Read Online The Judgment by William J. Coughlin - Free Book Online

was with him, a nice woman, a bit stout, but attractive. She was very quiet.
    “Does she know about Mary Margaret Tucker?” I whispered to Conroy.
    “I told her,” he said. “She said she’d stick with me through the trial, but then she’s going to get a divorce.”
    “Can you blame her?”
    “No. I guess I can’t.”
    I didn’t know the judge, James Horner, a young black man who had just been appointed to the 36th District Court, the one that had jurisdiction over examination in Detroit felonies. He seemed to know what he was doing,although his manner was just a bit too crisp and a bit too authoritative. He would have to run for election, and the publicity resulting from the case was like a political donation, a big one. He wasn’t about to risk such advantage. This would be all business.
    We started on time. The courtroom was jammed.
    It was a big case, too, for the assistant prosecutor assigned. He had been picked to try the case on the recommendation of the mayor. Benjamin Timothy, the assistant prosecutor, was just thirty and a graduate of Yale. Despite his Ivy League background, he apparently enjoyed rolling around the dirty floors of criminal courts and had earned a fierce reputation. He had his eye on high office, and the Conroy case was going to be his ladder up.
    Timothy was rail thin and wore his hair close clipped. He had a quick smile, but it seemed more mechanical than genuine. He was all business, too, as he led a procession of city officials to the stand, one after another, all testifying to the regulations regarding city funds, audits, and procedure.
    It was all as dull as toenail clippings, but the kid prosecutor was doing a good job building the technical side of his case. I looked around for Conroy’s erstwhile pal, Ralph “the Mouse” Smerka.
    “He’s not in the courtroom,” Conroy whispered, as if reading my mind. “They have him parked in an office upstairs.”
    The officials finally completed the testimony. I had asked few questions. I didn’t want to swim in the murky accountant-filled waters, at least not yet.
    It was time for the main witness.
    Conroy remained at the counsel table, but I gave a brief interview to the man from
The New York Times.
He was looking for color. I gave him as much as I could, at least some color that would help our side of the case.
    The judge rapped for order, and we all resumed our places.
    The Mouse came in through a side door. It was like theentry of a human mountain. He was a courtroom veteran and he looked out with complete self-assurance at the assembled people; it was as if he had called them there himself.
    Like Conroy, his face was calm and stern. Veteran cops had veteran faces.
    He took the oath, then squeezed himself into the witness chair. It creaked in protest.
    “What is your name, please?” the prosecutor asked.
    “Ralph Smerka.”
    “Are you employed?”
    “Yes. I’m a Detroit police officer.”
    “And your rank?”
    “Detective Sergeant.”
    “Sergeant Smerka, what was your last assignment?”
    The Mouse sat quietly. His face was the kind that gives small children nightmares. Whether acquired on the football field or by genetics, his features looked as if each had been broken several times. Hollywood would have cast him as a gangster, a very mean, very tough gangster.
    He paused, then spoke. “I was a member of the chiefs’ squad, assigned to Deputy Chief Mark Conroy.”
    “How long were you assigned?”
    “Three years. I came to the squad when Conroy was made deputy chief.”
    “You served as his assistant before that, did you not?”
    “Yes.”
    “As a member of the chiefs’ squad, were you assigned to handle a special fund?”
    I stood up. “Objection,” I said. “The question is leading.”
    “Sustained,” the judge snapped.
    The prosecutor looked unruffled. “What duties were you assigned as a member of the chiefs’ squad?”
    “A number of duties, whatever Chief Conroy wanted me to do. I handled the W-91