Deadly Judgment (Detective Sarah Spillman Mystery Series Book 5)

by Renee Pawlish

  I got up, went over, and kissed him. “It was a lovely dinner. And I’ll see what I can do about a vacation.”

  He smiled ruefully. “You missed the best part.”

  I ogled the plate with the tiramisu. “Not necessarily.” I picked up a fork, took a bite, then moaned. “Harry, you outdid yourself. This is fantastic.”

  His expression tightened. “Thank you.”

  I took a few more quick bites and licked my lips. I forced myself to put the plate down. “I don’t know how long I’ll be.”

  He shoved back from the table and got up. “Do what you need to do.” He gave me a kiss on the cheek, and I hurried out of the room.

  Chapter Three

  Judge Raymond McCleary lived in a large two-story Tudor with an arched front porch and a yard enclosed in a wrought-iron fence. It was located in the Hilltop neighborhood, a re-gentrified area just east of downtown, and not that far from my house. At this time of night, parking was a premium, and I pulled into a space at the end of the block. As I walked back toward McCleary’s house, I saw two squad cars parallel-parked nearby, and a large dark van squeezed into a space at the corner of Eudora Street. It was the DPD command center, where detectives would be researching Judge McCleary and everyone associated with him. The fact that the command center was being used meant this investigation was big. I squared my shoulders, preparing myself for the scrutiny that would surely come with this case.

  Standing under a streetlight near the van was a tall man whose broad shoulders stretched his dark jacket. Commander Rizzo. When I walked up, he gave me a quick nod. A dark blue jacket with “DPD” emblazoned on the right breast pocket covered a white shirt. Ernie stood next to him, still in his trademark brown suit. I don’t know if he’ll ever retire it and get something more fashionable.

  “Hey, Sarah,” Ernie said, his voice low and gruff. He ran his thumbs along his beltline and adjusted his pants over his gut. “We’ve already diverted Spats to get a warrant to search the judge’s office at the federal courthouse. The wife said we could take his laptop, cell phone, and whatever else we might want to check.”

  I nodded and looked at Rizzo. He glanced toward the house, then back to me.

  “Judge McCleary,” he said matter-of-factly. “He was fifty-five years old, married, with two grown kids. The daughter lives in Highlands Ranch, the son in Loveland. They’ve both been contacted. McCleary’s been a judge for fifteen years, serving in the Denver District Court. Before that, he was a defense attorney.” He ran a hand through his dark hair. “This one is going to have the heat on. McCleary’s fairly well-known, and he has a lot of high-powered friends.”

  “I know,” I said. “Wasn’t he just on that Robinson trial?”

  Rizzo waited while a truck drove down the street. “Yes, the trial ended a little over a week ago. Felix Robinson, the defendant, was transferred to the federal prison in Jefferson County.”

  “The one on Quincy Avenue?” Ernie interjected.

  Rizzo nodded. “Yes.”

  “Robinson was convicted of drug trafficking, wasn’t he?” I asked.

  “Yes,” Rizzo repeated. “Unless you believe him. He protested his innocence the whole time, said he’d been framed.”

  “Don’t they all?” Ernie griped.

  “And Robinson yelled at McCleary after he was sentenced, said he would get even,” Rizzo said.

  “We’ll have to check Robinson.” I looked past Rizzo toward the command center, where I knew detectives would be researching everything they could about McCleary. “What do we have so far?”

  “I’ve got a couple of guys looking into McCleary’s background,” Rizzo said. “We’ll have to check on the trials he presided over as well. The wife is at the neighbor’s house, sitting with an officer. McCleary’s daughter is on her way over. The crime scene techs and the coroner should be here any minute, and a team of detectives are canvassing the neighborhood to see what people saw or heard. The wife gave us permission to look around their house. Why don’t you check the crime scene, then interview her?” His grimace said it all. “She’s obviously shaken up.”

  Rizzo rarely told me how to handle an investigation. He was feeling the pressure already.

  “Will do,” I said.

  “The neighbor’s Phil Siler. An officer took his statement.” Rizzo exhaled loudly.

  “What’s your impression of the wife?” Ernie asked Rizzo.

  Rizzo stared up at the black sky and thought for a moment. “She’s obviously shaken up, but she was calm. Polite.” He pointed toward the house. “A couple of the neighbors were watching from the street, but one of the uniforms told them to go home.” He looked up and down the street. “I’m sure we’ll have press here soon. I’ll handle them.”

  “Fine by me.” Ernie put a hand to his coat pocket. Probably looking for a cigar. He never lights them, just likes to chew on them. He says it helps him think. He frowned and looked at me. “You ready to go inside?”

  I nodded and gestured toward the sidewalk leading up to the McCleary’s long front porch. “Let’s go.”

  Rizzo disappeared inside the van, and I followed Ernie through the wrought-iron gate and up the sidewalk.

  “Are you out of cigars?” I teased him.

  “Trying to quit … again.”

  “Then how will you think?”

  “Good one,” he said wryly. He eyed me. “You okay?”

  “I was right in the middle of a nice dinner when Rizzo called. Harry wasn’t too happy.”

  “Been there,” he said.

  I forced a laugh as we stopped at the covered front porch to put booties on our feet. An officer at the door logged our entry into the McCleary house.

  “Body’s down the hall to the right,” he said.

  I nodded, and we stepped inside.

  The house was big, with a spacious foyer lit by a chandelier and to the left, a wide circular staircase. We listened for a moment, then crossed the marble floor and went down a hallway. We both paused and looked into a large dark-paneled den with floor-to-ceiling bookcases. A wide fireplace dominated a corner of the room, with three gold clocks on the mantel. A familiar song played softly from a laptop on the desk.

  “Who’s that?” Ernie asked.

  “ELO.”

  He gave me a blank stare.

  “Electric Light Orchestra,” I said. “A ’70s band. Harry likes them, and they’ve grown on me.”

  He wrinkled his nose. “Give me jazz any day, something with a good beat.”

  “Really?”

  He nodded. My gaze went to a chair positioned in front of a massive oak desk where a stocky man in tan slacks and blue shirt sat. He was slumped forward, his hands, bound behind the chair, the only thing keeping him from falling to the floor. His head was slightly to the side, eyes open in a blank stare. The left side of his skull was caved in. Blood covered his gray-streaked hair, and there were splotches of red on the blue shirt. The room had a faint metallic smell, the odor of death.

  “Lordy,” Ernie said as he moved carefully into the room.

  I took a couple of steps into the room and stopped. The bookcases were full of hardback fiction books and plenty of baseball memorabilia, much of it from the Colorado Rockies.

  Ernie put his hands on his hips. “Nice office. Comfortable. Inviting.”

  “Except for the body,” I said.

  Ernie guffawed. He moved toward the body and looked at it. “What a way to go.” Then he pointed to a bat leaning against the judge’s leg. “The killer left the weapon here.”

  I nodded. “Bet we don’t find any prints on that.”

  “I won’t take that bet.” He bent down and studied the bat more closely. “There’s blood on it,” he said. He squinted. “It’s signed. Maybe by Todd Helton?”

  Todd Helton had been one of the Colorado Rockies’ first basemen, the best they’d ever had. It was a good signature to have. I saw three other bats on a display rack near the door.

  “Anything significant in the s
igned bat being Helton versus these others?” I studied the bats. “I don’t know who any of these players are.”

  Ernie came over and stared at them. “Beats me. Half the time, these guys have crap signatures.”

  I chuckled, and we moved back to the body and scrutinized the rope on his wrists and ankles.

  “Looks new,” Ernie commented.

  “Someone did a good job, too. No way the judge was getting loose.”

  I glanced around. A couch against a wall and a coffee table didn’t appear out of place. A lamp on an end table bathed the room in a soft glow. I went to the door and flicked on an overhead light, then walked slowly around the rest of the room. Behind the desk sat a leather desk chair. I pointed at the chair the body was on.

  “Where’d that one come from?”

  Ernie shrugged. “It doesn’t appear to belong in this room.”

  I nodded. “I don’t see anything else out of place. Are there any signs of a forced entry?”

  Ernie shook his head. “Nope. The door locks don’t show signs of tampering, and the windows are fine, all locked.”

  My gaze went around the room again. “Let’s go talk to the wife, and when the techs get here, they can do a thorough search in here.”

  Ernie gave me a little nod and followed me back to the foyer, then out the front door. The uniform logged us out, and we went down the walk and to the next-door-neighbor’s house. It was as big as the McCleary house, with a massive evergreen tree in the front yard. The chill air hit me as I rang the bell and waited. Seconds later, a tall man in dark slacks and a gray T-shirt opened the door.

  “Mr. Siler?” I asked. He nodded, and I introduced Ernie and myself. “Mrs. McCleary is here?”

  “Yes, and her daughter, Dana, just arrived.”

  “We’d like to speak to them, please,” I said.

  “Of course.”

  He stepped back and led us into a living room that faced the street. An officer stood in the doorway, and she nodded at me. A woman with short, grayish-blonde hair and a round face sat on a flowered sofa. Her hands clutched a Kleenex, and her wide blue eyes stared across the room. Next to her was a younger woman in jeans and a yellow coat. I took a seat at a wingback chair, more floral upholstery, and Ernie stood nearby.

  “I’m Dana Ludlum,” she said. “Her daughter.”

  Mrs. McCleary didn’t seem to notice us. I leaned forward.

  “Mrs. McCleary?”

  The hands wrung the tissue, and she sniffled once. I repeated her name, and she raised her head to look at me.

  “I’m sorry. Call me Joy.”

  The name didn’t fit the scene at all, and my heart broke for her. I glanced around the room, with the floral sofas and loveseats, glass coffee and end tables, colorful abstract paintings on the walls. It was bright, and yet cozy.

  “I’m so sorry for your loss,” I said. It wasn’t much, but it was all I had at the moment. No words were enough at a time like this, anyway.

  Joy looked from me to Ernie, and he nodded a small condolence as well.

  “I just can’t believe it,” she said.

  “Mom, you don’t have to do this now,” Dana said.

  “It’s okay.” Joy shook her head. “Besides, I know how this goes. The police need as much information as they can, as fast as they can get it.”

  “That’s true,” I said calmly. “I know the timing really stinks, but it would be helpful to talk to you now.”

  Joy flitted fingers at me. “It’s fine.”

  Dana shifted to give her mother room on the couch, but kept a wary eye on me. Ernie stayed standing and let me talk to Joy.

  “Tell me about your husband,” I began.

  She got a faraway look. “Ray is … was … a great guy. I’m sure you hear that from people you talk to about their loved ones, but it’s true. He had a dry wit, and he could make people laugh. He was smart as hell, and wanted to be an attorney since I met him in college. We both went to Cornell. After we were married, he became a defense attorney, and he was making really good money, but he didn’t like the people he was defending, and that’s when he decided he’d like to be a judge, so he worked toward that. If he had a regret, it was that he could be pretty busy, and he didn’t make enough time for the kids.”

  It was detailed, and a bit rehearsed. I suspected she’d told that to people many times.

  Dana nodded slowly. “He did just fine.”

  “We tried to make up for that with some nice vacations when the kids were younger.” Joy smiled wanly. “To be honest, life has been pretty good. Ray liked his job, and we settled in here nicely. We’ve lived in our house for almost twenty years.” Her lip trembled. “He was going to work a few more years and then retire. We wanted to travel more and …” She lost her voice at that point and covered her face. She finally cleared her throat and looked at me again. “He liked to golf, play poker, and shoot pool.”

  “He enjoyed collecting baseball memorabilia?” I asked the obvious to keep her talking.

  She smiled. “Yes. He spent a fair amount on it. He met some of the players, and he knew one of the managers, and that’s how he got some of the signed stuff.” The slightest tone of disapproval, as if she couldn’t understand her husband’s obsession with the “stuff.”

  I leaned forward slightly. “Tell me about this evening,” I began. “What did you do?”

  Joy dabbed at her eyes with the tissue, drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I meet with friends every Monday afternoon. It’s a long-standing tradition. We have a drink somewhere, catch up, and have dinner. Ray always stays home. He says he likes his quiet time.” That drew a small smile that quickly vanished.

  “Did you see your husband before you left?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “No, I left before he came home. I would imagine he got home around 5:30 or so. That’s his usual time, if he doesn’t stay late at the office.”

  “You don’t know for certain when he came home?”

  She shook her head. “We have surveillance video. That would probably show it.”

  I glanced at Ernie, and I could tell he was thinking what I was. Had the surveillance video picked up the killer’s arrival? I looked at Joy.

  “What time did you come home?”

  “About 7:30. I came into the house through the garage,” she pointed toward the doorway, then seemed to realize she wasn’t in her home, and her hand dropped. “I walked into the kitchen, put my purse down, and got a drink of water. Then I called out for Ray. I didn’t hear him, so I wondered if he was in his office. The house was quiet. I walked down the hall and called to him again. He still didn’t answer, and I came around the corner and …” She choked up, and Dana took her hand. I waited, and Joy finally went on. “I saw him, and I guess I screamed.” She squeezed her eyes shut as if to blot out the memory. “Then I’m not sure what I did. I just remember running out the front door and yelling. Phil heard me and came over. He went into the house, then came out and called the police. He waited in front with me. I called Dana and she said she’d talk to her brother. When the police officers showed up, they went inside, and then an officer walked us over here. I’ve been waiting here.” She shrugged at me.

  I thought for a second. “When you walked through your house, did anything seem suspicious or out of place to you?”

  She mulled that over. “No, not that I recall. But I really didn’t spend any time in the house. Just in the kitchen, then to Ray’s office.”

  “Did you touch anything in the office?”

  She shook her head and glanced at Dana. “No, I didn’t even go inside. I saw him from the doorway and ran out.” Her voice cracked again, but she quickly regained control of her emotions.

  “What does your husband do on these nights when you’re out?” I asked.

  She sighed. “He usually fixes a simple dinner, and he watches TV, or he does some work in the office. He plays poker on Wednesday nights, and we like to entertain on the weekends.”

  I looke
d at Dana, and she gave a small nod to confirm what her mother had said. I signaled Ernie subtly for him to take Dana out of the room. Sometimes people hold back when they’re around family or friends, and I wanted both women to speak freely. Ernie cleared his throat.

  “Mrs. Ludlum?” he said to Dana. “Could I speak to you for a few minutes, get your take on things?”

  Dana hesitated and looked at her mom.

  “It’s fine, dear,” Joy said to her. “I’ll be all right.”

  “Okay.” Dana stood up and followed Ernie into the hallway.

  “Your husband recently wrapped up the Robinson trial,” I went on with Joy.

  She pursed her lips. “That’s right. That was a rather long trial, and Ray was glad to put it behind him. He carries more stress from the trials than he lets on, and the longer hours were getting to him. If he was working on something tonight, though, I don’t know what it might’ve been.”

  I thought about the Robinson case, and how the defendant had been belligerent to the end, and how he’d said he was innocent, and that he’d straighten things out. I’d barely begun the investigation, but I already knew I’d want to talk to him.

  “With that last trial, did your husband receive any threats?”

  She shook her head. “Not that I’m aware of. From what I read in the papers, and from what Ray told me, the defendant was furious throughout the trial, but Ray never said that anybody had threatened him. He did seem a little edgy toward the end, but Ray can get that way after a long trial.”

  “Did your husband have any enemies, anybody that would want …” I left the rest unsaid.

  She shook her head again. “No. Ray’s been involved in some high-profile trials, but not once has he said that anyone wanted to come after him.” Her shoulders stiffened. “He’s only doing his job, and he’s a fair man.”

  “I understand,” I said. “Has your husband seemed different lately, worried about anything, any concerns?”

  She ran a hand over blue slacks. “No, things have been okay. He seemed to be getting some rest, and we had talked about getting away for a few days.” She locked eyes with me. “Everything seemed fine.”