Judge vs Nuts: A Fiona Gavelle Mystery

by Una Tiers

  My research uncovered only five published cases from King’s calendar that reached the appellate court. It could also have been a ruling he made on another calendar. Then it seems the regular calendar judge would correct the error if it was blatant. Maybe the calendar judge was bribed and Judge King heard some part of the matter and ruled with the law.

  Another probate case that caught the media’s attention was about a wealthy couple in the middle of a divorce. The wife was murdered and the husband implicated his gay lover as the murderer. The gay lover was acquitted after trial and the husband was never charged. The probate principle was you cannot inherit from a person you murder.

  The appellate cases are fairly dull to read. That could be because they are only reviewing the record. The appellate courts never have a chance to see the witnesses testify or to hear what they say and determine if they are truthful or not.

  After reading several of the cases, I decided to look at the trial court files. Maybe one of the names of the disgruntled attorneys that David was looking at would pop up again.

  If I hadn’t been buying so many things for my new place, I might be able to pay Claude to do some research for me. He was very sharp. It seemed odd that when we went to the judge’s condominium, he didn’t ask me any questions about the probate case. He seemed to know as much as I did about the case, maybe more.

  As I was doodling, deciding on my next plan, I eavesdropped on an incoming telephone message from Timothy. We hadn’t talked since he brought the pepper spray to my office. My opinion of him had shifted and I wanted to keep a little distance from him.

  “Hey Fi, how’s the pepper spray?” His voice cackled with dark laughter. “You know I have it on good information that Lars, Mars and Ans have the probate case for the judge. It figures that the family would go to a large fancy law firm where they can be overcharged.”

  Was he kidding, or was he the only person in the whole county who didn’t know of my legal prowess? Or was this a subtle way of trying to get information from me about the file? I headed over to court.

  Chapter Thirty

  While I was reading Judge King’s cases that went to the appellate court at the clerk’s office, I noticed a shadow quickly getting in my personal space. My foot automatically went over the shoulder strap of my briefcase (on the floor) while I casually wielded my pen as a potential weapon.

  Claude said, Hello, Annette said that you were in court, and since the court rooms are closed from twelve to two, I thought you would be here in the file room,” he explained.

  While my heart rate returned to normal, I nodded thinking he would see how busy I was and excuse himself. He did not.

  “What are we looking for?” He sat down and shrugged out of his coat like a little kid who wanted to be involved when I was frosting homemade cupcakes.

  He wasn’t carrying a book bag.

  “I love research. I never thought of pulling the court file after the appellate case was decided,” he noted.

  He was quick to note I was reading appellate files. (The clue was several boxes stacked on the table with me. Although I think I am pretty good at always having an answer, I drew a blank.

  “Is it a will contest?” he prodded me.

  “Yes,” I lied to cover my snooping.

  “I didn’t know you had one, can I work on it with you?” his face appeared eager and without ulterior motive.

  Five minutes ago I wished I could hire Claude to do some research for me, but if he was following me to court, my Geiger counter started to tick and rattle in the bad zone.

  “There is no client yet. I just had an inquiry and thought it was a good idea to take a look at a few of the files.”

  For the next hour we read through the cases. I managed to casually ask him to list the names of the attorneys, issues and outcomes.

  “And watch for really good pleadings to copy,” I laughed.

  After a while of working together I realized I had to rely on my gut feeling about Claude. He’s a nice guy and not up to anything malevolent.

  We didn’t find anything other than two petitions to copy for that big will contest if and when the imaginary client made an appointment and put real money on the table.

  He offered to type my notes along with his, but I declined since my note taking is similar to elephants doing fine art. All that I walked away with in terms of the murder was a headache, dirty hands and one paper cut. Of course I also had that scholarly glow.

  If Claude noticed all of the cases were appeals from Judge King, he didn’t say anything. He declined my offer to pay him for his time.

  “It’s nice to be around a normal person. The kids at school are so competitive I think they’ll shoot books out of my hands at the library if they think it will give them an edge.”

  Late that afternoon I was getting ready to leave for the day when David left a message they were about to make an arrest. He said he would explain shortly.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Before I could find his cell phone number, David cleared his throat, grinning at me. When a guy goes out of his way to make me laugh, it attracts me in a crazy way. Take that however you want.

  He looked good as usual, but his posture was different. He held his left arm away from his side like Starsky and Hutch. Was he really wearing a gun? I never noticed that before and I know he took his jacket off in the office more than once.

  Before David said anything, Paul stopped in the doorway. He froze when he saw David. There was a strange interaction that happened in about two or three seconds. David remained standing and placed his left hand on his belt, exposing his holster. Paul in return held out his vest with his thumbs as if Brooks Brothers was his weapon.

  I rolled my eyes to myself while the macho display played itself out.

  Confidence still intact, Paul announced, “Ms. Gavelle, you might find the ten PM news conference of interest,” with that he disappeared.

  I raised my eyebrows in a question at David.

  “I’m parked outside, if you need a ride home or you want to have dinner with me.”

  He didn’t have to wait for my answer. I shut down the computer and he helped me with my coat. He shut off the light, put his hand out for my briefcase and closed the door. I felt like a movie star.

  Paul was tying his shoe in the hall right outside my door.

  “Wait a minute and we can take the elevator together,” he nearly insisted. “I’ll get my coat and briefcase.”

  David glanced at me and took my elbow and we left, walking a little faster than usual. I was chuckling.

  His car, or a city car was parked illegally again. He opened the door for me. I was impressed.

  “I thought we’d try Ricky’s Noodles in Evanston.”

  Evanston isn’t very far, it shares the northerly border with Chicago. The best route from the loop is the magnificent Lake Shore Drive. It’s really busy at rush hour, but I wasn’t the one driving.

  While I waited to hear about the arrest, all of my wild speculations raised their hands demanding satisfaction.

  “It’s really over?” I prompted him.

  “Yes. There’s a lot I couldn’t share until now.”

  Despite the heavy traffic in the loop, David effortlessly maneuvered the car to lower Wacker Drive and then onto Lake Shore Drive, heading north.

  Lower Wacker Drive was designed for trucks to make deliveries to buildings without tying up traffic. It’s organized a little like an expressway with exits and entrances. If you know where you’re headed, it’s a great way to cut across the loop and avoid a lot of traffic. If you don’t know where you’re going, everything looks the same and you can go in circles.

  At one time the lights on lower Wacker Drive were green and it was affectionately called “green city.”

  As he turned into the express lane, he started his explanation.

  “After Greylord, the commission that examined corruption in the courts recommended that all judicial seats be elected and the appointed seats p
hased out.”

  I nodded in agreement, “Although the plan was never fully implemented.”

  David continued, “Many of the associate judges had been on the bench for a very long time, and about half of them ran for election and won. Then there was a group that ran and lost and the administration made…”

  “An exception,” I finished his sentence, not really believing it would hurry him along to the bottom line.

  “There was even a group of judges that declined to run. They stood on political promises made to them over the years. So, more exceptions were made.”

  “Politics,” I muttered.

  “Yes,” he laughed.

  “The complaints started because the sitting judges who ran for re-election were slated and supported by the judges committee and new candidates didn’t have a chance to unseat a sitting judge.”

  Everybody is afraid of them, I thought not recognizing my growing cynicism.

  “So although the plan was to let the voters elect judges, things didn’t change much.”

  I nodded in agreement.

  “Did you know that no judge in Cook County has ever lost an election for retention?”

  “Yes I knew that. Even the ones who made bad rulings that had mountains of attention at the time But, the voters forget,” I added.

  He continued, “And, if an associate judge wasn’t favored by the committee or didn’t work out, the committee could enforce the rule about running for election against them.”

  “And force someone out?”

  “Yes, it’s rumored to be only a few people. The older judges, however could be forced out with a doctor examination request,” David added.

  “How did that work,” I asked.

  “Either they would review the report arbitrarily or the mere request for the report would humiliate the judge into retiring,” he answered. “Then the elected system was eroded a little more when judges retired or otherwise left the bench mid-term. That allowed the committee to appoint someone to complete the term. So when that judge ran for office they were already an incumbent.”

  His understanding impressed me. “It’s only an allusion that judges are elected,” I quipped.

  “And of course re-appointing judges that were supposed to retire because of age also took more away from the voters, because they could be reappointed to serve although they couldn’t run for election.”

  I had a chance to examine David’s profile, I had to admit his brains were really attractive.

  “When the budget was increased to add new judicial seats, they were filled by associates because the additional seats were made to take effect when an election was not pending,” he added.

  “I didn’t know there were so many ways to get around electing judges,” I said.

  “It really is a mess. Well, when the complaints continued some news reporters noticed that associate judges, included former law partners and relatives of judges, although with the relatives the names were different. We talked about the judge whose father was a retired congressman, right?”

  “Right,” I said.

  “There were judges who had practiced under their birth names and changed to their husband’s names to shield the connections.”

  “You can say women, you know,” I laughed.

  “I don’t want to sound condescending.”

  We rode in silence for what seemed like a long time.

  “Would you complain about a judge Fiona?”

  “Complain to my friends? Yes, but file a complaint, no.” I didn’t have to think about it, “They scare me. I’m already a little torn when I see them play favorites. If I give up, I feel like I don’t sell myself out. At the same time, if I give up, do I leave more room for the bad things to happen?”

  “You’re thinking of quitting? He asked.

  “Right now, I don’t know if what I’m seeing is widespread. Right now I need to work.”

  “Did you know much about the business before you went to law school?” David asked.

  “No, I wanted something challenging, and medicine wouldn’t work well for me. I’m learning it’s a business and it’s political.”

  For what seemed like a long time we were both quiet, before David continued.

  “Back to the back ground, with the reforms watered down, the FBI started an investigation. They looked at how appointments were made.

  They looked at the associates who had attracted complaints, with the JIB (Judicial Inquiry Board) and evaluated their experience, years in practice and whatever else the candidates did to distinguish themselves before they were appointed to the bench.

  They looked into their family trees for nepotism that wouldn’t be obvious because of differences in names. They interviewed the presiding judges even though many or all of them are on the appointment committee.”

  “Maybe that was to let them know they were investigating?” I suggested.

  “It could be, just to let them know they were being watched.” His soft laughter sent chills up my spine.

  “And they interviewed Judge King?”

  “Yes, he was initially appointed as an associate judge but ran for a county wide seat a year or two later and won. Not long after that he was appointed as the Presiding Judge of the probate department. The FBI approached him shortly after his appointment, before he participated in the appointment committee process.”

  “You mean he was undercover?” I asked.

  “Yes, but not too much cloak and dagger stuff and no running down dark alleys under a full moon,” David added. “I think it was limited to ask him not to discuss the investigation with others. And, of course to report what he observed.”

  I pictured Judge King lurking in dark doorways and running down alleys at midnight under a full moon clutching a copy of the probate code.

  “I think they selected him because he couldn’t be in too deep at that point, although I’m sure they took into consideration he was appointed to the bench to start. He, Judge King, didn’t believe what the FBI told him.”

  “Who were the associate judges in probate when the investigation started David?”

  “Dorothy, Peur and Hoover were all associates and still are.”

  “Isn’t Hoover elected?”

  “No, that’s the judge whose father is a retired Illinois Congressman. Most people believe that’s what got him appointed. Since then he’s received high marks from attorneys so his way to the bench seems to have lost its contamination. Still it doesn’t honor the process.”

  “I didn’t know that, I simply must gossip more.” Although I made light of it, I was going to have to start paying attention. Understanding the political climate was probably part of survival. So far, Timothy was my best gossip source but I saw our friendship as kind of in a downward spiral.

  “So what did King find?” I asked hoping the gates of information were open now.

  “We think he saw pieces that didn’t fit together despite his conviction the probate department was clean of corruption. When King was appointed as the presiding judge, he had access to all kinds of statistics. That includes open cases, new and closed cases for the year. The cases are also broken down by calendar and whether they are guardianship or decedent’s estates. He had access to probate statistics as well as the other departments. He must have noticed probate was the only department that had a training position that was held by the same judge for years.”

  “You mean Peur?”

  “Yes, Judge Peur was appointed eight or nine years before and never had a calendar of her own. Some people said it was because there weren’t enough courtrooms on the probate floor. But that didn’t explain how other judges who were appointed or elected after she was had calendars and courtrooms.”

  “Was the JIB looking at Peur?”

  “All we had from them were the public records of complaints about her excessive signing of continuances. They didn’t take any action over the complaints.”

  “A lot of the attorneys say they never censure a judge,” I a
dded quietly.

  “But?”

  “But David, I hear terrible stories that lawyers tell. I assume that some are exaggerated but I believe some of them are true. One consistent opinion is the judges are vindictive and stick together.”

  “But if the lawyers don’t file a complaint, the JIB doesn’t know about it.”

  “I suppose that’s because they won’t take anonymous complaints and many of the facts in a complaint would identify the attorney even if they were anonymous. Once you report a judge, right or wrong, you wouldn’t be able to practice law anymore.”

  “How active is the lawyer discipline group Fiona?”

  “They’re very active, employing four or five full time attorneys. But challenging a lawyer is different from challenging a judge. And of course there are a lot more attorneys than judges.”

  We sat in a car filled with disappointment.

  “Back to the story,” he laughed gently and it was hard to believe that we were talking about a murder.

  “Is Peur related to another judge?” I asked.

  “No. As a result of the investigation and practicality, Judge King thought it was time for her to have her own calendar. He assumed the complaints were because she was hearing cases in fragments and if she had the continuity of her own calendar, it would be different.”

  “Did she have a calendar?”

  “No, King handpicked a few cases for her as a start. But she was still struggling and the complaints continued. His next plan was to tutor her.”

  “How did you learn that?”

  “His secretary said they were meeting at lunchtime and sometimes early in the morning. He had her copy files and appellate cases by the ream and Peur left with stacks of paper from his office.

  The clerks finally noticed that Peur had a few cases all to herself. Judge King would make sure she had a court room to use.

  It doesn’t seem like his plan worked. Judge Peur called in sick many of the days she had hearings scheduled. So King had a real problem. The lawyers before her started to ask for changes to another judge, saying she was absent too much. Judge King didn’t like to rock the boat. But it meant when her contract was up, he couldn’t vote for renewal.