Cate hustled down the sidewalk under the cold sun, holding her coat at her neck against a biting wind. Bundled-up people hurried this way and that, their breaths making cotton puffs in the frigid air. Morning traffic clogged the narrow street, stop-and-go, mostly business deliveries at this hour, and a white Liberty Fish van honked, stalled by a UPS truck making a delivery. Cate lived only six blocks east of this neighborhood, and if Society Hill were the residential side of colonial Philadelphia, Old City had been the commercial, characterized by large industrial spaces that later proved perfect for restaurants, art galleries, lofts, photography studios, and furniture-design showrooms. And evidently, the Philadelphia production offices of
[email protected].
Cate stopped when she reached the address, only a black-stenciled number 388 on a dented metal door wedged between a closed restaurant and a wholesale restaurant-supply outlet. She stepped back and looked up at the brick building, two stories above the restaurant-supply outlet. Fluorescent lights paneled the ceiling on the second floor; the storefront window bore no sign. The sign on the window of the third floor read TATE & SON, INDUSTRIAL DRAWING. The
[email protected] office had to be the second floor, and in this brick sliver of a building, it couldn’t be more than one room wide.
Cate eyed the door frame, dirty and peeling gray paint, home to two black buzzers recessed in grimy brass, unlabeled. She hit the top button, assuming it was the third floor, and the door buzzed loudly. She slipped inside, into a tiny entrance room, then went upstairs and stopped at the second floor, at a security door that read
[email protected]. Cate knocked.
No answer. But she knew Micah was inside, from the phone call. She knocked again, then again, and was about to kick the door down when it flew open.
“The office is closed!” Micah said, flinging open the door. Then her expression changed to bewilderment. “Judge Fante?”
“Yes,” Cate answered, equally surprised. Micah had clearly been crying, her eyes wet and her nose swollen. The sight touched Cate, until she reminded herself that this girl had been following her every move. Or at least she knew who had.
“Whoa, this is so random.” Micah quickly wiped a tear away. Her hair fell loosely to her shoulders and she wore a black ribbed sweater, tight jeans, and red Converse sneakers. “You caught me at a bad time. I was just watching the press conference.”
“I’m sorry,” Cate said, pushing inside. “I was in the neighborhood and I wanted to talk to you about Mr. Simone, to tell you personally how very sorry I am.”
“Why…thanks.”
“It’s just so awful.” Cate scanned the cramped reception area, furnished with a funky black leather couch, a black coffee table, a one-cup coffee machine, and a dorm-size refrigerator. Slick posters of the cast of
[email protected], in the trademark black and red, blanketed the walls. The reception room led to a room in the back, from which came the sound of a television. “Is the press conference still on?”
“I don’t think so,” Micah answered, her voice thick.
“I heard some on the car radio. TV in there?” Cate darted for the office, sizing it up in a glance; a huge plasma flat-screen TV, a black contemporary desk, a black Aeron chair, and a white iBook surrounded by stacks of papers labeled PRODUCTION SCHEDULES, TRAVEL & EXPENSES, and HEAD SHOTS. Cate turned to Micah, who stood at the threshold, wiping her nose. “I was hoping to catch the end of the conference. What did they say, anything new?”
“I guess you heard that Marz committed suicide.”
“Yes. Poor man.”
“I don’t feel sorry for him. He brought it on himself. The police say he used the same gun that was the murder weapon. So that means he killed Art, which I could have told them.” Micah blew her nose loudly, and her pretty cheeks turned red from the pressure. “Maybe I’m not supposed to say this, but I really wish you hadn’t said what you said that day in court. I think Art would be alive today, if you hadn’t.”
Cate felt a stab of guilt. “I’m sorry.”
“He was a great man, a genius.” Micah dabbed at her eye with the Kleenex. “I know they say that about everyone in Hollywood, but he really was.”
“I’m so sorry. It’s upsetting.”
“It really is and it…” Micah’s sentence trailed off as she watched the TV, and Cate turned to the life-size screen. A woman with a model’s lovely features, long blond hair, and a tight-fitting black pantsuit stood behind a lectern topped with a bouquet of microphones. The panel caption under the picture read MRS. ERIKA SIMONE.
“Is that his wife?” Cate asked needlessly, eyeing Micah for a reaction.
“Yes. She’s Swedish.” Micah kept her gaze riveted to the screen, her eyes glistening. If she were jealous of Simone’s wife, it didn’t show, so either she wasn’t having an affair with her boss or she was a really good actress.
On the screen, Erika Simone was saying, in a sexy Nordic accent, “I wish to thank the Philadelphia Police department, and particularly Detectives Nesbitt and Roots, for their great work and the kindness they showed us. The City of Brotherly Love has truly been very good to my family, and I would like to donate one hundred thousand dollars, the reward money we had originally offered, to the Widow and Orphans Fund. Thank you very much.”
“That was nice,” Cate said, and Micah nodded, her lips tight. “Was that your idea?”
“I didn’t even know about it.” Micah switched off the TV with a black remote, and the room fell abruptly silent.
“When’s the funeral?” Cate asked, breaking the spell, and Micah dropped her Kleenex into the wastebasket beside the desk.
“Saturday, in L.A.”
“You get to go on the company jet?” Cate was guessing they had one.
“Uh, no, I’m not going. Erika wants to keep it small, I heard, so it’s only immediate family. I can understand her not wanting to turn it into a big Hollywood funeral. That’s so lame when people do that.”
“Now what happens, for you?”
“It’s a one-woman office, and the show must go on, of course.” Micah nodded sadly. “It won’t run as well as before, but there’s a guy in L.A. who’s going to executive-produce.”
“What is it you do exactly, for the show?” Cate tried to sound friendly.
“Everything and anything, really. There’s lots of little things that have to be done here, even though most of the show is filmed in L.A. Like one time, Art called me in a total panic.” Micah smiled sadly. “I had to FedEx ten cheesesteaks to him from Pat’s and Geno’s, so the characters could talk about whether they liked Pat’s or Geno’s better.”
Cate faked a laugh. “So you’re the Philly expert, huh?”
“Yes. I went to Girls’ High, in the city, and then Drexel. I’m not one of those suburban posers.”
“So anything he needs in Philly, you make sure he gets. If he needs somebody followed, do you do that, too?”
Micah’s smile faded.
“Like me, for example? Are you the one who followed me? Or should I sue someone else?”
Micah blinked, her long eyelashes still wet. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Yes, you do.” Cate shoved a hand into her purse, pulled out the folded chronology, and held it up high. “Recognize this? A professional detective didn’t do it, and you’re the only employee here.” Cate slipped the paper back into her purse. “Was Simone making a new TV show, called
[email protected]? Like he testified on the stand?”
“I’m just a production assistant, Judge.”
“But you know what I’m talking about.”
Micah didn’t reply, suddenly looking out the window, at the view of brick nothing.
“You followed me, right? You took notes on me. Dates. Times. Men. You even took pictures from a car.”
Micah puckered her pretty lips. “How do you know this?”
“Just answer me. Did you do it?”
“I don’t have to answer you. I have rights. You have to go.” Micah strode to the door, but Cate stood rooted.
“You gonna throw yoursel
f out? Because I’m not leaving.”
“You’re trespassing. You have to. I’m asking you to leave.”
“Make me. Call the cops. Right now.” Cate gestured at the tiny cell phone on the desk. “Let’s ask them if it’s okay to stalk a federal judge.”
“The legal department said it was legal.”
“Hence the name, but don’t argue with a judge. Am I right or am I wrong on you? Listen, I’ll make you a deal. Tell me what I need to know, and I won’t sue you. How’s that?”
“You can’t sue. Legal said.” Micah frowned like a small child, and Cate almost laughed.
“I can always sue. Didn’t your lawsuit with Marz teach you that? Didn’t he make your life miserable? Taking your time, costing Simone a fortune?”
Micah began listening, her eyes widening.
“Can you afford to be sued? What do you have, at your age? What are you, thirty?”
“Twenty-nine.”
“So what, an apartment in Center City? A white Saturn with two years of payments? What do you have? Because legal fees will take it all from you. And that’s if you win.”
Micah paused, walked back into the office, and sank into the Aeron chair opposite the desk.
“Good call,” Cate said, crossing her arms.
CHAPTER 19
“So, how did it come about, you following me?” Cate asked. “How did Simone even know about me? I didn’t meet him until trial.”
“How do I know you’ll keep the deal? Will you put it in writing?”
“I give you my word.” Cate ignored the irony. The girl had learned her lessons from Simone. “Now, how did Simone know about me?”
“You have to promise not to tell anyone you heard it from me, too. I need this job.”
“I promise. By the way, you’re not telling me anything I won’t find out in discovery.”
“Okay,” Micah said reluctantly. “When you first got the case, you held a meeting or something with our lawyer, George Hartford. Some kind of meeting in your office.”
“I had a pretrial conference with both counsel, it’s standard.”
“Whatever.” Micah brushed a dark tendril from her eye, recovering her composure. “After the meeting, George told Art about you. He said you had star quality, which is like a nineteen-fifties term for ‘hot,’ I think. Art had been thinking about expanding the franchise, so he asked me to see if George was right. I went and watched you in court, and we took it from there.”
Cate felt her teeth clench. “You began to follow me.”
“I had to. He told me to. It was my job.”
“You invaded my privacy.”
“I didn’t…think of it that way.”
“How could you not?”
“You were in public, it wasn’t hidden.”
“Just because something happens in public doesn’t mean it’s not private. You remember when the Challenger blew up in midair? Did you wanna see those poor people watch their daughter explode?”
Micah looked blank, and Cate realized she must have been in diapers at the time.
“How about the moment of someone’s death? You wanna see that, even if it happens on a street? Or when you weep, at Simone’s funeral? Is that public or private? Or when you get married? Or hear someone say I love you, for the first time?” Cate heard herself getting worked up. “The location doesn’t make something public or private. Your heart does.”
“It was research.”
“No, it was my life,” Cate shot back. “And you found out stuff you didn’t need to know, which is now going to be in a TV show. All over TV screens, a new franchise for the @Law cult. My life. Me.”
“The show isn’t about you. It’s fictional.”
“Me, fictionalized.” Cate raked her fingers through her hair, loose to her shoulders today. “And they’re going to make this show, even though Simone is gone?”
“Yes. Matt Gaone was hired to exec-produce, from L.A.”
Cate made a mental note. “When does production start?”
“It’s in production already. It started two months ago. December.”
Cate didn’t get something. “Then why did you keep following me? You were following me up to last week.”
“I didn’t know they’d started.”
“Will you be the production assistant on the new show?”
“Yes, I’m the Philly girl. More job, same pay.” Resentment edged her tone, but Cate had her own problems.
“Where is it being produced? L.A.?”
“Yes. It’s too expensive to shoot here. We shoot exteriors in Philly next month.”
“Is it called
[email protected]?”
“Yes, just like the Law & Order franchise.”
“When will it air?”
“September, next.”
Cate had plenty of time for an injunction, if she could get one. “What’s the show about?”
Micah hesitated. “A woman judge.”
“Federal?”
“Yes, and three other judges on the court.”
“In Philly?”
“Yes.”
“Are the characters based on the other judges, on my court?” Cate asked, appalled. She’d been so self-centered she hadn’t even thought of that. “Have you been following my colleagues, too?”
“No. Art thought they were boring.”
They are, God bless them. “Okay, let’s talk about the woman judge. Is she married?”
“Single.”
“Describe her.” Cate folded her arms in the thick sheepskin coat. “Or should I just look in a mirror?”
“Well, yes.” Micah smiled weakly. “Only taller. Hollywood doesn’t like shorter women, like us.”
“Okay, and don’t tell me, let me guess—she sleeps around, and no one knows.”
“She has a secret sex life.”
Oh, God.
“But she’s good,” Micah rushed to say. “She’s a good person. She’s fun and cool, like you. She’s a strong heroine. She’s empowered.”
Cate mock-shuddered. “Make me anything but empowered. I hate empowered.”
Micah smiled, for the first time. “They haven’t cast her yet. Did you really want Charlize Theron?”
Cate groaned. “I was kidding.”
“She sleeps with another judge on the court, who’s crazy about her. In the first episode, they have a threesome.”
Cate’s eyes flew open. “Three judges?”
“No, two and a male law clerk.”
Cate burst into laughter. Way to miss the point. “Oh, God. I thought what I did was bad, but this’ll make it look worse. I didn’t think that was even possible!”
“It’s entertainment, Judge.”
Argh. Cate had a terrible thought and sobered immediately. Meadowbrook Lane. “Wait a minute. This judge doesn’t have a best friend, does she?”
“Well, yes. I mean, she has to, to show that—”
“Tell me about her friend.” Cate felt new anger in her chest, and Micah must have seen it, because she edged back in the chair.
“Well, to be honest, she’s a lot like your friend.”
“No!” Cate thought quickly ahead. Warren. “She doesn’t have a kid, does she?”
“He’s mildly retarded, but in the end—”
“No, you can’t do that!” Cate shot up, her body rigid as a stake in the ground. “You cannot do that. His mother didn’t ask for this. He’s a little boy. He didn’t ask for this.”
“It’s not them, it’s just characters—”
“It is them, and all their friends will know. All the people on their street, and all the kids in his preschool, when he goes next year. You think he doesn’t have it hard enough?”
“Judge, maybe it’ll help—”
“It won’t help! You didn’t do it to help! You did it to make money!”
“I didn’t do it.” Even Micah looked upset. “I’m sorry, I’m just the—”
“That boy doesn’t deserve this, to be exploited! To be put in the spotlight
! His mother doesn’t deserve this! They’re just people, living their lives!”
“It’s out of my hands, Judge.” Micah was shaking her glossy head. “Art really loved the little boy, as a subplot.”
“He’s not a subplot, he’s a child!” Cate couldn’t stand still anymore. She’d learned all she needed to know. It was going to be worse than she thought. Never mind the threesome. Gina and Warren. The people she loved most in the world. She felt stunned, stricken. She couldn’t even speak. She went to the door.
“Judge, there’s nothing you can do—”
Cate hurried for the door of the office, her stomach churning. What had she done? What had she caused? She ran out of the office and down the stairs and made it to the curb, panicky and sickened. She looked right and left, found an alley, and bolted for it.
And inside the alley, with one hand on the dirty brick wall, Cate got sick to her stomach.
CHAPTER 20
Cate drove down Fifth Street in light traffic, heading back toward the courthouse, her emotions in tumult. A pack of Trident gum couldn’t overcome the taste in her mouth. She would never have dreamed that she could have caused so much harm, or set into motion a series of events that would hurt Gina and Warren. Their vulnerability upped the ante. She steered onto Market Street and, preoccupied, almost ran a red light. She had to keep that show off the air, and down-and-dirty legal research from a law clerk was only the beginning. She’d hire the best litigator in town, if not alive, and she’d wage the biggest, baddest court battle she could afford, which was plenty. Cate reached on the passenger seat for her purse and dug around for her cell phone.
Ring! Suddenly, the cell rang in her bag. She fished the phone from her purse and checked the number on the lighted display. It was a number she didn’t know, in the 215 area code. Funny. Almost nobody had her cell number. She pressed SEND to answer the call. “Hello?”
“Judge Fante?” It was a man on the line. “This is Vector Security.”
“Yes?” Cate said, surprised.
And by the end of the next sentence, she had swung the car completely around and hit the gas.
Cate pulled up to the unwelcome sight of a police cruiser in her driveway. She parked behind it, turned off the ignition, and jumped out of her car, then hurried up her front steps in the cold, readying her keys to unlock the front door, but it swung wide, having been opened by a uniformed cop standing on the threshold of her house. His blue eyes peered businesslike from under the black patent bill of his cap.