commission.
I threw the van into reverse and backed up to the shop. Harry pulled open the back hatch. He grabbed the arm of the old woman who had been following close behind and practically threw her into the back of the van before jumping in himself. I floored it again-this time on the street.
We made two right turns on the left two tires and one left turn on the right two tires before I let up on the gas. I brought it down to cruising speed once we were clear of Chinatown.
I headed south, as we’d planned. When we stopped at the next light I checked the backseat. Mei-Li had pulled off the gray wig and bulky clothes that had turned her into an old lady. She had found them in the aisle at the back of the grocery shop where Harry had set them down in the shopping bag he brought in. She was able to slip into the back room long enough to age forty or fifty years.
I yelled back, “Stay down, Mei-Li. Just in case.”
I looked over at Harry, who was leaning heavily to his right. “You OK, Harry?”
He let out the breath he was holding. His voice sounded strained. “Why do they always go for the ribs? I’ll be all right. Keep moving.”
“My every wish. What did you drop in that kid’s jacket? It blew him halfway to Montreal.”
“I kept a couple of cherry bombs from the fireworks box. I thought they might be useful.”
I just whistled at the thought.
WE DROVE ALONG an open roadway south and west of Toronto along Lake Ontario. I found the small motel in a lakeside village where I’d made a reservation the night before.
I went in and registered in my name while Mei-Li got back in costume. I hustled her into the motel room while Harry rested his ribs in the front seat of the van. I’d bought a few things for her for overnight, since I knew she’d be traveling fast and light. I left some money for meals through the next day.
She was obviously still shaken by the escape, but she seemed to have no injuries or regrets.
“I’ll be back for you tomorrow sometime, Mei-Li. Stay in the room till I get here. You can order out for lunch and dinner from the pizza shop. Just don’t call a Chinese restaurant. I’ll give you a call tonight to see if you’re all right. Here’s the number at my office if you need me. Don’t speak to anyone else. You understand?”
“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.
26
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.
