Deadly Diamonds by John Dobbyn Page A

speech was a grand piece of oratory, but totally superfluous. And you better damn well know it.”
    â€œI do, Lex. But it felt good to say it.”
    After two beef briskets on rye and a couple of Sam Adams arrived, they got down to the heart of it.
    â€œWho is this man with the accusations, Matt?”
    â€œHe’s just what I said. His name is Finn Casey. I’ve known him since he was about twelve. His father was a drunk and his mother couldn’t handle him. He and another kid with no roots broke into a little candy shop over in Chelsea. They looted the cash register and ran. It turns out they were on the turf of a gang of Italian kids from the North End. Finn got word that the Italian gang wanted the money back plus a pound of flesh.
    â€œFinn’s mother came to me to sort things out. I went to our mutual friend Dom Santangelo. He offered to square it for me, but I told him no. I had a better idea. We got both sides to agree to settle the squabble with a fair fight, one-on-one, Finn and one of the Italian kids, at a neutral gym. Finn didn’t know a boxing glove from a ham sandwich, so I agreed to give him six months of lessons. He was scared enough of facing the Italian kid to take me up on it.”
    â€œAnd that’s how you got into his life.”
    â€œThat was the idea. Once I had the kid in the gym, I could get him to knuckle down in school and keep his nose clean. For about five years, that’s how it worked out. After high school, he drifted away. I lost contact with him until this week. I still haven’t had a chance to talk to him. But I will.”
    â€œNo, you won’t, Matt. You’ll stay the hell away from him.”
    Matt looked up. “Why?”
    â€œBecause if you approach him, the D.A.’ll make it look like you’re trying to intimidate the witness. Leave that to me. I’ll talk to him.”
    â€œAnd that’s not the same?”
    â€œNo. I’m a lawyer doing what I’m supposed to do to prepare a case. Until we get a handle on this thing, I’m the quarterback.”
    Matt held up his hands in resignation. “So what do I do?”
    â€œGo on with your life.”
    â€œNot so simple. The cardinal’s put me on leave. I can say Mass, but no other parish functions. My assistant picks up the reins.”
    â€œHoly crap. Guilty until proven innocent. I don’t like how that’ll play to a jury to have your own church convict you.”
    â€œI understand what the cardinal’s doing. When you think of the slimy way these things have been handled by some Church hierarchy up till now, the pendulum’s bound to swing. It may even be a good thing.”
    â€œ
Not for you,”
Lex thought, but there was no need to say it.
    Lex drove the five blocks to the address of the row house on Pearl Street. It took three rings of the bell before he heard footsteps. The face of the woman who opened the door a few inches painted a picture of a life that had aged her beyond her twenty-some years. Lex took off his hat and tried a smile.
    â€œMrs. Casey, my name’s Lex Devlin. I’d like to speak to your husband.”
    She seemed stuck for an answer. She finally stammered, “I don’t know where—”
    She got that far, when a male face appeared behind her. Lex sawthe familiar lines that years on the hard stuff can etch with indelibility. There was something else in the eyes that bespoke a hardness, born of either anger or fear. Lex couldn’t tell which.
    â€œWho is he, Annie?”
    â€œHe says he’s Mr. Devlin.”
    The face stayed in the background, but the voice addressed Lex.
    â€œI know who y’are. I have nothin’ to say to ya. Close the door, Annie.”
    â€œI just want to get your side of the story, Mr. Casey. That’s all.”
    â€œYou’ll hear my side in court. That’s all I’ve got to say. Close the door. Do it, Annie.”
    Lex saw through the