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Intimidation has turned witness into true victim
by Peter Gelzinis
Thursday, September 26, 2002
It's called the Paul Pierce trial. In truth, it has nothing to do with him. The only way it would, of course, is if the worst had happened.
If the knife that slipped between his ribs had continued on a lethal track to his heart; or if the wounds he suffered on the floor of the Buzz club ended his glittering NBA career before it began . . . then this trial might have been about Paul Pierce.
But God was merciful. Paul Pierce looked very much alive and well as he walked into court this week. The Celtics' franchise player took a few hours out of his superstar's existence to say that he really couldn't say who almost killed him two years ago.
Some wonder if Pierce was afraid of William ``Roscoe'' Ragland, Trevor Watson and Tony Hurston.
Perhaps, but I doubt it. To quote one very seasoned and jaded cop: ``The kid's got a few scars and a mountain of money. His future is more than intact . . . it's golden. He doesn't need the aggravation of getting all wrapped up in this bleep, now. Let's face it, in many ways this has been over for Pierce since the day he walked out of the hospital.''
Unfortunately, that's not the case for Krystal Bostick.
No, she was not the victim of the thuggish frenzy that erupted on the Buzz club floor two Septembers ago. She was not beaten, or stabbed, or hit over the head with a champagne bottle.
But today, it is Krystal Bostick who has come to bear the full weight of the ``Paul Pierce trial.'' Two years ago, she was a 20-year-old criminal justice major, so offended by what she saw unfold in front of her, she took her eyewitness account of the Pierce savaging into the grand jury.
Now, Krystal Bostick is the central victim of what this trial is truly about - pure, undiluted intimidation.
``It is so thick in that courtroom,'' one lawyer remarked, ``you can feel it, you can smell it, you can cut it with a knife. It's like something out of an old Mafia trial.''
Bostick, as you probably know, recanted her vivid and definitive grand jury testimony in a courtroom packed with the friends and associates of a hip hop crew with the eerily appropriate name of ``Made Men.''
Krystal Bostick does not have an $85 million contract from the Boston Celtics. She can't buy her way out of a concrete landscape, where voices on the other end of the phone suggest she might want to rethink her testimony.
It is a sad reality. And the sadder truth is that there's little or nothing the local justice system can do about it. ``The state will never be the feds,'' one former prosecutor noted. ``We can't give people a new life. And even if we could, they have to want to disrupt the lives they have. Not many witnesses are willing to do that.''
By the time verdicts are returned in this case, Paul Pierce will be preparing for Celtics training camp. Should the trial that bears his name go south - as it very well might - Pierce will shrug and get back to his three-point shot.
There may be some small sense of outrage over the impact naked fear can have on justice, or the way street thugs can so insidiously assert their will. Perhaps we will contemplate the dilemma of witness protection, or whether it can realistically be achieved. No doubt someone will say we haven't the money to pay for it.
Either way, it surely won't be more than a one-day story, because Paul Pierce did not die. His brilliant $85 million career did not end in the mayhem of a nightclub brawl, way past the witching hour.
His future goes on, his dream continues to blossom. Sports fans can look toward the playoffs.
Things are not quite the same for the young woman who watched Paul Pierce attacked by a swarm of human sharks. Krystal Bostick is no longer a student at Johnson & Wales. This woman who once dreamed of a career in criminal justice came to discover just how hard and dangerous real justice can be.
``If anything, a story like this only proves the courage it takes to stand up in the face of genuine intimidation,'' another prosecutor said. ``It might be easy for some to blame her. But then, they don't live where she lives. They don't know what she knows. They don't have to consider the safety of a brother, a sister, a mother. It is both the price of justice . . . and the cost of fear.''
Two years ago, when a bleeding Paul Pierce was wheeled into the ER at Tufts-New England Medical Center, who could imagine that the real victims of his brutal assault would be a witness . . . and justice itself? |
