John Dobbyn - Neon Dragon

I let him sink comfortably into the euphoria of self-admiration for his crafty little scheme before turning back.

“One more thing, Whitney. When Judge Bradley sees this motion marked up for rehearing, he’ll probably think we’re trying to put the squeeze play on him. My bet is that he’ll be on the horn to Mr. Devlin in about six seconds to tell Mr. Devlin that he views the ethics of the rest of his law firm as beneath contempt. Mr. Devlin will be climbing up my back in about four seconds to find out whose idea this was in the first place. At that point…”

The pink had run from Whitney’s cheeks. He was nothing if not protective of his little pinched posterior.

“Hold off on that, Knight. You’ve probably got other things more pressing.”

“As a matter of fact, Whitney…” I thought of the Red Wings game I’d be missing.

I needed the privacy of my office for what I was about to do. As I closed the door, I tried to think of the last time I had spent serious time there. It predated the Lothrop hearing before Judge Bradley, which seemed like a century ago.

Tom Burns was a private detective whom the firm used on a semi-regular basis. He was not inexpensive, but his rates still beat having a lawyer do certain types of legwork. He was also better than the rest of us when the information required serious private detection. I had worked with him enough to be able to play with the cards up.

“Hi, Mike. How goes?”

“Good, Tom. You alone?”

“Alone enough.”

“I mean alone alone. This is really sensitive.”

I heard him ask his secretary to type up what he had given her. I listened for the door to close in the background.

“What do you need, Mike?”

“I’ve got something for you, Tom, if you’ll do it. I’m going to level with you. This is not authorized by anyone in the firm. A certain big guy down the hall would put me into a submarine sandwich if he knew I was doing this.”

“I heard you were working with A.D. And you can still sit up and take nourishment. You’re a survivor, Mike.”

“You know what they say-that which doesn’t kill us makes us strong. It could still go either way. Have you got some time free in the next day or so?”

“No. What do you need, Mike?”

“There was a case ten years ago this March, Commonwealth v. Dolson, Suffolk Superior Court. It was a hung jury. The names and addresses of the jurors on that case are in the record. I need to know if there were any radical changes in the lifestyle of any of the jurors, say in the next year after the case ended. You know what I’m looking for.”

“I know what you want. Any cash windfalls that could be a payoff.”

“You got it. I have a hunch it could be connected to this Bradley case. But it’s just a hunch. I can’t get you authorization from any of the partners. Lex Devlin’s the only one involved in this case, and he’d split a gut if he knew what we were opening up.”

“You’re playing with dynamite here, Mike. That was the case where they said Lex Devlin…”

“I know. I don’t believe it, Tom. It was never proven or disproven. It’s been sucking the blood out of a great man for ten years. It’s time it was cut open. Good or bad.”

“You think that’s your call to make, Mike?”

I felt the weight of it all of a sudden.

“Not if I weren’t sure of the man. Can you spare some time, Tom?”

“No. But I will. When do you want it?”

“Ten years ago. Whenever you can. Listen, about payment, Tom. If there is a connection with this Bradley case, you can bill it to the Bradley file. I can’t promise it, though. The best I can do is pick it up myself, but it could take me a while to pay it off.”

“He really got to you, didn’t he, Mike?”

“He’s the class of this shop, Tom. The rest of them don’t come up to his socks. It kills me to see him dying a slow death.”

“I know, Mike. Don’t worry about the bill. You’ll never see it.”

“That wasn’t the idea, Tom.”

“Hey, Mike, you’re not the only one owes the old man.”

If I had the option of skipping any quarter hour of that particular day, the next fifteen minutes would have been goners. I knew I was skating on thin to no ice at all.

Mr. Devlin’s secretary was at least not surprised to see me. She nodded to the open door. I started to knock, but he saw me and waved me in.

“What did you get from his Harvard buddies?”

Great start. For openers I got to tell him that I hadn’t been there yet.

Let’s face it. The only way through a difficult situation is to plough through the front door.

“I’m going over to Harvard after we finish here. I’ve got to talk to you about a couple of things.”

I warmed up by telling about Red Shoes and Harry Wong. I could see the distress carved in the lines of his face. It needed more time to sink in, but there was no time. I had to get at the main event.

“I’ve got something very personal, Mr. Devlin. We’ve got to get it off the table.” He pushed back in the heavy desk chair. Without doubt, I had his full attention. The thought of sitting down would have relieved a couple of shaking legs, but I had to do this one standing up.

“I went to the court clerk’s office this afternoon. I dug out the Dolson file.”

Those two beacons of eyes registered some mix of anger, pain, betrayal. I couldn’t tell.

“I had to. I think there may be a connection. I need to ask you a question.”

His expression was granite. But he didn’t tell me not to.

“The assistant DA was going after Dolson for a felony-murder conviction. A life term. There was a hung jury. All of a sudden the charge was reduced to simple arson, and there was a deal for a sentence that may have let him out on parole in two years. I know that’s not unusual, but there’s always a quid pro quo. One possibility is that Dolson got off lightly for information on the people who hired him. I’ve got to ask it, Mr. Devlin. Is that what happened?”

I wasn’t sure whether he was going to speak or not. I think he first had to decide whether he was going to dignify the question and the questioner with an answer or just squash me like an ant.

His expression never changed. When he spoke, it was quieter than I expected.

“No. There was no information. Dolson claimed he didn’t know anything.” He took a breath as if he were going to say more, but nothing followed.

“Then the other possibility was that the prosecutor was afraid of a weak case. I know that sometimes happens after a hung jury. But…” Now I was grasping for words. I finally decided no more grasping. Say it, and put us both out of our misery.

“… I know there was rumor of a fixed jury on the first trial.”

Our eyes were locked. If he flinched, I didn’t see it. I didn’t flinch either.

“They’ll never fault you for guts, sonny. There isn’t a lawyer or judge in this city that would brace me with that question. What the hell makes you think…”

“Because maybe I care more than they do, Mr. Devlin.”

I didn’t know what to follow that with, but it stopped the train. Those eyes were still riveted into mine, and I didn’t have a clue what was going on behind them.

Six years went by in the next few seconds. Then his weight went back into the chair, and his head went back against the cushioned rest. I had the feeling that he was coming to a decision, and I gave him time to carry it out.

When he spoke, he was looking at the ceiling.

“You’ve just come about as close to the center of my sanity as anyone since my wife passed away. God rest her. I never said this before to anyone. I never had the chance. It was taken out of my hands, and then it just… festered away.”