Neon Dragon (33 page)

He looked up at me and pointed to Kip Liu. He spoke without being asked.

“He killed Mr. Chen. Your Mr. Bradley had left before the shot was fired. I heard a loud noise like a gunshot behind me. I looked back on the sidewalk. I saw Mr. Liu holding a gun.”

He looked a hundred years old when he looked at me.

“May I go now? I'm very tired, and she needs me.”

I looked to Angela Lamb for cross-examination. She just shook her head. The judge excused him. My heart ached for the two of them, Mr. Qian and Mrs. Lee, as he took her on his arm and escorted her through the door back to their world.

I walked to the prosecution table and spoke to Angela.

“Right now Mrs. Lee and Mr. Qian need protection more than anyone
in this city. Those two could be the key to the biggest prosecution of organized crime your office ever saw. The man you have in custody over there, Kip Liu, is the head of Chinese organized crime in this city. You may have a couple of willing witnesses.”

She whispered something to her assistant, who went running out after them.

I turned back to the judge. He was trying to pound away the roar that had set into the courtroom since Mr. Qian left the stand. When order was restored, he looked at me.

“Do you have a motion to make, Mr. Knight?”

“I do, Your Honor. Since the only two prosecution witnesses have recanted their testimony, I'm hoping that the district attorney will join me in a motion to dismiss this indictment.”

He looked at her. She had little choice.

“The people assent to the motion, Your Honor.”

“The indictment is dismissed. The jury is excused with the thanks of the court. The defendant is released from custody.”

The gavel came down. The bailiff's “All rise” triggered a passage of the newsies through the narrow door that I hadn't experienced since my last trip to Filene's basement at the opening bell.

I turned around to find Anthony in the arms of his father. Mei-Li was standing beside him. I saw him take one arm and sweep her into the hug.

I walked over, and they included me in the hug. Handshakes are never enough at a time like that.

When the thanks and the congratulations subsided, I held father and son and said to Anthony, “You've got a lot to tell your father. Tell him everything. It's all going to break soon.”

He was nodding a very sincere “yes.”

“You were getting out of that business on your own anyway, Anthony. That'll count. You can also pay back a lot with your testimony, both about Chinatown and Harvard. It'll go a long way with the prosecution. Do you understand what I'm saying?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.”

I started to leave, but Anthony held me.

“When it comes to that, Mr. Knight, I'd like you to represent me, if you would.”

I smiled.

“My future's a little uncertain. But we'll see.”

THE CELEBRATION FELT GOOD
, but I knew in my heart there was one raging loose end. If I left it untied, it could wipe out all of the good that had come out of a good morning.

I found Angela Lamb working her way through a cluster of reporters. I think she was relieved to be taken away, even by me.

“Angela, where have they got Kip Liu? Is he still in the building?”

“They have him in the interviewing room. They're waiting for transportation to take him to the lockup. Why?”

“I need five minutes alone with him.”

She gave me one of her many looks. “Not a chance.”

I took her off to the side of the room.

“Let's cut through the politically correct crap here, Angela. We haven't much time. You're looking for a one-way ticket to the state house.”

“Listen, sonny boy. Just because you got lucky in there …”

“I can give it to you.”

That cut off the flow and gave me an opening.

“I can give it to you. Are you listening?”

“What?”

“I can hand you the key witness to prosecute the most effective criminal organization in this state. You can get daily headlines from the
Globe
in the morning and the
Herald
in the evening. Maybe even the
New York Times.
It depends on how you play it.”

“What are you talking about?”

“We're losing time. I need five minutes with Liu. Alone. You should know by now I deliver on my promises.”

She was still leery—probably more leery of treating me like an equal than of believing what I promised. Still, the carrot on this particular stick was the stuff of which egos are made—particularly hers.

“All right. You have five minutes. There'll be officers just outside the door.”

MR. KIP LIU LOOKED
considerably less self-possessed in handcuffs seated in a metal straight-back chair.

“I'm going to make you an offer, Mr. Liu. It has a shelf life of five minutes.”

He still had enough “face” to look at me with disgust.

“You can't threaten me. You have no proof of anything. I have witnesses who'll contradict everything those two say.”

“Oh, I bet you do. I bet you could march half of Chinatown through here petrified enough to swear you're the Wizard of Oz. It doesn't matter. Whatever the DA does is up to her. You and I have unfinished business. You know what “business” is: I give you. You give me.”

“One problem, Knight. You have nothing I want.”

“How about that precious life of yours?”

He grinned. Still the upper dog.

“Are you threatening to kill me?”

“No. That's your line. I can just let it happen.”

The grin was still there. He just shook his head in disgust.

“You still don't get it, do you, Liu? I'll lay it out for you. The way I see it, you met with old Mr. Chen in the back room of the Ming Tree.
He was yelling at you about the
low faan.
That would probably be Anthony and his non-Chinese drug operators. Breaks the old rule, doesn't it, about not dealing with people outside of the Chinese community? Sounds like Mr. Chen didn't like it. But the real question is how did Mr. Chen get the nerve to come down on you? That's the question that started the tumblers falling into place.”

The smile was gone. If his eyes were hatchets, I'd have been in forty-two pieces. There was no sound. I came in close.

“I had it figured a long time ago that you're the tong's
fu shan chu.
The number two man. It always puzzled me that Mr. Chen was picked as the victim of the shooting. Could it be, Mr. Liu, that sweet old Mr. Chen was the
shan chu
, the number one? The Dragon Head? The one only you knew about? I think so. I think he was stepping on your operation with Anthony and the non-Chinese at Harvard. You were thinking maybe if he dies, you become the
shan chu.
You could operate to suit yourself.”

He was frozen stiff. I think he saw where I was going.

“That means you committed the unforgivable. You actually killed the Dragon Head without the permission of the tong. You tried to lay it off on Anthony so nobody in the tong would know. It didn't work, did it? I saw at least fifteen Chinese in that courtroom. They heard what Mrs. Lee said. How long do you figure it will take for word to get to the top of the tong?”

I was next to his ear and whispering.

“Can you even imagine the death they'll dream up for you when the word gets back to Hong Kong? You could set new records for pain.”

Not a muscle was moving.

“Where can you go to hide, Mr. Liu? Is there a hole on this earth where they won't find you? Actually, you'll be in prison for the foreseeable future. At least long enough to come to trial for the murder of Mr. Chen. You'll be waiting for them like a staked goat.”

I moved back and sat against the table. I checked my watch in front of him.

“Well, that's five minutes. Nice chat, Mr. Liu.”

I was moving toward the door, when I heard the words.

“What's the offer?”

I turned around and just looked at him for ten seconds. I don't know why. It just seemed to raise the tension.

“Witness protection program. The U.S. Attorney is ready to deal. You'll keep that expensive skin on those bones.”

“In exchange for what?”

“Two things. The U.S. Attorney will want names, facts, and testimony about the tong. You'll be the star of the show.”

He thought for a minute without saying a word. What I suggested ran counter to his thirty-six oaths and the whole code of tong existence. On the other hand, it was the tong that would be inflicting pain that even he couldn't imagine for committing the unpardonable.

When he spoke, the superior tone had lost its edge.

“And what is the second thing?”

I was directly in his face.

“This is the important part. If you go back on this, I'll personally find you and feed you to the tong. From this moment on, Anthony and Mei-Li are completely free of you and that gang of thugs you give orders to. No strings. Nothing. The same goes for Mrs. Lee and Mr. Qian. That's 100 percent nonnegotiable. It also includes me and anyone close to or connected with me. “

He was looking directly into my face, but he was saying nothing. I could read the struggle in his eyes. I gave it ten seconds. I shrugged and said, “Good luck with your playmates.”

I was at the door when I heard a quiet, “All right.”

From the door I said, “What?”

“All right.”

I came back to stand in front of him.

“Not good enough.”

He looked up at me.

“Swear it.”

He did. I demanded it again. He did, and I demanded it a third time.

I figured a repetition of three would somehow resonate with the ritual code he lived by.

IT WAS WELL PAST NOON
when I picked up a copy of the
Globe
at the newsstand in the lobby of the courthouse. I caught a cab on Tremont Street for the short hop to Mass. General Hospital.

The cab was moving before I had a chance to flip open the paper. There it was. Good old Mike Loftus. His column made the front page. I needed the old reading specs for this one. I didn't want to miss a word. It read like this:

To Lex Devlin

I. O. U.

One name—untarnished
(Signed)
The City of Boston

Ten years ago, Lex Devlin was the brightest light that shone in the criminal trial bar. He had skill, wit, integrity—and he had a name. He had a name that brought hope to the prosecuted, pride to the trial bar, and a warning to prosecutors that they would pay dearly for the slightest lapse in ethics or preparation.

That name was his life, because it summed up what Lex Devlin stood for, and what he would not stand for.

He stood for the principles that drive young people with ideals into the law. He wouldn't stand for the kind of compromised ethics that drive disillusioned lawyers out of the law.

He had grit, and he had style—the kind of style that made people say regretfully, “There'll never be another Lex Devlin.”

And he had that name that became shorthand at the bar for the best there is.

He had it until he stood in the way of a human machine so corrupt that it played without any rule but greed, so camouflaged by its outward face of public service that Lex Devlin never saw it coming or going.

When it was through with him, it had stripped Lex Devlin of the name that was the work of his lifetime. It left it tarnished with unfounded rumors of the cardinal sin against the law that he served flawlessly—the sin of jury fixing.

Lex Devlin has, for ten years, held a valid I.O.U. from this city for the redemption of that name.

So here's the payoff, Lex. Here's the best I can do for a start.

Thanks to the efforts of Lex's associate, Michael Knight, the District Attorney and the United States Attorney have received incontrovertible evidence that Lex Devlin was totally innocent of any complicity in the incident of jury fixing that occurred in the case of
Commonwealth v. Dolson.

The tarring of those who were responsible will fill the pages of this newspaper in the weeks to come, as the greatest scandal in this Commonwealth's history unfolds.

But that's for another edition. The business of this day is belated justice. This column is the first brick in the pedestal that the City of Boston should build for a son who always did it proud.

This city has its heroes, and it has its villains. Sometimes, being human, we confuse the two.

This time we got it right.

God Speed, Lex.

I let the paper sit on my lap and just soaked up the truth Mike Loftus made public. I could visualize lawyers and judges all over the city, who had innocently fallen for the lie and perhaps even spread it, wondering what they could do to make up for ten years' shunning of one of their finest.

That thought carried me down Cambridge Street and up the elevator to the sixth floor of the cardiac unit of Mass. General Hospital.

The nurse pointed out his room. I asked how he was doing. She said, “He went to sleep last night like a hundred-year-old man. This morning, he was in his early thirties.”

I walked into the room, and the first thought that hit me was that I was at his wake. There were enough flowers in that room to bury the president. In a quick check of the attached cards, I caught sight of names like the Boston Bar Association, the Mass. Trial Lawyers' Association, the mayor's office, and a who's who of the trial firms of the city.

He had a private room. He was in the bed, sleeping, with wires running to an assortment of machines.

Spread across his lap was the
Globe
, opened to the inside continuation of Mike Loftus's column.

I sat down in the chair to be there when he woke. The squeak of the chair made him look over. He seemed alert when he spoke. His voice had the old sand and gravel.

“Tell me about it. Tell me about all of it. Don't leave out one detail.”