The Fence Part 15

The next month, s.m.u.t was shooting pool in a hall in Dorchester when he ran into Craig Jones and Mike c.o.x. The two were apparently checking up on s.m.u.t's recovery as part of their own trial preparation. Craig, s.m.u.t said, "was like asking, 'Yo, you know, you gonna come to the civil trial 'cause he, you know, he needs you.'"

From s.m.u.t's point of view, he'd gotten nothing but trouble for testifying. The Conley trial had left him confused, the way his testimony was twisted, but the big picture wasn't his concern; to the contrary, he wanted to get in and get out. Keep it as simple as possible. He didn't even want anyone knowing about his involvement. "I gotta live on the street," he said, "and I don't want people seeing me with the police and they thinking that I'm doing something that I have no business doing, and I end up getting found dead somewhere." If not for giving his word he would have told Craig and Mike he was done with Woodruff Way. But he'd told Bob Sheketoff he would do the right thing, and he was going to finish what he'd promised. Yeah, yeah, s.m.u.t said. "I'm gonna be there."

By the year of the trials-Kenny's trial for perjury and Mike's upcoming civil rights trial-the Boston media had finally ended its Big Sleep and was following the c.o.x scandal extensively. Columnists and editorial writers at the city's two major newspapers, the Boston Globe and the Boston Herald, joined the news coverage with increasingly pointed commentary about the failure of Police Commissioner Evans and other law enforcement officials to break through the blue wall to bring the beaters to justice.

For his part, Evans demonstrated a keen interest in public opinion. Following a series of police screw-ups, ranging from the tragic death of the retired black minister during a mistaken drug raid to the uncovering by the Globe of years of corruption by two veteran officers, Walter "Mitty" Robinson and Kenny Acerra, he wrote an op-ed piece in the Globe heralding his new public integrity and anti-corruption initiatives. He said the inference in media coverage that his administration was not interested in rooting out wrongdoing was unfair. "This impression cannot be allowed to go unaddressed."

Not long afterward, he went on the public relations offensive to counter the Globe's ongoing investigation into Boston police misconduct. For a meeting at the newspaper's headquarters with editors and reporters, Evans brought along data showing a statistical improvement in the department's self-policing. "One thing I feel strongly about is that we have to clean up our own problems," he told the roomful of journalists.

Then, in the wake of another Globe expose in late 1997 about testilying, Evans joined court officials and Ralph Martin, the district attorney for Suffolk County, to announce a crackdown on police perjury that could result in botched trials, wrongful convictions, and few repercussions for officers caught lying. They unveiled a new reporting system by which judges who suspected an officer was lying would notify police and prosecutors for a follow-up inquiry. The plan seemed a step forward and made for a great sound bite. But the talk was more stunt than substance. "I honestly don't remember anything about this," Ralph Martin said years after the much-ballyhooed reform was first announced. It turned out the reporting system was never implemented.

By the fall of 1998, the Globe's editorial writer Larry Harmon, who specialized in criminal justice matters, was leading the growing view that Evans and all the other law enforcement agencies had mucked up the c.o.x case-a tragic comedy of errors and lack of will that hit a new low with the criminal conviction of Kenny Conley. "The US attorney is supposed to squeeze witnesses and send tough messages about the fate of any officer who commits perjury or tries to cover up knowledge of a crime. But he is supposed to squeeze the right people," read the Globe editorial of October 10, 1998.

Then came the dart aimed at the police commissioner. "While Conley readies for prison, at least three Boston police officers who likely have greater knowledge of the case-James Burgio, David Williams and Ian Daley-remain on the job."

The Herald columnist Peter Gelzinis was also unimpressed with the department's track record regarding c.o.x and Conley, saying c.o.x had become an outcast in "a department that's never been able to locate its moral backbone with this case.

"It is Michael c.o.x who gets shunned, not the officers who beat him. Not the officers who are directly responsible for stripping Kenny Conley of his career at 29."

By the end of the month-and a few weeks before the start of Mike's trial-Evans finally took action that most familiar with the scandal considered long overdue. Burgio, Williams, and Daley were stripped of their badges and weapons and placed on administrative leave. Evans included a fourth, Kenny's partner, Bobby Dwan, a bewildering move that left Bobby stunned and apoplectic; in short order, he hired one the city's best lawyers to fight back.

Evans's announcement made front-page news. But the commissioner was noticeably circ.u.mspect when asked why now? Why did he wait nearly four years after the beating to put the officers on paid administrative leave now?

"It's a combination of a lot of things, a lot of information, all coming together, pieces from different investigations," he told reporters. The implication was that new information combined with a dogged determination had created a critical ma.s.s requiring action. But no amount of spin could quell the notion the announcement was window dressing, a public relations move just before a trial where the department itself had been accused of engaging in a "pattern of indifference" to excessive force and the cover-ups that followed. In fact, in terms of the actual evidence, nothing of substance had changed or improved since Bob Peabody's probe had ground to a halt two years earlier. The truth was Evans could have taken the officers off the street a long time ago.

Mike c.o.x certainly saw the action that way-as a stunt. "I was pretty infuriated," he said. "It seems hypocritical to do this on the eve of a civil trial. It's another move on their behalf to spin the best light they could." His attorneys were angered as well, but Rob Sinsheimer saw Evans's announcement as a "crack in their armor." The timing, he said, looked so bad. "It made them look like they were panicking, and it emboldened us."

Settlement discussions are part of any lawsuit, and during Thanksgiving week the pace of the talks picked up. Sessions were held in the jury room of Courtroom 18, where the trial was scheduled to start in early December. The presiding judge, William G. Young, attended, urging the parties to find a common ground. He sat at the conference table across from Mike c.o.x, and, while lawyers did most of the talking, the veteran jurist couldn't help but notice Mike's "quiet dignity." Sinsheimer was always agitating the city's attorneys with his nickname for the lawsuit: "Boston's Rodney King case." From the judge's perspective, the city was offering relatively substantial money-a figure the newspapers put at $300,000. But there was a sense in the room that for Mike c.o.x it was the principle that was at stake, not financial compensation. The talks never came close to reaching a settlement-an impa.s.se that seemed further proof of Mike's feeling about justice and accountability.

The next day, the day before Thanksgiving, the judge issued a series of rulings setting the stage for the trial to finally begin. He cleaned up the case a bit, dismissing parts of Mike's lawsuit, such as the claim that Police Commissioner Evans was personally responsible for violating Mike's rights, as well as the charge the city had failed to provide him with medical care. But he rejected the police department's bid to have the entire case against it thrown out. "The motion of the city for summary judgment is denied," he said. "It's denied as to their liability for failure to train, for failure to supervise, and failure to discipline. All of those matters warrant a jury trial and a jury trial will take place." He also ruled Mike's civil rights were, without question, violated by officers who beat and abandoned him. "I have a number of Boston police officers beating a suspect, then abandoning him in the dirt after discovering he was a police officer." The fundamental question facing the jury, then, was whether the officers, the police department, and the city were liable for those violations of Mike's civil rights.

Citing reasons of fairness, the judge announced he was going to split the case into several jury trials: the first would be against the four officers, the second against the city, and a third, if necessary, to a.s.sess damages. "We cannot try the individual defendants along with the city," the judge said. "We cannot do it because evidence properly admitted against the city is so prejudicial to the individual defendants."

The judge then further refined the first trial in response to Willie Davis's concern that evidence against the three accused in the beating would spill over in a detrimental way against Kenny. The solution, the judge said, was to have Mike's lawyers first introduce evidence against Burgio, Williams, and Daley and then offer evidence against Kenny. Davis and his cocounsel, Fran Robinson, would have preferred a separate trial, but the judge's ruling didn't seem so bad. It meant the judge would frequently be instructing the jury that a witness's testimony was not evidence against Kenny but against the other three-a distinction, said Fran Robinson, that might come across as a signal from the judge that Kenny was not one of the bad guys.

The session ended with some housekeeping. "I sit nine to one," the judge told the lawyers. "There's a reason for that." He didn't want to waste the jury's time with drawn-out legal haggling about the admissibility of evidence or other legal concerns that inevitably arise during a trial. "We'll talk about those things in the afternoon," he explained. Moreover, the afternoons would provide the lawyers time to catch their breath.

With that, the civil rights action, now regarded as one of the biggest in the history of the Boston Police Department, was ready: Jury selection was slated for December 7. Mike's lawyers were at once confident and anxious. Sinsheimer, for his part, was eager to finally get going, believing opposing counsel for the cops and the city had underestimated them. Up against a Goliath, he thought he and Roach "made a great team. Steve was the best thing that ever happened to Mike c.o.x because of his attention to detail."

What had begun one night at a fence on a dead-end street had grown into a major crisis for the police department, its commissioner, the city, and its mayor. The case had forced Boston to examine its police culture and racism. Would there be justice for Mike c.o.x? For Kenny Conley? For a city that, with its nasty racial legacy, was heading into a new century? Mike c.o.x was certainly tired of waiting. He'd realized long ago he could not depend on the police department for the truth. He was on his own, and he was ready. The trial, he said, "is the only forum I have to try to get the truth out."

Mike was hoping for the best, and by that he didn't mean hefty monetary damages. "I hope this case will change the department," he said. "Because if it doesn't, I would have lived through a terrible ordeal and no one will gain anything from it."

CHAPTER 18.

The Trial Steve Roach, dressed in a dark suit, stood in the well of the courtroom. Even though he was the least experienced, he and cocounsel Rob Sinsheimer had agreed he would start them off. The c.o.x case was his baby; he'd lived with it for nearly four years and, in the days leading up to the December 7 start, had rehea.r.s.ed hard for this moment.

He moved deliberately across the thick blue carpet and faced the twelve jurors.

"Good morning," he said.

"Good morning," the jury of eight women and four men replied in unison.

Roach paused. He looked at them. Then he began: "Ladies and gentleman, this case is about police brutality, police cover-up and a blue code of silence."

The jurors, seated in two rows in wooden chairs, listened intently to every word.

The c.o.x trial was among the first to be held in the new federal district court built on the waterfront in South Boston. Overlooking Boston Harbor, the facility featured a brick dome and curving gla.s.s wall that, one architecture critic noted, "falls freely as a sail for seven stories, with nothing touching it, rigged with turnbuckle stiffeners like those on a ship." The corridors on each floor were open balconies bathed in sunlight. "They line the gla.s.s wall like boxes at the opera," the critic said, "looking out to a magnificent drama of harbor and skyline."

On the fifth floor, Courtroom 18 was the domain of Judge William G. Young. Young was a history buff who saw that the fixtures in his oak-paneled courtroom replicated those in one of the oldest courthouses in the state-or nation, for that matter-in Newburyport, Ma.s.sachusetts, a seaside town north of Boston. When he was a judge in the state Superior Court, the Newburyport courthouse had been his favorite. Young applied some personal finishing touches as well. Instead of the portraits of jurists that typically adorned courtrooms, he hung two oil paintings by his father. Both were of ships at sea-Spinnaker off Target Rock and Whale Ship Emerald.

The Long Island, New York, native was a graduate of both Harvard College and Harvard Law School. During his seven years as a state judge, he presided at the "Big Dan's" trial in which four men were convicted of raping a woman in a bar. Jodie Foster later starred in the movie about the case. In 1984, President Ronald Reagan appointed him to the federal bench.

Like the jury, the judge settled in to listen to Steve Roach. Young wore wire-rimmed gla.s.ses and shifted comfortably in his inky robe. The elevated bench hid the fact that he was short, maybe five-five, which came as a bit of surprise for someone whose voice carried so clearly and sonorously. Looking out, he saw a courtroom filled to capacity. Five oak tables in the large well were all in use. Roach, Sinsheimer, and Roach's a.s.sociate had one. The various defense attorneys occupied the others-Kenny Conley's lawyers Willie Davis and Fran Robinson; Ian Daley's attorneys; Dave Williams's attorney; and Jimmy Burgio's attorney. None of the other defense attorneys wanted to be at the same table with Burgio's attorney, Tom Drechsler. The judge had ended the fuss by a.s.signing seats.

In the gallery beyond the oak railing, Kenny sat off to one side, making sure to stay away from Dave Williams and the others. He wanted nothing to do with them. Williams sat to the right, his brow furrowed. Ian Daley was seated in another pew. The one face missing in the crowd was Jimmy Burgio's. He was nowhere to be found. In civil cases, defendants are not required to attend, and Burgio stayed away. Mike and Kimberly c.o.x sat in the front row directly behind their lawyers. Family, friends, off-duty cops, and reporters filled the oak benches set up in five rows.

Before making way for Roach, the judge took a few minutes to talk to the jury. Chosen first thing in the morning, the jury included a bank teller, a bartender, a teacher, two retirees, and the manager of a restaurant. One, Carol Goslant, was an electrical engineer; Bob McDonough worked for t.i.tleist, the golf ball manufacturer, in the training and development department; Sharon Schwartz was a homemaker.

"You twelve men and women are the judges of the facts," the judge said. He explained Mike c.o.x had accused the defendants of his beating and that it was his burden to prove their liability by a "fair preponderance of the evidence." In other words, his evidence implicating the accused must be "more likely to be true than not true." The judge made clear to distinguish Kenny Conley. "He's not suing Mr. Conley on the excessive force theory." The case against Kenny involved two claims-that he saw the beating and did not intervene to break it up and that he partic.i.p.ated in a cover-up afterward. "The law forbids police officers from engaging in a cover-up," he said. "That means that we are ent.i.tled to expect police officers to play it straight."

The judge told jurors they could take notes. They could ask questions by pa.s.sing a message to him through his clerk. Finishing up, he explained the lawyers would next deliver their opening arguments-"the guide book of what evidence they hope that they can put before you."

Judge Young was outspoken in his criticism of trial lawyers who styled themselves as courtroom thespians. He hated that some studied acting. "I'm actually quite hostile to the idea of acting lessons," he once said. Lawyers, he said, were princ.i.p.ally teachers-"teachers of the facts." It was a demanding task, requiring skills that were "much less than those of an actor and much more the skills of a dedicated teacher. Not glib, not histrionic."

The judge didn't have to worry about Steve Roach. For the next fifty minutes, Roach told jurors in workmanlike fashion about Mike's beating and why the defendants were culpable. "We're going to show you that these four defendants violated Michael's civil rights as a result of a brutal beating that took place in the early morning hours of January 25, 1995 and that there was cover-up afterwards."

Using a map of Woodruff Way blown up into a poster, he pointed out the route of the police chase snaking through the city and then the lineup of cars screeching to a halt at the dead end. He said Williams. .h.i.t Mike at the fence from behind with either a flashlight or a baton, Burgio kicked him in the face, and Daley got in some licks as well. During the "savage onslaught," once they realized Mike was a cop, "They ran. They took off. They abandoned him." That's the moment the cover-up began.

"They knew they couldn't claim that this was a suspect who was resisting arrest." Conley joined the cover-up, he said, by denying he'd seen Mike at the fence-a denial that was the basis for his recent perjury conviction in another trial.

Roach's own nervousness seemed to show when he faltered while describing Mike's injuries. "He still has traces of urine in his blood and now it's four years later." Realizing the error, he started over. "He still has traces of blood in his urine, rather."

He never mentioned the blue wall of silence by name, but Roach made clear that police officers were of no help when it came to determining responsibility for the a.s.sault. "Not one cop who streamed in that night will come here and say they saw Michael c.o.x being beaten by a police officer," he said. For emphasis, he added, "Not one."

Their case, then, was largely circ.u.mstantial. The strategy he and Sinsheimer had devised beforehand was to circle in on the accused by a process of elimination-showing that the a.s.sailants had to be the cops they'd accused. To do that, Roach and Sinsheimer decided to rely on Joe Teahan and Gary Ryan, Mike's gang unit colleagues. Teahan's account that he and Ryan were in the fourth or fifth car to arrive at the dead end meant the beaters were in the few cars ahead of them. Roach wanted little to do with the fact their accounts were at times contradictory, understanding that he could best seal the deal at the dead end by embracing Teahan and Ryan's basic storyline about finding Mike alone and bloodied-the functional equivalent of the yellow police tape used at crime scenes.

"One key fact that I would like to point out," Roach said, "is that Officers Ryan and Teahan closed the universe." He meant that the only people who could have done the beating were the cops who were at the dead end at the time of Mike's a.s.sault: Craig Jones; Richie Walker, who chased s.m.u.t Brown; and then Jimmy Burgio, Dave Williams, and Ian Daley. "The only people who were there who could have done it," Roach said, "are the three defendants, Daley, Burgio and Williams."

The point was Roach's princ.i.p.al and final one: "Ryan and Teahan closed the universe on the people who were there," he repeated. The evidence in their case, he concluded, will show "that it had to be at least those officers who beat him and at least those officers who covered it up. Thank you."

Sinsheimer welcomed Roach back to their table. He thought Roach had been terrific. "The culmination of years of work, succinct, boiled down. There wasn't a phrase in there we weren't ready to prove." Roach's words were also the last for the opening day of the trial. It was nearing one o'clock, the hour Judge Young had marked to end.

"Keep your minds suspended," the judge advised, a reminder there was still plenty to come. Even so, Sinsheimer was pleased the jurors were heading home with Steve Roach's words percolating in their minds as the first impression of the case to come.

Everyone in Courtroom 18 was well aware the case was unfolding along with the holiday season, and Judge Young made clear to all of the attorneys his expectation that the trial conclude before Christmas. If ever there was a judge who could deliver on that promise, it was Young-a stickler for preparation and efficiency. He regularly discussed with the attorneys the progress of the case and the time needed for witnesses.

The next morning began with a quick succession of opening arguments from the attorneys for Williams, Daley, and Burgio. They went about attacking the circ.u.mstantial case Roach was pledging to present against their clients. It wasn't close to being as clean and clear as Roach portrayed, they argued, and was bereft of direct evidence, except for the testimony of a drug dealer named Robert "s.m.u.t" Brown who had zero credibility.

The first up was Williams's attorney, Dan O'Connell. The veteran trial pract.i.tioner had replaced Carol Ball as Williams's lawyer when Ball became a state judge. "It's my privilege to represent Dave Williams," he told the jury, "who's seated over there, a Boston policeman." Each defense attorney seemed to stake out certain themes, and O'Connell's was that the plaintiff's evidence was a jumbled mess. "Mr. Roach wants, has indicated that this evidence is going to show certain things happened," he said. Except there's a problem: "It's internally inconsistent depending on which witness talks."

Next up, Ian Daley's attorney, Tom Hoopes, went after Mike. He said Mike and his lawyers had come to court acting as if "they wear the white hats." Not even close, he said. "Things are not as white or black as the plaintiffs suggest." He called Mike c.o.x and Craig Jones "two cowboys" for cutting in front of Daley to become the lead police car. They violated a rule that unmarked cruisers not lead chases and put themselves in "harm's way," he said, implying Mike c.o.x was asking for trouble.

Like O'Connell, Hoopes called the case wrongheaded, forcing his client to now defend himself despite his innocence. "Why? Because Mike c.o.x has brought the suit that you sit on here today. Seeking what? Seeking money." Mike, he said, was money grubbing. "I'm going to come back at the end of this case, ladies and gentlemen, and ask you one thing. I'm going to ask you not to let gray become green. I'm going to ask you not to let money color, subvert, and twist justice and the truth."

The gloves had come off. Tom Drechsler, representing Jimmy Burgio in absentia, jumped right in where Hoopes left off. "We don't want to be here. We didn't bring this lawsuit." Mike c.o.x, he said, "has brought this lawsuit for the purpose of getting money, financial remuneration." Drechsler ridiculed Roach's bid to use Teahan and Ryan to seal the dead end. "This is not a closed container." Police continued streaming down Woodruff Way and were running up from below on foot through a hole in the fence. "Munic.i.p.al police, state police, Milton police, MBTA police, Housing Authority police, security guards-all were present at this location this particular night."

Drechsler said the evidence Roach was touting was smoke and mirrors-completely unreliable, given the wild and fast-breaking events at the dead end-"a very chaotic, confusing, dark situation." Sure, Mike c.o.x was beaten, but those guilty of the a.s.sault fled like ghosts into the night. Jimmy Burgio was a hero, not a beater. "My client did nothing more that night but make an arrest of one of these desperadoes, these murderers." Most important, he told jurors, they would not hear a single witness linking Burgio to the a.s.sault.

"You will hear not one witness say they saw James Burgio raise his hands to anyone or strike anyone or hit anyone, no less Officer c.o.x. The only thing you'll hear evidence about James Burgio doing," he said, "is handcuffing a prisoner."

Forget what Roach told you. "This isn't a process of elimination."

Taken together, the defense was a combination of attack on Mike's motives and a chaos theory for the beating that would make impossible the jury's task of a.s.signing guilt. It was certainly true Mike's case was circ.u.mstantial, and it was certainly true, as Drechsler noted, no witness would testify Burgio kicked Mike in the face.

This worried Sinsheimer. He could see why Burgio might be optimistic about his chances. Ted Merritt, despite naming Burgio a target in the criminal investigation, had never sought his indictment-a fact ill.u.s.trating weaknesses in the evidence. Sinsheimer was worried about "getting over the rail" in their case. By that he meant getting past the possibility of the judge issuing a directed verdict for Burgio. That was when a judge threw out a case because the evidence was so lacking it was unworthy to even send to the jury for its consideration. With Dave Williams, they at least had s.m.u.t Brown saying he saw Williams. .h.i.t Mike. With Burgio, the case was entirely circ.u.mstantial.

There was no looking back at this point. Sinsheimer believed, of course, the case was winnable, but not easily. The game plan, as Roach had told jurors, was a process of elimination, and the immediate need now that opening arguments were completed was to give the jury a powerful dose of the harm done to Mike c.o.x.

They called as their first witness Donald Caisey of the gang unit. The idea was to call a cop whose testimony would be brief and set the scene at Woodruff Way. Caisey filled that role. He testified about arriving at the dead end after the beating and coming upon Mike, seeing all the blood, and thinking Mike had been shot. "My experience with the injuries that he had is very similar to someone being shot in the head. Someone shot in the facial area where blood comes out of every hole or area in the face."

The stage was now set for Mike. With Kimberly in the gallery watching, Mike strode to the witness stand and was sworn in. His voice was soft, and the reporters, knowing this was a key trial moment, shifted in their seats to hear.

"Mr. c.o.x," the judge said, "could you pull your chair in a little bit?" It would not be the last time the judge would have to instruct quiet Mike c.o.x to speak louder into the microphone.

"Would you state your name, please, for the jury?" Roach asked.

"My name is Michael Anthony c.o.x."

Moments before starting, the judge seemed to have rattled Steve Roach by refusing his request for a brief recess. It would have been a chance for Roach to collect his thoughts, but now he had to hurry and jump right in. The rushed start seemed to show during Roach's initial handful of biographical questions.

"Where do you live?" Roach asked Mike.

"I live in Dorchester, Ma.s.sachusetts."

Seconds later, Roach asked again, "And do you reside in Boston?"

"Yes."

"Which part?"

"Dorchester."

Roach led Mike through a courtroom rendition of This is Your Life. Following his lawyer's lead, Mike described growing up, his family, his marriage, becoming a police officer, and working with Craig Jones in the gang unit. After a while the judge grew restless with all the background. "Let's get to this case, Mr. Roach."

Roach followed suit. "Directing your attention to January 25, 1995."

For the next hour Mike held the courtroom transfixed with a narrative that began with an urgent call that a fellow officer had been shot at Walaik.u.m's. Mike explained how he and Craig became the lead car at an intersection when the Lexus raced downhill and almost ran into their cruiser. He described the street clothes he wore that night, and, when Roach approached him with the long black parka, he stood to examine it. The jacket was admitted into evidence as Exhibit 15. He remained standing and, using a pointer, identified on the aerial blow-up of Woodruff Way the location of the Lexus and police vehicles. He stood again a few minutes later to demonstrate to the jury how he'd run to the fence after a suspect, "and I reached up like this to grab both of his arms."

Mike then described the first blow, and how, when he turned to see who'd hit him, he was. .h.i.t hard again. That's when Mike's voice cracked. Tears welled in his eyes, which he wiped away. He fought the emotions, not wanting to lose control completely.

"Where on your head?" Roach asked.

"In the front of my head."

"Can you point to the jury where you believe you were struck?"

Mike pointed to his forehead. "It's about a two-inch scar up there."

Mike was next on the ground on all fours. He looked up. "I could see there was a person standing in front of me who had on boots." The man was dressed in a dark-colored uniform, "and he was white. And as I started to look up, that person kicked me directly in the mouth." The beating just kept coming, and he never saw his a.s.sailants' faces. Then he heard someone yell, "Stop, stop, he's a cop," and the blows stopped.

Roach asked Mike if he recognized the voice yelling stop.

"It was Dave Williams."

The testimony had momentum-vivid, horrific, and with few objections from the defense lawyers to offset the flow. The judge was the one who broke the spell after Mike mentioned Williams. "Is this a good place to stop?" he asked Roach. "It's one o'clock."

But Roach was feeling sure-footed now. He didn't want the day to end just yet, not before getting to the gore. "Just a couple of more, your honor?"

"Go ahead."

"Did you notice whether you had any blood on you?" Roach asked.

"I just knew I was bleeding from all over."

"Can you describe where all over?"

"Bleeding from my nose, my mouth," Mike said. "I don't recall being able to see too well, you know, from my head I knew I was bleeding from all over."

The jury would be heading home, tasting blood.

"Your honor," Roach said, "if you wish, we can stop at this time."

Juror Sharon Schwartz, the suburban homemaker, was moved by Mike's testimony. "His injuries were grotesque," she said. Bob McDonough sat there thinking "he was very believable." The engineer Carol Goslant thought Mike was a "strong witness in that I believed him; he'd been through a terrible ordeal." The next day's Boston Globe story read: "c.o.x wiped away tears as he softly recounted for a federal jury how he went from officer to suspect to brutalized victim in a matter of minutes."

While nationally Americans were closely following calls for President Clinton's impeachment for his scandalous relations with White House intern Monica Lewinsky, and while Bostonians were trying to keep up with a number of pressing local matters, from worry that their football team, the New England Patriots, might move to Connecticut, to concern about the sorry performance of public school students on the new statewide standardized tests measuring expertise in English, math, and science, Judge Young's Courtroom 18 became a world unto itself focused on Mike's case for justice.

The skies outside were overcast when Mike returned Wednesday morning to finish sharing his memories of the attack. In particular, he recalled for the jurors the moment Ian Daley tried to arrest him at gunpoint and then, once Daley realized he was a cop, muttered, "Oh s.h.i.t, Oh my G.o.d." Mike remembered later being in the hospital when Dave Williams blurted, "'I think,' you know, 'cops might have done this.'"

Guided by Roach, Mike explained how memories slowly returned as the weeks and months pa.s.sed; for example, he recalled Dave Williams had yelled, "Stop, stop, he's a cop," after running into Williams at a funeral that summer. Roach finished by asking whether he saw Williams sitting in the courtroom. Mike replied he did.