Free Frame-Up by John F. Dobbyn

addressed me.
    â€œMichael, you and I and your partner, my old friend, are all from different heritages. Yes, I have power. I use the power to produce justice as I see it. Which of us is right?
    I started to speak, but he held up a hand.
    â€œConsider, Michael. Not too long ago a man came to me, as many do. His daughter, a very beautiful young child of thirteen, the very soul of his life, just beginning her life. She was at school after classes to take part in a play. Three boys took her into an empty men’s room. I needn’t be graphic. When she recovered enough emotional stability to do so, with her father’s encouragement, she went to the police. They arrested these boys. They confessed what they did. But your law said that their confession could not be used as evidence. Something about not warning them to remain silent. In any event they were tried. Their lawyer made this man’s daughter break down when she testified. He made suggestions about this young lady’s virtue that were not true. The jury found them not guilty.”
    â€œMr. Santangelo, there are hundreds—”
    â€œPlease, Michael, just listen. I’m not talking about hundreds. I’m talking about this man and his daughter. This man who was nearly insane with grief. When his daughter was able to go back to school, these same boys taunted her. They threatened to do the same thing again. And get away with it again. Her father went to the police. They told him that until these boys do something, their hands are tied. This young lady could not bring herself to go to school, any school. She’s still undergoing treatment by a psychiatrist. Whether successful or not, who knows. In any event, in all of your civilized legal system, where is the justice for this man and his daughter?”
    I had no answer.
    â€œThen consider this, before you judge me to be a complete savage.When this man came to me and put his trust in me, I gave him my word — nothing more — which he believed, and his daughter came to believe, that no one would harm her again. She’s now able to attend school. The healing is going on. She has young friends around her. God willing, she’ll grow to be a beautiful woman with a good life. She has had no further difficulty in this respect from anyone.”
    I had to fill the gap. “Did you have them killed?”
    â€œNo. They are very much alive. I’m sure they’ll grow up to cause many more problems for society. But I can assure you that raping young women will not be one of which they’ll be capable. Do you understand?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œThen consider this. Which power, mine or yours, produced justice?”
    We rode in silence. I considered making the case for a democratic republic over a self-justifying tyrant whose every unquestioned whim was enforced in blood. I considered asking the don how many times he had used that power of violence for personal profit as opposed to unselfish justice. I also considered the futility of trying to convince this little Caesar that he somehow fell short of Solomon judging the Israelites. I vetoed all of it. There was no point in turning a very dicey moment into a high school civics class. The silence that reigned was noncommittal on both sides.
    We drove north to the parking lot of the Continental Restaurant on Route 1 in Saugus. By that time, the lunch crowd was moderate. In a sense, the glaring openness of a sun-drenched public parking lot was our cover.
    We pulled up next to an unmarked, dark blue Chrysler Concorde at the far east end of the lot. Two federal agents in sport clothes came from the Concorde to the side of our car. Peter showed no hesitation in joining them. We let them drive out of the parking lot before Mr. Devlin and I took his car that had been driven behind us back to the office.
    I only touched base long enough to retrieve the yellow locker key from the top drawer of my desk. I waved and smiled at Julie on