Neon Dragon mk-1

by John F. Dobbyn

  I walked slowly over to the bench and sat down beside him.

  “I’m the man who’s going to relieve you of ten years’ weight on your conscience, if you have one. My name’s Michael Knight. I work with Lex Devlin.”

  Either a chill was setting in, or the fear was beginning to affect him physically. His hands were beginning to shake, but he looked me dead in the eyes.

  “What do you want?”

  “I want you to know that as of this moment, the life you know is over. Beginning now, it all crumbles to pieces. You’d better have your wits about you in the next ten minutes to come through it with as much as you can possibly hold together.”

  I let that sink in for a second while he just looked at me.

  “Ten years ago, Mr. Loring, you did a despicable thing. You and that gang of respectable thieves that hide behind Adams Leasing hired a man to burn a couple of your rat-traps in the South End. You hired a man by the name of Frank Dolson to take the fall on the arson. It went sour when it turned to a felony-murder charge. Are you following me here?”

  “That’s absolutely absurd.”

  “We’ll see. Now we get to the part that’s going to bring you people to justice. You fixed the Dolson jury. And you hung it on Lex Devlin. You took the life out of a man whose boots you’re not good enough to lick.”

  “I don’t have to listen to this.”

  He started to get up.

  “If you leave that seat, I send the evidence directly to the district attorney, and you lose the chance I’m offering you to buy leniency.”

  It was as if I had reached out and pulled him back to the bench.

  “What evidence are you talking about?”

  I reached into my suit-coat pocket and took out Martin Shortbridge’s signed statement. I handed it to him. His hands were quivering when he took it; but when he read it, his whole body started to shake. He said nothing. I thought he was going to cry.

  “Let me tell you where we’re at, Mr. Loring. What you’re looking at is evidence to convict you of jury fixing. That could be good for at least a five-year sentence. Believe it or not, that’s the good news. The bad news is that it ties you in as an accessory to the felony murder of the men who died in that fire. That means that this could be the last time you’ll see this beautiful Public Garden for the rest of your life.”

  That did it. Now he was weeping. I looked at him in his nine-hundred-dollar suit and thought of his life of posh clubs and lobster dinners and summer home on the North Shore. Then I thought of the last ten years of Mr. Devlin’s life that paid for it, and I felt anger. At the same time, I couldn’t help being stung with a degree of pity for him. But neither emotion mattered. I had to do what I came to do.

  “There’s a way of softening the fall, Mr. Loring.”

  He looked up at me with a face that was wet and almost pleading.

  “What way?”

  “Right now, you’re the fall guy. You’re the only general partner of the limited partnership that owns Adams Leasing. The rest of the thieves are hiding behind you in the hopes that you’ll take all the heat. I know there are much bigger fish than you in this mess. Right at this passing moment, you have a chance to offer evidence and bargain for leniency.”

  It sank in for a second before he asked it.

  “What will happen to me?”

  “I can promise you this. If you pass up this chance, you’ll go to prison for the rest of your life. If you make a statement now, before it breaks, it’ll go lighter with you. How much lighter, no one can promise. I think you can topple some heads that will put the prosecutor in a generous mood.”

  He just sat there with his head submerged in his hands.

  “It’s your decision. I’m on my way to the prosecuting attorney right now. I can do it with or without your cooperation. What’ll it be?”

  The tears wouldn’t stop. I heard a sob catch in his throat like a gasp. Then I heard it in a muffled voice, and my heart nearly sprang out of my chest.

  “What do you want me to do?”

  I stood up and waved to the woman who was sitting on the bench down by the pond. I had asked Julie to meet me at the Public Garden, but stay a distance away. She came at a run with a briefcase.

  I gave her my seat. She took a laptop computer out of the case and brought it to life to take dictation.

  “Mr. Loring, this is my secretary. I want you to dictate a statement. Miss Benson will take it down. She has the equipment to print it out, and you’ll sign it. I’ll see that you get full credit with the prosecutor for giving evidence. Are you ready to begin?”

  He seemed unaware of Julie’s presence, but he was focused enough to know that his neck could only be saved by seizing the moment. Carpe diem. And he did.

  It flowed like honey from his lips, and Julie caught every word on the word processor. It was like tapping a gusher. He had no idea how much would satisfy me, so he spilled it all. He laid bare an association of some of the most powerful people in the commonwealth of Massachusetts that went back twenty years. He outlined dealings in real estate all over the city that would make Dillinger look like Billy Graham.

  The shenanigans were made possible by the most foolproof protection I could conceive. They had a stranglehold on the laws affecting zoning, eminent domain, and private legislation through their own membership. It had taken years to develop, but they had placed members of the association in every branch of government from the governor’s cabinet to the key committees of the state legislature to the Supreme Judicial Court.

  I could feel my legs turning to rubber as I listened to the names of the people Loring implicated. I looked out over the pond where my parents had taken me on the swan boats as a child to feed the ducks. I was staggered as I remembered that time of innocence and trust, and listened as too many of the pillars of the state that was my home crumbled in a bone-heap of greed.

  There were times when I thought I was going to be physically ill. I could easily have wept.

  When he stopped speaking, I asked my own questions while Julie kept up on the laptop.

  “How many members of the Supreme Judicial Court, Mr. Loring?”

  “Only three. They’re ordinary, impartial judges on most cases. They only serve the association’s interests on rare cases where it matters to the business.”

  There were so many questions, but I had to focus on the reason I was there.

  “Was this association behind the arson that Dolson pleaded guilty to?”

  “Yes. We hired another man to do it, but he bungled it. When it became obvious that it was arson, and he could be prosecuted, he threatened to take us with him. We hired Dolson to take the prison sentence.”

  “But then it turned to murder, and you had to get Dolson off the hook for the murder. How did you do it?”

  “We bribed a juror to produce a hung jury.”

  I held my breath. We were so close to touchdown. I looked to see that Julie was getting it all. I spoke slowly.

  “Did Mr. Alexis Devlin have anything to do with the bribery of the juror?”

  “No.”

  “Did he have any knowledge of the fixing of the juror at any time?”

  “No. We planted the rumors that he was behind it to take suspicion off the association. We even set the procedure in motion for a bar disciplinary proceeding. Then we had it called off after Dolson entered a plea bargain for the arson.”

  I looked at Julie to see if she had it. She looked up at me, and I could see moisture swelling in her eyes. She just nodded.

  “One more thing. Mr. Loring, is this association involved in the Anthony Bradley case?”

  He looked at me. “What do you mean?”

  “Let’s break it down. Did the association have anything to do with the murder of the Chinese man?”

  “No. We had nothing to do with that.”

  That was a disappointment. That still left Anthony as the most likely killer.

  “Did the association have anything to do with the prosecution o
f Bradley?”

  He thought for a second.

  “Only indirectly. When young Bradley got into serious trouble it served our purposes. The balance on the Supreme Judicial Court is delicate. Right now, our three members are able to convince enough of the other conservatives to vote our way on land issues without them knowing what’s behind it. That balance would be upset if Bradley joins the court. A scandal in his family is the best thing that could have happened for us.

  “When Lex Devlin joined the defense, we were afraid he might get a defendant’s verdict. We had Angela Lamb offer a plea bargain on a lesser charge. That would have been enough to taint Judge Bradley.”

  “Is Angela Lamb a member of this association?”

  “No. Not a member. She’s been under our control, though, since we financed her campaign to become district attorney. She follows orders whenever we need it. After Lex Devlin got involved in the Bradley case, we had her reduce the charge to something we thought Bradley might plead to rather than risk Devlin’s getting him off. Even the lesser charge would have been an embarrassment to Judge Bradley. We could have used it to keep him off the court.”

  I checked my watch. It was nine thirty, and I had things to do before I could get to the courthouse. There was so much more to unravel, but I’d leave that to the prosecutors.

  “One last question. Judge Posner, the judge who’s trying the Bradley case, is he one of yours?”

  He looked up.

  “No.”

  I kneeled down beside Julie. “Let’s wrap it up. Save it on a couple of discs and print it out. Three times.”

  I took a walk down to the pond while Julie worked with the laptop and the miniprinter she had in the case. I wondered when the swan boats would be launched in the spring. I resolved to come back and try to recapture those beautiful, innocent days of feeding the ducks.

  Julie called me back when she had three verbatim copies of Loring’s statement printed out. I checked them out. It was all there.

  I took a highlighter pen out of Julie’s case and marked in screaming yellow the section about Mr. Devlin’s innocence of the jury fixing.

  I gave one copy to Loring and told him to read it. It took him about five minutes. I was surprised there were no more tears.

  He took out a gold-plated Mont Blanc pen and signed all three copies. As I took each one from him, I said a prayer of thanksgiving to God, who cares about old trial lawyers.

  31

  When I left the public garden just after ten, I literally ran into a stationery store on Boylston Street. I bought three large manila envelopes, and I made two more copies of the signed statements of Frank Gallagher and Martin Shortbridge. I put a copy of Loring’s, Gallagher’s, and Shortbridge’s statements in each of the envelopes and sealed them.

  I carried the first set to the United States Attorney’s office in the federal building. I handed it personally to Pete Styles, the United States Attorney. I wanted him to know whom it came from in case he had any questions. I knew that he’d make the most of it under the federal corruption in public office statutes and that old beloved gangbuster, RICO-the Racketeering Influenced and Corrupt Organizations statute. Pete was as good a person as ever sat in that office. If the case carried him to the Senate or beyond, the people would be the winners.

  My second stop was the Suffolk County district attorney’s office. I handed the envelope to the deputy DA, Alice Wright, since Ms. Lamb, the DA, was at the moment in courtroom 809, selecting a jury to convict Anthony Bradley. Our soon-to-be-former DA was also implicated in Loring’s statement.

  That was all in the line of duty. My third stop was a labor of love. I removed the statement of Shortbridge from the third envelope because of my agreement to keep it out of the public eye “if possible.” The chances were that it was an empty gesture, since he would undoubtedly be smeared by the exposure of corruption that was about to cut loose.

  I hand-carried that golden third envelope with the statements of Gallagher and Loring and laid it in the hands of my buddy, Mike Loftus, the best columnist to whom the Globe ever gave the power of the pen.

  He was surprised at my presence.

  “Michael, aren’t you supposed to be at trial in the Bradley case?”

  “I am. I’m out of here. I just wanted you to know for sure where that envelope came from. It’s exactly what it purports to be. I’m giving you an exclusive with my blessings. Just one request. The whole business is going to blow your socks off. You’ll have material for columns through Labor Day. What I’m asking is this. For your first column, will you focus on the stuff about Lex Devlin? It’s just a request. There’re no strings.”

  He looked at me with a funny look. “What the hell’s in here, Mike?”

  There were no smiles when I said it. “It’s what every reporter dreams about. Read it and weep.”

  32

  I hit the street in front of the Globe building running. It was past noon. I figured that in the noon traffic I could get to the courthouse in better time on foot than in a cab.

  I darted between cars on Franklin Street, collecting an interesting array of shouts and hand signals from drivers, for one of whom I nearly became a hood ornament. I took the steps of the courthouse in threes. I passed through security and pushed my way through the crowd in the lobby to the elevator.

  I caught sight of Tommy Flaherty, one of the court officers, running toward the elevator. He was yelling something. I told him I couldn’t hear. When he got to the door of the elevator, I could make out the words.

  “You better get the hell up there, Mike! Lex Devlin!”

  I yelled past the front line of people.

  “What about him?”

  The door closed. Tommy had time to get in just one word.

  “Heart!”

  When the door opened, I squeezed my way out of the elevator. A crowd of reporters and spectators had spilled into the corridor. They filled it with a nervous buzz.

  I ran into the courtroom. There was a circle of people in front of defense counsel’s table. I pushed close enough to see Mr. Devlin lying on the floor. There were three men in white uniforms working over him. His face was the color of ashes.

  Anthony Bradley was standing closest to me.

  “What happened, Anthony?”

  “I think he took a heart attack. He put his hand up here on his chest, and he just went down. They called the ambulance. They’ve been working on him for fifteen minutes.”

  I worked my way through to kneel down beside him. He looked up at me. His eyes brightened a little.

  “You picked a hell of a day to go on strike, sonny. Where’ve you been?”

  “You’ll know soon enough. How’re you doing?”

  “I’ll be ready to play the Celtics tomorrow. Today I think I’ll sit on the bench. We got the jury picked. Angela’s about to fire her first salvo.”

  I looked around as Judge Posner kneeled down beside me.

  “How is it, Lex?”

  “Not so bad, Judge.”

  The judge said quietly to me, “They gave him a shot. I think he’s settling down.”

  Judge Posner said to Lex, “They’ll get you to the hospital in no time, Lex. You’re looking better. I’ll grant your motion for a continuance.”

  Lex’s head came off the floor, and his eyes burned.

  “No. No motion for a continuance.”

  “What do you mean, Lex?”

  Mr. Devlin looked up at me. He said it quietly and deliberately. “I mean my cocounsel will handle the defense.”

  The judge looked at the two of us. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I thought he might be delirious, but he never looked cooler. I was taking strength from what I saw in his eyes.

  Judge Posner looked at me. “You’d better consult with your client, to see if that’s what he wants, Mr. Knight. And perhaps Judge Bradley.”

  I looked around at Anthony. He was standing behind me. He nodded his head. “If that’s what Mr. Devlin wants, that’s OK with me.”<
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  Judge Bradley was standing at the rail behind the defense table. I looked at Mr. Devlin. He gave me a nod in the direction of Judge Bradley, and I called him over. He bent down over Mr. Devlin and put his ear close to Mr. Devlin’s lips.

  Mr. Devlin whispered something that brought a stunned, if not angry, look to Judge Bradley’s face. He started to stand, but Mr. Devlin grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back. I couldn’t tell what he was whispering, but I think he was disclosing his tactics to the only human being other than me to whom he could tip his hand.

  When Judge Bradley stood up, he still had deep furrows across his brow. He looked at me for several seconds before going back to take his seat.

  The judge called Ms. Lamb over from the prosecution table and whispered the situation to her. Needless to say, she approved of the substitution of counsel.

  The men in white uniforms were lifting Mr. Devlin onto a stretcher. He waved me over, and told the others to stand back. I leaned down so he could whisper.

  “You can handle it, sonny. Do you understand the game plan?”

  I told him I did. We’d gone over it a number of times at our last meeting.

  “Good. If it’s going to work, it has to be now. We can’t put it off. Go to it, sonny.”

  They lifted the stretcher so that the wheels snapped down under it. They cleared a path through the crowd and moved him out of the courtroom fast. They had him at the door, when I remembered the news I’d forgotten to tell him.

  I couldn’t get through the crowd, so I yelled, “I’ll see you later! I’ve got news! You’re cleared!”

  The crowd folded in behind him. I didn’t think he heard. I prayed to God to give him time to hear.

  By the time the judge got the courtroom reassembled, it was nearly one. He ordered a break for lunch. We were to reconvene at two. I had too much to go over with Anthony before the afternoon session to be able to follow Lex in the ambulance, so I tried to settle down to business.