“That’s right. I’m off duty. All blame goes to me.”
Cate blinked, surprised.
Brady said, “There’ll be plenty of it to go around.”
“He was trying to help,” Cate interjected, feeling defensive for Nesbitt.
“You can use me, Brady,” Nesbitt said, his tone firm. “Jurisdiction or no, I can help. Russo was my partner. I know the most about him. I knew he’d be there tonight and he was.”
“I’m not going to stand here and argue with you, Detective. You’re out, and we’re in.” Brady turned to Cate. “Your Honor, any threat to your health and well-being is within the bureau’s jurisdiction, not that of the Philadelphia police. With the recent attacks on the federal judiciary and their families, we’re taking your case very seriously.”
“Why can’t jurisdiction be concurrent?” Cate asked, annoyed. “Two heads are better than one, and Detective Nesbitt’s point about knowing Russo makes sense.”
“With due respect, Judge, it doesn’t work that way. The bureau has more resources at its disposal and more experience with attacks on federal judges and officials. We’re better able to protect you.”
“Then where were you tonight?” Cate shot back, and Nesbitt hid a smile.
Brady answered, “We would have been there, Judge, if you’d have given us the chance. I tried to speak with you before you went on the bench, but you declined. You said you’d call tonight, but you didn’t. You’ll find a message from me on your home and cell phones. Your secretary gave me both numbers.”
Oops. Cate had turned the phone off at Gina’s, out of habit. The sudden noise always bothered Warren.
“We can’t protect you if you don’t cooperate with us, Judge.” Brady turned to Nesbitt. “I think we can take it from here, Detective.”
“She needs protection tonight.” Nesbitt gestured at Cate. “He’s not gonna let her go.”
“We’ll protect her. We’ll be outside her house in cars, all night. End of discussion. I think it’s time for you to go.”
Nesbitt pursed his lips and touched Cate’s coat. “Judge, no matter what these guys say, call me if you need anything.” He brushed his bangs back, revealing another flash of blue. “I’ll check in with you tomorrow.”
“Thanks. Sorry about the tire.”
“No sweat.” Nesbitt turned and walked out of the room, and Cate had an attack of separation anxiety. He’d put himself and his job in jeopardy to make sure she was safe. He wasn’t a by-the-book guy, he was an above-the-call guy.
An hour later, Cate had shed her coat, bag, shoes, suit, and underwear on the way to the bathroom, where she’d taken an endless bubble bath, washing the grime out of the cuts on her feet, then dried off and crawled into bed, feeling clean, exhausted, and reasonably safe. Before they’d let her enter the house, the FBI agents had scoured the place, checking her phone messages to make sure Russo hadn’t called, and even reinforcing the back door with more plywood. They sat staked outside the house in cars, forgoing her offers of the warm house and vying with the press for the few parking spaces on the street. Cate put it all out of her mind and buried her face in the pillow, her last waking thought of Nesbitt.
Hey, I cook.
Nesbitt was also Cate’s first waking thought, and she lay in her soft, warm bed, trying to understand why. A detective with graying sideburns, deep crow’s-feet around his eyes, and a brown bomber jacket that fit too snugly around the waist. Hardly the kind of man she usually went for, much less woke up thinking about. She flopped over and became aware that the soles of her feet hurt, which made her remember last night. In the next instant, the phone was ringing. It must have been ringing before, too, waking her.
She opened her eyes, her head muzzy. The room was still dark. It sounded like it was raining outside. She lifted her head and glanced at the clock. 5:45. She double-checked the clock, but she hadn’t read it wrong. Who could be calling at this hour? It had to be the press. They’d left messages last night.
She let it ring until voice mail picked up, but in the next instant, her cell phone started ringing beside the bed, the blue numbers springing to life in the dark room. She checked the display.
It was Gina. Cate’s brain came alive. Russo. Warren.
“What’s the matter?” Cate said, opening the phone.
“Did you see the newspaper?”
“No. I was asleep. I know, it has the story about Russo, last night.”
“That’s not all. Go and get it.”
CHAPTER 29
Cate put on a coat to grab the newspaper from her front step, then slammed the front door, ignoring the press collecting on the sidewalk outside her house. She didn’t see any of the FBI agents, and she didn’t care. It didn’t matter now. Nothing did. She slid the newspaper from its clear plastic sleeve dotted with raindrops, and unfolded it, separating its soaked pinked edges.
FEDERAL JUDGE WIELDS KNIFE, screamed the headline on the front page, and Cate read the story with dismay. It was all about last night, including eyewitness accounts of her running down Meadowbrook Drive, brandishing a knife “on the apparent belief that she was being stalked.” It made her sound ridiculous, but it was true, and at the bottom of the page was the related story: FEDERAL JUDGE STARS IN NEW SERIES: Fact or Fiction—You Be the Judge.
Cate held her breath as the story reported that the offices of
[email protected] in Old City had confirmed that a new TV series titled
[email protected] was presently in production, starring an “empowered-type” female judge with a secret sex life. A representative of
[email protected] confirmed that the series would be “completely fictional,” despite the fact that the show’s creator was recently sued in a case before Judge Cate Marie Fante. The representative gave no further details, except to say that the new show would “bring approximately 1,568 new jobs to the city.”
As bad as the stories were, they weren’t even close to the one that sent Gina into orbit. Cate turned to the metro section, and her mouth went dry. The photo showing her going into the Fort Washington bar was plastered on the top half. She sank to the entrance-hall floor, barely able to read the column.
Judge Cate Marie Fante, of the Eastern District of Pennsylvania, has been very busy after hours, and she’s not working overtime. She’s dating. You may think this is none of our business—or yours—until you understand that several of her “dates” are men convicted of assault, battery, check forgery, and even violations of federal weapons laws. Now ask yourself, is this any way to run our legal system? We should note that our many calls to Judge Fante’s chambers went unanswered.
Cate could only skim the sentences, as if to read the text thoroughly would be to absorb the full brunt of its impact, like standing still in front of a speeding car. The piece contained every detail about the bars, all culled from the record in the stolen file. Russo must have found another way to hurt her, the best way. He had leaked the entire record to the newspaper, and its reporters had taken it from there; putting two and two together and calling Micah, just as Cate had, then digging deeper. The newspaper even identified four of the men she’d “dated,” with their photos. Jeff Rader. Mark Boulez. Mike Holliman. Mustafa Raheed.
Cate closed her eyes, mortified. She remembered the men, though she hadn’t known their last names. Or that they had criminal records. She’d gone to the sleaziest bars and picked up the sleaziest men. Why hadn’t she thought of that? What else did she expect? Of course, some would be ex-cons, even felons. She turned back to one of the articles, an interview with one of the men, who had served time for fraud and drug offenses.
She picked me up at the bar. There wasn’t a lotta conversation, if you follow.
Cate felt as if her heart would break. She thought instantly of Graham. What would he say? How would he feel to know he was one of so many? How would he understand, when Cate herself didn’t?
What did I do right? Was it the bling? Tell me, so I’ll do it again.
Cate thought of everyone she cared about, reading the articles. Chief Ju
dge Sherman. Val. Emily. Sam. The courtroom deputy. The stenographer. The other judges at her celebration dinner, last summer. Matt Sorian. All of her old partners. Mrs. Pershing, switchboard diva.
We’re so proud of you.
Cate thought of her enemies, too. Meriden. How much would he love this? How could she hold her head up, on the court? How had this gone so wrong? She couldn’t shake the ominous feeling that her world was about to end. She felt herself sink to her knees and doubled over on her costly Heriz rug, feeling so much pain that not even a single tear would come. Her only overriding thought was to thank God that her mother did not live to see this day.
In time, Cate got dressed in a black Prada suit, ready for work earlier than usual because she had to put her office back together after Hurricane Russo. She slipped on a pair of huge sunglasses and felt as if she were running a modern-day gauntlet, from the press snapping her picture as she drove out of her garage, to Special Agent Brady at the end of the street in an unmarked car, to the security guard in the white kiosk at the judges’ parking lot, to Judge Tom McGinn of the Third Circuit, with his characteristic Santa Claus beard, who was getting out of his car at the same time as she was. The appellate court had its chambers on the penthouse floors of the courthouse, and Cate didn’t even want to think about the talk up there today. She really liked Judge McGinn and had even met his wife, Sue, who was as kind as Mrs. Claus.
She slowed her step so Judge McGinn would reach the judges’ elevator lobby first, and ended up riding the elevator alone. It gave her eight floors to screw up the courage to walk into her chambers, and even so, it wasn’t nearly enough. She reached the door, braced herself, and opened it.
The two clerks, clustered at Val’s desk, sprang apart, their heads snapping up, surprised at her early arrival. They had obviously been talking about her, she could smell it in the air, and Val, at her desk, looked stiff and miserable, her expression grim. The chambers fell stone-silent except for the rain lashing the window, and nobody said a word as Cate walked in, shed her coat and hung it up, slid off her sunglasses, and walked to Val’s desk.
“Good morning, everyone.” Cate kept her face a professional mask and avoided their eyes, as they all said their good-morning-judges. “The bodyguard isn’t due in until eight-thirty.”
Val handed her her mail and phone messages over the low divider, her tone cool. “Chief Judge Sherman wants to see you when he gets off the bench. He thinks that will be around one o’clock. The press has been calling, but I said we have no comment. You’re in court at eleven, for the plea agreement we rescheduled.”
“Thanks.” Cate flipped through the messages for Graham’s name, but he hadn’t called. It was early anyway. She looked up at the clerks. “Who has the plea today? Remind me.”
“It’s my case.” Sam raised his hand. “The bench memo’s on your chair.”
“Thanks. Come in at ten-fifteen and we’ll talk about it.”
“It’s only a guilty plea, Judge. It won’t take that long.”
“I want to be fully prepared today. Things didn’t go so well yesterday, as you know.” Cate turned toward her office, then stopped in surprise at the sight. The room had been completely put back together, even neater than before it had been ransacked. Case files stood up in order on the conference table; legal pads sat stacked next to a lineup of blue and red briefs. Books had been restored to the bookshelves, and her desktop straightened up, with Graham’s bouquet of red roses given a place of honor. It must have been so much work. Cate felt a wrench inside at the kindness of the gesture.
“The clerks stayed late last night and cleaned up, all by themselves,” Val said, and Cate turned to the clerks with a smile, dropping her mask. She was getting tired of so many masks, all the time. They never fit right and you couldn’t breathe, like a kid at Halloween.
“Thank you so much, both of you.” Cate smiled. “That was a lovely thing to do, and I really appreciate it.”
“We organized it, too,” Emily said, beaming.
Sam nodded. “It was Emily’s idea and she did most of the work. She thought it might cheer you up, after you screwed up in court.”
“Sam!” Val said, frowning. “Mind your manners!”
“Sam!” Emily snapped. “What are you, an idiot?”
“She said it first,” Sam shot back, and Cate held up a hand, laughing.
“It’s okay, everybody, I did screw up in court. It’s still very nice that you two cleaned and organized my office.” Cate turned to go, then turned back. “Listen, I know you saw the newspaper, and I know it’s awful. I wish I could tell you that it’s not true, the part about my private life, but it is.” All three listened with somber expressions, with Val at the desk and the two law clerks behind her, like a frieze of federal employees. “I have nothing to say for myself, except that I’m very sorry for my behavior. I know you thought better of me.”
“I don’t think what you did is so terrible,” Emily rushed to say, her voice thin with anxiety. “You’re not married, and they would never be making this fuss if you were a man.”
“Yeah, it’s cool,” Sam added, then he caught himself. “I mean, what you do out of court is nobody’s business, and it doesn’t belong in the newspaper. They should be writing about the war in Iraq or global warming. Not your personal life.”
“Thank you,” Cate said, meaning it, and they all pretended not to notice that Val hadn’t chimed in. The secretary looked down, showing her graying strands of hair at her temple. She wore a blue-patterned dress and her gold crucifix peeked from her neckline.
Cate asked, “Val, would you come into my nice, clean office?”
“Yes, Judge.” Val picked up a pad, and Cate went inside with her mail, messages, and purse, and set all of it down. By the time she’d turned around, Val had taken her customary seat across from the desk, with her pen poised over her paper.
“This isn’t business, Val.”
Val set the pen on the pad stiffly.
Cate sighed. “I know what I did was wrong, and I know what you must think.”
“I don’t think you do, Judge.”
“You’re surprised.”
“That I am, yes. I am surprised.”
“And you’re disgusted with me, and you should be.”
“No, that’s not it.” Val shook her head sadly. “I feel sorry for you. I feel sorry that you think so little of yourself.”
Cate felt the words like a slap to the face, though she knew they weren’t intended that way.
“I feel sorry that you respected yourself so little, and respected your body and your heart so little, as to do…the things you did. When I saw that story this morning, I prayed for you.”
Cate didn’t know what to say, and Val rose slowly and looked at her with newly shining eyes.
“It’ll be a struggle around here, with the other judges, for you. There’ll be jokes, and people will talk. Especially if they do that TV show.” Val stood up and stepped close to Cate, placing a soft hand on her shoulder. “When that happens, tell yourself that none of it matters. None of it. That’s all outside, and nothing that’s outside matters. Not the other judges or the TV or the gossips. Nothing matters but what’s in your heart. Don’t think on what they say, because you don’t have to get yourself right with them. You have to get yourself right with you.”
Cate felt moved by her words and the emotions that gave them life. The only person who had ever made so much sense to her was her mother.
“When you get yourself right with you, then you can hold your head high. Now gimme a hug.” Val threw her arms open and embraced Cate, who hugged her back, taking surprising comfort in her powdery smells, despite the fact that she was supposed to be a grownup, a judge, and a boss besides. The phone started ringing, and Val released her. “I’ll get it,” she said. “You get back to work and don’t think on it.”
“Thanks,” Cate said, returning to her desk as Val picked up the phone.
“Judge Fante’s chambers,” she sa
id, and after a minute, “Please hold and I’ll see if she’s available.” She pressed the HOLD button, and Cate looked up. “Judge Menking, for you. Will you pick up?”
“Sure.”
Val pointed a warning finger at her. “Remember what I said. Inside, outside.”
“Inside, outside,” Cate repeated, like a little mantra, accepted the receiver, and pressed the button to take the call. “Bonner?”
“Cate! My God in heaven, have you seen this trash? The Inquirer is out to get you. Where are they getting this? This is defamatory. You have to sue them, Cate.”
Val hustled out of the office, diplomatically closing the door behind her.
“Truth is an absolute defense, Bonner.”
“You did all this? You? You?”
“Yes. I take full responsibility. I did it.”
“What?”
Cate felt her cheeks get hot. “I did it.”
“You couldn’t have!”
Actually, I can’t believe it, either. “But I did. I’m not proud of it, but I did it, and it’s over.”
“My God, Cate. What were you thinking? It’s so…common.”
“It’s over, Bonner, that’s all I can say. That, and I’m sorry.”
Ring ring! Cate’s other phone line started ringing, but she let Val get it.
“But, Cate, this is an insult to the court. We can’t have this, a judge of our court. They’re saying on the Internet that another man came forward! He’s blogging about you right this moment. My clerks found the webpage.”
Oh God. “There’s nothing I can do, Bonner.”
“I’m dumbfounded, Cate! I’m simply dumbfounded! I thought so well of you, and how you represent women on our court. And now, well, it’s just shameful!”
“I’m very sorry.”
“I am, too. Now they’re going to portray you on TV? Our court on TV? How did this happen, Cate? How did you let this happen to us?”
“I don’t know, Bonner—” Click. Cate sat shaken, looking out the window, watching rain drench the city. The intercom buzzed, and Cate picked up. “Who’s on the phone?”