by Peg Herring
Robin guessed the man who’d taken Cam’s ID was at that moment vetting him. The judge liked young men, but she wasn’t stupid enough to invite a complete stranger to her room. If he didn’t check out, Cam would arrive to find someone else in the room and face some serious questions. There wasn’t much chance of that. A computer search would tell them the judge’s new interest, Walter Danner, was a waiter at a local restaurant with no wife, no kids, and a high school education.
It had been necessary to burn one of the false identities she’d bought from Andy to give Cam the background Judge Bev liked for her boys. That was okay, because Hua was learning how to create authentic-looking forgeries. The cost of the equipment he’d ordered made Robin cringe, but it would be worth it to be able to recreate themselves as needed.
They hoped Judge Bev wouldn’t be able to resist a handsome young man with an apparent crush on her. If she could convince herself that twenty-year-old delinquents weren’t faking their affection for her, Em argued, she might well be able to believe this handsome young man had a big case of hero worship.
If Em’s correct, Judge Comdon will get more than she bargained for.
At precisely 11:00 p.m., Cameron knocked on the door of Room 1076. He had his earwig in again, though he complained it felt funny. Robin heard Comdon’s pleased little growl when she opened the door.
“I wondered if you’d show,” she said. “You didn’t seem all that interested.”
“Tell her you are very interested.”
“You are very interested.”
Robin shut her eyes. “Cam, say, ‘You are a very interesting woman.’”
“You are a v-very interesting w-woman.” He might have been reading an eye chart, but he did recall what he was supposed to do next. “Is there anyone else here?”
“No. I thought we’d get to know each other before we discussed the job I have in mind for you.”
Barrier Number One down. Tell her you—” Catching herself, Robin rephrased. “Say, ‘I’m glad we can talk, just the two of us.’”
When he repeated the words Comdon said, “Me too, Dear Boy.”
Robin heard the door close and hoped Cam had been able to stick the lump of putty she’d given him into the lock. That was Barrier Two, but she wouldn’t know if he’d managed it until she tried to enter. If he’d failed and the door was latched, Robin would have to show her face to gain entry. She had a story prepared, but it would be better if she could slip in unannounced.
“Say, ‘I’ve admired you for a long time, Judge Comdon.’”
Obediently Cam repeated the sentence, and Comdon said, “Please, call me Bev.”
Cameron’s pause was longer than usual. “Okay, B-B-Bev.”
The stutter told Robin she had to hurry, but she was almost as nervous as Cam. This KNP was different than before, and things could happen they hadn’t foreseen. Someone from Comdon’s staff might knock on the door. Comdon might scream for help. Cam might freeze.
Heck, I might freeze! And the list goes on.
To calm herself, Robin went over the steps they’d already completed. Having determined the old hotel didn’t have cameras in the stairwells, they’d avoided surveillance by reaching the tenth floor the old-fashioned way. As soon as they learned Comdon’s room number, Robin had rented a single room a few doors down from Bev’s where they could change clothes. They were as prepared as they could be, and Cam had done his part. It was time for her to do hers.
She took a last look in the mirror. Baggy jeans and a loose sweatshirt blurred her frame, and she’d flattened her chest with elastic bandage. A ski mask in her pocket would go over her face just before she entered Comdon’s room. She’d covered every bit of skin and placed the voice-changing device under the scarf at her neck. Now she had to traverse the distance between the rooms, put on the mask, and hope Cam had managed to disable the latch. Holding her breath, she checked to make sure the hallway was empty. Then she left the room, holding the door so it made only a soft click as the latch engaged.
To Robin’s great relief, the door to Room 1076 opened easily and silently. Cam, wearing an expression of complete horror, was literally backed against a wall. His hands were raised to his shoulders, as if in surrender. Bev Comdon was touching his chest and crooning something about big muscles. Robin closed the door firmly and snapped the dead bolt into place.
Comdon turned, and her eyes widened. “What is this?”
“Bozo,” Robin said encouragingly. The reminder of their mission snapped Cam into action, and he pulled the desk chair out and set it close to the judge. “Sit.”
Comdon’s eyes narrowed as realization set it. “You’re going to be sorry—” she began, but Robin interrupted.
“Sit down and shut up.”
With a glance at Cam, she obeyed. “Who are you?”
“We’re members of a group that helps people like you correct their mistakes.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Then we’ll begin by listing your recent sex partners.” Taking out her phone, Robin began reading the names of Bev’s many young men, paired with the crimes they’d been convicted of.
After a half-dozen names, Comdon interrupted. “Those men were part of a rehab program. I did nothing improper.”
“All your participants seem to be of a certain type. If their photographs were made public, you’d have questions to answer.”
Tapping the chair arm with a bright red fingernail, Comdon glared at Robin. “And I’d answer them. In the end you’d look like what you are: a bunch of amateur blackmailers.”
“You take advantage of men who come into your court.”
“Prove it.”
“Your Rehabilitate Louisiana program—”
“—gives young men a chance to stay out of prison,” Bev interrupted. “I doubt one of them will go on record against me and take the chance his case will be re-examined.”
Her smug expression brought Em’s warning to mind: “This old gal’s been operating this way for decades. You’re going to have to hit her hard to soften her up.”
The tape of Bev’s Boys laughing about their time with her—laughing at her.
Robin had played Ricky’s recording once, shuddering at the casual unkindness with which the men compared notes on their time with Judge Bev. Making her listen to what they’d said about her would be cruel, perhaps worse than making Barney Abrams think he’d been cut with a knife. Half-drunk, Bev’s former lovers had been merciless in their recollections.
Cam looked nervously at his watch. They didn’t have all night. Navigating to the file, she hit play.
There was the sound of laughter, and then Vic Unser’s voice came. “She liked to, um, get together in the pool, you know? She’d turn off all the lights, and then I had to find her in the dark.”
Comdon’s face paled.
Ricky spoke next. “Yeah, we played that game too. She always had champagne for after, and she wanted me to drink it out of her navel. It was kinda gross, you know, because she’s all wrinkly and stuff.”
Elmer’s deep laugh came through the tiny speaker. “There was this one time when I just wasn’t in the mood, you know? She had some Viagra, and we both took some. It was—”
“Turn it off.”
Robin obeyed. “What did you expect? Do you think men want to hang out with a woman old enough to be their grandmother?” She leaned toward the woman. “You are a grandmother. What would your family think if this became public?”
Comdon licked her lips. It took two tries before her voice worked. “What will it take to keep that quiet?”
“You have to admit what Rehabilitate Louisiana really is, and we’re going to record what you say.”
“And what happens to this recording?”
“Two possibilities. We could release it to the media. The media would love the Bev’s Boys thing.”
Anger flared again in Comdon’s eyes. “You’d ruin a distinguished judge’s career for spite?”
&
nbsp; Robin snorted disdainfully. “You call what you’ve done distinguished?” Comdon turned her gaze away, and after a moment, Robin went on. “Second possibility. We keep your secret, if you agree to our terms.”
“What terms?”
“First, there’s a fee.”
The hard look returned to Comdon’s eyes. “It always comes down to money. What does your silence cost?”
“Five hundred thousand dollars.”
“Ridiculous!” Comdon’s manner became that of a practiced negotiator. “Too much. I’ll fight your lies in the press. I might suffer embarrassment, but you’ll end up in prison.”
“We’ll take our chances. As you said, it’s your career.”
“Which is nearly over.” Bev ran a hand through her over-bleached hair. “It isn’t worth half a million for me to keep going.”
It was exactly what Robin hoped she’d say. “We’ll take a hundred thousand if you promise to retire.”
Comdon saw immediately that she’d been had. Her jaw jutted angrily for a few seconds, but in the end she nodded. “All right. I’ll get the money together tomorrow—”
“You can transfer the funds to this account right now.” Taking a tablet computer from the waistband of her jeans, Robin navigated to a site Hua had set up.
“I don’t know how—”
“Don’t lie, Judge. In your speech today you bragged about how you like to keep up with technology.”
With a sigh of irritation, Bev took the tablet from Robin. Minutes later it was done. Robin scanned the room, looking for signs they’d been there, but found none. “Go, Bozo.” Cam obeyed, clicking the deadbolt off and disappearing into the hallway.
Pausing at the door, Robin reminded Comdon, “This evidence will remain ready for distribution, and we’ll be watching you. Once you retire, don’t dip so much as a toe into public life again. Don’t support political candidates. Don’t consult for law firms or become a lobbyist. Don’t advise other jurists or write articles for law journals. Retire to your home in Baton Rouge and grow flowers or something.”
Comdon didn’t answer, but anger shone in her eyes.
Removing the putty from the latch, Robin wiped the door handle down with her gloved hand. “Stay where you are for ten minutes.” Then she closed the door firmly behind her.
Back in their room, Robin took off the disguise and stuffed it into the small suitcase she’d brought along. Cameron changed into a business suit, folding his jeans and polo shirt into the briefcase that completed his appearance as a traveling executive. Robin changed too, after texting Hua a single word: done. Before she put the phone down, the message signal dinged, and words appeared: You should get out now.
Fear shot through her, but she tried to not show it. “Cam, we’ve got to go.”
He looked up, his expression concerned. “What happened?”
“I don’t know, but Hua says to leave.”
They’d planned to stay in the room until Comdon and her staff checked out in the morning. Now Plan B kicked in. If the rooms were searched, Robin needed to be in hers, without the tall, dark-haired man Comdon would describe as her attacker.
“Cam, take the stairs down, leave by the side door, and wait in the car. Get in the back seat and lie on the floor. If I’m not there in an hour, call Hua. You and he will have to decide what to do.” As she spoke, Robin added the smaller bits of her disguise to the contents of Cam’s briefcase: the mask, the voice changer, and the gloves. The shoes and black sweat suit she’d worn wouldn’t fit, so she rolled them into a ball and stuffed it into a plastic laundry bag. “Toss this into the first trash can you find.”
Cam seemed torn, but in the end he did as she said, checking the hall before he slid out the door and closed it quietly behind him. When he was gone, Robin went to her suitcase and removed a bra, a shirt, and some toiletry items. She strewed them around the room to suggest a guest who expected to be alone and undisturbed. Five minutes later, when a knock sounded on the door, she was dressed in a full-length flannel nightgown.
“Who is it?”
“Hotel security, ma’am. We had a report of intruders and we’re checking to see everyone’s okay.”
She looked through the peephole, where a skinny young man stood holding his identification badge up so she could see it. Robin opened the door a few inches and peered around it. “Did you say there are intruders?”
“We’re not sure, ma’am. A guest on this floor called in a report of someone trying to get into her room.” He peered over her shoulder. “Do you mind if I look around?”
“Why?”
“It’s for your protection, ma’am.” His tone was patient but there was a hint of irritation. “If you let us in, then we know there’s not some guy in there holding you hostage.”
She pretended to think about it. “I guess it’s all right.” Backing away, she allowed the man, whose badge said Gerald, to enter. As she did, she heard another man speaking to a guest somewhere down the hall, making the same reassurances and asking that he be allowed to check the room.
Gerald walked through, sticking his head into the bathroom and the closet with cautious determination. “Seems like everything’s okay,” he announced.
“Okay?” Robin exclaimed. “You’ve got criminals threatening people in your hotel and it’s okay?”
“Well, no. I just meant there’s no one here bothering you.” He chewed on his lip. “Actually there’s probably nobody bothering anybody, but when a guest says there’s a problem, we have to check it out.”
“I might head to the airport early,” she said. “My flight’s at five, and I’d just as soon leave if there are rapists in the building.”
“Ma’am, no one said anything about—” Noting Robin’s determined expression, Gerald abandoned his argument. “If that’s what you feel comfortable with, I’ll be glad to call you a cab.”
“I have the number in my phone. I’ll just ask them to come now instead of later.”
When Gerald was gone, Robin leaned against the door, trying to quell her rising panic. You can’t faint right now. You have to find Cam and let him know you’re okay.
Ten minutes later, she took the elevator to the lobby, suitcase in hand. The desk was unmanned, but she set her room key near the computer and turned to go. As she neared the door, a man rose from a chair along the wall and came toward her.
Thomas Wyman.
She read all sorts of things in his eyes. Recognition. Anticipation. Pleasure. “Ro—” He scanned the area and started again. “Miss—”
“I’m sorry. I don’t speak to strange men in hotel lobbies.”
Wyman grasped her arm with his left hand. “Do you know how many laws you’ve broken tonight?”
Just then Gerald stepped out of the elevator with a second hotel employee. Turning to him Robin said, “Do you people allow women to be terrorized in their rooms and harassed in the lobby?”
He hurried over. “Sir, the lady is a guest of this hotel.”
“Not anymore,” she said hotly. “I’m never coming back here again. First I’m woken from a sound sleep and told I’m in danger of being raped, and now I have to fight off this creep.” She added as if it had just occurred to her, “Could he be one of the intruders you’re looking for?”
Wyman’s expression revealed discomfort. “I didn’t—”
Gerald put a hand on Wyman’s arm, and the other man stepped between him and the door. “Sir, if we could see some identification, this can all be cleared up quickly.”
Wyman looked at Robin with an expression she couldn’t read—frustration? “I wasn’t bothering her.”
Ignoring him, Robin spoke to her rescuer. “I’d appreciate it if you keep this man here until I’m gone.”
“Of course.” Gerald said. The second guy moved aside to let her pass, watching Wyman as if he might try to tackle her. “Would you like to stay inside until your cab arrives?”
“I told the driver I’d wait at the corner,” Robin replied. Leaving Wyman sq
uirming under the glare of the two employees, she left the hotel. As soon as she was away from the doors, she turned left and hurried to the parking garage. Minutes later, she and Cam had left Monroe behind. As Cam drove, Robin kept turning to see if a black Mustang had come up behind them. What if Wyman showed the hotel people his P.I. license and convinced them to call the police?
Don’t think about that right now. Think about marshmallows and playful otters.
Hua was already seated at a booth when they entered a diner ten miles north of the city. He’d ordered a full meal, and Robin wondered if he’d be able to sleep with his stomach stuffed with spaghetti, garlic bread, and Mountain Dew. “Everything went well, yes?” he asked as they sat down.
“It was good that you sent the warning. Once we got it, we managed pretty well.”
Hua’s smooth brow wrinkled in consternation. “If you received a warning, it was not from me.”
Digging out her phone, Robin retrieved the message and read it more carefully. “The sender’s unknown.”
Always an optimist, Hua said, “We have a friend, then. This is good, yes?”
Robin stared at the message. “Honestly, Hua, I have no idea.”
***
“We didn’t find anyone, ma’am,” the night manager reported. “More times than I can count, we’ve had inebriated guests try to enter the wrong room.” He gave a little laugh, but his expression revealed hope his distinguished guest wouldn’t blame the hotel for whatever intrusion she thought she’d experienced.
“I’m sure you’re right,” Judge Comdon replied. “It just frightened me, that’s all.”
She had called security not in fear, but in a fit of pique, angry that she’d been duped, robbed, and humiliated. At least she’d been smart enough to report an attempted break-in and not tell what had actually happened. Why had she done it? She’d been desperate to get those recordings, both of them, and silence her supposed admirer and his able assistant with threats of prosecution. That had been stupid, and now she was glad it hadn’t come to anything.
Once the humiliation abated a little, Bev looked at things more clearly. The money meant little; she’d always had plenty of that. Retiring from the bench was something she’d considered for some time. It was a monotonous, thankless job, and more and more often these days she wanted to scream obscenities at everyone in the courtroom, from the friendly, bear-like bailiff to the pompous young lawyers to the criminals dumb enough to get caught.
