THE DRIVER.

In 1999, a police officer named Charles Schwarz was convicted of participating in one of the most notorious crimes in recent New York history. A jury in Brooklyn federal court found that Schwarz had assisted in the sexual assault of Abner Louima, a Haitian immigrant, in the bathroom of a station house in Brooklyn. (During the trial, another officer, Justin Volpe, had pleaded guilty to the assault itself, which took place on August 9, 1997.) The Louima case probably marked the lowest moment of the Giuliani years--a grotesque abuse of a black man by two white cops.

Earlier this spring, the Court of Appeals reversed Schwarz's convictions, and the reaction to the decision demonstrated just how much the atmosphere around the case had changed. The three tabloids--the News, Newsday, and the Post--celebrated Schwarz's release with similar front-page headlines: "FREE," "HE'S HOME," and "HE'S OUT." The Times welcomed Schwarz's return to his mother's home on Staten Island with a dewy portrait. "The second thing Charles Schwarz did on his first full day out of prison was shower," the article, by Alan Feuer, began. "His hands were not shackled on the way to the tub." The first thing Schwarz did, according to the article, was "open his eyes . . . lingering in bed. . . . He could sleep as long as he wanted. And that felt best of all."

The story of Charles Schwarz belongs to a suddenly distant era, when the public image of New York police officers was shaped largely by their fraught relations with the city's racial minorities rather than by their heroics on September 11th. In part, Schwarz had the good fortune to be caught up in the slipstream of the city's renewed appreciation for its police force, but, more important, he was the beneficiary of the indefatigable, and largely unrefuted, efforts of a pro-bono attorney, a newspaper columnist, and a steadfast wife. Through their work, Schwarz's incarceration seemed to reflect the sensibilities of a bygone age. The only problem with this tidy resolution to the story is that Schwarz faces a retrial in Brooklyn, where jury selection begins on June 3rd. And the available evidence in the case suggests that he may well be convicted again.

At the age of thirty-six, despite almost three years in prison, Charles Schwarz carries his beefy six-foot-one-inch frame with a confident swagger. I talked with Schwarz and his wife, Andra, in the midtown office of his lawyer, Ronald P. Fischetti, one recent Friday afternoon. Each played a distinct role in their real-life ensemble cast: Chuck was the stoic hero, Andra the adoring helpmate, Ron the sarcastic wise guy.

Schwarz's mother was a nurse, his father a train conductor and brakeman who died when Chuck was a teen-ager. After graduating from high school, in 1983, he enlisted in the Marines, where he was, as he told me, "promoted meritoriously to corporal." Schwarz went on, "Being a marine is not just a statement. I belonged to what I believe is the finest military organization in the world." Honorably discharged in 1988, he joined the police force the following year. "It was sort of an extension of the Marine Corps, being a police officer--the sense of camaraderie," Schwarz told me. "Having a military background, it just seemed like a typical progression."

Schwarz described his life as a passage from one team to another--high-school football squad, Marine Corps, police force, anti-crime precinct unit. The worlds that Schwarz has chosen have been men's clubs in varying forms, and he has the unnerving habit of ignoring whatever his wife says and continuing to talk without acknowledging that Andra has even spoken. Schwarz remains adamant about his innocence and appears astonished that he must defend himself once more. "They're making me out to be a sex offender," he said. "There's nothing worse than making me a sex offender. Just think what that does to you. It takes a whole lifetime to build a reputation. Within a matter of minutes, my whole life came to a crashing halt." He has no job, and Andra long ago quit her position as a paralegal to work full time on his defense. They often care for Chuck's brother, John, who became a quadriplegic after a swimming-pool accident. Chuck and Andra sold their house for living expenses and are now staying with relatives.

Schwarz speaks candidly about the despair he felt in prison. "You have your highs and lows, most of them lows," he said. "I would call Ron's office as much as possible, because talking to him would raise my spirits." Fischetti smiled and said to his client, "And you remember what I would say to you? 'Be a fucking marine. Stand up ...