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Title: Atlanta Blues Author: Robert Lamb Publisher: Harbor House Form: Hardcove Illustrated: --- Number of Pages: 240 ISBN: 1891799029 Price: $24.95 + $2.05 (Shipping) = $27.00 Click Order Form to Order

The Story:

It’s 1981. A reporter and two cops must find a missing girl before a killer can. Improbably, her trail leads to Atlanta’s Midtown, a red-light district rivaling Sodom and Gomorrah. Along the way, the searchers learn that justice and jurisprudence are two very different things, and that the former is a lot more satisfying than the latter. In fact, some people are willing to kill to get it. And sometimes we are willing to let them.

 Readers Are Saying:

‘This haunting novel will keep you awake—reading it the first night, thinking about it afterwards.’ –Richard Layman, author/publisher

 ‘A gripping read that will keep you turning pages to the surprising and satisfying end.’ –Daniel Myers, author, Second Favorite Son

 ‘Reading it was like watching a police cruiser scream down Peachtree, sirens blaring. A very nifty piece of storytelling.’ –Jim Auchmutey, feature writer, The Atlanta Journal-Constitution

 ‘As a detective for 25 years, I’ve worked murders, rapes, robberies and kidnappings. Atlanta Blues gets at the very heart of what we do in a world the public seldom sees—and that many don’t want to see.’—Walt Bales, investigator, former Officer of the Year, Columbia, S.C.

 Atlanta Blues (excerpt)

A cop loses it in court. . .

 Chapter Ten

City Court had all the charm of a Trailways bus depot. The room, a large one with small, high windows that let in little light, was cheerless, and looked tired and worn. Most of the people there looked tired and worn too, as if life had long ago dealt them one blow too many, and this, being in court, in trouble again, was merely the latest proof that hope was pointless.

The room was filled to overflowing. Most of the people sat wedged in on long, hard, wooden benches, but many stood in back, some leaning against the wall, and more were coming in. Some of them, especially the women, used makeshift fans to stir the air around their faces. The air conditioner, if it was working at all, struggled in vain to overcome so much body heat and a heat wave, too. I hadn't been inside five minutes before I was shedding my sport coat and loosening my tie.

It was eight-thirty, and court was already in session, but I wasn't in a good position to see or hear much. Still standing near the door, I was hoping to spot Rick so I'd know which way to try to move through the crowd. I spied Johnny Lee first, though. He was sitting down front on the left with some other cops, all in uniform, and when I worked my way in that direction I saw Rick, too.

Johnny Lee, perched on the end of the front row, saw me coming and stood up. Motioning to me, he leaned against the wall and said softly, "Recognize that guy?" With a nod of his head, he indicated a short, dark, muscular man standing in front of the judge's bench.

I started to shake my head no, but then realized that it was the man who'd been arrested at the Pink Pussycat, the James Cagney clone with the knife. I had seen the man earlier, but, standing there in court, head slightly bowed, hands clasped behind him, he looked so different, so harmless, so meek that I simply hadn't associated him with the menacing, knife-wielding tough I'd seen on Saturday night. I whispered to Johnny Lee, "Sure looks different, doesn't he?"

Johnny Lee nodded. "Like a balloon with half the air let out." Nodding again, this time toward the judge's bench, he added, "That's Tom testifying now. Tom Riley. Rick and I have already been up."

I shook my head in recognition. Riley, standing near the judge's bench, looked about the same as he had on Saturday night in his face-off with the defendant, except that now his uniform was neat and clean. He still looked intense, though, and maybe a bit agitated, as if he might be having trouble getting a point across. I began to pay close attention to the proceedings.

"I'm still unclear as to when you advised the defendant of his rights," said the judge, a round-faced man with jowls and large ears who appeared to be in his fifties. He sat at a bench on a platform, elevated above all others in the room. Riley stood to the judge's right, near the end of the bench.

"Your Honor," Riley said, "the defendant was armed and resisted arrest. I read him his rights as soon as he surrendered and I took him into custody."

"I didn't hear no rights," the defendant said.

"He's lying, Your Honor," Riley said.

The judge looked from the defendant to Riley. "Did you tell him he was under arrest before or after the fight?"

"After, Your Honor. There was no time before."

"Couldn't you have said, 'Stop! You're under arrest,' as soon as you saw him wrestling with the girl?"

The defendant said, "I thought the girl had took my wallet, Your Honor. I just wanted her to give it back."

Both Riley and the judge ignored the defendant, and Riley said, "Well, Your Honor, he was on top of the girl, had her pinned down, and my first reaction was to pull him off. She was yelling for help; I figured her life could be in danger."

"But isn't it possible," the judge said, "that a simple 'Stop! You're under arrest,' could have achieved the same end? I ask because I'm concerned here about the use of undue force by heavy-handed police officers. There's a right way and a wrong way to handle these things."

Riley, obviously frustrated, said, "But, Your Honor, he was attacking the girl."

"That may be true," said the judge, "but this is true as well: He thought you were attacking him. You grabbed him from behind, you say; how was he to know you were a policeman and not simply another brawler?"

"That's right," the defendant said; "he attacked me. I didn't know he was a cop."

"Your Honor," Riley said, "if he didn't know it at first, he certainly knew it as soon as he squared off against me."

"No, I didn't," the defendant said. "Your Honor, it was kinda dark in there, and I'd been drinking. And besides, in all the excitement--"

The judge cut him off. "Let me talk to the officer without interruption. If I see the need for clarification from you, I'll ask." Turning back to Riley, he continued, "Now, about the knife: You say he pulled the weapon when Officer, uh, Casenelli came to your aid."

"Right."

"Weren't you armed with a gun?"

"My service revolver, yes. But I never pulled it."

"And wasn't Officer Casenelli armed with a gun?"

"Yes, Your Honor."

"And you still had not, at that time, told the defendant to cease and desist, that he was under arrest?"

Riley's shoulders slumped and he shook his head as if he couldn't believe how this case was going. Speaking with a show of great patience, he said, "Your Honor, there just isn't time for all that in a brawl. Things happen so fast--"

The judge reared back in his chair and fixed Riley with a dubious look. "Not time for proper procedure?" he asked.

Riley shook his head vigorously. "No, sir, Your Honor, not always. Any police officer can tell you--"

Now the judge was impatient. "Yes, yes, I know. I hear every day what police officers can tell me. But what I'm interested in now is this specific case. This defendant, any defendant, has rights, and I mean to see that they are observed in this court. I want to know exactly what happened and when it happened. There are things here that need sorting out."

Riley's face reddened, he jerked a bit in agitation, and his voice rose. "But it's a simple case, Your Honor." He pointed to the defendant. "This goon attacks a girl, I go to her aid, he resists arrest, attacks me, and then pulls a knife."

Before Riley got halfway through his account of the incident, the judge, an angry look on his face, began banging his gavel and saying loudly, "Officer Riley! Officer Riley!" Then, when Riley had finished and was quiet, the judge said sharply, "That'll be quite enough, sir. I'll tolerate no such outbursts in my court. For your information, I will decide the points of law in this case, and I'll thank you to control yourself while I try to get to the bottom of this."

Meekly, head bowed, Riley said, "Sorry, Your Honor."

"And now," said the judge, "I think you owe the defendant an apology."

As if he hadn't heard, or couldn't believe what he had heard, Riley stiffened and looked at the judge. "What?"

"You called him a goon. I'll have none of that in this court. Defendants will be accorded the respect due them."

The defendant flashed a big smile and stepped forward, but Riley ignored him. Instead, he looked at the judge for a moment and then said softly, as if to himself, "How about cops?"

Now the judge was surprised. "What?"

Riley raised his voice. "I said: How about cops? Don't they deserve respect, too? Don't I have any rights here?"

The cops sitting near me stirred uneasily and a hush settled over the courtroom. The judge pulled back a bit in his seat and gave Riley a look of hard appraisal. "Now, see here--"

"See what?" Riley asked even louder. Raising a hand, he began to move about in front of the bench. "See how you bend the law? Twist it and turn it for the precious rights of the criminal? See how you talk to cops like they were dirt? Is that what I'm supposed to see? Well, that's exactly what I do see."

A collective gasp rose from the spectators, and suddenly the courtroom was abuzz with whispers. A few of the cops, Rick and Johnny Lee among them, stood up and tried waving to get Riley's attention, to shut him up for his own good, but it was too late.

"You're in contempt, sir; you're in contempt," shouted the judge, banging his gavel furiously, face flushed, jowls shaking.

But Riley went on. Whirling and pointing to the defendant, he demanded, "Apologize to shit like that?" The defendant, startled, rocked back on his heels and fell back a few steps. Riley then turned to the judge. "You've already done enough apologizing for both of us." In a saccharin voice, he added, looking at the defendant, "Oh, did we inconvenience you, sir, by bringing you into court for assault with a deadly weapon, for beating up a woman? Did the nasty policemen get rough with you and take your pretty little knife away? We're soooo sorry. Here, let judgie-wudgie kiss your ass and make it all better."

The whole time Riley spoke, the judge was looking all around and signaling frantically for help. Soon, two bailiffs burst through a door at the rear of the courtroom and hurried around the bench, each grabbing Riley by an arm.

"Easy! Easy!" the judge shouted. "This man needs help. Take him away and call a doctor. Careful. He's obviously out of control."

Riley went without a struggle, but he didn't go quietly. "Out of control?" he shouted as the bailiffs led him toward the door through which they had come. "It's judges like you that are out of control. Go ahead! Turn the sonofabitch loose. Half the criminals on the street now are people you turned loose with no more than a slap on the wrist. Go ahead. Go ahead!" Now Riley, face crimson and contorted, was screaming. "When he cuts your fuckin' throat one night in a parking lot or in your own bed, you'll have nobody to blame but yourself. And you'll wish a crazy, good-for-nothing, heavy-handed cop like me was around to save your sorry ass. You hear me! Somebody better listen to me! Something's not right here! I'm not the one out of control. It's the goddam system! You hear me? You hear me, motherfuckers?"

The bailiffs finally got Riley out the door and closed it, but it soon became obvious that order in the court could not be restored. Everyone was standing, with many milling about, and the commotion drowned out the judge's repeated calls for order. Finally, giving up, he signaled one of the cops and ordered him to enlist the other policemen to clear the courtroom. Defendants and others with business there were herded into the hallways outside. The rest were told to go home, and bailiffs took up stations at the doors to the courtroom, with orders to admit only those who were called by the clerk. I fell in behind Rick as he worked with the other cops to clear the room, and when that was done, we found Johnny Lee and left.

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Copyright 2004 • Robert Lamb • All Rights Reserved

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