“He was not convicted in any of those cases, Your Honor. You can’t really punish him for the overzealousness of the police department and the DA’s office, can you?”
“Your Honor, this is outrageous!” Kelley nearly shouted. “To suggest that this man is somehow a victim of the system is over the top, even for Mr. Finn.”
“Settle down, both of you,” Platt said. He waved his hand in a dismissive way, but Finn could tell he was interested in the argument. There was no way Finn was going to get Malley out on his own recognizance, but he might get bail set lower than normal. “He has a daughter?” Platt asked.
“He does, Your Honor,” Finn said. “She’s fourteen and she’s living with him.”
“Where is she staying at the moment?”
“For the past two nights she has stayed with me, Your Honor.” He laced his fingers in front of him and looked down, adopting the posture of an altar boy. “She has no relatives, and with Mr. Malley in jail there have been few options.” He was selling now, and he was hoping Platt was in a buying mood. “Mr. Malley’s primary concern at the moment is to make sure that he is there for his little girl.”
“Oh, please,” Kelley objected, rolling her eyes. “If Mr. Malley is such a model parent, why did he spend last Sunday night out in the Back Bay ripping off a boutique? This man is a real flight risk, Your Honor.”
“You really think he’s going to abandon his daughter?” Finn asked.
“Mr. Finn makes some good points,” Platt said to Kelley. “I’m not sure I should penalize him for arrests where no convictions were ultimately obtained. He also does have strong roots in the community, including a daughter who resides with him.” He paused, then turned to the clerk. “Can I see Mr. Malley’s file?”
Finn turned to Devon and nodded reassuringly. He’d done his job well and he knew it. He was expecting a grateful acknowledgment in Devon ’s eyes in return. To his surprise, however, his client’s face betrayed a mixture of fear and frustration. Devon turned toward him, dipping his shoulder down and leaning his head down. Assuming Devon wanted to whisper to him, Finn leaned in as well.
Devon punched him in the face. Hard.
It was an excellent shot, made more effective by the fact that Finn had stuck out his chin in order to listen to his client. He was off balance, and the blow was completely unexpected. As Finn started to fall, he tripped over the chair behind him, overturning it. That sent him sprawling to the floor, nearly smashing his head on the banister that separated the front of the courtroom from the gallery.
There was a moment of silence in the courtroom, followed by pandemonium. The bailiffs were running at Devon, their nightsticks drawn, and Devon was ducking down, trying to shield his head. It wasn’t easy with the chains and cuffs around his body. It took only a moment before two other bailiffs were on top of him, pummeling Devon.
“Okay! Okay! Okay!” Devon screamed as he fought to fend off the blows. It was useless, though, and Finn saw several solid shots land on his arms and back. Then they had him on his feet, and they scurried him out of the courtroom, his feet dangling off the ground as four bailiffs carried him.
The din died almost as quickly as it had started once he was gone. Finn got to his feet, rubbing his chin. He looked at the judge, unsure what to say. Kelley recovered more quickly than he did.
“Your Honor, the Commonwealth opposes bail in any amount,” she said simply. Finn could see the smirk on her face.
“Judge,” Finn began. He wasn’t sure where to go from there. “I would like to point out-”
“Save it, Mr. Finn,” Platt said. “Bail is denied.”
“But Your Honor,” Finn protested.
“Enough, Mr. Finn!” Platt thundered. It was the first time Finn could remember Platt ever raising his voice. “If Mr. Malley would like to make bail, he will have to come in here and apologize and show me that he can behave like a civilized person. Even then, I will have to consider whether or not to grant bail in any amount. Until then, he stays locked up!”
Finn rubbed his jaw. He could feel the swelling. The judge just looked at him, daring him to say anything. Finn was the one who had been assaulted, yet the judge was just as angry at him as he was at Devon. Finn wasn’t surprised. The feeling among judges, prosecutors, police, and much of the public was that defense lawyers deserve whatever clients they take on. In fairness, Finn wasn’t sure they were wrong.
He looked up at Platt and swallowed hard. “Yes, Your Honor,” he said. “Thank you, Your Honor.”
Chapter Eighteen
Gavin Middle School in South Boston looked like every other school in Boston built in the first half of the twentieth century. It was a two-story brick-and-cement structure next to the Church of St. Mary on Dorchester Street, on the edge of Dorchester Heights. It had fallen into squalor in the latter half of the century, and sections of it were now roped off with bright orange safety netting. It was bordered on three sides by dilapidated residential housing the color of dirt and depression. The pointing between the bricks on the school’s exterior was chipping, causing the corners to sag wearily.
It had been designed to accommodate three hundred students in the sixth, seventh, and eighth grades. More than twice that number now trudged up the walkway every morning hoping to be educated. One-third of those who attended were enrolled in special educational programs. Two-thirds were classified as either failing or performing below acceptable standards. Not a single student was classified as “advanced.” The school itself had been designated as “restructuring”-the lowest classification for public schools, entitling parents to opt out of the place and send their children to another school within the district. Many did. The students left were those whose parents lacked the wherewithal or the motivation to find their children a better alternative.
It was the fourth school Sally Malley had attended in three years. She’d left two schools as a result of the wanderlust of her two parents; she’d been forced out of another because of disciplinary problems.
It was lunchtime, and most of the students were in the cafeteria. Sally could hear the screaming from the basement lunchroom even at the side of the building, down the alley that separated the school from St. Mary’s. She hated the screaming. It seemed as though it was almost involuntary, the way all of the students screamed whenever they had the chance. The lunchroom was the worst, and she avoided it at all costs.
As soon as the bell rang for lunch, she sneaked out and ducked down the alleyway into a step-down covered doorway that led to the church’s basement. As far as she knew, the door was never used; she’d never seen anyone come in or go out. It was her sanctuary.
She put her bag down and reached into her jacket pocket, pulling out her Marlboros and a book of matches. She tugged a cigarette out with her teeth, struck the match and held it up in front of her face. For a moment she was tempted to skip the cigarette and light her hair on fire. Or maybe her face or her hand; a good burn would get her out of classes for a while. She sighed and lit the cigarette instead. She hadn’t quite lost her instinct for self-preservation.
She inhaled the cigarette smoke deeply, letting it fill her lungs, wondering how quickly she might be able to develop a tumor. Probably not quickly enough to get her out of math class, she guessed.
She was running through scenarios in her mind by which she might be able to avoid school altogether that afternoon when she heard them coming from the back of the school. They were loud. They were laughing in that vicious, brutal way that immediately identified them as adolescent boys who’d given up on life too early. They spoke in the heavy dialect of the projects, and their banter was punctuated with a curse every other word.
Sally shrunk back from the mouth of the overhang, tucking herself into the shadows as far as possible. She wasn’t scared; not really. Not the way others might be. This was a part of the life to which she had become accustomed. Threats were everywhere; she accepted them as inevitable, and treated them as an inconvenience. If she could avoid dealing with this particular threat, terrific. If not, she was ready. Always would be.