advantage of people that way, and I wanted to write to you so that you could do something about it. A couple of people who I have told this story to without using any names said that you couldn't do anything about something so old since the statue of limitations is past, but I figure this couldn't have been the only time something like this ever happened and maybe even they're still doing the same thing. Actually, I think that what I just wrote isn't true. I hope you get Noel too. But I don't want him to know you got him from me. And if you do get him from someone else, I beg you please (Please!) not to show him this letter. I am TRUSTING YOU
.
The letter, of course, is unsigned. Our office gets letters like this every day. Two paralegals are assigned to do pretty much nothing but answer this kind of correspondence, and talk to the various cranks who wander into the reception area in person. The more serious complaints tend to get passed along, which, presumably, is how this one found its way to Raymond. Even at that point, a lot of what comes in is junk. But this one, for all its funny twitches, has the ring of the real thing. It is more than possible, of course, that our tipster was simply scammed by his friend Noel. But the guy who wrote the letter was in the best position to judge, and he doesn't seem to think that was the case.
Scam or not, it is easy to figure out why Raymond Horgan would not want this file floating around in an election year. Nico would love to have evidence of any kind of undiscovered crimes committed during Raymond's regime. As the letter writer surmises, it is not likely that friend Noel's case was an isolated episode. What we have in hand is a first-class scandal: an unnoticed — worse — unapprehended bribery ring operating in one of the branch courts.
Lipranzer has lit a cigarette. He has been quiet a long time.
"You think it's bull?" I ask.
"Neh," he says. "Somethin's there. Maybe not what this jamoche thinks, but it's somethin."
"Do you think it's worth looking at?"
"Can't hurt. We ain't exactly buried in leads."
"That's what I thought. Carolyn figured these guys were gay," I say. "I think she was probably on the right track." I point to her notes. She has the section number of various provisions of what is still titled the Morals chapter of the state criminal code written down, a question mark beside them. "Remember the panty raids out in the Public Forest? That would have been right about then. We were busting those guys in carloads. And the cases went to the North Branch, didn't they?"
Lip is nodding: it all fits. The embarrassing nature of the crime, the mania to conceal it. And the timing is right. Sexual crimes, involving consenting adults, were ignored as a matter of policy in Raymond's first administration. The cops brought in the cases, but we gave them the shuffle. By the time Raymond began to campaign for re-election, certain groups, prostitutes and gays particularly, were, in their more florid segments, largely beyond control. With the gays, the problem was acute in the public forests which ring the city. Families would not go there at midday on the weekends for fear of what their children would be exposed to. There were some fairly graphic complaints about what was taking place in broad daylight on the picnic tables, where, Mom tended to point out, people were supposed to eat. With the election nine months away, we made a large show of a concerted clean-up. Dozens of men were arrested every night, often in
flagrante delicto
. Their cases were usually disposed of with court supervision — a kind of expungeable guilty plea — and the defendants then disappeared.
That is the problem. Both Lip and I recognize it will be difficult to find Noel. There were probably four hundred of these cases that summer, and we don't even know his name. If Carolyn made much progress, the file does not seem to show it. The jacket date indicates she got the case about five months before
.
The letter, of course, is unsigned. Our office gets letters like this every day. Two paralegals are assigned to do pretty much nothing but answer this kind of correspondence, and talk to the various cranks who wander into the reception area in person. The more serious complaints tend to get passed along, which, presumably, is how this one found its way to Raymond. Even at that point, a lot of what comes in is junk. But this one, for all its funny twitches, has the ring of the real thing. It is more than possible, of course, that our tipster was simply scammed by his friend Noel. But the guy who wrote the letter was in the best position to judge, and he doesn't seem to think that was the case.
Scam or not, it is easy to figure out why Raymond Horgan would not want this file floating around in an election year. Nico would love to have evidence of any kind of undiscovered crimes committed during Raymond's regime. As the letter writer surmises, it is not likely that friend Noel's case was an isolated episode. What we have in hand is a first-class scandal: an unnoticed — worse — unapprehended bribery ring operating in one of the branch courts.
Lipranzer has lit a cigarette. He has been quiet a long time.
"You think it's bull?" I ask.
"Neh," he says. "Somethin's there. Maybe not what this jamoche thinks, but it's somethin."
"Do you think it's worth looking at?"
"Can't hurt. We ain't exactly buried in leads."
"That's what I thought. Carolyn figured these guys were gay," I say. "I think she was probably on the right track." I point to her notes. She has the section number of various provisions of what is still titled the Morals chapter of the state criminal code written down, a question mark beside them. "Remember the panty raids out in the Public Forest? That would have been right about then. We were busting those guys in carloads. And the cases went to the North Branch, didn't they?"
Lip is nodding: it all fits. The embarrassing nature of the crime, the mania to conceal it. And the timing is right. Sexual crimes, involving consenting adults, were ignored as a matter of policy in Raymond's first administration. The cops brought in the cases, but we gave them the shuffle. By the time Raymond began to campaign for re-election, certain groups, prostitutes and gays particularly, were, in their more florid segments, largely beyond control. With the gays, the problem was acute in the public forests which ring the city. Families would not go there at midday on the weekends for fear of what their children would be exposed to. There were some fairly graphic complaints about what was taking place in broad daylight on the picnic tables, where, Mom tended to point out, people were supposed to eat. With the election nine months away, we made a large show of a concerted clean-up. Dozens of men were arrested every night, often in
flagrante delicto
. Their cases were usually disposed of with court supervision — a kind of expungeable guilty plea — and the defendants then disappeared.
That is the problem. Both Lip and I recognize it will be difficult to find Noel. There were probably four hundred of these cases that summer, and we don't even know his name. If Carolyn made much progress, the file does not seem to show it. The jacket date indicates she got the case about five months before
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