In Court, Players Are Immersed in Issues of Right and Wrong

"One: Otherwise good people who make a mistake. Like the soccer mom who embezzles from the team.

"Two: The repeat offenders who don't do anything heinous. Dope. Nonviolent crimes. You regard them on a sliding scale. The more often they come back, the harder you've got to hit them.

"Three: Evil people.

"Finally, you have the mentally ill who are scattered in all these categories."

For a week, The Times has been following the ground-level workings of the felony-only courthouse in Norwalk. Minnetian, 41, a 15-year veteran of the district attorney's staff, runs the daily calendar in Department S -- a realm apart from the theatrical legal dramas that make headlines. In this courtroom and others like it throughout the county, the running of the calendar is the process where a large share of daily justice gets dispensed.

Many people in positions of power in the criminal justice system, perhaps all of them, have a measure of judge and jury in their hearts. How could they not? They are humans immersed in the timeless struggles of right and wrong, of wickedness and virtue, of suffering and hope, of certainty and doubt. They see, if not everything, then at least plenty from here on the floor of the courtroom.

For the prosecutor, in particular, sizing up a defendant shapes the case to follow.

The district attorney's office decides whom to charge among those arrested by police. From what can be a broad range of options, the office decides the specific charges, and how hard to push. Along the way, a deputy like Minnetian is also entrusted to broker the plea deals that are supposed to dispense fair punishment while keeping the court calendar moving.

Plea bargains follow a formula according to the crime and the defendant's prior record. But within that range, prosecutors like Minnetian have discretion. He might, he says, put his "thumb on the scale" on behalf of a baby-faced defendant who doesn't have a long record. "They'd eat him alive in the lockup." But his sympathy is easily exhausted. A repeat offender might typically beg for mercy for the sake of a struggling family, perhaps a sick child or a disabled spouse. "I have to say to myself, 'If he doesn't care about his family, why should I?' " He knows it sounds harsh. It's also the truth.