Leslie Glass mystery book writer

Robert Knightly -
Former Cop Defends in Court the Perps He Used to Put Away.

- by Leslie Glass

For many years, the New York Police Department used to fly Santa Claus look-alike, former Sergeant Robert Knightly, into children's Christmas parties by helicopter. He would emerge from the "bird," climb down a rope ladder, jump to the ground, and distribute gifts from a huge laundry bag slung over his shoulder.

That was "back in the day," as they say in the Department. You don't see this hefty Irish former cop jumping out of birds anymore. These days, Knightly may look even more like the Santa of song and story, but he's a cop no longer.

Now, he's in a different kind of helping profession. This wise-eyed, white-bearded, well-fed retired Detective knows the criminal justice system from every angle. And his knowledge of both the street and the politics of police work serve him well in his role as a defense lawyer for the population he hunted in his earlier life with all the passion of a crusader doing the right thing.

Like every rookie cop, Bob Knightly started on foot patrol. But then, his career took a turn, and he became a writer for Spring, the NYPD Magazine. At night, he went to law school. After a few years of writing, a citywide hiring freeze took all cops off desk jobs. Knightly picked up where he left off learning lessons of the street in some of the roughest precincts in New York.

He was in the Conditions Unit in the tough Bushwick section of Brooklyn, "doing the heavy stuff, locking up everybody" from counterfeiters, to drug dealers, to chop shop rings (car thieves who break down stolen cars to sell the parts), in "Bed Sty," in Fort Green, and finally in the 6th Precinct in Greenwich Village.

As a police lawyer, he worked for the police department's Legal Bureau. As a teacher at the Police Academy, he developed a curriculum for Report Writing Skills and Criminal Investigation that he taught all newly promoted detectives at the Police Academy. You could say he's been around.

On a cold and snowy day in the dead of winter, I traveled across the 59th Street Bridge to Kew Gardens, Queens where Knightly's Legal Aid office is across the street from the County Court building. We had an Italian lunch at a local restaurant and talked about Bob's take on the criminal justice system and why he loves being a public defender.

LG: When you talk about your life in the Police Department, your eyes light up. It sounds as if you were a dedicated and happy cop. What turned you to the other side?

RK: It's true, I've been in the street, as they say. And I liked all my jobs except one. I was in the 6th Precinct in the Peddlers Squad. That's a plainclothes detail that operates all over Greenwich Village. You know, New York has an anti-peddler law. Selling on the street without a permit is illegal. But it's a living for a lot of people, and we had to enforce the law. That job broke my heart.

LG: Peddlers give a flea market atmosphere to a business street. They can be annoying to pedestrians, and they certainly detract from window shopping and patronizing the stores. What got to you about moving them along?

RK: Oh, we didn't just move them along. What we had to do was arrest them, give them a summons, then seize their merchandise. It's bad enough to have to go to court and pay a fine, but these guys lost their livelihood. Their possessions are seized and loaded on a truck. They disappear forever. That's a cruel punishment. I did it for a couple of years, but there was this one derelict, this old guy. Taking his stuff was the last straw for me.

LG: Why was he different?

RK: We were sweeping the street, picking people up, and this guy had a collection of old clocks laid out on a blanket. When we loaded the clocks on the truck, he started weeping. He told me the clocks were the full extent of his worldly possessions, everything he had on this earth. He begged me to make an exception and let him keep his stuff just this once. But people were watching, and I couldn't favor one peddler over another. When the truck left, this poor guy chased it down the street crying, wailing. That was it for me. I couldn't stand it anymore. I had my legal degree and joined the Legal Bureau. That's the Department's unit of lawyers. The lawyers in the Legal Bureau go to the scene of incidents and advise the high command how to handle difficult situations.

LG: With your extensive experience on the street, you must have been very helpful.

RK: When we used to show up at an incident, you could hear the brass saying, "here come the liars." We didn't exactly top the popularity chart.

LG: You weren't much liked in the heavy units where you busted criminals, either. What bothered you about the Legal Bureau?

RK: I became a lawyer the same way I became a cop. I wanted to do the right thing. A lot of people are idealist and become cops because they want to serve the public, do some good. When I worked in the Legal Bureau, it was an information job.

LG: A spin job?

RK: You could say I was frustrated because it wasn't real criminal law. I wanted to be a real lawyer. When I retired, I answered an ad for Legal Aid lawyers. It was a whole different thing. Defense lawyers are the most idealistic people in the world. I was a little nervous about arguing in court in front of judges and juries, but it turned out I felt right at home from the very first moment.

LG: What appeals to you about being a defender?

RK: In court, every case is a morality tale. It's about whose story is better. I like storytelling, whether it is to a judge or a jury. And I like representing the not guilty, or the not-so-very guilty.

LG: Tell me about the guilty and the not-so-guilty.

RK: The law sees everybody as equally evil. I represent the lumpen proletariat, the poor people who get caught up doing things that are weak, but not always so terrible. What the law does is criminalize weakness. When people get caught in the system, bad or not so bad, their only hope of vindication is the defense lawyer.

LG: Isn't the system supposed to protect the suspect?

RK: Yes, but prosecutors can be very powerful figures. If they're not reasonable people, they can make judges quake. When judges are intimidated and look favorably on the prosecution, the law gets skewed. It can go out the window. The court system can work on the premise that if a person is arrested, he must have done something wrong. The culture is to convict anyone who's indicted no matter what the circumstances of the case or the arrest.

LG: How does the system work?

RK: It's like any business. It's all a numbers game. The cops have to arrest a certain number of people. If you're arrested for a serious crime, the investigation stops when the prosecution makes its case to the Grand Jury. Sometimes, all it would take is a sensible person looking at all the facts. But it doesn't work that way. The District Attorney's office is in the business of putting people in prison. That's what makes the role of the defense attorney so critical. To tell you the truth, I like being a criminal lawyer because not everybody who does something wrong belongs behind bars. The system has to feed itself, and cops are human. Sometimes, they hustle to get their arrest numbers up.

LG: How?

RK: You can see it in the precinct records. For the first two weeks of the month, the street units won't "see" much criminal activity. But by the end of the month, even though things might be exactly the same, they have to produce their numbers. In the case of war on drugs, for instance, they're looking for narcotics violations. If they don't see any, they might do a little sting operation.

In a bad neighborhood, they might approach a woman standing at a bus stop and ask her to sell them drugs. She's on her way to work. She's not a dealer. She'll say, "I don't have no drugs." So they'll say, you must know someone who sells. "No, I don't," she'll tell them. They'll argue with her, insisting she can get them drugs. And, of course, everybody knows somebody who sells. So they'll keep at her until that poor lady goes off and finds some drugs. When she "sells" it to the undercover cops - bingo, a collar. The woman who'd been minding her own business on her way to work becomes a perp. Maybe eight people in a unit have spent the day involved in getting this arrest.

LG: And this is where you come in.

RK: Yes, I get to see these for the first time when they're arraigned. They may have been in jail overnight or even for two days. They've been printed and strip-searched, and they're terrified. And I can't get them out of the system right away. I start with them long after the arrest. They're vulnerable and caught up in the wheels of justice, and they're the same people every time. Almost exclusively, the faces I see in arraignment are black, brown or shades thereof. And all live their lives below the poverty line.

LG: Can you give me an example of someone who gets into the system who isn't guilty at all?

RK: I have a case now. A woman was at home with her twelve-year-old daughter. There's a knock on her front door. She opens the door. A woman forces her way in and begins haranguing her, hitting her. It's her husband's mistress. Alarmed, the wife begins to fight back. Defending herself in her own home, she hits the woman in the face. A neighbor hears the commotion and calls the police. The police come and arrest the wife. The mistress goes home.

The wife is taken away in handcuffs in front of her daughter. She spends the night in jail. She ends up in court on an assault and battery charge. The mistress asks the judge for restraining order against her. Here's a case where no one stopped to ask questions, no one investigated. No one was sensible. Often, judges and lawyers may see the truth, but they are incapable of acting on it.

Knightly looked at his watch. It was time for him to go back to court, and time for me to get back to Manhattan. I was sorry to say good bye. This defender had a million stories to tell, and I had only scratched the surface. Regretfully, I said good bye.

LG: Thanks for talking with me. I could write a book-a whole series on you. And Bob, I'd sure like you on my side if I were an offender.

It was my parting shot.

RK: (smiled) It's been a pleasure, but don't get me wrong. I'm not always beloved by my clients. I strike sparks with the violent ones. We intuit each other. The bad ones know by the way we talk to each other, I was a cop. When they want another lawyer, I don't oppose the request.