by Carsen Taite
Whatever she’d been about to work on could wait. West signed out of her computer and strode out of the office, calling out to Ester that she’d be back soon. She recognized the deputy at the security entrance, but didn’t know him very well, so she kept walking until she was at the marshal’s office and asked to speak to Peter. A few minutes later, he appeared and ushered her back to his office.
“What’s up?” he asked.
“Has Judge Avery been getting threatening notes?” She watched him carefully and saw the curtain fall. “She has, hasn’t she? What steps are being taken to provide security? I haven’t seen any and she works at night and on the weekends quite a bit.”
“Whoa, girl, slow down.” He motioned to a chair by his desk, and she sat down ready to listen, but ready for answers. “I can’t talk to you about an ongoing investigation, no matter how much I like you.”
“So there’s an investigation.”
“That’s as much as you’re going to get out of me.”
“Hank told me about the notes.” West hoped he’d misunderstand the extent of her knowledge and tell her more. “I think he wanted me to be on the lookout.”
It didn’t work. “If Judge Blair told you something that’s his business. Judges can do that sort of thing. If you want to pay my pension when I retire, then I’ll tell you whatever you want to know. In the meantime, I work for the US government and I’m not spilling a word. Clear?”
“Clear.” She remained seated, intent on making sure this little interaction wasn’t entirely in vain. “How about I tell you something?”
“Okay,” he said, his voice wary.
She started to tell him that Lloyd had made a point of picking up the mail from Ester’s desk and she’d seen him searching the Internet on her computer instead of his own for no apparent reason, but as she heard the words in her head, they sounded silly. Every marshal in the building had stopped in during this trial to watch the show, and they were likely all aware she wasn’t working on the case. Ratting out Lloyd for a couple of easily explainable actions would make her look petulant and wasn’t going to lead to anything productive. She’d be better off convincing Camille to confide in her about the investigation into the notes, but only if she was sure Camille had reported them in the first place. “Never mind. Can you just confirm you know about the notes, you know, because someone should know about them?”
“Yes.”
She kept watching, but he clammed up and it was clear the one word was all she was going to get. “Thanks.”
She spent the time walking back to the office, plotting how she was going to get Camille to open up to her and not just about the notes.
Chapter Sixteen
Camille made sure none of the jurors were watching and stole a glance at her watch. This afternoon’s mind-numbing argument about DNA evidence had already delayed testimony by a couple of hours, and it didn’t look like they were going to be able to finish with the witness before she called a recess for the weekend. Camille listened carefully for just the right moment, and when Dr. Edmunds paused to consult his report, she said, “Counsel, I think this is a good stopping point.”
Without waiting for a response, she turned to the jurors. “We will resume testimony at nine a.m. Monday morning. The usual precautions should be taken to avoid any news or conversations about this case. Do not speak to anyone about any aspect of the trial, including the testimony you have heard this week or your opinions about the evidence. Remember, you must wait until you have heard all of the evidence and both sides have rested before you begin your deliberations, which means no talking to each other about the outcome either. Have a good weekend.”
The bailiff shouted, “All rise,” and the minute the last juror filed out of the courtroom, she escaped to her office before the attorneys could trap her into a discussion about whatever point of contention they could dream up next. When she reached her office, she tore off her robe and examined her desk to see if there was anything she needed to deal with that couldn’t wait until Monday.
The stack of mail looked innocuous enough, but she thumbed through it just to be sure, and was relieved when she didn’t find any ominous messages encouraging her to quit her job. She’d shaken the missives off in front of West yesterday, and truthfully, they hadn’t bothered her until the mysterious note sender included the photo and West’s CPS file, both items making the threats more personal and damaging. In the past, when she’d received hate mail, it had always been very specific, with the author outlining the grievance and why he or she was convinced they’d been wronged. She might not agree with the message or the means of conveying it, but she could understand the frustration of being on the losing end of an adversarial position, especially when the loss meant being locked in prison for years.
But whoever was sending these notes wanted her gone and for no reason she could fathom. She hadn’t been on the bench long enough to piss anyone off unless she counted the AUSAs in this case to whom she had dealt a daily tongue-lashing about how it appeared someone from their side was leaking evidence to the press. As much as she didn’t care for Kyle Merrin, she couldn’t imagine his strict law-and-order self would stoop to passing notes to try to get her to leave. No, Merrin was the type who would come right out and say it.
While she was thinking about it, she called the number for the marshal’s service and asked to speak to Peter Donovan.
“Donovan here,” the gruff voice answered.
“Marshal Donovan, it’s Judge Avery. Just checking to see if there’s been any progress into the investigation about the notes.” She braced for a reference to the photograph of her kissing her law clerk. She’d considered not turning over the picture, but since the note was written on the back of it, she couldn’t justify withholding it. Thankfully, there was no judgment in the tone of his response.
“Not much. Judge Blair received some suspicious letters before he left the bench, but they all specifically mentioned the Wilson case, so we don’t think it’s the same person. We’re exploring some leads, but nothing I can share with you right now.”
She wanted to say, you mean nothing you will share with me, but she knew how these things worked. Cops liked to keep everyone in the dark until they had a sure thing. “Please keep me posted.” She paused, considering her next words. “I’d appreciate hearing an update no later than Monday.”
“Judge, if you’re concerned for your safety, we can assign someone to escort you this weekend.”
“No, that won’t be necessary,” Camille said before he could go any further down that trail. As powerless as she felt about the situation, an armed guard would only make her feel more powerless. She had absolutely no desire to have a federal agent shadowing her every move, especially at her mother’s event. “Updates will be fine. Thanks and have a good weekend.” She cut the call short before he could say anything else, and walked out of her office to find Lloyd and West.
She hoped West was still planning to attend the party. She hadn’t seen her all day and wouldn’t be surprised if she’d made a quiet escape to spend her Friday night doing something more fun than attending a stuffy party. Who could blame her? Camille was only attending for appearances’ sake. It wasn’t that she didn’t think MADD did good work, but standing around sipping drinks and eating food while people told stories about dead loved ones in order to raise money felt morbid. She could almost hear her brother scoffing at her for caring what anyone else thought, but his life choices had culminated in an untimely death, so there was that.
“Judge Avery?”
Camille turned, and Lloyd was standing behind her, looking ever eager. “Hi, Lloyd, are you ready to go? Have you seen West?” The last question had barely left her lips when Lloyd moved aside and Camille spotted West standing behind him. She was wearing a different suit. One that looked even better, if that were possible. The lightweight charcoal gray wool hugged her body with its trim, flattering cut. Camille was staring and cast about for words to distract her from drinking i
n the sight of West. She pointed to the door. “Ready to go?”
The night air was pleasantly cool, unusual for a week that had seen temperatures in the nineties. Camille was thankful for the light breeze, acutely conscious of the heat coursing through her as she accompanied West down the street. The setting sun provided the perfect cover for her to sneak glances at the way West’s trim pants hugged her butt as they walked.
They’d just crossed Field Street, when a man stepped out of the shadows waving his arms. What happened next was quick and revealing. Lloyd stepped to the side, practically hugging the building on their right, while West positioned herself directly in front of Camille.
“I’m calling the cops,” Lloyd shouted at the man as he jabbed at his phone.
West held up her hand. “Don’t.” She stepped closer to the man and stretched out an arm toward him. “Charlie, it’s West. Are you okay?”
Camille watched the exchange with trepidation, finding it hard to believe West knew the raggedly dressed man towering over them. Wait a minute. She’d seen this guy before, talking to West. The morning she and Jaylyn had bumped into West downtown. “Do you know this man?”
“I do,” West said, her voice quiet and low key. “He’s a friend. Right, Charlie?”
The man nodded, his arms now at his sides. West pulled out her wallet. “I’ve missed seeing you this week.” She handed him a bill. “My car windows are in pretty bad shape. Consider this a down payment for next week. Okay?”
The man looked down at the bill in West’s hand and slowly reached out to grasp it. West stood perfectly still as he took the money and backed away, mumbling a soft thank you as he faded back into the shadows. When he was gone, West turned back to Camille. “Shall we keep walking?”
“What the hell was that?” Lloyd asked.
“A guy who’s not going to a fancy party like we are.”
“How long have you known him?” Camille asked, wanting to pivot from Lloyd’s response.
“We talk most days. He’s a veteran. I think he’s probably schizophrenic and probably medicated some of the time and not others. He’s a nice enough guy and always gives my car windows a mean washing.”
Camille wanted to ask more. How did West meet him? How did they strike up a conversation? How long had she known him? But for some reason the questions felt intimate, like they would shed some light into the private places about West. Definitely not a conversation to have in front of Lloyd, so she settled on a simple, “Thanks for defusing the situation.” She shot a glance at Lloyd, hoping he got the message that he’d been the reason the situation needed defusing. “Come on, let’s go before all the good food is gone.”
The Adolphus Hotel was one of the old, grand mainstays in Dallas, and Camille usually loved its rich feel, but tonight it felt oppressive. They’d barely made it in the door before several lawyers from big downtown firms approached, angling to get a word with her alone. Last year, she would have complied because big law meant big money and potential donations to her reelection campaign. But she no longer needed to glad-hand these lawyers in hopes they’d support her political ambitions. She was polite and firm as she skirted through the crowd with West and Lloyd at her side, hoping to reach the bar before being waylaid by her parents.
“Camille!”
Damn. Her mother stood to her right, surrounded by a group of women. They all looked impeccable, which made Camille conscious of her slightly mussed hair and the bags under her eyes. But her mother had probably spent the afternoon having a massage, a blowout, and her nails done and called it work since she considered appearance a crucial part of influence. “Hello, Mother.” She waved an arm. “Looks like you have a great turnout.”
“We do have an excellent turnout.” She looked pointedly at her clerks. “Are you going to introduce me to your friends?”
Camille stifled a grimace. “Nancy Avery, this is West Fallon and Lloyd Garber, my law clerks. They graciously agreed to accompany me after a particularly grueling day at work. I promised them both a drink. We’ll catch up with you in just a bit, okay?” She leaned in for the requisite just for show hug, and then steered West and Lloyd toward the bar.
“Doesn’t your mother represent some of the Saudi royal family?” Lloyd asked, looking back over his shoulder as her mother wandered over to a new group of people.
“She does. I’m sure she’d love to tell you all about it. Just expect her to ask you for a big donation and don’t be afraid to tell her no.” Camille flicked her eyes in her mother’s direction. “If you hurry, you might catch her in between sessions.”
Lloyd didn’t wait for her to say more before he took off across the room.
“Good job,” West said.
“I take it you and Lloyd aren’t the best of friends.”
“He’s okay.”
“You mean, for an uptight, privileged guy.”
“You kept him on.”
West delivered the remark matter-of-factly and Camille didn’t take offense. She’d done what she thought was the right thing at the time—trusting Stroud to loan her an intelligent clerk who would help her clear up her docket. Funny, if she’d seen West’s résumé before she met her she would’ve ranked her as the top candidate because West was everything a judge could possibly want in a clerk: top of her class, well-rounded in clinic and law review experience, and universally liked by her professors. But none of that defined her. West was the perfect clerk but in a package she would’ve passed on if she’d been doing the hiring, and what a shame that would’ve been. How many other people and opportunities had she missed out on because she’d spent her life thinking things had to be a certain way to be right?
Her mother tapped the microphone at the podium and called the room to order. As she relayed her personal story about why MADD was so important to her, Camille looked over at West and wondered what she was thinking. Did she really want to be here or did she treat this as an obligation of her employment? Camille remembered comparing West to Sadie, her date from last weekend, and thinking Sadie would’ve made the better date for a function like this one. She’d been wrong. West was different from what she was used to, but she didn’t fall short in any way. Handsome, polite, attentive, and intelligent—she was the perfect date.
Except West wasn’t her date. While West listened to her mother’s remarks, Camille allowed herself one more long, lingering look at the woman standing next to her before she let reality back in.
* * *
“Are you ready to go?” Camille asked.
West took the last sip of her beer and set the bottle on the table. “Sure, but if you need to stick around, I can head out on my own.”
Camille shook her head. “No way. If I leave with you, I can make the excuse we have work to do at the office, but if I try to escape on my own, I’ll never make it out alive.”
West smiled. “You have been pretty popular tonight.”
“Don’t even. Popularity isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Everyone who talked to me wanted something. You’d think I was Santa Claus.”
“Yes, if Santa wore a midnight blue cocktail dress and had legs for days. Tell me you didn’t wear that all day under your robe.” Camille cast her eyes downward, and West half regretted the remark, but she wasn’t going to take it back. It was true. Camille was hot and she’d been the center of attention all night. At least three times, West had considered ducking out, but had been mesmerized by the way Camille worked the room, only staying long enough in one place to keep people wanting more. Camille had probably raised more for MADD tonight than everyone on the board combined.
“You’re very sweet, but I’m pretty sure it’s the title, not the package that has everyone vying for my attention.”
“Then let’s get you out of here.”
“Should we find Lloyd? I haven’t seen him since we got here.”
“He left about thirty minutes ago with Judge Stroud. But don’t worry, he didn’t go before he button-holed every partner at all the top ten firms
in town.”
“And you stayed?”
“I didn’t want you to walk back alone.” Had she been presumptuous to think Camille would want to walk back to the office with her? It wasn’t late and the munchies the guys in suits had passed around the room weren’t enough to constitute a full meal. For all she knew, Camille had a dinner date waiting.
“Again, that’s very sweet. I’d appreciate the escort.” Camille started walking, and West followed. When they reached the light at the corner near where her car was parked, she considered her options. In a few minutes, they’d be at the courthouse where Camille would go to her car, and she’d walk back to hers. They’d go their separate ways and Monday morning, they’d be back to judge and law clerk, instead of a couple dressed for a night on the town. She’d barely spent any time with Camille tonight, but strangely enough, she felt closer to her. Maybe it had something to do with meeting Camille’s parents and seeing the ostensibly close relationship that struck her as cold and impersonal just below the surface. Whatever it was, the evening had left her with questions about Camille’s personal life—her parents, her brother, her life growing up. Why did she become a lawyer, a judge? What were her dreams? How did she define success? If they kept walking, she feared she’d never have her answers and she really, really wanted them.
The light changed and Camille started to step into the street, but West called out, “Wait. Please.”
Camille turned back and the shine of the streetlight illuminated her features. She was more beautiful than West could stand, and she couldn’t imagine not taking the chance. “Let me drive you home. We can get dinner on the way. Remember you said if I gave your favorite pizza a chance, you’d let me pick the next time? Well, I know just the place. Come with me?”
She held out her hand and waited. One, two, three seconds passed. She spent them trying to interpret the changing expressions on Camille’s face, but finally gave up and hoped for the best.
