Read Online Presumed Innocent by Scott Turow - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Scott Turow
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Larren joined him on the ticket as a candidate for judge. Larren won and Raymond lost, and Judge Lyttle suffered for his loyalties. Bolcarro kept him quarantined in the North Branch, where Larren heard traffic cases and rumdum misdemeanors, usually the job of the appointed magistrates, until Raymond bought his freedom four years later with his early and enthusiastic endorsement of Mayor Bolcarro's re-election campaign. Larren has been a downtown felony judge ever since, a ruthless autocrat in his courtroom and, notwithstanding his friendship with Raymond, the sworn enemy of the deputy prosecuting attorneys. The saying is that there are two defense lawyers in the courtroom, and the one who's hard to beat is wearing a robe.
In spite of that, Larren remains an active force in Raymond's campaigns. The Code of Judicial Conduct now prohibits him from taking any official role. But he is still a member of Raymond's inner group, the men from Horgan's years in law school and his early time in practice whose intimacy with Raymond has filled me at moments with a kind of adolescent pining. Larren; Mike Duke, the managing partner at a massive firm downtown; Joe Reilly from the First — these are the people Raymond falls back on at these times.
To Mike Duke goes the duty of overseeing campaign financing. It has proved a more daunting task this year than in the past, when Raymond was without significant opponents. Then Raymond would not take part in a campaign solicitation of any kind, for fear that it might compromise his independence. But those scruples this year have been laid aside. Raymond has been through a number of these meetings of late, preening for the checkbook liberals, elegant-looking gentlemen like the group assembled here today, showing them that he is still the same sleek instrument of justice that he was a decade ago. Raymond delivers his campaign speech in conversational tones, awaiting the moment that first he, and then the judge, can be called away so that Mike, in their absence, can apply the squeeze.
That is my function here today. I will be Raymond's excuse to leave. He introduces me and explains that he has to catch up with the office. In this atmosphere, I am pure flunky — no one even thinks of asking me to sit down, and only Judge Lyttle bothers to stand to shake my hand. I remain behind the table and the cigar smoke, while there is a final round of handshakes and bluff jokes, then head out behind Raymond as he grabs a mint by the doorway.
"What's going on?" he asks me as soon as we are past the doorman and beneath the club's green awning. You can feel, just since the morning, that the air is starting to soften. My blood stirs. It is going to be spring.
When I tell him about Dubinsky's call, he makes no effort to hide his irritation.
"Let me just catch either one of them fucking around like that." He means Nico and Molto. We are walking briskly down the street now toward the County Building. "What kind of crap is this? An independent investigation."
"Raymond, this is a reporter thinking out loud. There is probably nothing to it."
"There better not be," he says.
I start to tell Raymond about the debacle between the police and DEA, but he does not let me finish.
"Where are we on Carolyn ourselves?" he asks. I can see that the speculation on Molto's activities has reheated Raymond's desire for results in our own investigation. He machine-guns questions. Do we have a Hair and Fiber report? How long will it be? Have we gotten any better news on fingerprints? How about a report from the state index on sexual offenders Carolyn prosecuted?
When I tell Raymond that all of this is in the offing, but that I spent the last three hours in the charging conference, he stops dead in the street. He is furious.
"Damnit, Rusty!" His color is high and his brow flexed down angrily over his eyes. "I told you the other day: Give this investigation
top
priority. That's what it deserves. Della Guardia is eating me alive with
In spite of that, Larren remains an active force in Raymond's campaigns. The Code of Judicial Conduct now prohibits him from taking any official role. But he is still a member of Raymond's inner group, the men from Horgan's years in law school and his early time in practice whose intimacy with Raymond has filled me at moments with a kind of adolescent pining. Larren; Mike Duke, the managing partner at a massive firm downtown; Joe Reilly from the First — these are the people Raymond falls back on at these times.
To Mike Duke goes the duty of overseeing campaign financing. It has proved a more daunting task this year than in the past, when Raymond was without significant opponents. Then Raymond would not take part in a campaign solicitation of any kind, for fear that it might compromise his independence. But those scruples this year have been laid aside. Raymond has been through a number of these meetings of late, preening for the checkbook liberals, elegant-looking gentlemen like the group assembled here today, showing them that he is still the same sleek instrument of justice that he was a decade ago. Raymond delivers his campaign speech in conversational tones, awaiting the moment that first he, and then the judge, can be called away so that Mike, in their absence, can apply the squeeze.
That is my function here today. I will be Raymond's excuse to leave. He introduces me and explains that he has to catch up with the office. In this atmosphere, I am pure flunky — no one even thinks of asking me to sit down, and only Judge Lyttle bothers to stand to shake my hand. I remain behind the table and the cigar smoke, while there is a final round of handshakes and bluff jokes, then head out behind Raymond as he grabs a mint by the doorway.
"What's going on?" he asks me as soon as we are past the doorman and beneath the club's green awning. You can feel, just since the morning, that the air is starting to soften. My blood stirs. It is going to be spring.
When I tell him about Dubinsky's call, he makes no effort to hide his irritation.
"Let me just catch either one of them fucking around like that." He means Nico and Molto. We are walking briskly down the street now toward the County Building. "What kind of crap is this? An independent investigation."
"Raymond, this is a reporter thinking out loud. There is probably nothing to it."
"There better not be," he says.
I start to tell Raymond about the debacle between the police and DEA, but he does not let me finish.
"Where are we on Carolyn ourselves?" he asks. I can see that the speculation on Molto's activities has reheated Raymond's desire for results in our own investigation. He machine-guns questions. Do we have a Hair and Fiber report? How long will it be? Have we gotten any better news on fingerprints? How about a report from the state index on sexual offenders Carolyn prosecuted?
When I tell Raymond that all of this is in the offing, but that I spent the last three hours in the charging conference, he stops dead in the street. He is furious.
"Damnit, Rusty!" His color is high and his brow flexed down angrily over his eyes. "I told you the other day: Give this investigation
top
priority. That's what it deserves. Della Guardia is eating me alive with
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