Black Diamond

by John F. Dobbyn

  I saw a look of almost repentance mixed with anger on Billy’s face.

  “Damn it, kid. I never thought. It was a secure line. I remember now. He asked me. I must have spilled it.”

  “It’s all right, Mr. Coyne. I probably would too if he’d asked me. It was only when I started piecing it together that I knew he had to be with the Irish gang. I’ll give you another shocker. I recently found out that there’s a top guy in that Irish outfit who remains invisible. I’d bet my Corvette that our superintendent’s the head of it all. No wonder you and he never got anywhere in shutting down that gang.”

  Billy just shook his head. I think he was replaying confidential conversations with the superintendent over the past year.

  “There’s another piece to it. Before I left Ireland, I briefed him on what I learned about Martin Sweeney. Harry Wong and I played a wagering scam on Sweeney when I thought he was the top man. We arranged a phony loan of three million that he was going to bet on Black Diamond with Harry’s imaginary syndicate. He was going to make twenty or thirty million on it. I did it to get information. When I told the superintendent about it, that was the first he’d heard of it. Sweeney was apparently doing this on his own. It must have smacked of a move by Sweeney to take over the top spot. That midnight, Sweeney was gunned down in an alley behind his office. That was too much of a coincidence. But even that wasn’t the final clincher.”

  I paused for a long, slow sip of the Grouse. It wasn’t thirst. I’ll admit it. I was playing the scene for all it was worth. And it felt good.

  Mr. Devlin leaned in for privacy.

  “Now you’ve got both of us, Michael. What final clincher?”

  I leaned back in the chair. Privacy be damned. I was enjoying this business for the first time since Hector Vasquez walked into my office.

  “Well, it’s this way. The last time I saw the superintendent in Ireland I tried to convince him to come over here for the race. Once I figured who he was, we needed to have him over here so Mr. Coyne could arrest him, at least for extortion. The problem was how to convince him. I suggested he could work closely with Mr. Coyne and see the race and a bunch of other stuff that I see now didn’t really matter. He had to come over. He knew he had Sweeney murdered, and it was time to collect the extortion money from all the Americans they had on the hook. He had no one else he knew he could trust. Certainly not Boyle, who, by the way, has probably packed up and left town before the Irish boys could get to him. That meant the superintendant had to make the collection himself. I had Tom Burns tail whoever picked up the money, which, by the way, was doubled this time. I heard back from Tom. Guess who made the pickup from a dead-drop at Barnes & Noble in person?”

  “Our very own superintendent.”

  “Right on, Mr. Devlin. That tags him with an extortion charge at the least. I should tell you this, Mr. Coyne. Before the race, I made a strong point of telling the superintendent that Boyle had the race fixed for number four. I told him even Black Diamond’s jockey was too scared to cross Boyle. I figured that with that kind of assurance, he’d put the whole extorted collection on four to win instead of Black Diamond. From the look I got when Black Diamond won, that’s exactly what he did. That was a major loss of funds. It might have hammered that outfit financially. They just lost their leadership and their financing in two days. I don’t think they’ll be a threat to us over here for a while, Mr. Coyne.”

  Mr. Devlin fairly exploded. “Damn well done, Michael! Damn well done!” He turned with a flourish to the dour Billy Coyne. “And wouldn’t you like to join in the kudos to my junior partner, Billy Coyne, for pulling your chestnuts out of the fire?”

  Billy Coyne dug deep and forced what appeared to be a genuine smile. He held his hand out to shake hands.

  “Kid, I’ve got to admit—”

  “Uh, uh, uh, Billy.” Mr. D. was scowling at him.

  “All right, Michael. You done good.”

  I settled for that. Just the “Michael” instead of “kid” felt like a victory of gargantuan proportions.

  Billy stood up first. “I’ve got work to do. There are indictments to draft.”

  His last words as he left the table were, “I’ll be in touch, kid.”

  Sic transit gloria.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  It was three days later that our little troop gathered in Judge Peragallo’s courtroom. After our last visit with Hector, and the events that led to the arrest of the superintendent, I had the time to pull together all of the information we’d turned up and finally focus single-mindedly on every possible cause of Danny’s fall. After eliminating all of the impossible and extremely unlikely explanations, I was stunned to be left with just one.

  I went back over the video of Danny’s last race one more time. This time I knew what to look for. And there it was. The only remaining question was how I could have missed it the first hundred times through that video.

  We filed a motion with Judge Peragallo for dismissal of the indictment against Hector. Angela Lamb raised a cloud of dust over the abruptness of the motion and hearing, but she subsided when the judge reminded her that she was the one pushing for a trial immediately, if not sooner.

  The three days between the last race and the hearing day on our motion had been the best I could remember in the past three weeks. I deliberately slowed the pace and spent time doing practically nothing other than preparing for the hearing.

  There were two other things I did enjoy doing during those days. I paid a visit to the backstretch the morning after the race. I gathered the jockeys together between exercise rides. There was no need to be furtive about it. In fact, I was delighted to say it in both Spanish and English for the world to hear. There would be no more fixed races at Suffolk Downs at the hands of Mr. Boyle. His day was done, and their day was just dawning. The grins and jokes and backslaps and even cheers convinced me that maybe it had all been worthwhile. In fact, maybe I’d go on doing more than appeals of parking tickets.

  I got a special handshake that turned into a mutual hug from Alberto Ibanez.

  “You rode one hell of a race, Alberto.”

  He seemed a bit emotional when he just nodded a thank you. I started to leave when he held my arm.

  “I just want to say it. When you said those words to me just before I went up on Black Diamond. You said, ‘Ride like the wind, ’Berto. Bring him in. It’s going to be all right.” He put his hand on his heart and couldn’t seem to say anything further.

  I simply pressed his shoulder, which said, “I know.”

  Before I left, I dropped down to Rick’s barn. I could see him looking at me while I was with the jockeys.

  He held out that twisted, knuckley hand, and I took it. He had a grin like I hadn’t seen. “We did okay on that race, Michael. Like you said, I bet the ranch on Diamond.”

  “Way to go, Rick. What’re you going to do with all that money? Retire?”

  He came up sharp.

  “Hell no! I’m just gettin’ started. I’ll be at the yearlin’ sales in Florida next month. You won’t recognize this place when I bring in some new blood.”

  “I’ll be here at the backstretch the day they come in, Rick.”

  “You’d better. I’m thinkin’ of namin’ one after Miles O’Connor. What do you think?”

  “I think he’ll be up there cheering every time he runs. I wonder if they have pari-mutuel betting in Heaven.”

  “Hell, if they don’t, Miles’ll start it.”

  On the morning of the hearing, Judge Peragallo rapped the court to order at nine thirty sharp. I was at defense table with Hector waiting for Mr. Devlin. Hector was jumpy as a cat, which had the odd effect of settling my nerves down.

  Just as the judge took the bench and gave the “be seated” signal, I saw Mr. D. coming in the back door. He took a seat in the back of the courtroom. I caught his attention and signaled him to come up to defense table, but he waved it off. I could read his lips, mouthing the words, “It’s your case, son. You finish
it.”

  It would be hard not to notice that the two center rows of spectators’ seats were filled with Hector’s fellow jockeys. I didn’t recognize the two women in the front row. Hector whispered to me that his mother had flown in from the Dominican Republic, and the young woman beside her was his wife. I had no idea how much English they spoke, but the lines of intense worry on their faces spoke clearly how much depended on the outcome of that hearing. Now Hector’s case of nerves became contagious.

  Judge Peragallo looked down at me. “I have a full docket, Mr. Knight. What have you got for us?”

  I called Hector to the stand and had him sworn in. I had had a giant television screen brought into the courtroom and positioned so that the judge and counsel at the prosecutor’s table could get the full view. There was no jury at this hearing.

  “Judge, I’d like the permission of the court to play a video recording of the running of the race in question. This is the race in which Danny Ryan met his death.”

  “Any objection from the prosecution?”

  Both Billy Coyne and Angela Lamb had seen the video scores of times, as had we all. There was no objection.

  Before hitting the remote to play the video, I said to the court, “Your Honor, we’ve seen this tape more than most golfers have seen Caddy Shack. So what’s new? Just this. We’ve always focused on what we could see of Hector Vasquez’s hands and his whip. I’m going to show you a close up of Hector during the stretch run. This time I want you to focus on his face. His lips.”

  I rolled the video. It showed two horses and two jockeys locked in a wide-open, full-bore drive for the lead down the homestretch. Even without sound, the intensity was riveting.

  Just at the point at which Black Diamond began to gain the edge over Hector’s horse, I had had my tech focus a close-up in the video on Hector’s face. It showed clearly that Hector was yelling something directly at Danny.

  I played it for the court twice. Then I addressed Hector.

  “I want the complete truth here, Hector. Was that race fixed?”

  Hector was fidgeting in discomfort, but he answered clearly. “Yes, sir.”

  “And how was it fixed.”

  “Mr. Boyle, he let us jockeys know we’d be killed. Our families would be killed, if we didn’t make the race come out his way.”

  “And what was the outcome he wanted on this race?”

  “My horse was supposed to win.”

  “Was Danny Ryan also threatened if he didn’t lose?”

  “Yes, but a different way.”

  “How?”

  “His little daughter was kidnapped. They said they’d kill her if he didn’t lose the race.”

  “All right, Hector. Now listen to me. We’ve just seen from the video that in spite of that, Danny’s horse came up alongside of you and even passed you. Why did Danny do that?”

  “He didn’t, Mr. Knight. That horse, Black Diamond, he has a will to win. Danny couldn’t hold him. The horse was running away with him. Danny couldn’t stop him.”

  I walked to the other side of the bench so Hector would be speaking directly to the judge.

  “Tell us please, Hector, what did you yell to Danny when he was passing you?”

  Hector looked straight at the judge.

  “I yelled, ‘They’ll kill her if you win, Danny.’”

  He hit every syllable for emphasis.

  “And what did Danny do?”

  Hector rubbed his face with his hands. I could see tears forming.

  “He jumped off the back of the horse. He jumped.”

  “Why did he do that, Hector?”

  “So his horse would be disqualified. So my horse would win the race. He did it for his daughter.”

  The rumble of voices among the jockeys in the spectators’ section had to be quieted by an order of the judge. It gave Hector a chance to gather in his emotions.

  “And why didn’t you tell me this before, Hector?”

  “I was afraid that would mean I had a part in killing Danny.”

  I took a slow walk back to counsel table to let it sink in. I finally turned back to the bench and addressed the judge.

  “Judge Peragallo, that’s not murder. In fact, it’s not any kind of homicide. That’s the action of a man who’s been a victim of the greed of a vicious syndicate for more years than I want to think about.”

  I gave it a couple of seconds. “Your Honor, I’d like to move that this parade of horrors that’s been inflicted on these brave jockeys be ended. It can start with a dismissal of this indictment.”

  I sat down.

  Judge Peragallo looked over at the prosecution table. Angela Lamb started to rise to make an argument, but Billy Coyne caught her by the arm. She sat down without a whimper.

  The judge rapped his gavel.

  “This indictment is dismissed. The defendant will be released from custody immediately.”

  The burst of cheering and shouting, mostly in Spanish, that erupted drowned out the rapping of the judge’s gavel. I think Judge Peragallo concluded that the celebration was in order, if not overdue. He simply left the bench without the usual “All rise.”

  The rows of jockeys who had come to support one of their own emptied to the front of the courtroom. They would have surrounded him immediately and probably carried him out of the courtroom on their shoulders. But two others were first in line. Hector’s wife was in one of his arms and his mother was in the other. There was a closed circle so tight that I thought I’d never get a chance to congratulate Hector. I was wrong. When I went to walk by, two arms reached out and pulled me into the circle. There were now four of us hugging each other with such a grip that I could hardly breathe. No words were being spoken, but enough tears were flowing to float an ark.

  When our circle finally opened, Hector was totally mobbed by the jockeys. They must have heard the cheers at the State House on Beacon Hill.

  I looked to the back of the courtroom and saw my mentor, my friend, and my practically adoptive father, Lex Devlin. He had a grin that lit up his whole face, and his hands clasped above his head in a victory sign. I could even see moisture in those eyes that had seen everything in a courtroom.

  When I left the court, I went straight to a rental agency and rented a van big enough to move three people back to their homes. I drove to Milton, New Hampshire, at a speed I don’t want to record in this writing. And I brought three of my favorite people and one Shetland sheepdog home, and the celebration began in style.

  Funny thing. The next time I went into the office, my secretary, Julie, asked if I could help her with a legal problem before I did anything else. She asked me to appeal a parking ticket.