Deadly Judgment (Detective Sarah Spillman Mystery Series Book 5)

by Renee Pawlish

  “I would imagine things are going to be chaotic around here,” I said sympathetically.

  She rolled a pencil back and forth on the desk. “Yes, I’m sure.”

  “Besides his sense of humor, what did you think of Judge Nakamura?”

  The sound of loud voices down the hall startled her. She looked out the door, and when the voices faded, she thought about my question. “I’ve known Warren for so long, I’m not even sure where to start.” She shrugged. “Obviously, we’re on good enough terms that I could call him Warren. He was a very bright man, and yet never arrogant. He enjoyed being a judge, although I will say I think he wanted to retire soon. When his wife passed away –” she stopped and looked at me. “You know he was a widower?”

  I nodded. “Yes. When did his wife die?”

  “About three years ago.” That matched the information I had. “I met Lilly, his wife, several times. She was a sweet lady, although she was definitely quiet. When she passed away, that took a little of Warren’s joy away with her. He recovered some, but he just hasn’t been quite the same.”

  “What about in recent weeks? Had you seen a change in him?”

  She stopped fiddling the pencil and grimaced. “Now that you mention it, I would say that he was a little different lately. Not himself.”

  “In what way?”

  She swiveled in the chair and crossed one leg over the other. Then she ran a hand over her red skirt. “Some of that joking was missing. That started maybe two or three weeks ago.”

  “About the time that he received a threatening note?” I guessed.

  She nodded, seeming a bit surprised. “How did you know about that?”

  “Detectives found the note when they searched his desk. I didn’t know when he received it.”

  “Oh.” She blushed. “Warren told me he wasn’t going to report it.”

  “Why not?”

  “He didn’t say. I suggested he call the police, and he said it wasn’t a big deal. I pressed him a little, and he snapped at me, one of the few times he ever did. Then he apologized and said the note was probably from some crank, and that he wouldn’t waste the police’s time with it.” She frowned. “That was another weird day.”

  I waited for her to say more, and when she didn’t, I prodded her. “What happened?”

  “He was presiding over a trial, and he spent part of the day in court, and the rest of the day here. That afternoon, I was going through his mail, and there was an envelope with a single piece of paper with a note in it. It said something about the time for his judgment coming. I don’t know how the note was delivered. I showed it to Warren, and he went white. Then he seemed to recover, and said that it was nothing. That’s when he snapped at me.” She held up her hands. “You have to understand, nothing really got to Warren. He’s had difficult trials, and of course not everyone is going to be happy with him. But there was something about this particular note. When he held it, I saw his hands shaking. I know you might think that receiving a threatening note would do that, but he’s received a threat or two in the past, some angry phone calls, and they didn’t bother him. This time, it did.”

  “What happened after he read the note?”

  “He took it and went into his office. He didn’t come out for the rest of the afternoon.”

  “And he acted differently after that?” I pressed.

  She nodded. “Yes, I would say so. Like I said, he was more subdued; he wasn’t as funny. It was like he was nervous and looking over his shoulder.” She snapped her fingers. “Oh, and I forgot this. Around that time, I swear someone was watching me.”

  I leaned in. “Why do you say that?”

  She ran her hands over her arms as she talked, and she shivered. “It was the same day Warren received that note I felt like somebody had been following me. I sometimes go out to get lunch. A lot of times I’ll walk to one of the restaurants nearby, and that day, I felt as if someone was watching me. I even thought maybe I saw a man before I went into the restaurant, and then again when I came out. I don’t know for sure, and maybe I’m just making that connection because Warren got the note, but it was just kind of weird.”

  “What restaurant did you go to?”

  “Five on Black. On the Sixteenth Street Mall.”

  “And you didn’t see anybody following you later in the day?”

  She shook her head. “I take the light rail, and I didn’t notice anybody that I thought I’d seen at lunch.”

  “What did he look like?”

  “Hm.” She thought for a moment. “I guess average height, brown hair.”

  Her description was vague. “Anything else about him?”

  “No, sorry.” She shrugged again. “I don’t know, maybe it’s nothing.”

  “I wouldn’t dismiss anything at this point.” The phone rang, and I waited while she answered it. She talked for a moment, then hung up, looking exasperated. “All day long, people asking questions, reporters wanting a scoop. I don’t have anything to tell them.”

  I nodded, then asked, “Did Judge Nakamura say that anyone was following him?”

  “No, not at all.”

  “How was he last Wednesday?”

  She thought about that. “Wednesday? Let me think.” Her brow knitted as she thought. “I don’t really know; he was maybe quieter. He had been more so lately,” she repeated.

  “Did he mention anything about going out for drinks after work that day?”

  She shook her head. “Warren didn’t drink.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yes. He never talked about meeting anyone for drinks after work. He would go home to his wife, and after she passed away, he still would go home. I think he would see his daughter some, so maybe she would know more.”

  “I’ll check with her,” I said, even though I already had.

  “You know,” she said slowly. “I don’t remember if it was the same day or not, but one afternoon, I heard Warren in his office. His voice was raised, and he was having a heated discussion with someone. That was very unusual.”

  “What was he saying?”

  She pondered that. “I don’t remember. It was something about AK, and that he couldn’t believe it after all this time.”

  “Believe what?”

  “I don’t know.” She shrugged.

  “AK? Alaska?”

  “I don’t know,” she repeated.

  “Was anybody angry at the judge, have a grudge against him? Anybody that would want to harm him?”

  “Angry enough to murder him?” she asked bluntly. “No, not at all. He didn’t even have any issues at his trials,” she said. “There’s no one who would’ve wanted to harm him.”

  I nodded. “I’d like to look in the judge’s office.”

  “Of course.”

  We got up and walked to a door across from her desk. I stepped past her and into the office. She frowned as she looked in.

  “They moved some things around.”

  “Who?” I asked.

  “The techs.” She was clearly not happy with that.

  She watched as I stood in the middle of the room. The office décor, like Nakamura’s house, had a Japanese flair, with large black vases on shelves, a small bonsai tree on the corner of a long black desk, and a bookcase full of law books. A small Buddha figurine rested on a shelf. I went to the desk and opened drawers.

  “The techs already looked there,” Sheila said.

  I nodded and poked around in the drawers anyway. Nothing noteworthy caught my eye. I perused the bookcases. When I finished, I went back to the door. Sheila led me to the other room. I handed her a business card.

  “Nakamura’s law clerk is on vacation?” I asked.

  “Yes,” she said. “It was last minute.”

  “Have you heard from him?”

  She shook her head. “No. I called but he didn’t answer, so I left a message. He should be back later this week. He’s going to be shocked to hear about Warren.”

  I pointed at my car
d. “If he calls, please tell him to get in touch with me right away.”

  “I will.”

  She looked tired as I turned to walk out the door.

  Chapter Eighteen

  By the time I left the Denver District Courthouse, I still hadn’t heard anything from Uber about the driver who’d taken Judge Nakamura home the previous Wednesday night. I was about to call Hernandez to see if he’d heard from them when my cell phone rang.

  “Spillman,” I said, a little more abruptly than I’d meant to.

  “This is Detective Iles,” a strong voice said. “I’ve been following Victor Marko. I thought you’d like to know that he left work, and he drove to Olivia Hartnell’s house. They’re in there now. Oh wait.” His voice rose a notch with excitement. “He’s coming out now.”

  “A second visit between the two of them today,” I said. “Keep on Marko. I want to know where he goes next.”

  “You got it.”

  I hurried to my car and called Detective Antonopoulos, who was tailing Olivia Hartnell.

  “What’s Olivia doing now?” I asked.

  “She had a visitor, that guy Victor Marko you told me about. He left, and she’s still in her house. It’s quiet.”

  “Good. Keep me posted.”

  I ended the call and Harry texted. It was brief, just that he’d see me whenever I got home, and that he loved me. I frowned. I had some making up to do, I just didn’t know when. I shoved those thoughts aside and looked up Victor Marko’s address. I jotted it down, and then my phone rang again. It was Ernie.

  “Hey, I’ve been interviewing people so long I’ve lost my voice.” He did sound hoarse. “And I popped by the station again, and Follett gave me an earful about our investigation.” He lowered his voice. “I swear, the chief can really rub me the wrong way sometimes. We’re working as fast as we can.”

  “Don’t let him get to you.”

  “I verified Tewksbury’s alibi. Some of the staff at Shanahan’s remember him there Monday night. I have to meet the McCleary’s cleaning lady in an hour, and then I’m going home to crash. I can’t keep my eyes open. If you need anything, let me know.”

  “Two things,” I said quickly.

  “Yeah?”

  “Did you talk to Tara Dahl? Anything on McCleary’s phone or laptop?”

  “Oh yeah, I’m glad you reminded me. I was so focused on Follett …” He swore. “I stopped by her office, and she said she’s still working on some scans, but so far, she hasn’t found anything at all suspicious.”

  “Okay, I’ll check with her in the morning, too.”

  “And the other thing?”

  “Victor Marko visited Olivia Hartnell again,” I said.

  “Oh yeah?”

  “I wonder what that’s about. Are they dating, or is there something more?”

  He grunted. “There’s only one way to find out.”

  “Talk to them again?”

  “Yeah. You want me to go with you?” He sounded exhausted.

  “Nah, I can handle it. Get some rest.”

  “Will do.”

  Another call came in, so I swiped the screen to answer it.

  “It’s Iles,” the detective said. “Marko lives in an apartment near the Lakewood Country Club. Sheesh, you’d think the apartments around a country club would be nicer, but not so much. I saw him go inside now.”

  I’d already talked to Olivia once today, but not Marko. I made a quick decision. “I’m headed over there now. Let me know if he leaves.”

  “Will do.” With that, he was gone.

  On the way to Victor Marko’s apartment, Iles called again and told me Victor had left his apartment and gone to a little burrito restaurant on Colfax, so I drove there instead. I glanced around subtly to see if I could spot Detective Iles. Wherever he was, he was keeping a low profile. He was good. I pocketed my badge and got out of the Escape. A few teenagers were hanging outside the building as I opened the door and walked in. The restaurant was small, with a few tables and booths and a counter near the back. The place smelled of grease and onions. I looked around and spotted Marko at a booth near some windows. He was perusing a menu, then he seemed to decide what he wanted and set it down. He glanced at his phone and looked out the window. Was he waiting for someone? Then he set the phone on the table, took a sugar packet, and fiddled with it.

  A hostess came up and asked me if I wanted a table, and I told her I was meeting someone. She smiled, and I walked over to Victor’s booth and slid into the seat across from him. His head jerked up as I swiped his phone and put it near me.

  “Lady, what do you want?”

  “A few minutes of your time, Victor.”

  “Who are you? And give me my phone.”

  Before he could grab it, I pulled my badge from my pocket and showed it to him.

  He gulped nervously. “What’s going on? I haven’t done anything wrong.”

  I gave him a confident smile. “I didn’t say you did.”

  He recovered himself quickly, and his eyes narrowed. “You need to leave. I didn’t invite you here.”

  “No, you didn’t, but maybe I’ll stay.”

  “Gimme my phone.”

  I waited and watched him. I’d put him in an awkward situation. If he was waiting for someone, which I suspected, he wouldn’t want to leave the restaurant. If he wasn’t waiting for anybody, he could get up and leave. Except that he also wouldn’t be able to get his phone back without me possibly making a scene. He blinked a few times as he assessed his situation. I had his phone. He stayed put.

  He finally beckoned at me with a finger. “My phone?”

  “I’ve got a question or two for you.”

  He put the sugar packet back down, then leaned back, put an arm on the back of the seat and stared at me. “Okay, shoot.”

  “You know Olivia Hartnell,” I began. He shrugged. “Tell me about her.”

  The waitress came over, and he waved her away. “Come back in a minute.” To me, he said, “What’s to tell? She and I are friends.”

  “How long have you known her?”

  His gaze darted away, then back to me. “I don’t know, maybe a few years.”

  “Are the two of you dating?”

  “What’s it to you?”

  “I’m working on a murder investigation, and her name came up. I know that you’ve seen each other twice today.”

  The arm dropped off the back of the seat, and he eyed me warily. “You’ve been following me.”

  I didn’t say anything. I could be noncommittal, too. “What did you two talk about today?”

  “None of your business.”

  “How often have you talked to her recently?”

  His eyes narrowed. “Some.”

  I glared right back at him, but he kept his mouth shut. “You know Felix Robinson,” I said. It wasn’t a question.

  His lips twisted up as he decided how to answer. He finally said, “Yeah, I know him.”

  “For how long?”

  “I don’t know.”

  I went for blunt. “Were you part of the same drug trafficking ring as Felix?”

  A subtle shift in the seat. “No. We’re just friends.” He shifted the conversation away from Felix. “I’m helping Olivia out.”

  He was lying, and he knew that I knew. But knowing and proving that were two different things. A few women at another table laughed loudly, and he glanced at them.

  “Have you heard about Judge McCleary?” I asked.

  He kept his face even. “Who?”

  I gave him a small smile. “If you know Felix, you must know about his trial.”

  “Oh, is that the judge who presided over the trial?” The lie was obvious.

  “Yes.” I stared at him and waited to see what he would say. When he didn’t speak, I said, “Felix has been in prison since last week. And Judge McCleary was receiving some threatening notes.” I pointed at him. “Did you send them?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know anything about that.
” His phone vibrated and the screen showed a text. I glanced at it. It was just a number, no name.

  “The judge was murdered the night before last.” I went on.

  “Oh?” His voice was level. Then he leaned forward. “I had nothing to do with it.”

  “Where were you last night?”

  He glanced toward the door, then at his phone. I made an assumption. Whoever was meeting him would be arriving soon. He needed for me to leave.

  “I was at work until a little after six, and then I went to the Easy Bar,” he said. “I go there most Monday nights to watch football and play pool. You can ask the hostess. Her name is Tammy. She’ll remember me. Probably others will, too.”

  “I’ll do that.” I looked at him sternly. He did seem pretty sure of himself. “When did you go home?”

  “About nine. My girlfriend can tell you that.”

  I switched topics. “What do you know about Warren Nakamura?”

  His eyebrows raised. “Never heard of him.”

  I studied his face. That seemed genuine, although he was slick, and he could have been lying.

  “Your girlfriend was with you until when?” I asked.

  “She stayed the night.”

  “What’s her name?”

  His mouth twitched. “Not that I have to tell you, but if it’ll get you off my back, it’s Emma Blandino. She works at AJC Floorings on South Santa Fe. We spent the night together, then we both went to work this morning.”

  “I’ll check.”

  “Go right ahead. She was at my place when I got there, and we watched the rest of a basketball game.”

  “Who played?”

  “The Lakers and Nuggets.”

  “Who won?”

  “The Nuggets. It was a good game. Jamal Murray was on fire, sinking three-pointers left and right.”

  I prodded, trying to poke holes in his story. It wasn’t working, although I suspected he was lying about something.

  He pointed at his phone again. “This conversation is over. Give me my phone, or …” He didn’t finish the sentence, but he looked toward the counter to see if any wait staff might help him out. I took the threat. He was going to make a stink about things now. I pushed the phone across to him. He grabbed it and quickly sent a text. Then he looked up at me.