It was two thirty in the afternoon when Shortbridge and I parted company under a giant grinning cutout of Ronald McDonald. I had one more part to play before I could get my mind fully back to the Bradley case.
Information gave me the number for Robert Loring’s office on Federal Street. I had gotten the address earlier from Gene Martino.
Loring’s secretary had an upscale coolness in her voice.
“Mr. Loring’s office.”
“Hello. May I speak to Mr. Loring?”
“I’m afraid not. Mr. Loring is out of the office for the afternoon. May I inquire what this is in reference to?”
I overlooked the fact that she was unashamed of ending a sentence with a preposition.
“It’s in reference to his meeting with me in the Public Garden tomorrow morning.”
“That’s not possible. Mr. Loring has appointments in-house through tomorrow afternoon. Who is this speaking?”
“This is a man who wants Mr. Loring to know that he’ll meet him tomorrow morning at nine o’clock at the bench in the Public Garden where they start the swan boats.”
There was a little condescending laugh that sent my Latino blood well above 98.6. I nonetheless cooled it and let her finish.
“I’m afraid you’ll be waiting there alone, whoever you are. Mr. Loring has no intention…”
“I’m not in the habit of giving legal advice freely, miss, so consider yourself among the elect. My very best advice to you is that you treat this as a 911 call and reach Mr. Loring as if his life depended on it. Tell him about the appointment at the swan boats tomorrow morning at nine o’clock. And in the course of the conversation, mention the name of Frank Dolson to him. When you do, have a chair behind him and two aspirin in your hot little hand. Have you got all that?”
There was nothing but pause on the other end. I figured I got her attention. I wished her a delightful afternoon and hung up.
There was one last base that I wanted to touch before Anthony’s trial began. I drove over to Harvard and found Terry Blocher just coming back to Dunster House from class. It seemed like the first time all day I’d talked to another human being without trying to trick or coerce him into saying something he’d rather keep deeply buried.
Terry seemed open and anxious to help any way he could. His first words were a sincere inquiry about Anthony. It struck me that he really cared as a friend, but then, my experience so far with this case had forced me to reevaluate my intuitive judgment of character.
He invited me in, and we settled down behind a couple of Cokes.
“Terry, I’m trying to piece together exactly what happened on that Sunday. Could you give it to me again? Give me all the details.”
I appreciated the fact that he thought about it before beginning.
“I went down to Anthony’s room here at Dunster about two in the afternoon. I think I asked what he wanted to do. He said he wanted to go into Chinatown for the New Year’s celebration and have dinner. I said OK, so we went.”
“And Anthony picked the Ming Tree restaurant?”
“That’s right. It was new to me.”
“Think back, Terry. Did anyone join you at the dinner?”
“No. Well, actually what happened was during the dinner Anthony excused himself and went into the back room. It looked like he was going into the kitchen.”
“Could it have been the men’s room?”
“No. That was off to the side. He was there for a few minutes. Then he came back to the table. There was a Chinese man with him. He introduced him, but I can’t remember his name.”
“Tall, thin fellow? Well dressed? Speaks excellent English?”
“Right. Exactly. Anyway, he asked if I was staying in Chinatown for the celebration. I had to tell him I was probably going back to Cambridge right after dinner. The noise when we came in was too much for my ears.”
“So then?”
“That was it. We finished. We split the bill. Anthony and I walked downstairs. I left Anthony on the sidewalk. He wanted to see the dragon or lion or whatever it was coming up the street.”
“What about the Chinese man?”
He thought for a minute.
“He walked downstairs with us. They were together on the sidewalk when I left.”
I had a better picture of that afternoon. Unfortunately, it could have suited either Anthony’s or the witnesses’ version of the killing that followed.
“One last question, Terry. Are you a member of that group called ‘The Point’”?
He shook his head. “No. I have trouble enough getting myself through the courses.”
Tuesday morning was a little milder than it had been, but the chill and the clouds let you know that it was clearly still February.
It was also the day Anthony Bradley’s trial was to begin, at Mr. Devlin’s request. I knew I should have been meeting Mr. Devlin at the courthouse, but I had to do this one other thing while momentum was overcoming the fact that I was petrified. They’d use the morning to pick a jury, and then Angela Lamb would come to bat for the prosecution. Heaven knows Mr. Devlin didn’t need my help for that.
At nine o’clock, I was standing by the swan-boat pond in the Public Garden. It was frozen over with the exception of a few circles of moisture that reminded me that someday this long winter would end.
The walking Boston office workers had passed earlier along the paths that led to the office buildings that ring the garden. I was alone, except for a woman on a bench a distance along the pond.
At exactly two minutes past nine, I saw an older man walking a little faster than what I imagined his usual gate might be. From the gray hair and the way the flesh hung on the bones of his face I figured that he looked a good bit older than he was. It made me wonder what had aged him. The Chesterfield coat over a gray, pin-striped suit of the finest wool said it certainly wasn’t poverty.
He looked at me uneasily and took a seat on the bench. I walked over. No need prolonging his purgatory.
“Mr. Loring, you’re right on time.”
“I don’t have time for this. Who are you?”
He would have sounded dominating and self-assured but for two things-the quiver in his voice, and the fact that he was there. That told me he was more frightened than I was.
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 of 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.