppies are compact and pack a hell of a punch."
"Can I try it?"
"No."
We got on the elevator and the guard pressed Down.
We waited just a few moments before the doors opened
up.
"Not a lot of elevator traffic," I said.
"Anytime I see the elevator going up from the lower
levels and I'm not in it," he said, "we've got problems."
"I hope that's not a regular occurrence."
He didn't answer me. I'd begun to get used to people
tuning me out.
By staring straight ahead I wasn't sure if he thought
that was a stupid statement, or one that struck a nerve.
As much as I hated embarrassing myself with silly
comments, I hope it was the former.
Once the elevator opened, the guard led us through
a long, musty tunnel. At the end