Neon Dragon (25 page)

“Yes. Will you be seeing Anthony?”

“I don't know. Time's short.”

“If you see him, would you tell him I'm safe?”

“Sure.”

The wind bit on the walk back to the van. We could have used breakfast, lunch, Scotch, any number of things. Harry could probably have used a doctor. But more important was catching the earliest plane back to Boston.

HARRY AND I CAME OFF
the flight ramp at Logan airport a little after one o'clock. I had less than an hour before meeting Mr. Devlin for the pretrial conference at the courthouse. The judge had accommodated the DA by holding the hearing on Saturday. My first move when I hit solid ground was to call Lanny's room at Mass. General. My heart nearly came through my ribs when she answered the phone herself.

She said she was doing fine, all things considered. I thought it was pretty gutsy, considering all the things there were to be considered. It was not your average first date.

I promised to get over to see her as soon as possible. She understood the necessary flexibility in the schedule since I had filled her in on most of what was going on.

HARRY WAS STILL HOBBLING
a bit, but he had managed to straighten up. I had one last favor to ask.

Before we left the airport, I called information for the number of the Ming Tree restaurant. I dialed it and handed the phone to Harry.

“Harry, see if you can get Mrs. Lee on the phone. I'll need you to interpret. I'll tell you what to say when you get her.”

I listened to the exchange. I guessed by the inflection of Harry's Chinese that she wasn't there. Harry hung up, and we headed for the taxi stand.

“Not only is she not there, Mike. I asked, and they haven't seen her at the restaurant for the last couple of days. No idea when she'll be in. Is that a surprise?”

“It's a disappointment, not a surprise. They've got her hidden away. She'll be back for the trial.”

“You're starting to think like they do, Mike. You've been paying attention.”

“I had a good professor. I figure they realized we could get to her at the restaurant. She's Kip Liu's insurance policy as long as she doesn't change her testimony.”

We split into separate taxis. I headed directly for the courthouse. I led the driver to believe the tip would be doubled if she beat her best time through the tunnel. She apparently took me seriously. She burned a route through back streets of East Boston that don't appear on maps. They brought us to the very head of the killer line of airport traffic at the entrance to the tunnel. She squeezed into line with a horn and an endangered left fender. I made good on the tip, and jotted down her name for future needs—Carlotta something.

I GOT THROUGH SECURITY
at the courthouse as soon as possible and met Mr. Devlin at the bank of elevators. We rode in silence up to the eighth floor.

Before going into courtroom 809, Mr. Devlin hustled me into a small, unoccupied lawyer's conference room. We had five minutes. I used four of them to fill him in on the Toronto details.

He took in every word with his chin on his fist and his eyes locked on mine. There were no interruptions, but two veins were pulsing in his temples by the time I finished.

He looked me over.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes, sir. Harry's a bit under, but he'll come around.”

The veins were hammering at this point. It took him three seconds to spit out, “
If you ever
…”

“I won't, sir. I won't. The rest is easy.” It seemed an injudicious moment to mention that I still had to get Mei-Li across the U.S. border.

He just looked at me. I had no clue what was going on in his mind, but it seemed a good time to break the train of thought by filling him in on Harry's call to the Ming Tree.

He spent another twenty seconds in thought after I ran out of words. I gave him the space until he bounced up and checked his watch. He grabbed his briefcase.

“You have to make up tactics as you go along, sonny. Sometimes a good hunch is better than logic. This one should get their attention. Let's go.”

WE WADED THROUGH THE BUZZ
of newspaper and TV people who packed the six-row spectator section to SRO. Pretrial conferences are generally held in a judge's chambers. I assumed that this trial was drawing so much public attention, especially among the people in Chinatown, that the judge wanted everything done in the open.

Ms. Lamb was sitting expectantly at prosecution's table. She bared her teeth in her version of a smile for Mr. Devlin's benefit. He cast a slight bow in her general direction, and we took up residence at defense counsel's table.

We were just seated, when the “All rise!” brought us back up. Judge Posner mounted the bench with a sprightly step. He was just shy of fifty, with the neat, graying look of dignity that befits the bench.

He had the reputation for being a no-nonsense, down-the-middle, neither defense- nor prosecution-oriented judge. He held a tight rein, but let the lawyers try the case.

The clerk called the case of
Commonwealth v. Bradley.
There was little to deal with at this particular pretrial, since there was not much by way of scientific evidence to exchange and no evidence that called for motions for suppression. The defendant admitted being at the scene at about the time of the killing. The only question was whether or not he pulled the trigger. The actual murder weapon had not been recovered.

The primary business of the conference was to fix a trial date. The court called for counsel to state their preferences. Ms. Lamb was first on her feet. She came out swinging. Mr. Devlin kept his peace during her impassioned plea for swift justice—the swifter the better. The people were ready “at any moment” to bring the defendant to justice.

I thought to myself, “If we could try him this afternoon, waive the appeal, and sentence him at dawn, she could file her candidacy for the governorship in time for a campaign breakfast tomorrow morning.”

The real translation of Ms. Lamb's position was that she had her ducks in a row and ready to quack—they being the two eyewitnesses. The sooner she could get the case to trial, the less time we'd have to find counterwitnesses or work on her two stars.

When she had run her course, Mr. Devlin rose slowly and addressed the court quietly. She had neatly laid the burden on the defense to come up with a good reason for delaying the trial.

“May it please the court, Ms. Lamb is zealous as always in her representation of the people. I think her zealousness carried her beyond her intentions this time. She couldn't possibly mean that the commonwealth is ready to try this case.”

He paused, as if groping for the next word. I knew something was up. Mr. Devlin had never groped for a word in his life.

Ms. Lamb jumped into the pause with both feet.

“Mr. Devlin underestimates the commonwealth's sense of duty in
preparing this case, Your Honor. This is a vicious crime that has the entire Chinese community watching and waiting to see if justice will be done. I want it on the record that any delay will be the result of the failure of defense counsel to put his case in order.”

Mr. Devlin took the grandstanding in better grace than I would have predicted. In fact, he seemed to enjoy it.

“I'm impressed, Your Honor, but I can't believe the district attorney would consent to anything short of a two-month period before trial.”

She was on her feet, grinning a grin that I last saw on the lips of a trout just before I set the hook. “Your Honor, I assure you and Mr. Devlin that the people are ready to begin this case this afternoon.”

She was looking at the judge, but her insufferably smug body language was aimed at Mr. Devlin. The eyes of the judge and every reporter in the courtroom were on Mr. Devlin, while he played with the papers in front of him. I was more anxious than the rest to see what delaying tactic he could pull out of the air.

He looked up from the counsel table with an almost imperceptible grin.

“Your Honor, let's call her bluff. I move for a trial date of this coming Tuesday.”

My eyes shot to Ms. Lamb. It was as if she had asked for a toy and got the toy store. Her eyes bulged. She had to forcibly close her mouth. I have to admit, it took me a few seconds to get my own breathing started again.

The judge registered something between controlled shock and indignation.

He was on his feet and heading for his side door when he issued the command, “I'll see counsel in my chambers.”

He was at his desk, in robes, drumming a tattoo on the arm of his chair with his fingers, when our little band of Ms. Lamb, Mr. Devlin, and me paraded in. He didn't bother to invite us to make ourselves comfortable.

“I don't know what you're up to, Mr. Devlin, but I'll give you the
ground rule. No one plays games in my court. This case is going to be tried by the book.”

Mr. Devlin accepted the noninvitation and sat down. Mr. Lamb followed suit. As for me, there were only two chairs.

Mr. Devlin calmly bit the words off in dead earnest. There was not a trace of a smile.

“This is no game, Your Honor. I've got a boy who could be sentenced to life here. There isn't anything on earth I take more seriously. You say we try it by the book. The book says that defense counsel has the right to decide how his case is to be tried, as long as he isn't shown to be incompetent. I've never been accused of that.”

The judge's steam subsided.

“What's this business about beginning this case on Tuesday?”

Mr. Devlin leaned back. “Anthony Bradley is the son of Judge Bradley. I'm sure you know that. I say that not to ask for special favors. But it does create a problem. The longer he remains incarcerated with men his father may have sentenced, the greater the chance he could be executed before the trial. Prison precautions are never perfect.”

Mr. Devlin nodded to Ms. Lamb, who was perched like a raven on the edge of her seat. She had the look of one who was beginning to look her recent gift horse in the mouth and wasn't sure that anything that came that easily from Mr. Devlin could be totally in her favor. Mr. Devlin set the hook a bit deeper.

“The district attorney says she's ready. In fact, she's on record before the court and about fifty newspeople bragging about it. The defense is ready, Your Honor. You have my word. I say let's get on with it.”

Judge Posner looked to Ms. Lamb for reaction. She was stymied. If Lex Devlin wanted a trial date that close, it had to be for a reason that could only endanger her glorious victory. On the other hand, Mr. Devlin had boxed her in nicely with the reminder that she'd be quoted in every evening edition and news broadcast as champing at the bit for quick justice. Hard to go back on that one.

She took the least awkward path.

“Your Honor, I said the people are ready. I'll stand by that.”

The judge played with the tips of his reading glasses at the edge of his mouth while the mental tumblers clicked into place. He finally called his docket clerk over with the court schedule.

“What about this, Peter? How does Tuesday look?”

“You have a light schedule, Judge. Remember you were going to leave next Tuesday for the Colorado conference. That takes out the rest of the week. You just have a pretrial conference on Tuesday morning.”

The judge chewed a bit on his glasses before he looked up at his clerk.

“Set this down for Tuesday, Peter. Ten o'clock. Call Mary and have her move the pretrial back to four thirty Monday afternoon. And have her cancel my reservations for the conference. This is more important.”

Judge Posner looked back at the two combatants.

“You have what apparently you both wanted, counsel. Let's go back out. I want this done publicly and on the record.”

I CAUGHT A CAB BACK
to my apartment by way of a brief stop at Mass. General. Lanny was sitting up in bed, as bright and pretty as if she had not just been bombed out of a car. It was clearly the bright spot of my day to see her, and the feelings we had three nights before seemed to carry over in spite of the circumstances.

It was a briefer visit than I'd have liked, but I needed a shower, a change of clothes, and a few hours' sleep before a long night. It gave me the chance to think through the plan of attack Mr. Devlin outlined to me before we left the courtroom. I had to give the man credit for guts. Thank God he was lead counsel.

I had left him outside the courthouse, facing what looked like a porcupine of microphones in front of three rows of newspeople. The questions were coming six at a time, and I could see a bit of the old glory coming back in his eyes.

THE PHONE BROUGHT ME OUT
of a sound sleep at six o'clock that evening. It had been dark for over an hour. Harry's voice lifted me somewhat out of the after-fog of a daytime nap.

“Mike, what time are you leaving?”

I checked my watch. “I'd better get rolling now, Harry.”

“Good. You want to pick me up, or shall I meet you someplace?”

“You're not coming on this one, Harry. I can't repay you for what you've done already.”

“I want to see it through to the finish, Mike. Can you pick me up?”

How could I refuse? Besides, the company would keep me awake.

“Half an hour. We'll eat on the road. Bring some coffee. And the dress code is definitely a business suit. Conservative tie.”

THE RIDE TO CANADA WAS LONG
, broken only by intermittent stops for food and changes of driver to keep alert. We crossed the Canadian border at six o'clock the next morning and drove the rest of the way to the motel where we'd left Mei-Li.

We picked her up and hit the road immediately. It was too close to Toronto to make it comfortable to spend excess time. Before we reached the U.S. border, we spread some blankets and made Mei-Li as comfortable as possible in the trunk of the car.