indictment came down against young Bradley, there were messages flying between them and little clusters of them meeting in each other’s offices. The tone, you might say, was distinctly jubilant.”
“I take it that’s not their usual condition. Incidentally, sonny, ‘the boys’ are the esteemed justices of the Massachusetts Supreme Judicial Court, of which our Mr. Munsey has been the chief clerk since the memory of man runneth not to the contrary.”
I nodded, not wanting to interrupt the flow.
“The ‘usual condition’ of the crowd I’m talking about is benign indifference to each other at best. Incidentally, I’m not talking about all of them. It’s mainly Winston, Carter, Fulbright. Masterson and Chambers may be part of it. Carlyle doesn’t show much emotion about anything, but he was in on some of the meetings. The others-Keefe, Samuels, and Reynolds-seemed unaffected. As I say, there was a big mood swing. This is why I tie it to the Bradley business. The morning of the indictment, they were a jolly little play group. Later in the day, when word had it that you were saddling up on the side of young Bradley-I’m serious about this-the mood changed. They were a bunch of tense little puppies. That was yesterday afternoon. I noticed little clusters of meetings erupting all afternoon. What does it mean?” He shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“That’s interesting, Connie. I know your collection of Supreme Judicial conservatives isn’t losing any sleep over the fate of our black defendant or the old Chinese man. Obviously, the focus is Judge Bradley’s chances of joining their club. Does it really shake them that badly?”
“It’s not so much Bradley himself. They could ignore him like they do Keefe and the rest. It’s whom he’d replace. Fulbright’s pushing eighty, and he appears less and less in chambers. I think his health is more of a problem than he’s telling anyone. That means that if he goes and Bradley replaces him, you’ve got an old-guard conservative out and a confirmed civil rights liberal in. There goes the delicate balance of power, at least on civil rights issues.”
“Come on, Connie. Do they still care that much about civil rights? What bastions are left to fall? We’ve got legislation on open housing, job discrimination, voting.”
“And still the most segregated society north of Birmingham. For all of the legislation, how many blacks live in Brookline? How many whites live in Roxbury? If you had a child, would you send him to school in Roxbury?”
“Granted, and that’s my point. You can’t tell me those tired old men still think they’re saving the world from the rising minorities. Hell, you could pack the court with Bradleys and in ten years Brookline still wouldn’t send their kids to school in Roxbury. It’ll take more than Bradley to change that.”
Munsey held both palms up. “I’m only telling you what I see. But I’ll tell you two more things.”
He cut off the discourse while the antipasto plates were cleared and the finest magic I’ve ever seen worked on veal was placed before us. Vincenzo served it personally, and again remembered to close the door behind him. Munsey spoke before a bite of the veal was tasted.
“You’ve got two facts here. First fact, the boys go into a tizzy when this Bradley business breaks. Then there’s another flurry of activity when the great Lex Devlin comes out of retirement for the defense. Fact two, coincidentally our crusading prosecutor offers a deal of leniency that runs against her personal best interests. Not in character. Can we agree on that?”
Munsey paused while Mr. Devlin nodded.
“Which leaves us with the question, is there a connection? And if so, what’s the grip they have on her?”
“And more to the point, Connie, why would they care enough to pull that kind of string, if in fact they have influence over her to begin with? No, I don’t see it. They may have a rooting interest in who joins their club, but I don’t buy the civil rights angle as anything serious. They’re not that afraid of Judge Bradley.”
Munsey sat back with his eyebrows raised for dramatic effect.
“Correct me if I’m wrong, Mr. Devlin, but was it not yourself that called me out of concern over the strange turn of events?”
“I know, and I appreciate the information, Connie. I don’t think that’s the answer, though. You know, there’s another possibility. We could be looking in the wrong direction. Maybe the DA found a serious hole in her case and dropped back to a charge she thought she could prove. A conviction on a lesser charge would still be better for her than losing the case outright.”
Munsey dropped his voice a little, and I noticed he was looking right into Mr. Devlin’s eyes.
“I’ll say just one more thing. The last time I can remember the bees stirring in the hive this way goes back to the Dolson case.”
I was looking at Mr. Munsey, but I could almost feel the effect of those words on Mr. Devlin. I could tell that Mr. Munsey was taking it in, too.
“You know yourself, Lex, there was a lot more to that case than ever came to the surface.”
Mr. Devlin’s voice was quiet and heavy, but not unsure.
“Let it rest, Connie. There’s no connection. Is that all?”
“That’s the best I can do, Lex. I’m one of their breed, so they’re happy to have me as chief clerk. But they don’t invite me to sit around the campfire.”
Lex nodded. “Thanks, Connie. We’ll carry on the war with an eye to our backs.”
12
We left the Marliave at about one o’clock. The parting handshakes took place on School Street, with Mr. Munsey walking north toward Tremont Street, Mr. Devlin walking south toward Washington Street and ultimately the office, and me cutting behind Old City Hall, ostensibly to catch the train for Harvard Square to check out Bradley’s friends. Actually, I doubled back and intercepted Mr. Munsey at the top of School Street. He was surprised and not altogether comfortable with the return engagement.
“Mr. Munsey, I wonder if I could walk along with you a bit.”
“Public sidewalk, kid.”
My estimate was right. He came about up to my chin, but self-assurance and the secure knowledge of who he was and who I was gave him another six inches.
“I think you touched a nerve back there, Mr. Munsey. I know you didn’t want to aggravate it. I can understand. But I’d like to know more about the Dolson case.”
He registered nothing. We kept walking.
“There’s a reason, Mr. Munsey. There are two reasons. Like you, I think there’s more to this change of heart by the DA than appears on the surface. It might be critical to Bradley’s case. I get the feeling we’re like little rodents in a maze. We’re running after the cheese without knowing there’s a technician who keeps changing the pattern.”
I gave him a good gap before he said anything.
“You said there are two reasons.”
“Mr. Devlin’s tough, but I think he’s tied up in knots over whatever this Dolson case is about. I guess I care that whatever happened to him before doesn’t happen again. Maybe I could do some intercepting.”
We reached the coffee shop in the Center Plaza complex without word one. Suddenly he beckoned with his head and turned into the coffee shop. I followed him to a table in the rear of the shop, clear of other customers.
“Sit down, kid.”
Age or not, I figured it was time for some ground-standing.
“Mr. Munsey, I take it when Mr. Devlin calls me ‘sonny.’ But ‘kid’? What do I have to do to get a name?”
“Earn it! They don’t call him ‘Mr. Devlin’ for his age. It’s respect for the man he made of himself. Sit down, will you, kid?”
I sat. There are some points even a lawyer doesn’t argue.
“You want to hear about the Dolson case. Don’t they talk about it over at Bilson?
“Never. At least not to the associates.”
“Good. And you won’t either. You understand me?”
He seemed to take one more look at me to confirm his decision. When he started, I had to strain to hear the words.
