A hapless robber, unmasked by a cloud of paint, gets his day in court

The man left the bank as a satisfied customer who had not just been robbed. With an envelope of cash in his right pocket, he began walking down a Newark street with studied nonchalance.

A few steps after his accidental escape, a packet of dye inside the envelope exploded in a misty pink puff like an ill-timed gender reveal. Only then did he rush off, leaving in his wake a cartoonish contrail and some surveillance footage distraction for the Covid-infected summer of 2021.

When the man, Esau Grant, was arrested two days later, a Newark police officer couldn’t resist joking that he had been caught “red-handed.” And public attention moved on to the next viral moment of human folly.

Perhaps there is no profound conclusion in Mr. Grant’s case. Perhaps it offers nothing more than a chance to imagine yourself in the pink-spotted sneakers of a desperate, hapless bank robber — as I did when I served on the jury that recently heard the state’s case against him.

On the cool, wet Saturday morning of July 3, 2021, Mr. Grant joined a long line at the small Capital One bank on Springfield Avenue. It was the beginning of the month and the day before the Fourth: busy banking time.

The 27-year-old man, tall and lanky, was wearing a light blue durag, a white shirt, gray pants and a backpack. He also wore a face mask and plastic gloves, accessories that were not necessarily noticeable in a pandemic.

The customers stepped forward, some planning deposits, some planning withdrawals and one planning a crime. Finally, a bank teller on the other side raised his hand and beckoned to the next person in line.

Mr. Grant stepped forward and pushed a crumpled white note through the window. This was not a concern, the cashier later testified, because some customers prefer to use banknotes. But then he read the scribbled words:

“I have a gun. Give all the money from the register, please. No one will get hurt.”

Please?

The cashier was trained to assume that anyone threatening to have a gun is armed, even if there is no gun in sight. Fearing for the safety of the customers and bank employees in the lobby, he had one goal: to get this person out as quickly as possible.

The cashier threw the note on the floor. He moved his left hand to the cash register full of money, while his right hand searched for the silent alarm button under the counter.

Ten seconds. Twenty. Thirty. As time marched on and slowed down, Mr. Grant just stood there. Other than a tug on his mask and a quick shove into a pocket, he kept his hands still at his sides.

Who was this man? What possessed him to undertake such a doomed plan? Rob a bank by threatening to have a gun – especially if he didn’t have a gun? He was unarmed.

Court records show that Mr. Grant never knew his father and spent part of his childhood in foster care, which a family member said could explain his anger problems. He dropped out of high school in the 10th grade and worked occasionally in warehouses.

He had been convicted of a handful of minor crimes, including one count of throwing rocks and damaging the windows of a bank that had refused to activate his bank card. He had spent a few months in jail and had a history of losing temper and refusing help. He had a bullet scar on his left leg and a tattoo with his late mother’s name on his right arm.

Also: He lived in the emergency shelter on Fulton Street in Newark. Second floor, bed no. 40.

Sixty seconds. Seventy. Eighty. Mr. Grant paused from his silence and quickly knocked on the cash register window. Was this meant to say: hurry up? Or to say: hurry up, because I have a gun?

After about 90 seconds, the cashier inserted an envelope through the slot containing $2,300 in cash and an extra small gift. And Mr. Grant walked out the door.

Seconds later, dreary Springfield Avenue brightened with an explosion of Barbie pink dye. Mr. Grant threw away the money he had possessed for barely a minute and ran like a scarred man through the busy Blum Street.

A tip from the emergency shelter provided a name and a likely meeting place. Two days later, police officers found Mr Grant on a park bench, a telltale pink one on his right hand, trousers and trainers. Matching stains would later be found on his emergency shelter sheet.

During a brief interrogation, Mr. Grant waived his rights. He admitted trying to rob a bank with written words that were both threatening and courteous. He said he was sorry.

But Mr Grant disagreed with prosecutors about the seriousness of his crime and exercised his right to a trial, which took place in late November.

He did not testify and the jury was not told about his background, including that he had spent the past two years in the Essex County Jail, also known as “The Green Monster.” He was simply a man accused of first-degree robbery, wearing a baggy shirt and beltless pants.

The assistant prosecutor, Ruddy A. Adames, put the bank teller and the arresting officer on the witness stand. He posted as evidence the videos of the bank interactions, the paint pack explosion, the arrest and the confession. He held up the pink speckled sneakers and pants.

Mr. Grant’s public defender, Laura Bilotta, acknowledged that her client delivered the threatening note. But she claimed words were not enough to support a conviction for first-degree robbery, which requires a gesture or behavior to amplify the threat of being armed – and she claimed he did not do that.

After closing arguments, the other jurors and I went to a spartan room designed for undisturbed deliberation. A court officer delivered brown paper bags of evidence. We passed around the crumpled banknote, half the size of a bank cheque.

We debated gestures and behavior for more than a day. The meaning of the mask adjustment. The window knock. The silence.

The difference in degree became a chasm. A conviction for first-degree theft carried a prison sentence of up to twenty years; for second-degree theft, maximum 10.

Finally, we came forward and said we found the suspect guilty of second-degree robbery. Our civic duty completed, we rode the elevator down in silence and then exchanged an awkward goodbye.

Mr Grant, who is expected to be sentenced this month, declined an interview request. But a glimpse of his thoughts may have been revealed at the moment the guilty verdict was handed down.

Upon hearing his fate, the apologetic bank robber sat back in resignation and nodded slightly.