The Hanging Judge Read Online Free PDF

waited while Norcross pulled on the end of his nose and sniffed, a sure sign something big was up.
    Norcross pointed at the two clerks. “I need some banzai research on what constitutes conduct in furtherance of a racketeering enterprise. The word from Boston is that our U.S. attorney will be making moves to shift a gang case, this double homicide yesterday, out of state court into federal court here in Springfield using the RICO statute.”
    Frank broke in. “So he can …”
    “Right,” Norcross said. “So he can seek the death penalty.”
    “Oh brother.” Eva’s shoulders drooped, and she looked up at the ceiling.
    “Hogan’s been aching to zap somebody for ages,” Frank said. “He must have had all the papers ready, just waiting for something like this. The shithead. Excuse me.”
    “I thought death penalty cases hardly ever happened in federal court,” Eva said.
    “They don’t, but Massachusetts has no DP,” Frank replied. “No one’s gotten the big jab here in more than fifty years. But in federal court it’s allowed, and there’s a huge push from Washington to bring federal capital cases in states like Massachusetts. Hogan’s happy to …”
    “Be that as it may, Frank,” Norcross interrupted. “We might be toys for the politicians, but the fact is our session will probably have the honor of getting the first of these lollipops. We need to be ready.” He sniffed again and shook his head. “Death. My favorite thing.”
    “It might not happen,” Eva said. “They only got the kid who drove the car.”
    “I don’t know,” Frank said. “The talk shows are already on fire. The dead nurse, O’Connor? She helped start the Walnut Street Clinic, working for free. Her family even donated the damned building. Now she gets whacked on the sidewalk right outside.” He shrugged. “I’m, um, I’m betting the driver caves …”
    As the end of his sentence trailed off, Frank noticed that the judge was staring out the window, his face blank. After a few seconds, Norcross spoke, and his voice was tired. “This I certainly did not expect.” He cleared his throat, turned from his view of the sky, and pointed to the clerks. “So. We’ll need to get a jump on this. I want a genius-level summary of the law of continuing criminal enterprises by noon tomorrow. And here’s a nice bone for you two to chew on: Can the accidental shooting of a bystander constitute conduct in aid of a racketeering enterprise such as a street gang?”
    When the two clerks continued to sit looking at him, he waved them off. “That’s it. Go. Work hard. Make me look brilliant.”
    On the way back to their offices, Frank leaned toward Eva and whispered: “Sorry. Forgot to mention Rule Seventeen.” His tongue probed for the tip of his mustache. “Still. Spirit of love? You can’t help wondering what’s up.”

5
    B y the beginning of November, the bright days of early autumn had passed, and a steady rain was falling on the town of Ludlow. Heavy drops spattered the razor wire surrounding the Hampden County Correctional Center, slapped against the windows, and formed inky puddles on the blacktop sidewalks connecting the towers. At approximately six thirty p.m., in a mustard-yellow, windowless conference room, with the defendant’s appointed attorney, Holyoke Police Captain Sean Daley, and an assistant district attorney from Hampden County looking on, Ernesto “Pepe” Rivera, the driver of the stolen Nissan, affixed his wobbly, childish signature to two documents.
    The four people in the room were a highly unsociable group. Rivera looked at no one and exuded a sullen wariness just short of outright hostility. His lawyer simply pointed to where his client had to sign. In the lockup after his arrest, the boy had barely condescended to speak to him, asking only if his uncle Carlos had shown up, if his mother knew what happened, and how much rec time he’d get at the jail. The lawyer could hardly believe it when his client