PART 35 Read Free

sidetracked by my own stories.”
    â€œSidetracked, Judge, but never derailed.”
    â€œNo,” the judge laughed. “Your coming here today is fate working itself out, Sandro. Through you, your Uncle Jim will make his reparation. You will pay back for him. You know what I mean?”
    Sandro did.
    He buzzed Elizabeth on the intercom. “Give me the name of the defendant again.”
    â€œIt’s Luis Alvarado.”
    â€œOkay. Now get Sam Bemer for me, please.”
    She buzzed shortly, and Sandro picked up the phone.
    â€œHi, Sam, how’re you?”
    â€œNever better, m’lad. How’s yourself?” Sam Bemer’s hearty voice was an essential part of his benchside manner. It seemed fitting for a thick stocky man with thick curly hair and a thick black cigar—for such Sam Bemer was.
    â€œVery well,” Sandro answered. “I understand that I have been assigned the distinct privilege of being cocounsel in a murder case with the legendary Sam Bemer.”
    â€œYou’re much too kind. I received the same word myself this morning. I’m delighted we’ll be working together.”
    â€œI hope it’ll be a delight. I’m sort of in the dark about murder cases,” said Sandro. “Where do we start on this?”
    â€œWell, the first thing we want to do is to talk to our client and hear his story. Then we’ll talk to the D.A. to see what we’re faced with. Of course, with a cop-killer, it’s tough to do very much except try the case. The D.A. doesn’t usually entertain any plea to a lesser charge for a cop-killer. You go over to the court and get out the file. See whatever there is to be seen. Then we can meet and go to the Tombs to see this Alvarez.”
    â€œI think it’s Alvarado.”
    â€œWhatever. His being a spic is just another strike against him.”
    â€œAnother?”
    â€œI read about this one in the newspapers when it happened. Some guys read stocks, sports. I read crimes. I think our guy is a junky besides. And he’s a colored Puerto Rican. And he’s got a record. And he’s charged with killing a cop. And besides all that, I think he confessed to the cops. This case is like walking into a furnace.”
    There was a pause as Sandro digested these words.
    â€œWhen shall we get together?” he finally asked.
    â€œLet’s see. How about tomorrow, say eleven, at the Tombs?” Bemer suggested.
    â€œMy calendar is open.”
    â€œFine. Oh, it might not be a bad idea if you could pick up copies of all the newspapers that carried the story. The reporters get a lot of off-the-cuff stuff from the cops. You never know how helpful it might be.”
    â€œRight.”
    â€œDon’t be glum,” said Bemer. “In a case like this, where there’s nothing to lose, we can take the long shots, pull out all the stops. The experience’ll be good for you.”
    â€œI hope it’s good for our client.”
    â€œHe’s lucky already; don’t worry about him.”
    â€œHow is he lucky?” asked Sandro.
    â€œThe cops didn’t kill him in the station house.”

CHAPTER III
    As Sandro turned the corner from Centre Street into White Street, he could see Sam Bemer standing atop the four-step entrance to the Tombs. Officially it is the Manhattan House of Detention for Men. But everyone calls it the Tombs. It is probably the busiest prison in the world, housing every person detained for trial in Manhattan and Staten Island, as well as all those who have been arrested in other boroughs and are arraigned in night court. There is a turnover of at least six hundred men a day in the Tombs, three to four hundred new inmates received, three to four hundred released or bailed, each with papers, physical examinations, photographs, files, cards, and a host of other records.
    Sam saw Sandro and started to nod his head, a smile spreading from either side of the cigar in the