Nesbitt frowned. “With all due respect, Your Honor, you wouldn’t think that if you saw the videotape. The man fired without a second thought. I’ve seen gangbangers with more conscience.”
“If it’s him on the tape.”
“I believe it is, and again, I didn’t think he was such a geek when I saw him attack Simone.”
“You were there that day, in court?”
“Yes, as a spectator. Frank Russo is my former partner.”
“I thought you looked familiar.” Cate wondered fleetingly how Russo felt about her, after yesterday. “Have you talked to Detective Russo about this?”
“Yes.”
“Did Marz tell Russo he was going to kill Simone, or say anything like that? Or that he was going to kill me, for that matter?”
Nesbitt stiffened. “It’s not procedure to discuss an ongoing investigation, and this isn’t public knowledge, but Marz didn’t talk to Russo yesterday. Marz disappeared right after your verdict.”
“Entry of judgment,” Sherman corrected. “Only juries issue verdicts.”
“Sorry. Entry of judgment.” Nesbitt nodded. “Now. Judge Fante, did you notice anyone following you last night after work? Or anything unusual at all?”
Yikes. “No one following me, I don’t think.” Caught off guard, Cate didn’t know how much to tell them. “I had a date after work, and we went to dinner, then to my date’s house.” She noticed that the room got quieter, everybody interested in the life of the resident Single Girl. She swallowed hard. “Then I went home.”
“How did you get home?”
“Drove.”
“You didn’t notice anyone following your car, did you?”
“No.”
Nesbitt consulted his pad. “Marz drives a dark blue Subaru, late model. I’ll write down his license number for you.” He flipped the page, jotted down the information, and ripped it off, handing it to her. “Keep a look out, tonight. If I may ask, do you live alone?”
“Yes. In Society Hill.”
“Did you notice anything unusual around your house?”
“No.”
Nesbitt made a note. “Tonight, scan your street before you enter your house and make sure that nothing looks suspicious. Check and see if the parked cars look familiar. Do you have a security system?”
“A burglar alarm.”
“Use it. Do you own a gun?”
“No.” Cate laughed, then noticed Chief Judge Sherman and Meriden looking surprised. “Chief, do you have a gun?”
“Of course.”
Meriden said, “I collect guns.”
“I collect Blahniks,” Cate said, but it wasn’t a girl crowd.
“Your Honor, you might want to consider purchasing a weapon for your protection and taking lessons, at a firing range. We don’t have the personnel to protect you, but we’ve alerted the marshal service and they’re going to put extra marshals on overtime, at least until we apprehend Marz.” Nesbitt gestured beside him. “Judge Meriden and you are the only two judges on the eighth floor, correct?”
“Yes.”
Meriden said, “Cate and I share a common hallway, and visitors are buzzed in to get past the locked doors. There’s a security camera, so each chambers can see whom they’re buzzing in.”
“Why are we discussing this?” Cate asked, confused.
Meriden answered, “We had a reporter buzz in this morning, posing as a lawyer in a products case. Luckily, my clerk stopped him.”
“That’s a different issue from Marz, isn’t it?” Cate asked, and Nesbitt nodded.
“Again, bottom line, you’ll both have to be on alert. Look out for each other. Be careful out there.”
Judge Sherman lit up. “That’s what they used to say on Hill Street Blues! Tell me, Detective, was that show accurate, in your opinion?”
“Barney Miller was my favorite.” Nesbitt broke into a smile. “Ask my partner here. He’s the expert. He wanted to be a technical adviser on Cold Case. He tells everybody, ‘I coulda been a consultant! I coulda been a contender!’”
Detective Roots came alive. “Well, I could have, and I almost was!”
Nesbitt chuckled. “The difference between a consultant and almost is a house down in Margate, a boat, and two million bucks.”
“All right, enough.” Roots rose, flushing, and brushed down his slacks. “Before we go, let’s walk around the eighth floor. See how it’s laid out.”
“I’ll take you there, detectives,” Meriden offered, beating Cate to the punch.
For now. But she wasn’t going to let it lie.
CHAPTER 10
After their tour, Cate walked back to the chambers with Meriden, falling into step down the hallway. “What’s your problem with me?” she asked, when she couldn’t keep her own counsel a moment longer. “Is it because of Edge Electronics? That securities case, so long ago? Because if it is, let’s have it out, here and now.”
Meriden blinked, impassive. “Edge is in the past. Win some, lose some. No big deal. I don’t have a problem with you.”
“Oh, come on. You never miss a chance to undermine me. The next time you have something to say about me, how about you say it to me?”
“You’re sure?” Meriden’s dark eyes flickered with challenge.
“Shoot.”
“Okay, if that’s the way you want it, Cate. Here goes. You never should have said what you did in open court. Your comments were emotional and inappropriate for a judge.”
“I’m a human being, Jonathan. I don’t check my conscience at the courtroom door.”
“Your conscience isn’t the law.” Meriden’s mouth flattened to a rigid line. “You lack judicial demeanor in everything you do. The way you look, the way you act, even the way you dress. We wear black robes for a reason, to equalize us. But you insist on standing out.”
Whoa. “There is no one right way to act, and it’s none of your business how I dress off the bench.”
“It is my business, because it’s my court. You never should have ruled from the bench. You give new meaning to the term ‘judicial activism.’ Judges aren’t ‘knights errant,’ or haven’t you read your Cardozo?”
“I know the quote, and I don’t need you to lecture me on the proper role of a federal judge.”
“Beg to differ, Cate.” Meriden leaned so close she could smell Listerine. “A prudent judge would have issued a written opinion later. You made a mistake that endangers us all.”
Ouch. “Oh, go straight to hell.” Cate turned on her heel and stalked down the hall to her chambers. She couldn’t let him see how she felt. And worst of all, was he right? Should she have ruled from the bench? Sherman said it was okay, but was it? She’d been locked in that question loop all night.
Cate opened the door to her chambers, where Val was busy on the phone. She waved hello, walked by Val’s desk, and went back to the law clerks’ office. Just outside their door, she could hear them laughing and a TV playing. She popped her head in, with an automatic smile.
Emily jumped up and flicked off the TV. “We were just waiting for the news at noon, Judge.” She was sitting at her desk chair facing the tiny TV stuck on the bookshelf among the case files. She shared the small office with co-clerk Sam Herman, a slight and serious young man. He had a feathery brown haircut, pale skin, and a long, bony nose that divided brown eyes set too close together. He wore a gray sweater and khakis, since they weren’t in court today.
“Turn the TV back on. I’d like to see the news, too.”
“It’s only The View. It’s not time yet.”
“Okay, listen up.” Cate leaned against the desk. “Obviously, a terrible thing has happened, with Art Simone being killed. The police think Marz did it, and you may have some feelings about that. You in particular, Emily, since it was your case.”
Emily bit her lip but said nothing. Evidently, big Goths don’t cry.
“You have to understand one thing. The decision to grant the motion was mine, and no one else’s. You guys do le
gal research and write memos, but it’s my decision and my responsibility, you hear? I was right on the law and I had to make the decision I did.” Cate would believe that in five, maybe ten, years. “What matters is that the police are concerned about our security. They suspect that Marz may come back to chambers to hurt us.”
Sam’s eyes flared. “That’s not cool.”
“No, Sam. Not cool.” Cate wondered about this kid sometimes. Both clerks had flawless academic records and had served on their law reviews, but their personalities were a different question. She’d been confirmed at such an odd time of year, she’d missed the regular batch of clerk aps. “I want you two to stay together when you leave the building. All comings and goings, stay together.”
“But we stagger our lunches,” Emily said.
“Don’t. Go together. And don’t buzz anybody in without clearing it with Val. The media’s an issue, too. A reporter tried to get to us by buzzing into Meriden’s chambers.”
“Retard,” Sam said.
“I don’t like that word.” Cate was thinking of Warren. He’d been called that on the street, more than once.
“Loser, then.”
Cate let it go. “Marz drives a navy Subaru, so keep an eye out for that, too. I have the license plate number and—”
“Judge, it’s time for the news.” Sam jumped up and switched on the old Sony Trinitron. “We were on ET and The Insider last night, and that was before the murder.”
“Excellent,” Cate said dryly, but the news was beginning, with its bright blue and red graphics. The banner came on and behind the handsome anchorman floated a large photo of a grinning Art Simone. Cate stifled a wave of sadness and regret.
The anchorman said, “In our top story, police are still searching for Richard Marz, a former assistant district attorney being sought in connection with the shooting murder of Hollywood television producer Arthur…”
Cate watched the TV screen as they flashed photos of Marz, barely able to listen. She shouldn’t have said anything from the bench. She’d given Marz the validation he needed to kill. The TV screen changed to file footage of the male lead from
[email protected], with a voice-over about a great loss and a tragic crime and how the show would go on. Then the picture changed again.
Cate froze when she recognized the photo on the screen.
CHAPTER 11
It’s Elvis, from last night.
The anchorman was saying, “And in southwest Philadelphia, a tragic accident claims a man’s life. James Partridge was killed when he fell from a balcony at a motel here.”
“D’oh, I hate when that happens,” Sam joked, and behind him, Cate stood riveted.
The anchorman said, “Police say that Partridge, a frequent guest of the motel, may have lost his footing in the rain and was inebriated at the time of the fall. And in other news, an overturned tractor-trailer…”
Emily leaned over and switched off the TV. “Once again, the proverbial tractor-trailer.”
Sam laughed. “It gets ’em every time. Dang things can’t stay upright.”
But Cate was already backing out of the room. “I have work to do, guys,” she said, shaken, and retreated to her office.
She closed the door, hustled to her desk, and called Gina’s cell phone. She told her about the man’s death, hunched over the phone, confused and stricken. Her head began to pound, and she rubbed her forehead. When she finished, she felt vaguely nauseated. “Maybe I should go to the cops,” she said.
“Are you nuts? Why?”
“He probably fell down the stairs, trying to come after me.”
“Did you see that?”
“No, he was on the balcony when I left.” Cate squeezed her eyes shut but couldn’t remember for sure. “At least I thought he was—”
“So what, anyway? So what?”
“The man is dead, Geen. I was the last person to see him alive.”
“It wasn’t a murder, it was an accident. He fell down trying to rape you. You don’t owe him anything!” Gina could barely contain herself. “You wanna go to the cops? Tell them you pick up strange guys, in bars?”
Cate flushed, mortified. What was she thinking? For a judge, she had no judgment at all.
“You’d be risking your reputation, for nothing.”
Cate put her face in her hands, rattled to her foundation. What would she go to the police with? Even she knew she wasn’t making sense. She was screwing up so much lately, and now people were dying.
“Cate, you’re just panicking. Between the stuff with Simone and this, you’re just a mess.”
“Thanks.”
“Take a deep breath.”
“I left him alive.”
“Of course you did, and then he fell off the balcony because he was a falling-down-drunk, no-good-pig rapist.”
“God, this is so awful. He’s dead.”
“Yes, and you’re not,” Gina said, with finality. “Look, I gotta go, the pediatrician just came in. Don’t do anything stupid. I’ll call you later.”
“Thanks.” Cate hung up, so preoccupied she barely heard a knock at the door. “Yes?”
Val stuck her head inside, frowning with concern. “You okay?”
“Fine.”
“Marz will have to get through me to get to you.”
“Aw, don’t even think that.” Cate willed herself to get it together. Nobody knew about the man last night and nobody ever would. She waved Val inside. “Sherman and the cops think Marz might—”
“I got the court-mail. I’ll keep an eye on the clerks, too.”
“Thanks, and you be careful. Marz may know what you look like.”
“I can take that little white boy.” Val lifted an attitudinal eyebrow.
“Not if he has a gun you can’t.”
“Pssht.” Val waved her off. “By the way, those flowers came for you while you were with Sherman.” She gestured at the conference table, where a huge bouquet of long-stemmed roses sprayed from a clear glass vase.
“Jeez.” Graham. Cate felt her chest tighten.
Val chuckled. “How’d you miss those? There’s two dozen there, I counted.”
Cate got up, crossed to the flowers, and slid the white envelope from its clear plastic trident and opened it. Judge, I have a major crush on you, but I promise to take it slower. Like—not love, Graham.
“And Graham Liss called again this morning,” Val said. “It’s none of my business, but between the phone calls and the two dozen roses, you might give the man a little attention. It’s about time you had a date. Now, did you remember you have oral argument at two o’clock?”
“Of course not,” Cate answered, turning with card in hand. “In what case?”
“Tourneau v. General Insurance. I ordered you a tuna fish salad for lunch.”
“Thanks, great idea.” Cate had meant to study the briefs and the bench memo last night. Now she’d have to go on the bench cold. “Where’s Emily? It’s her case, isn’t it?”
Val whispered, “She says you saw Simone’s picture on TV and got very upset.”
Great. “Don’t be silly. Open the door, please, Val. And cover your ears.” Val complied, and Cate called out, “Emily! Come out, come out, wherever you are!”
And at the appointed hour, Cate was berobed and back in court, presiding atop the dais. From her first moment in the courtroom, she flashed on a freeze-frame of the very last time she’d sat here. Marz was launching himself at Simone. She saw it over and over until she walled off the thought and concentrated on the proceeding at hand, which involved a question of conflicts of laws. Before today, she’d thought of conflicts as an abstract area of the law, but now she knew that no area of the law was truly abstract. She’d seen the intersection of the law and human beings, and it ended in a head-on collision.
Cate collected herself and mustered a smile for plaintiff’s counsel. “Good afternoon, Mr. Gill.”
“Good afternoon, Your Honor.” Herman Gill was a standard-issue big-firm lawyer; tall, middle-aged white
guy in a dark suit, horn-rimmed glasses, and brown wingtips, as if he’d been mugged by Brooks Brothers.
“What do we have today, specifically?” Cate asked, glancing at the papers.
“Your Honor, I will review the facts briefly. Plaintiff Jean-Patrice Tourneau is a decedent, a Pennsylvania resident and former CEO of VistaView Communications, Inc., a Pennsylvania corporation with its headquarters in Blue Bell.”
Cate listened, coming back down to earth. The defense lawyer, another big-firm squash player, crossed his pinstriped legs. She made notes, though she knew Emily had included it in her bench memo. The law clerk sat off to the side, taking her usual copious notes. She seemed better than she had been this morning, too. Sitting at his desk near her, the courtroom deputy was catching up on the crossword puzzle. The courtroom was back to normal. The pews sat empty, ten vacant rows of honey-hued wood, and Cate could see clear to the back wall, with its oil portraits of past district judges, all of them men with bald heads, horn-rimmed glasses, and somber smiles. The way you look, the way you act, even the way you dress. Cate wondered if she would ever feel like this were her courtroom.
Suddenly the door opened in the back, and the movement drew Cate’s attention. A man in a dark suit entered and sat down on a back bench. Something familiar about him gave Cate pause, then she realized who it was.
Gill was saying, “We urge the Court that there is a true conflict, because Indiana law, unlike District of Columbia law…”
Cate tuned out, her concentration broken. The man in the back was Detective Russo. He sat still, facing front, his arms folded. He couldn’t be here for the argument. Was he watching her? She couldn’t see his features at this distance. It unnerved her. She couldn’t get her bearings today, with so many distractions. Art Simone was dead, and so was the man from last night, Partridge. It was like a one-two punch, and now Russo was watching her, the sole spectator in the empty courtroom, sitting squarely in her line of vision.
In the next minute, Russo folded his arms. He knew she had to see him. Was he trying to intimidate her? Cate tried to catch the eye of the courtroom deputy, but he was doing the crossword, chewing the end of a pencil. Emily sat absorbed in her note-taking, her legal pad balanced on her lap.