“He’s thirty!”
“Younger works for me. Nesbitt’s older, right?”
“Older works for me.” They both laughed, and Cate warmed at the excitement in her friend’s voice. She hadn’t heard her that happy in years. “Good. Great. Go for it. I bought him through next week. Consider him a late Christmas present.”
Gina laughed. “I’m not above paying for it, especially when you are.”
Cate smiled, stacking a PECO bill on top of a Verizon Wireless bill. Then Comcast. “How’s the baby?”
“Fine. He likes Justin.”
“He does?” Cate came upon a bill for a Cosmopolitan subscription and thought of Nesbitt. “I’m jealous. He’s not allowed to like anybody except me.”
“Way to be possessive of a kid I’m trying to socialize.”
“Hey, maybe we can go on an imaginary double-date. You bring your imaginary law-enforcement hunk, and I’ll bring mine.”
“I have a bone to pick with you. It said in the newspaper that you were stepping down indefinitely. Chief Judge Sherman is quoted. What does that mean? Why didn’t you tell me?”
Gulp. “It means I’m fired, unless I sue the bastards. And first I need to find a lawyer willing to bite the hand that feeds him.” Cate came upon a yellow envelope forwarded from her chambers, according to the return address. The name on the front was in Val’s handwriting, and she felt a twinge of loss.
“I can’t believe this. They can’t fire you. District judges are appointed for life.”
“We’ll see what they can do. For now, I’m going to decompress and figure out my next move.” Cate opened the envelope and out slid a small white letter and a Sephora catalog bearing a Post-it from Val that read, “Miss you.” Cate thought, Miss you, too.
“You should get away. Take a vacation. Get some sun.”
“Nah.” Cate eyed the letter, feeling a draft from her back door, still boarded up from Russo’s break-in. The front of the envelope showed feminine handwriting, and it had been marked PERSONAL AND CONFIDENTIAL, which was why Val had forwarded it unopened. Cate didn’t recognize the letter’s return address. “I have to do some things around the house. Things I’ve been wanting to do, to make it nice.”
“Who is this? You? Wanting to putter around the house?”
“Yes.” Cate opened the letter with a fingernail and pulled out a few leaves of white notepaper, folded in two. She skimmed the first few lines. “Dear Judge Fante, Please forgive me for writing to you, but you are my last resort and…”
Gina was saying, “Are you nuts? Miami’s perfect this time of year. Go to South Beach. Walk around Lincoln Road and buy shoes you don’t need, like we did last year.”
“I have enough shoes I don’t need.” Cate read, “I could tell by your compassion during our trial…”
“Then how about the Caribbean? Get away before the papers remember who you are.”
“…are the only person I could turn to and…” Cate set the letter aside to read later. Since she’d become a judge, she’d gotten so many letters from girlfriends, wives, mothers, and even children of inmates, asking for her help. They all believed their loved ones were innocent, and even if Cate agreed, there was nothing she could do except send a form reply. But something about this letter made her pick it up again. Then she realized who it was from.
“Or go to a spa. That’s the new thing. Cate, you there?”
“I know that you will feel the same way once you…”
“Hello?”
“I have to go, okay?” Cate folded the letter into thirds. “Talk to you later.”
“Where you going in such a hurry?”
Uh. “The bathroom? Give the baby a kiss for me.”
Cate felt a surge of renewed energy and ran upstairs to change.
CHAPTER 39
Cate left her heavy coat in the rental car, feeling warm enough in the black wool suit, and walked up the front path to a modest gray stone twin house, much like the others on this winding street in Wynnefield, about half an hour outside Center City. Her black pumps clicked on the frozen flagstone, the cadence slowing as she approached the front door.
She was beginning to regret coming here, though she’d been asked. The timing couldn’t have been worse. Cate didn’t know what she’d face inside. What if people recognized her? At the rent-a-car, the young clerk had made her instantly, his eyes lighting up the moment she’d walked in. He’d offered her a free upgrade from the Acura, which she didn’t accept, but she still didn’t relish the notoriety. What if she caused a fuss inside? How would everybody react to her after she’d introduced herself? She wouldn’t find any friends here and wouldn’t expect any.
She reached the front door, noting the silvery bowlful of water beside the doorjamb, and followed the instructions, plunging her fingertips into the water, though the surface had almost frozen over. The thin ice shattered like red syrup on a candied apple, and the frigid water chilled Cate’s hands to the bone. She wiped her hands on her coat, whether or not that was permissible, and followed the rest of the directions, opening the front door without knocking and finally slipping off her pumps, revealing her stocking feet. She looked around the room, hoping that reinforced toes were in order at a shiva.
But the living room was completely empty. The house was quiet. Cate had been told the door would be left open, so that mourners wouldn’t be disturbed, but there were no mourners. Odd, low benches ringed the small living room in front of a beige sectional couch and chairs, but they were all unoccupied, like empty chairs at a canceled show. A cushioned stool sat at the fireplace, vacant.
“Hello?” Cate called out, wondering if she was in the wrong house.
“Judge Fante?” Mrs. Marz came hurrying in from another room, walking toward Cate with a nervous smile, her hand extended. “Thank you so much for coming,” she said in a soft voice.
Cate relaxed and shook her hand. “I’m very sorry about your loss, Mrs. Marz.”
“Please, call me Sarah.” Richard Marz’s young wife looked prettier up close than she had in the front row of the courtroom gallery, though her eyes were a bloodshot blue, ringed by weary gray circles. She wore no eye makeup, and her small mouth was unlipsticked, her lips tilted down, her grief undisguised. Her brown hair had been styled into a bob that seemed overly coiffed until Cate realized it was a wig, and she wore a black knit suit that was too old for her, draping in a way that hid her compact form. “Judge, come, would you like something to eat? It’s lunchtime.”
“Yes, thank you.” Cate realized how hungry she was when she was led into a dining room filled with the aromas of seasoned roast beef, a fresh spinach salad dotted with tomatoes and hard-boiled eggs, and three baked chickens. The delicious feast looked untouched next to a stack of glistening dinner plates and clean silverware. “This is amazing. You must have food for fifty people here, easily.”
“I didn’t make it, we’re not permitted to. My family brought most of it, but they went back last night.” Sarah’s face fell, and her voice grew soft. “My mother passed away when I was little, and my father is from California and he had to get back to his business. He couldn’t sit the entire week. He’s not as observant as we are—as I am. Richard was Orthodox, and his family came for the sedat havra’ah, the meal of consolation after the funeral, and they’ll be here later.”
“That’ll be nice.”
“My friends from temple choir, they came, and some of our friends from the congregation, but they’re all so uncomfortable, with the circumstances. I can tell.” Sarah shook her head unhappily. “They seem distant. And there are many people I thought were friends who didn’t come.”
“Why not?”
“I can only guess that I’m the wife of a murderer now. The wife of a suicide.”
Cate fell silent, watching hurt etch lines into Sarah’s young face, as surely as a drawing pen filled with ink.
“Maybe I’m wrong, but I think there would have been more people here, everyone, if Richard had been ki
lled in a car accident. But a suicide, and a murderer? People don’t know how to react. Maybe out of respect for me, or because of their own discomfort, I don’t know. I feel like a social pariah, overnight.” Sarah picked up a plate and filled it with the choicest slices of medium-rare roast beef, a few florets of broccoli, and a scoop of golden noodle pudding, replacing a heavy silver ladle on a spoon rest so as not to drip on the lace tablecloth. “I know this will sound terrible, but a woman down the street, her husband was killed in a car crash. She had cars around the block, from all the shiva calls. Evidently all widows are not created equal. But enough. Would you like salad?” she asked, which was when Cate realized the food plate was for her.
“Yes, thanks. And I could have done that myself.”
“It’s the least I can do, for your coming, for your kindness. Have you made a shiva call before?”
“No. I’ve been to plenty of bar mitzvahs, but not a shiva.”
Sarah lifted a pair of silver tongs and plucked some fresh greens from the huge salad bowl, then set a slice of hard-boiled egg on top. “The round food served at shiva reminds us of the circle of life. Dressing?”
“Yes, thanks.”
“It’s Italian.”
“Works out perfect.”
“Yes.” Sarah laughed, a surprisingly girlish sound, and spooned some oil and balsamic vinegar carefully onto the salad. Between the wig and the heavy, mature pantsuit, she gave the appearance of a little girl playing dress-up in her mother’s clothes, which Cate found endearing.
“You’re handling all of this very well, in the circumstances. I don’t know if I could bear up with such style.”
“It’s all an act,” Sarah shot back, then laughed.
“Tell me about it.” Cate nodded, laughing with her.
Sarah shook her head, seeming finally to relax. “This has been so terrible, as I said in the letter. The family, torn apart, in an uproar. Everybody hurting, in pain.” Sarah sighed. “As a suicide, Richard couldn’t be buried in a Jewish cemetery, but his father was an Orthodox rabbi and he passed away two years ago. It was out of respect to him and my mother-in-law that they admitted Richard and gave him a proper burial.”
Cate’s heart went out to her.
“Then the reporters came like locusts, but they’re finally gone. That’s why I’m glad you came. Just for the company, and the honor. Of course.” Sarah finished the plate, and Cate grabbed a cloth napkin and silverware.
“Aren’t you eating?”
“I’ve been eating all morning. Please, sit down.” Sarah led Cate back to the living room, where she gestured her into a regular chair, and she took the stool in front of the fireplace.
“Thank you.” Cate accepted the food plate and balanced it on her lap, on top of her skirt. More Chanel, but it wasn’t making her feel as good as it usually did. Nothing could, with the sorrow that pervaded the empty house. Cate stabbed a piece of salad and ate. “Delicious.”
“My aunt made most of this. I love to cook, but can’t during shiva.” Sarah looked up at her from her baby stool.
“Why the stools, may I ask?”
“It symbolizes being struck down by grief. Visitors don’t have to sit on them.”
“I see.” Cate scanned the room discreetly, noting the covered mirror, which she had seen before, at an Orthodox Jewish wedding. The air smelled a little smoky, from a large white candle burning on the mantelpiece among an array of framed photos, undoubtedly the couple in happier times. Cate got on with it. “So, to your letter. I must tell you, I’m skeptical.”
“I know, I understand. That’s why I’m so thrilled you came today, just to hear me out.”
“That’s what you said you wanted, so here I am.”
“Well, first,” Sarah nodded, hugging her knees, oddly high on the low stool, “I felt that I could turn to you because of what you said about my husband at the trial.”
Next time I shut up. Cate cut some beef, which oozed warm juices, and ate a pinkish piece, which melted in her mouth.
“You understood my husband, I thought, and you showed a real sense of justice, and injustice.”
“Thank you.” Cate nodded, chewing so she wouldn’t comment further. She had promised herself only to listen, and didn’t want to do anything unjudicial, in case she ever got her job back. Or hell froze over.
“Judge, I know my husband didn’t kill anybody, and I know that he didn’t kill himself. He would never do such things.” Sarah’s tone rang with love and certainty. “I spoke with his lawyer after the funeral and told him, but he didn’t believe me. He thinks I’m in denial.”
“Are you?” Cate took another bite.
“No, and I thought you might understand better. First, Richard came from an extremely observant family. As I said, his late father was a rabbi. Richard almost became one, too. He knew a violent crime such as murder, and later suicide, would violate express Jewish law.”
Cate listened, dubious. Six months of being a judge had taught her that respect for law was a flexible concept. Correction, one day of being a judge.
“He would have known that both crimes would kill his mother, and he loved her very much. She lives with us, and since this happened, she’s on round-the-clock tranquilizers. I even had to hire a nurse for her. He would never do that to her, and she knows it. We both do.”
Cate ate, listening. She had remembered from trial about the mother upstairs and wondered where the dog was that she walked for them.
“Also, we loved each other. We did. He felt bad enough that the trial was going so terribly, just for the strain it put on us. He never would have left me alone, this way.”
Cate ate, though she was losing her appetite. Every bereft wife felt like this. Suicides left so much pain in their wake.
“What do you think? Do you understand what I’m telling you?”
“Yes.” Cate rested her fork on the plate. “I’m very sorry for you, for your loss. I was moved by your letter. But you said there was something you had to tell me, something that would convince me that your husband didn’t commit murder, or suicide.” Cate paused. It was so hard to say to this girl, her young life in ruins. “And to be honest, Sarah, I’m not hearing anything like that. I know you’re in pain, but when there’s enough despair, even the most reasonable—”
“Judge, I’m pregnant,” Sarah blurted out. “I’m two months along. My mother-in-law doesn’t know. My father doesn’t know. I told Richard’s lawyer, the other day, to try to convince him. And of course, Richard knew.”
Cate blinked.
“We had been trying for three years, since the day we got married. We both wanted this baby so much. I told Richard the night before he supposedly committed murder, then killed himself. I have never seen him so happy in my life, and I’ve known him since high school.”
Hmm. Cate couldn’t help considering it, given the new facts.
“We were waiting until the third month to tell our families. He insisted that he be the one to tell, when the time came.” Sarah’s eyes glistened, but her voice held firm. “He wanted a child even more than I did. He even picked out the name. Ariel, after his favorite aunt, who died of breast cancer, or Jacob, after his father, of course.”
Cate felt touched.
“We both sensed it was a girl, and Richard wanted a girl so badly. Judge, why would a man who just found out the happiest news of his life kill himself? Or kill someone else?”
Cate had no immediate answer. Her head resisted the conclusion, but her heart was listening. And she didn’t know what she could do about it, anyway.
“Richard always had a great perspective, and he loved kids. He coached girls and boys basketball at the JCC on City Line.”
“When did you tell Temin about your pregnancy?”
“When he came over after the funeral. But I don’t think he understood the significance. He’s not a woman.”
Cate let it go. She didn’t think that sympathy had a gender. “But he knew Richard, didn’t he? They seemed clo
se at trial.”
“Nate didn’t know him that well. Not well enough, anyway. He only knew Richard’s professional side.”
“But what about at the trial, after I ruled? Richard got so upset about my judgment, he attacked Simone.”
“He lost his temper, but it wouldn’t last. It never did. He would never kill Simone. He would never stay angry enough to kill Simone, or anyone. He would never ever do that, not knowing a baby was on the way. His baby.”
“Maybe he felt even worse because he’d lost, with a baby on the way. Now he knew he’d have a family to support.”
“No. My family has money, and I have a trust fund, that’s why we’re not in financial trouble. We’ve lived on my trust fund for this past year, after Richard quit his job to write screenplays. His lawsuit was never about money, it was about his pride in his writing and the fact that Simone was getting away with stealing his work.”
Cate began to feel the tiniest wedge of doubt that Marz had been the killer.
“He told me, more than once, that he wouldn’t be that upset if he lost the lawsuit. He expected to lose the lawsuit, and Nate told him he would, too. Besides, Richard was a lawyer, he knew the law. He knew his case was a long shot, but he thought if he got to the jury, he had a chance. And he really wanted to hold Simone accountable.”
“He wanted his day in court.”
“Exactly.”
Cate nodded. It was just what she’d thought. She would have done the same thing.
“Richard did not kill Art Simone. And he did not kill himself. I just know it.”
“The police are sure of their case, and it’s closed. They’re good cops. Smart.” Like Nesbitt, Cate thought but didn’t say.
“But other detectives don’t agree at all, like Frank Russo. He knew Richard better than any of them.”
“Russo?” Cate burst into laughter.
“What?”
“He tried to kill me last night, upstate. He thinks I killed Art Simone.”
“What?” Sarah’s brown eyes flared in disbelief.
“It’s in the newspaper, didn’t you see it? A small headline, relatively, and almost no article. Maybe I should have been offended.”