by Carsen Taite
West’s mind started spinning. Camille, bright new, young federal judge, would be in the spotlight, more than anyone else on this case, and it probably didn’t help that a year ago she’d been the center of attention for how that other case had gone down. She’d be understandably anxious about perceptions, and West’s advances probably hadn’t helped matters. Camille didn’t need an office sex scandal to add to the weight on her shoulders. “You said first of all. Is there another reason you’re concerned about her having this case?”
Hank frowned. “I’m not sure how much I should say considering it’s an ongoing investigation.”
“Hey, you can’t leave me hanging like that. Is there something I should know?”
He studied her for a minute before answering. “I suppose you have a right to know. Apparently, Judge Avery’s gotten a couple of vaguely threatening notes. The marshal’s service contacted me to find out if I knew of anyone who might have something against her or if I’d received similar notes.”
“Vaguely threatening? What did they say?”
“I don’t know. Judges get a lot of hate mail. People in prison figure they don’t have a lot to lose by violating another federal statute and threatening a judge. Usually they’re about a specific case. I got one the month before I left that something like the Lord is the only one fit to sit in judgment of Darryl Wilson. There’s a place in hell for those who try to usurp the role of the Lord. Stuff like that.”
“That sounds pretty specific.” West shifted in her seat, wondering if Camille had received notes like that. Surely, she’d know if she had.
“Those were actually tame considering some of the letters I’ve received over the years, but I handed it over to the marshal’s office and they said they’d look into them. Of course, I never heard anything else about it since, well…” He pointed to his chair. “But I’m not sure the notes Judge Avery has received were about the case.”
“Okay.” The minute West spoke the words the memory of Darryl Wilson’s sister standing up in court yelling about injustice raced through her mind. But the marshal’s office already knew about that outburst, so there was no point in worrying Hank by recounting the episode. Besides there was a big difference between a crazy letter writer and a concerned relative. “Judge Avery’s pretty tough. I don’t think threatening letters would deter her from the case.”
“You like her.”
It was an observation, not a question. West wanted to tell him everything. How she’d felt a spark with Camille the second they’d met and what a weird coincidence it was that she’d first met Camille at the courthouse on the day of his stroke. How she admired Camille’s level-headed intellect even while engaged in a duel of opinions. She wanted to say all the things she imagined a child would say to a parent when reporting on having met someone special, someone about whom they would want to share relationship details. But Hank wasn’t her parent, and Camille wasn’t her girlfriend, which meant the mental exercise was pointless, so she simply said. “Yes, I like her okay.” Lame, but true.
“And the job?”
“It’s okay too.” West noted the look of satisfaction on his face and resisted the urge to qualify her answer. Setting aside any angst about Camille, she was enjoying the work. It was one thing to work as an adversary, but as much as she hated to admit it, getting a look behind the robed curtain was a valuable tool she’d be able to use later whether she wound up at the Center or some other nonprofit. “If you promise not to say I told you so, I’ll even admit I actually like it, and I’m looking forward to the trial. Can you give me some idea of what to expect?”
“Sure. There’ll be a lot of evidentiary decisions that have to be made during this trial, and the debating will start during jury selection. You’ll have to be ready to research issues, review motions, and draft bench opinions on the fly, so it’s likely Judge Avery will want one or both of you in the courtroom for most of the trial.”
“Got it. Any tips?”
“Both sides are going to try to cozy up to you. They know you’ll be the one doing the judge’s research and whispering in her ear, and they’ll make their best pitches to you, hoping to have greater influence. Nod politely, listen to what they have to say, and stay neutral.”
West nodded.
“Are you okay?” he asked. “This case has got to bring up a lot of issues for you.”
“You mean about people who get so hooked on drugs they no longer give a shit about anything or anyone, including staying alive?” She looked down at her crossed arms and realized she’d reverted to a petulant child, mourning the loss of what her life could’ve been, and she mentally chastised herself. She had no business focusing on her loss when she’d gained so much in the process. Not for the first time, she wondered what would have happened had her mother lived. More likely than not, West would have struggled right along with her, watching her decline, but unable to dig her way out of it. Food stamps, public housing, and clothes from the local Goodwill would have been her only lifelines, and opportunities like Richards College and Berkeley Law would have been distant and unattainable goals. She’d probably have wound up some smartass barista who acted like she knew everything while never actually applying her smarts to some greater good. Her mother’s overdose and Hank’s intervention had saved her life, or saved her from that life anyway. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for. I’m good. It’s been a long time.”
He stared at her for a long moment, and she struggled not to fidget under the appraisal. Whatever he saw seemed to satisfy him. “I think our thirty minutes is up,” he said. “Shall we go downstairs?”
At the table, Diane entertained them both with stories about their first grandchild. West listened and laughed in all the right places, but her mind was stewing over Camille, the Wilson case, and the way she’d sidestepped Hank’s questions about both. Everything about the next few weeks was going to be rough, from the facts of the case that so closely mirrored her own life to the chore of pretending Camille wasn’t more than her employer. She’d have to rely on the memory of their kiss to get her through.
Chapter Thirteen
Camille stared into the mirror. She’d picked the perfect power suit for the first day of trial even though nobody would see. The sleek lines of the crisp black gabardine wool usually infused her with confidence, but not today. The bout of nerves took her off guard. She’d presided over dozens of trials while on the bench, but she was as anxious as her first time.
She’d been fine until she read the front page of the paper at breakfast. The over-the-fold headline blared news of the case. She’d expected the premium coverage, but it was the subject of the story that caught her off guard. When she’d gotten to the office this morning, she’d told Ester the minute the attorneys arrived they were to report to her in chambers. Someone had some explaining to do. Camille took one last look in the mirror, practicing her stern jurist expression, and then made her way to the conference room.
The room was packed. Three attorneys for the government and two attorneys and one intern for the defendant. In the corner of the room, tucked out of the way, Lloyd was huddled with West, and they were engaged in an animated, whispered conversation. Camille cleared her throat to draw everyone’s attention, but when Lloyd turned around and she got a full view of her other law clerk, she was completely unprepared for trial-ready West.
West, normally pretty casual around the office, was dressed in a power suit of her own. Black, like hers, but with decidedly more masculine lines, and instead of a boring white shirt like the one she was wearing, West shined in royal blue with a vintage Oscar de la Renta tie. Even though West was seated, Camille had no trouble imagining she’d be even more striking when she stood and the trim cut hugged her slim body.
After a few seconds of drinking the image of West in, Camille tossed a copy of the newspaper onto the table. “Before we get started,” she said. “I’d like to know who’s talking to the press about issues I have already ruled were not coming into evidence without ad
ditional hearings during trial.”
She looked around the table to see who would squirm first. At some point she needed to apologize to West, tell her she was right. The story in the paper was long and editorial, detailing all of the allegations that had ever been made against Darryl Wilson, giving special attention to the rape allegations of the witnesses listed in the government’s motion. While she’d said she would issue final rulings as the evidence developed during the course of the trial, the spirit of her ruling should have made it clear neither side should be trying this case in the press and possibly tainting the jury pool.
When no one answered her question, she launched in. “You all know this is my first trial in this court so you may be laboring under the impression that the new judge, fresh from state court where things tend to be a bit more casual, will let you get away with trying your case outside the courtroom instead of in it. You would be wrong. As an AUSA, I’ve tried many cases in federal court, and I never stooped to this level. The evidence will be presented in the courtroom, not the press and,” she paused for effect, “only after I’ve had an opportunity to hear proffers and make rulings on each and every matter. Since someone at this table doesn’t seem to understand the prudence of that, I’m imposing a gag rule, effective immediately.”
“But, Your Honor, the information about the defendant’s prior convictions is public,” said Merrin. “We don’t have control over every single person who has knowledge.”
“Well, we sure don’t have any motivation to spread libelous lies about our client on the eve of trial,” said Sylvia Naylor.
“It’s not libel if it’s true,” Merrin snapped.
Camille shook her head. If she’d had a gavel, she would have thrown it at the AUSA. “That’s enough. I’m inclined to rule right now there will be absolutely no mention of the sexual assault allegations. If I see one more story in the paper, I may do just that.” She looked around the room, daring anyone to challenge her. Merrin and his co-counsel looked sullen, but didn’t speak.
“Okay. I’ve arranged for a pretty large venire this morning. They are already in the central jury room completing their questionnaires. I’ll begin the voir dire, and each side will have thirty minutes to question the panel. We should have our jury before lunch, and opening statements will begin this afternoon. How long do you anticipate for your opening?”
“Judge, do you plan to include asking the venire about whether they’ve seen the story in the paper?” Sylvia asked.
“She didn’t plant the story,” Merrin said, “but she wants to make sure the jury knows about it.”
“Not true,” Sylvia shot back. “I’m only trying to clean up the mess one of your agents has made by leaking all this info to the press.”
Camille stood. “I will ask the usual questions about whether or not the potential jurors have heard about this case, but I’m not getting into specifics about today’s article because it will only draw attention to the allegations, which I presume you do not want to happen.” She pushed her chair under the table. “Be in the courtroom in thirty minutes. I want you all ready the second the jurors are finished with the questionnaires. Have an answer about your opening statements and report to Lloyd.”
She moved toward the door, but not before she saw West’s eyes flash with questions. She motioned to her and kept walking toward her office. When West showed up at the door, she invited her in and shut the door. “Have a seat.”
“I’ll stand if it’s okay with you. I figure it’s going to be a long day of sitting.”
Camille winced. West was under the impression she’d be in the courtroom for the span of the trial, but after what she’d read in West’s CPS file, it would be irresponsible to let West continue to be involved in this case. She’d spent the last twenty-four hours trying to come up with a way to handle dismissing her delicately, but now that she was down to the last thirty minutes, she couldn’t find the words. “Is that a new suit?”
West’s smile was tentative. “Yes. Thought it might be time to buy some grown-up clothes. My pal Bill helped me pick it out, so if you hate it, blame him.”
She didn’t hate it. She loved it, everything about it from the slim cut to the way the color of the shirt brought out the blue in West’s eyes. But compliments seemed shallow considering West had bought new clothes for trial, and she was about to ban her from the proceeding. She settled for a simple. “It looks good on you.”
“Thanks.”
“West, I need to ask you something. Something personal.”
“You can ask me anything.”
West’s voice was husky, her expression equal parts earnest and hopeful, and Camille quickly realized her error. Images of the pages detailing West’s troubled upbringing buzzed in her mind. Her mother, a drug addict, dying of an overdose, the needle still in her arm and her naked body bruised and violated when West came home from school to find her lying in her own vomit. The dealer had eventually been arrested and charged with sexual assault in addition to drug charges, but with the only witness dead, he’d worked out a plea that amounted to a slap on the wrist. Meanwhile, West began an endless progression in and out of foster homes until she aged out of the system. That West had risen above these circumstances was a miracle, but now her prior experience was about to crash into her present success.
West’s situation was too close to that of the victim in this case to allow her to brief opinions, and no way was she going to let West sit in on the trial, if for no reason other than the toll it would take on her mentally. Again, she wondered how and why the copy of West’s file had shown up on her desk. That the same person who had seen them kissing had left the file made the violation sting worse.
She looked West in the eye and made a split decision. She would remove her from the case, but she didn’t have to share the reason why. Not when doing so would unnecessarily hurt her and lay bare the invasion of her privacy. “I only need one of you in the courtroom during the trial. There’s a lot of work that needs to be done to catch us up on the other pending cases. I need you to work on those and when this trial is over, we can do a full review.” Once she realized she was rambling to stave off West’s response, she stopped abruptly.
“If you want me to say I’m sorry I kissed you, I won’t do it.”
“What?” Camille shook her head. “No, this isn’t about that.”
“Right.” West spat the word.
Camille wanted to pull West into her arms and assure her that wasn’t the case, but every step toward intimacy was a step closer to the edge. She was West’s boss and she had every right to make the call about her clerk’s assignments. She crossed her arms to signal the conversation was over but tried one more time to smooth things over. “I kissed you back.”
“Yes, you did.”
“I shouldn’t have.”
West stepped closer. “You should do what makes you happy.”
If only I knew what that was. Camille resisted the urge to step back. She didn’t want to encourage West, but she didn’t want to reject her either. The memory of West’s lips on hers seared her brain, and she couldn’t process the difference between her happiness and doing the right thing. “I have to go. The courtroom. They’re waiting.” She reached for her robe on the hook by the door, but she didn’t stop to put it on before she pushed past West and rushed out of the room. A cowardly, but necessary exit.
Chapter Fourteen
West stood alone in Camille’s office stunned by the rebuke. She shouldn’t be. Camille had been clear from the moment they started working together that nothing could happen between them, and West had been a fool for thinking Camille’s decision wouldn’t affect how she treated her on the job. But she hadn’t expected Camille to rip away the opportunity to work on this case.
She looked down at her suit, feeling like a rube. She’d spent too much money to dress for this part, and she didn’t even want the role. She pulled off her jacket and stalked out of Camille’s office, intent on reaching her own office without t
alking to anyone, but Lloyd met her at the door.
“What’s up?”
She pushed past him. “You better get in the courtroom.”
He followed her into their office. “About that. I would’ve expected her to pick you if she was only going to have one clerk in court. She seems to like you a whole lot better than she likes me.”
West wanted to say she should be in the courtroom not because she was better liked but because she was a helluva lot smarter than he was, but she held back for fear she’d look like she was protesting too much. Besides it didn’t matter what she thought since she wasn’t in court and she wasn’t going to be. “Guess you would’ve been wrong.”
“Did she say why?”
West turned to Lloyd, trying to read his tone, but his genuinely curious facial expression told her he wasn’t being a jerk. “I don’t know. Maybe she just thinks you’re the best person for the job.” She pointed at the door. “Seriously, you should go.”
He shrugged and sauntered off, and she opened a file on her computer and pretended to read a brief while she stared into space. What was she doing here? She’d be better off volunteering at a nonprofit and working nights at some restaurant or bar to make ends meet. Acting purely on impulse, she pulled out her phone and called Bill.
“Hey, you,” he said. “Guess where I am right now?”
“Any chance Lambda is hiring?”
“Uh-oh. Did they not like your suit?”
“Seriously, Bill, focus.” She glanced at the door Lloyd had left cracked slightly open and lowered her voice. “I’m not cut out for this. Sitting in an office all day, poring over briefs, listening to arguments—watching what other people are doing, but not actually doing anything myself. I didn’t go to school for this. I want to be doing what you’re doing.”
