Read Online John Wayne Gacy by Judge Sam Amirante - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Judge Sam Amirante
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I’m a likable, amiable sort, I guess. So I kinda knew everyone, and everyone kinda knew me.
That could explain why Gacy chose me to represent him. I was connected. I had clout. People might think that, I suppose. However, I choose to assume that it was because of my stellar reputation as an up-and-coming young trial attorney, together with my rugged, movie star good looks and my winning, ebullient personality. Actually, I’m just over five feet tall and come from a long line of short, stocky proud Italian men with gruff voices and easy smiles. If I shave too early in the morning, by five or six o’clock in the evening, I tend to look a little like Nixon did when he debated Kennedy. I’ve actually been mistaken for the defendant once or twice in the courtroom after a long day, so I don’t know why he picked me. I guess I’ll never know; he never told me, unless, of course, it wasbecause he knew that I was an authentic true believer, one of the last of the breed, and proud to be.
I was also very active in Cook County politics, so I got to know many of the local politicians through political channels. Gacy was always impressed with that. I knew nearly all of the prosecutors. I had tried cases against most of them; the others I had met at political fund-raisers or bar association meetings. In spite of the huge size of Cook County and the greater Chicagoland area, the legal community is comparatively small and quite tight-knit. Everybody’s reputation precedes them. I had a good reputation, if I do say so myself. Gacy knew that. Maybe that was it. Suffice it to say, he called me. I was now his lawyer.
In keeping with my promise to my new client, I started making some calls. At this point, I was doing him a favor just like he had asked. I had not been officially retained. But I was understandably curious as to why this guy, this pudgy, unassuming, glad-handing, small-time politician was being followed around twenty-four hours a day by the Des Plaines police. This was an unusual amount of attention to pay to anyone, except the most serious of suspects. The more I checked into it with clerks and others, the more curious I became. Nobody, but nobody, was talking. If they knew anything, they were not saying. There was, however, a bit of a buzz about the case. Even the local press had become marginally interested in the missing teen from the northwest suburbs, Rob Piest.
I finally called assistant state’s attorney Terry Sullivan. Terry was the supervisor of the Office of the State’s Attorney in the Third District. Essentially, he was my counterpart; he was the chief prosecutor in that district, I was the chief public defender. We had worked on several cases together and had become friends.
Terry’s a great guy, a big tall lanky guy with a head of thick, wavy reddish blonde hair, a great smile, very disarming, lots of Irish charm. However, if you made the mistake of underestimating Terry in a courtroom, he would crush you like a bug. I had seen him do it.It was fun to watch some hotshot defense attorney who thought his shit didn’t stink get his hat handed to him by Terry. He was a tough prosecutor and a good lawyer.
After making a few preliminary calls, I heard that Sullivan was becoming involved with the Gacy case and was conversant with the facts. I figured he could help me.
At first, we exchanged small talk. He asked me how I liked private practice so far, general chitchat. He immediately clammed up, however, the moment he knew that I was calling about the Gacy matter.
“Your guy is dirty, Sam. We are on him for this, and he is going down.” Terry was not kidding around.
“Terry, this guy is involved in democratic politics—he’s a damn precinct captain in Norwood Park, for chrissakes. He is a successful businessman. Everybody knows this guy. You are making him out to be some sort of hide-in-the-shadows kind of pedophile creep.”
“That’s exactly what I am making him out to be, Sam. He’s a bad guy, a
That could explain why Gacy chose me to represent him. I was connected. I had clout. People might think that, I suppose. However, I choose to assume that it was because of my stellar reputation as an up-and-coming young trial attorney, together with my rugged, movie star good looks and my winning, ebullient personality. Actually, I’m just over five feet tall and come from a long line of short, stocky proud Italian men with gruff voices and easy smiles. If I shave too early in the morning, by five or six o’clock in the evening, I tend to look a little like Nixon did when he debated Kennedy. I’ve actually been mistaken for the defendant once or twice in the courtroom after a long day, so I don’t know why he picked me. I guess I’ll never know; he never told me, unless, of course, it wasbecause he knew that I was an authentic true believer, one of the last of the breed, and proud to be.
I was also very active in Cook County politics, so I got to know many of the local politicians through political channels. Gacy was always impressed with that. I knew nearly all of the prosecutors. I had tried cases against most of them; the others I had met at political fund-raisers or bar association meetings. In spite of the huge size of Cook County and the greater Chicagoland area, the legal community is comparatively small and quite tight-knit. Everybody’s reputation precedes them. I had a good reputation, if I do say so myself. Gacy knew that. Maybe that was it. Suffice it to say, he called me. I was now his lawyer.
In keeping with my promise to my new client, I started making some calls. At this point, I was doing him a favor just like he had asked. I had not been officially retained. But I was understandably curious as to why this guy, this pudgy, unassuming, glad-handing, small-time politician was being followed around twenty-four hours a day by the Des Plaines police. This was an unusual amount of attention to pay to anyone, except the most serious of suspects. The more I checked into it with clerks and others, the more curious I became. Nobody, but nobody, was talking. If they knew anything, they were not saying. There was, however, a bit of a buzz about the case. Even the local press had become marginally interested in the missing teen from the northwest suburbs, Rob Piest.
I finally called assistant state’s attorney Terry Sullivan. Terry was the supervisor of the Office of the State’s Attorney in the Third District. Essentially, he was my counterpart; he was the chief prosecutor in that district, I was the chief public defender. We had worked on several cases together and had become friends.
Terry’s a great guy, a big tall lanky guy with a head of thick, wavy reddish blonde hair, a great smile, very disarming, lots of Irish charm. However, if you made the mistake of underestimating Terry in a courtroom, he would crush you like a bug. I had seen him do it.It was fun to watch some hotshot defense attorney who thought his shit didn’t stink get his hat handed to him by Terry. He was a tough prosecutor and a good lawyer.
After making a few preliminary calls, I heard that Sullivan was becoming involved with the Gacy case and was conversant with the facts. I figured he could help me.
At first, we exchanged small talk. He asked me how I liked private practice so far, general chitchat. He immediately clammed up, however, the moment he knew that I was calling about the Gacy matter.
“Your guy is dirty, Sam. We are on him for this, and he is going down.” Terry was not kidding around.
“Terry, this guy is involved in democratic politics—he’s a damn precinct captain in Norwood Park, for chrissakes. He is a successful businessman. Everybody knows this guy. You are making him out to be some sort of hide-in-the-shadows kind of pedophile creep.”
“That’s exactly what I am making him out to be, Sam. He’s a bad guy, a
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