by Judi McCoy
“You ready to talk yet?” he asked when she retrieved her homemade caramel sauce and whipping cream from the fridge. Nothing fat-free this morning. She needed the real stuff.
Thinking to teach him a lesson, she kept quiet. Maybe her boy would use the time to get his priorities straight, because Sam was in her—their—life for as long as things worked out. He had done his part lately, easing up on her involvement in Rob’s murder charge, agreeing to take her places he really didn’t want to go, and helping her with Rudy.
Her dog could complain, make nasty wisecracks, even eat Sam’s notes. But it was time he stopped putting himself between her and the detective.
“It looks warmer outside. The snow’s melting. I could be convinced to take a trip to the ex-terminator’s, if you wanted to talk to her about last night.”
Still ignoring him, she sat at the table and smiled. Sam had picked up a morning newspaper and—she inspected the bag sitting next to the paper—a sesame bagel with cream cheese, capers, tomato, and lox, just the way she liked it.
Ooo-kay. This was getting spooky. She usually had to repeat what she wanted a dozen times before he remembered. Either an alien being had taken up residence in his brain, or he was going to drop a bomb. She just couldn’t wrap her mind around which it might be.
Rudy put his paws on her knee. “Hey, I got a question for you.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“What do you throw to a drowning lawyer?”
Ellie groaned. “I’m not in the mood for one of your ghastly lawyer jibes.”
“Come on, give it a try.”
She shrugged. “A lead life preserver.”
He gave a doggie grin. “That’s pretty good, but it’s not even close.”
“Okay, give me the punch line.”
“His partners.”
She couldn’t help but giggle. “Where do you hear all these terrible jokes?”
“Lotsa places. I heard a couple dozen last night, and some of them are good. Besides, you look like you need a little cheering up.”
“Making me happy is simple. All you have to do is listen to what I say, do what you’re told, and stay out of trouble.”
He dropped to the floor and slid into his Buddha pose. “I hate to say this, but you sound just like the doofus detective.”
“I what?” She blinked. “I do not.”
“Oh, but you do. Listen to yourself. You’re all bossy and ‘do what I tell you.’ Who does that sound like to you?”
Flustered, she opened and closed her mouth without saying anything. “I—er—well—” She stood up and went to the counter. She hated when Sam bossed her around, but they were equals. She had every right to expect things to be done her way if she was right.
Rudy was a dog.
“I might be a dog, but I thought we were partners.”
Mouth agape, she stared at him. “What did you say?”
“You heard me. I thought we were partners. Leastways, that’s what you said yesterday.”
She stirred the caramel into her coffee and added a squirt of whipped cream. After carrying the cup to the table, she plopped into her chair and took a long sip. The sweet, hot liquid calmed her senses, woke her up, and gave her the chance to regroup.
“We are partners, but this can’t be a fifty-fifty relationship because you need me more than I need you.”
He again put his paws on her thigh. “Yeah, I know. But there’s nothin’ I can do about that.”
“And it makes you sad.”
“Not sad, but I do have to ask, if I wasn’t here, what would you do?”
What would I do? Her throat began to clog and she opened her arms.
Rudy jumped into her lap and licked her face. “That’s just what I thought you’d say.”
Closing her eyes, Ellie squeezed him tight and sniffed back a tear. Rudy was her boy, the one thing she could count on in her life. Sam was here, but for how long? Viv was here, too, but she had Dr. Dave. Stanley loved her, treated her like a daughter, but he was eighty-three; there was no telling how much longer he’d be around to take her side.
And how could she forget her mother? The idea that Georgette would be there for her was a laugh. Her mother would disown her in a heartbeat if she thought her daughter was clouding her own social standing or embarrassing her.
Another sloppy lick brought her back to reality. She had Rudy, and he was all she needed.
Heaving a sigh, she nuzzled his fur. “I’m sorry for getting angry with you, but you have to see it from my point of view. Yes, we’re partners, but other people don’t understand where we’re coming from, so we have to keep it a secret. Maybe you could look at it like an undercover relationship?”
“You mean a 007 kind of thing?”
“If that works for you.”
“Then I need a code name.” He pressed his muzzle against her chest. “How about Agent Badass—or—wait. I got it. Agent BTS.”
“BTS? What the heck does that stand for?”
He gave a doggie smirk. “Better than Sam, of course. Because I am.”
“Okay, if that will make you happy, Agent BTS it is.” She ruffled his ears. “Now, tell me what you found out during last night’s snoop session.”
“For one thing, those lame lawyers, judges, and politicians blow a lot of hot air. They love talkin’ about themselves, and the more limelight they can steal, the better.”
“That’s probably true, but I don’t think it’s going to help me with Rob’s case.”
“Then how about I tell you what Detective Demento and Judge Lowenstein were arguin’ about?”
“You were in on that conversation? I didn’t see you near them when I spotted them talking.”
“That’s because I was under the table next to ’em. They never knew I was there.”
Ellie closed her eyes, trying to remember what she’d noticed when she saw Norm and Sam, but nothing clicked. “Okay, I believe you were there. Tell me what they said.”
Rudy hopped off her lap and did the pensive Buddha thing again. “Sam asked the judge if he would come to the station to answer a few questions about a case he presided over when Art Pearson was arrested. When Lowenstein said it wouldn’t be convenient, Sam pushed, and ol’ Norm said flat-out ‘no.’ Then Sam said he could get one of them court order things. That sent the judge into overdrive.”
“Why would Sam ask Judge Lowenstein about Art Pearson?”
“If I knew who this Pearson person was, I might be able to figure it out.”
“Art Pearson is the real name of Carmella Sunday, the murdered drag queen.”
“The one Bobbi-Rob was accused of killing?”
“One and the same. Does that help?”
“Not really, but that must be why Sam went to Judge McDonald.”
“Is he the other man Sam was talking to? Did you overhear that conversation, too?”
“They don’t call me Agent BTS for nothin’.”
Ellie frowned. “This is getting complicated.”
“There was a lot of gabbing goin’ on and they were talkin’ on the Q.T., so I didn’t hear it all, but when Sam talked to McDonald, he said he was following the money. Then he said somethin’ about a court case. I heard him mention Judge Lowenstein’s name, and that was it.”
She rested her chin in her palm. “I’m sure all of this is important, but I need to know a little more before I can figure out how. Sam’s busy. He might not even answer his phone if I call. And I certainly can’t ask him about something I’m not supposed to know, so there’s not much I can do about it now.”
Thinking hard, she took a bite of her bagel and another sip of coffee. Then she tore off a piece of smoked salmon and passed it to her boy. “Maybe you and I should go see Mother. If I can get a couple of minutes alone with Stanley, he might be able to shed some light on things.”
Corinna opened the door wearing her usual welcoming smile. “How nice. It’s two of my most favorite visitors. And twice in twenty-four hours. Come in and ta
ke a load off. I’ll get Ms. George—”
“Corinna, wait a second.” Ellie put her hand on the housekeeper’s arm and kept her voice low. “I need to speak to the judge first, and I want to do it without Mother waiting in the wings.” She slipped off her jacket and passed it to Corinna. “Please tell me Stanley is free and he’s alone.”
The housekeeper opened the foyer closet and took out a hanger. “The judge is in the library, where you spent most of last night, and your mother is in the kitchen helping me set things right. The cleanup crew for the party left about thirty minutes ago, so she’s taking inventory of the liquor.” After hanging up Ellie’s coat, she closed the closet door. “You wouldn’t believe the amount of food and drink those bigwig politicians and lawyers can put away, and most of it eighty-proof.”
“So maybe you could go back to the kitchen and take your time?” Ellie asked, crossing mental fingers. “Fix a bite of lunch for us, and don’t tell Mother we’re here until you’re finished.”
“If you don’t mind leftovers, that won’t be a problem. There’s filet mignon and some of that lobster salad, and we even got a tray of shrimp skewers and a pile of spinach soufflé that should heat up good.”
“That sounds wonderful. Thanks.”
“Just don’t ask me to bring your little man. Ms. Georgette is still steamed about what happened to Mrs. Thachette. Seems she’s the wife of a city official, and your mother is sure she’s gonna get X’d off of everybody’s A-list if word gets out about Rudy. If she sees that he’s here, she’ll be outta that kitchen in a New York minute.”
“I know she’s upset about it, but—”
“It wasn’t my fault.”
“I don’t want to get into it with her. Fifteen minutes is all I’ll need. Maybe less. Please?”
Corinna headed toward the dining room. “I’ll do my best.”
Ellie took a look around as she made her way to the library. The house and everything in it looked perfect. The small dining tables and chairs were gone. Not a speck of dust floated on the air, and there wasn’t a stick of furniture out of place. From the way Corinna described the alcohol and food consumption, Judge Frye must have spent a small fortune on the party. And even more to have things sparkling clean this early on a Sunday.
Turning into the rear hall, she stopped and dropped to one knee. “Please be quiet while I talk to Stanley,” she told her boy. “I want to get this over with quickly, and I won’t be able to if you keep sticking your two cents’ worth into the conversation,”
“How about you take the leash off so I can do some reconnoitering?”
She unhooked the lead and dropped it in her bag. “Okay, but stay out of the kitchen and away from Mother. And come back soon, because I know Judge Frye will want to see you.”
“You got it.”
Ellie grinned. Rudy skulked off as if he was on the prowl, which was silly because she doubted he’d find a piece of lint to report on. Feeling better about their morning, she entered the library and saw the judge reading the Times.
“That newspaper is so dry I’m surprised it doesn’t crumble to dust when someone opens it,” she said, walking to his desk. “I like a paper that has comics and an easier crossword puzzle.”
“Ellie, my dear. To what do I owe the honor of seeing you again?” Judge Frye asked, smiling up at her.
“Good morning.” She bent and kissed his bald head. “Have you recuperated from last night?”
“I’m fine, but Georgette is a bit frazzled. Mrs. Thachette was a royal pain in the you-know-what. The woman acted as if she’d been bitten by a rabid raccoon when she found Rudy in the powder room.” He grinned. “Really, how could anyone look at that innocent little face and think badly of him?”
She suppressed an eye roll. “Speaking of innocent, thank you for allowing the Carmodys to bring Buddy. He’s such a sweetie, and he was good company for Rudy.”
“Think nothing of it,” Stanley said. “If your mother would let me, I’d get a dog just like him. Georgette and Corinna always seem to let me have my way, but keeping a canine in this house is the one thing your mother won’t allow.”
After living with her dickhead of a husband, Ellie knew exactly how the old guy felt. Finding a dog was the first thing she’d done to celebrate her divorce, and it had made a world of difference in her life. If Georgette and Rudy got along better, it could help the judge’s cause.
“Bichons are wonderful little dogs. Hypoallergenic, no-shed, and very happy. Mother loves you. Keep working on her. You might be able to wear her down.”
“I’ll try. Now, what can I do for you?”
“I need to ask you a few questions, some personalityspecific and some legal, if you don’t mind.”
“Legal, eh?” Stanley nodded to one of the leather wing chairs. “Then sit and get comfortable. I’ll do what I can to enlighten you.”
She took a seat and tried to form a question that made sense. “Let’s tackle the personal first. Can you tell me a bit about Judge Lowenstein? What he’s like as a person, not a court official.”
Stanley leaned back in his wheelchair. “I’ve known Norm for a long while. He’s always been aboveboard, honest, a good judge. Of course, there were a few small transgressions, things he did that didn’t sit well with the DA, but that’s to be expected when—”
“Things? What sort of things?”
“Soft sentences every once in a while, things like that. No matter how hard a judge tries to abide by the rules, he can’t help but let his personal feelings get in the way. When that happens, well, let’s just say some felons get a bye.”
“A bye?”
“No jail time at all. It happens to the best of us.”
“Did Judge Lowenstein do that often?”
“Not to my knowledge, but I haven’t been on the bench for a good ten years. I only hear the gossip, so I might not be the best person to ask.”
“Any idea who would be?”
Stanley tapped his lower lip with the tips of his steepled fingers. “I’m afraid the legal profession is somewhat like the medical profession. No one wants to talk out of school about another of their kind.”
Ellie stared at the ceiling. The judge wasn’t telling her anything she didn’t already know, unless . . . “Is there anyone who might be able to give me a more candid view of Judge Lowenstein? Someone more current with his activities on the bench?”
“Hmm. Well, perhaps Judge McDonald would be willing to speak with you. He and Norm have had words several times. Tell him I sent you, and I’m sure he’ll tell you the real story. But I can’t guarantee he’ll even have the time.”
Judge McDonald? She wanted to jump up and highfive the air. “Could you give me his phone number so I can call him?”
Stanley checked his date book, jotted the information on a sheet of paper, and passed it across the desk. “If I’d known you wanted to talk to him, I could have set something up last night. Perhaps you met him or—”
She glanced at her watch. “To tell the truth, I met very few people at the party. I was in here with Rudy and Buddy. Then there was that other business, and—Can we move on to the legal part of my question?”
“All right. Ask what you will.”
“How important is this position the three justices are up for?”
“Very. The judge who makes it to a circuit court of appeals has usually reached the pinnacle of his or her career. The next stop on the judicial train is the Supreme Court, and only a few have ever had the opportunity to serve there. Sonia Sotomayor came from this circuit, as did several past members of the Supreme Court. And they must have a pristine background to get that appointment.”
“And would one of those small transgressions we talked about manage to knock them out of contention for the position?”
“That would depend.” Stanley cocked his head. “Could you be more specific?”
“I would if I could, but—”
“There you are.” Georgette’s voice rang out from the doorway.
She marched into the library with Corinna following behind and carrying Rudy in her arms. “Your little miscreant was in my kitchen, trying to snitch a bite of filet mignon. Honestly, Ellen Elizabeth, how could you bring him here after what he did last night?”
Ellie stood and Corinna passed Rudy to her. “I’m sorry, Mother. I thought he was in here—”
“Well, he wasn’t.” Georgette narrowed her eyes. “What were you and Stanley talking about? Nothing that would tire him out, I hope, because last night was very trying for him.”
She walked to the desk, grabbed the handles of the judge’s wheelchair, and began pushing him toward the door. “Now that you’re here, you might as well join us for lunch.” She stopped and turned. “And where is that animal’s leash? Put it on him if you expect to be fed.”
Corinna grinned at Ellie, then followed Georgette out.
Ellie sat on the sofa, pulled Rudy’s lead from her bag, and snapped it to his collar. “Thanks a bunch, wise guy,” she said, standing.
“Anytime.” He trotted by her side. “Anytime at all.”
Sam disconnected the call. Some Sundays sucked, and this was one of them.
It had been a rough couple of hours, trying to find the right district attorney to take up his cause, then jumping through hoops to catch Judge McDonald at home. Tougher still was convincing both of them he needed to officially investigate two years’ worth of bank records of a highly respected judge and obtain a search warrant for his home.
But if the pieces fit the way he hoped, the Carmella Sunday murder would be wrapped by tomorrow afternoon.
After getting permission to search bank records, he’d pulled strings and, thanks to a pal who owed him a favor, Judge Lowenstein’s information was on its way. If the money trail made sense, he’d drop in on the judge as soon as he got the search warrant, probably tomorrow morning. All he needed was a single piece of evidence, one small thing that would help tie everything together, and they were home free.
But it was going to be an uphill battle with the judge. He’d shown no interest in cooperating. Claimed he’d already been vetted by a background check from the U.S. government. The judge asked what a flatfoot expected to find when he’d already been cleared by Uncle Sam.
