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.