Black Diamond (34 page)

“Judge, I'd like the permission of the court to play a video recording of the running of the race in question. This is the race in which Danny Ryan met his death.”

“Any objection from the prosecution?”

Both Billy Coyne and Angela Lamb had seen the video scores of times, as had we all. There was no objection.

Before hitting the remote to play the video, I said to the court, “Your Honor, we've seen this tape more than most golfers have seen
Caddy Shack
. So what's new? Just this. We've always focused on what we could see of Hector Vasquez's hands and his whip. I'm
going to show you a close up of Hector during the stretch run. This time I want you to focus on his face. His lips.”

I rolled the video. It showed two horses and two jockeys locked in a wide-open, full-bore drive for the lead down the homestretch. Even without sound, the intensity was riveting.

Just at the point at which Black Diamond began to gain the edge over Hector's horse, I had had my tech focus a close-up in the video on Hector's face. It showed clearly that Hector was yelling something directly at Danny.

I played it for the court twice. Then I addressed Hector.

“I want the complete truth here, Hector. Was that race fixed?”

Hector was fidgeting in discomfort, but he answered clearly. “Yes, sir.”

“And how was it fixed.”

“Mr. Boyle, he let us jockeys know we'd be killed. Our families would be killed, if we didn't make the race come out his way.”

“And what was the outcome he wanted on this race?”

“My horse was supposed to win.”

“Was Danny Ryan also threatened if he didn't lose?”

“Yes, but a different way.”

“How?”

“His little daughter was kidnapped. They said they'd kill her if he didn't lose the race.”

“All right, Hector. Now listen to me. We've just seen from the video that in spite of that, Danny's horse came up alongside of you and even passed you. Why did Danny do that?”

“He didn't, Mr. Knight. That horse, Black Diamond, he has a will to win. Danny couldn't hold him. The horse was running away with him. Danny couldn't stop him.”

I walked to the other side of the bench so Hector would be speaking directly to the judge.

“Tell us please, Hector, what did you yell to Danny when he was passing you?”

Hector looked straight at the judge.

“I yelled, ‘They'll kill her if you win, Danny.'”

He hit every syllable for emphasis.

“And what did Danny do?”

Hector rubbed his face with his hands. I could see tears forming.

“He jumped off the back of the horse. He jumped.”

“Why did he do that, Hector?”

“So his horse would be disqualified. So my horse would win the race. He did it for his daughter.”

The rumble of voices among the jockeys in the spectators' section had to be quieted by an order of the judge. It gave Hector a chance to gather in his emotions.

“And why didn't you tell me this before, Hector?”

“I was afraid that would mean I had a part in killing Danny.”

I took a slow walk back to counsel table to let it sink in. I finally turned back to the bench and addressed the judge.

“Judge Peragallo, that's not murder. In fact, it's not any kind of homicide. That's the action of a man who's been a victim of the greed of a vicious syndicate for more years than I want to think about.”

I gave it a couple of seconds. “Your Honor, I'd like to move that this parade of horrors that's been inflicted on these brave jockeys be ended. It can start with a dismissal of this indictment.”

I sat down.

Judge Peragallo looked over at the prosecution table. Angela Lamb started to rise to make an argument, but Billy Coyne caught her by the arm. She sat down without a whimper.

The judge rapped his gavel.

“This indictment is dismissed. The defendant will be released from custody immediately.”

The burst of cheering and shouting, mostly in Spanish, that erupted drowned out the rapping of the judge's gavel. I think Judge Peragallo concluded that the celebration was in order, if not overdue. He simply left the bench without the usual “All rise.”

The rows of jockeys who had come to support one of their own emptied to the front of the courtroom. They would have surrounded him immediately and probably carried him out of the courtroom on their shoulders. But two others were first in line. Hector's wife was in one of his arms and his mother was in the other. There was a closed circle so tight that I thought I'd never get a chance to congratulate Hector. I was wrong. When I went to walk by, two arms reached out and pulled me into the circle. There were now four of us hugging each other with such a grip that I could hardly breathe. No words were being spoken, but enough tears were flowing to float an ark.

When our circle finally opened, Hector was totally mobbed by the jockeys. They must have heard the cheers at the State House on Beacon Hill.

I looked to the back of the courtroom and saw my mentor, my friend, and my practically adoptive father, Lex Devlin. He had a grin that lit up his whole face, and his hands clasped above his head in a victory sign. I could even see moisture in those eyes that had seen everything in a courtroom.

When I left the court, I went straight to a rental agency and rented a van big enough to move three people back to their homes. I drove to Milton, New Hampshire, at a speed I don't want to record in this writing. And I brought three of my favorite people and one Shetland sheepdog home, and the celebration began in style.

Funny thing. The next time I went into the office, my secretary, Julie, asked if I could help her with a legal problem before I did anything else. She asked me to appeal a parking ticket.