Deadly Diamonds by John Dobbyn Page B

small opening a small, thin girl of about seven. She started to come into the room, but her father waved her back.
    â€œI see you have a youngster, Mrs. Casey. I’m curious. Shouldn’t she be in school?”
    The man pulled his wife away from the door and looked directly into Lex’s eyes.
    â€œShe’s sick. And I’ll thank you to stay out of things that are none of your business. Leave us alone!”
    The words were as much a slam of the door in his face as the real thing that followed. What stunned Lex in the instant between the two was the look of abject terror that contorted Casey’s face. It was so out of sync with Casey’s words that it left him at a loss.
    Lex stood frozen for a few seconds. For the moment he was stymied. He sensed that whatever was putting the fear in Casey’s eyes could also be blocking him from asking for help. The immediate urge was to pound open the door to give whatever help he could. A quick reconsideration convinced him that that move could turn desperation into disaster.
    He turned and walked to the car in the best performance of unflustered calm he could give to whatever eyes might be on him. He drove slowly away from the curb while his right thumb hit a speed-dial number on the cell phone.
    â€œMr. Devlin. What’s up?”
    â€œTom, I need a good man at Thirty-three Pearl Street in Charlestown. Pronto.”
    â€œI don’t have any good men, Mr. Devlin.”
    â€œSay what?”
    â€œMy men start at ‘the best’ and go up from there.”
    â€œPoint taken. Can you do it?”
    â€œHe’s already on his way.”
    â€œGood. Here’s what I need.”

CHAPTER EIGHT
    I was in the office about three p.m. when Julie gave me the word that Mr. D. was back, requesting the pleasure of my company anytime within the next ten seconds. She braced me with the warning that those wrinkles he gets in his forehead were sending up flares.
    I was still unprepared for what he told me. I hadn’t known Father Ryan long, but it was long enough to take the measure of a good man.
    Mr. D. told me about the call he was expecting from Tom Burns while he hit the numbers for the district attorney’s office.
    â€œAre you calling Billy Coyne?”
    â€œNo point. There’s not a chance in hell she’ll give up the headlines this case’ll draw.”
    That was shorthand for the fact that the princess of prosecution, Angela Lamb, who currently held the elected title of district attorney in Suffolk County, would indict, prosecute, and personally lock up Billy Graham if it would generate headlines that might grease her upwardly mobile rump into the governor’s seat.
    I always suspected that Mary Cornelius, the receptionist in the D.A.’s office, favored Mr. Devlin in his set-tos with her employer.
    â€œMary, would you do me the kindness of telling the Dragon Lady I’d like a word with her?”
    â€œGood afternoon, Mr. Devlin. I believe she said she’s in conference with the mayor.” I noticed she never questioned the title.
    â€œThe hell she is. She’s picking the brains of Billy Coyne so she won’t look like an ambitious buffoon in front of the press. If I were to bet you ten dollars that she’s in Billy’s office right this minute, would you take the bet?”
    I could hear a stifled giggle. “Mr. Devlin, may I simply say, no bet.”
    â€œThat’s what I thought. Then let’s change the message. Would you tell her I’ve called to offer settlement of the civil action?”
    â€œAnd she’ll know what I mean?”
    â€œShe will when you tell her I’m suing her and the city for six million dollars for violation of Monsignor Ryan’s civil rights. Make that eight million. Tell her unless we settle now, she can read about it in the
Globe
tomorrow. And Mary, when you tell her, don’t be standing in the doorway.”
    Mr. Devlin cast a disturbed look