Free Motor City Shakedown by D. E. Johnson Page A

who arranges such things. She paid him and traveled to Canada by ship, then by train to Windsor, and another boat to Detroit.”
    Sutton nodded again. “Who brought you across the river from Windsor?”
    She said it was a fellow Sicilian, though she did not know his name.
    â€œWhom did he work for?”
    She didn’t know.
    â€œDo you know the name Vito Adamo?”
    When Palma translated, she said, “No.”
    â€œWhat business was Carlo Moretti engaged in?”
    She didn’t know.
    Sutton sighed and gave her an admonishing glance. “Miss Cansalvo, you can be honest with us. You lived next door to Moretti for almost a year.”
    â€œObjection!” Higgins barked. “Asked and answered.”
    â€œSustained,” Judge Morton said. “Move on, Mr. Sutton.”
    â€œI apologize, Your Honor. But you have to admit, it’s difficult to believe—”
    â€œI said, move on,” the judge said, this time louder.
    â€œYes, Your Honor.” Sutton turned back to Miss Cansalvo. “Just so I’m clear, you came to this country illegally, secreted across the border by Sicilian men engaged in illegal activity, just as Mr. Moretti was—”
    â€œObjection!” Higgins shouted again. “It has not been established that Mr. Moretti was involved in anything illegal.”
    â€œSustained.”
    Sutton shot an annoyed look at the judge before turning again to Miss Cansalvo. With a casual air, he said, “Knowing you would be deported, you must have had a very compelling reason to come forward. Why did you?”
    Palma translated. Miss Cansalvo said, “Giustizia.”
    â€œJustice,” Sutton said. “I admire you, Miss Cansalvo. Risking so much for ‘justice.’ And for a man you didn’t even know well enough to know what he did for a living. Admirable.” After a moment passed, he said, “No other reason?”
    She said no.
    â€œHmm.” Sutton spoke slowly, almost to himself. “You are willing to be deported, to go back to the country from which you fled, a country with no jobs and no prospects, for no reason other than justice.” He moved closer to her, leaned in, and quietly said, “We would all understand if you were, let’s say, forced into this testimony by members of the Sicilian underworld. It would be terrifying for one such as you, alone in a strange country. So please tell us the truth, Miss Cansalvo. Who forced you to identify my client as the man outside Carlo Moretti’s apartment?”
    As Palma translated, Miss Cansalvo’s eyes grew wide. She glared at Sutton. “Nessuno.” She jabbed her finger at me and said in heavily accented English, “It was him.”
    I shot a glance at the jury. Most of them were tight mouthed, staring at Mr. Sutton. He was dancing on the edge. Now he went on the attack, firing questions at her, trying to poke holes in her testimony. She held up well, responding calmly and assuredly. Although she hadn’t seen a knife or any blood on me, she had no doubt whatever about whom she saw. My face was burned into her memory.
    When Maria Cansalvo left the witness box, I looked at District Attorney Higgins. He was sitting back in his seat, smirking. His fingers were interlaced over his bulging brown waistcoat. To all appearances he was the cat that swallowed the canary. I thought he was smiling because his witness had held up under questioning from the most respected defense attorney in town.
    Unfortunately for me, he was smiling for an entirely different reason.
    *   *   *
    Higgins stood and said, “Just one more witness, Your Honor. The State calls Arthur Preston to the stand.”
    Preston had been on our witness list, simply to establish that I had an alibi for part of the evening. I couldn’t think of any reason Higgins would call him other than to clarify when he and his wife left my apartment. It seemed odd that the