And that’s exactly the reason the once-promising Harry Roosevelt remained a simple Juvenile Court judge. To him, it was the most important job in the world. By statute, he had exclusive jurisdiction over delinquent, unruly, dependent, and neglected children. He determined paternity of children born out of wedlock and enforced his own orders for their support and education, and in a county where half the babies were born to single mothers, this accounted for most of his docket. He terminated parental rights and placed abused children in new homes. Harry carried heavy burdens.
He weighed somewhere between three and four hundred pounds, and wore the same outfit every day — black suit, white cotton shirt, and a bow tie which he tied himself and did so poorly. No one knew if Harry owned one black suit or fifty. He always looked the same. He was an imposing figure on the bench, glaring down over his reading glasses at deadbeat fathers who refused to support their children. Deadbeat fathers, black and white alike, lived in fear of Judge Roosevelt. He would track them down and throw them in jail. He found their employers and tapped their paychecks. If you messed with Harry’s subjects, or Harry’s Kids, as they were known, you could find yourself handcuffed and standing pitifully before him with a bailiff on each side.
Harry Roosevelt was a legend in Memphis. The county fathers had seen fit to give him two more judges to help with the caseload, but he maintained a brutal work schedule. He usually arrived before seven and made his own coffee. He started court promptly at nine and God help the lawyer who was late for court. He’d thrown several of them in jail over the years.
At eight-thirty, his secretary hauled in a box of mail and informed Harry that there was a group of men waiting outside who desperately needed to speak with him.
“What else is new?” he asked, eating the last bite of an apple danish.
“You might want to meet with these gentlemen.”
“Oh really. Who are they?”
“One is George Ord, our distinguished U.S. attorney.”
“I taught George in law school.”
“Right. That’s what he said, twice. There’s also an assistant U.S. attorney from New Orleans, a Mr. Thomas Fink. And a Mr. K. O. Lewis, Deputy Director of the FBI. And a couple of FBI agents.”
Harry looked up from a file and thought about this. “A rather distinguished group. What do they want?”
“They wouldn’t say.”
“Well, show them in.”
She left, and seconds later Ord, Fink, Lewis, and McThune filed into the crowded and cluttered office and introduced themselves to his honor. Harry and the secretary moved files from the chairs and everyone looked for a seat. They exchanged brief pleasantries, and after a few minutes of this Harry looked at his watch and said, “Gentlemen, I am scheduled to hear seventeen cases today. What can I do for you?”
Ord cleared his throat first. “Well, Judge, I’m sure you’ve seen the papers the last two mornings, especially the front-page stories about a boy by the name of Mark Sway.”
“Very intriguing.”
“Mr. Fink here is prosecuting the man accused of killing Senator Boyette, and the case is scheduled for trial in New Orleans in a few weeks.”
“I’m aware of this. I’ve read the stories.”
“We are almost certain that Mark Sway knows more than he is telling. He’s lied to the Memphis police on several occasions. We think he talked at length with Jerome Clifford before the suicide. We know without a doubt he was in the car. We’ve tried to talk to the kid, but he has been very uncooperative. Now he’s hired a lawyer and she’s stonewalling.”
“Reggie Love is a regular in my court. A very competent attorney. Sometimes a bit overprotective of her clients, but there’s nothing wrong with that.”
“Yes sir. We’re very suspicious of the boy, and we feel quite strongly that he is withholding valuable information.”
“Such as?”
“Such as the location of the senator’s body.”
“How can you assume this?”
“There’s a lot to the story, Your Honor. And it would take a while to explain it.”
Harry played with his bow tie and gave Ord one of his patented scowls. He was thinking. “So you want me to bring the kid in and ask him questions.”
“Sort of. Mr. Fink has brought with him a petition alleging the child to be a delinquent.”
This did not sit well with Harry. His shiny forehead was suddenly wrinkled. “A rather serious allegation. What type of offense has the child committed?”
“Obstruction of justice.”
“You got any law?”
Fink had a file open, and he was on his feet handing a thin brief across the desk. Harry took it, and began reading slowly. The room was silent. K. O. Lewis had yet to say anything, and this bothered him because he was, after all, the number-two man at the FBI. And this judge seemed not to care.
Harry flipped a page and glanced at his watch. “I’m listening,” he said in Fink’s direction.
“It’s our position, Your Honor, that through his misrepresentations Mark Sway has obstructed the investigation into this matter.”
“Which matter? The murder or the suicide?”
Excellent point, and as soon as he heard the question Fink knew Harry Roosevelt would not be a pushover. They were investigating a murder, not a suicide. There was no law against suicide, nor was there a law against witnessing one. “Well, Your Honor, the suicide has some very direct links to the murder of Boyette, we think, and it’s important for the kid to cooperate.”
“What if the kid knows nothing?”
“We can’t be certain until we ask him. Right now he’s impeding the investigation, and, as you well know, every citizen has a duty to assist law enforcement officials.”
“I’m well aware of that. It just seems a bit severe to allege the kid is a delinquent without any proof.”
“The proof will come, Your Honor, if we can get the kid on the witness stand, under oath, in a closed hearing and ask some questions. That’s all we’re trying to do.”
Harry tossed the brief into a pile of papers and removed his reading glasses. He chewed on a stem.
Ord leaned forward and spoke solemnly. “Look, Judge, if we can take the kid into custody, then have an expedited hearing, we think this matter will be resolved. If he states under oath that he knows nothing about Boyd Boyette, then the petition is dismissed, the kid goes home, and the matter is over. It’s routine. No proof, no finding of delinquency, no harm. But if he knows something relevant to the location of the body, then we have a right to know and we think the kid will tell us during the hearing.”
“There are two ways to make him talk, Your Honor,” Fink added. “We can file this petition in your court and have a hearing, or we can subpoena the kid to face the grand jury in New Orleans. Staying here seems to be the quickest and best route, especially for the kid.”
“I do not want this kid subpoenaed before a grand jury,” Harry said sternly. “Is that understood?”
They all nodded quickly, and they all knew full well that a federal grand jury could subpoena Mark Sway anytime it chose, regardless of the feelings of a local judge. This was typical of Harry. Immediately throwing his protective blanket around any child within reach of his jurisdiction.
“I’d much rather deal with it in my court,” he said, almost to himself.
“We agree, Your Honor,” Fink said. They all agreed.
Harry picked up his daily calendar. As usual, it was filled with more misery than he could possibly handle in one day. He studied it. “These allegations of obstruction are rather shaky, in my opinion. But I can’t prevent you from filing the petition. I suggest we hear this matter at the earliest possible time. If the kid in fact knows nothing, and I suspect this to be the case, then I want it over and done with. Quickly.”