by Joel Goldman
“You know I am. You don’t give a rat’s ass about Dwayne Reed. Nobody misses that prick. But you can’t get over the fact that Alex Stone beat you.”
“It’s more than that.”
“What?”
“She used me.”
“How?”
“To put a bullet in Gloria Temple. That’s how she beat me. I killed the one witness who would have put Stone away.”
“You’ve told me that story a dozen times. No way Alex could have set that up. Shit, you saved her life.”
“Like you said, she beat me.”
Wheeler studied him. “Man, you are fucked-up.” He pulled the evidence bag containing Alex’s phone from his jacket pocket. “I may regret this, but are you in?”
“Yeah. I’m all in.”
“Okay. My boss will square it with yours. Just be sure you’re all in on Robin Norris, not Alex Stone.”
Rossi put his hand on Wheeler’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. I know how to multitask.”
“Oh, yeah?” Wheeler grinned. “What’s next on your to-do list?”
Rossi pointed across the street to Ilus Davis Park. “I’m going to have a seat on a bench, let the sun shine down on me, and watch all the girls go by.”
“And hope that Alex Stone is one of them?”
“You’re a wise man for a mayor.”
Ilus Davis Park was an outdoor mall flanked on the north by the federal courthouse and on the south by city hall and named after another former Kansas City mayor. The five-acre park had a statue of Davis, a reflecting pool, a memorial to the more than two hundred city employees who’d lost their lives in the line of duty, and a monument to the Bill of Rights.
It also had enough trees and shrubs to make it a perfect place for Rossi to sit and watch the entrance to Alex’s building without her knowing it. He was betting that she was so shaken by the message on her phone that she’d have to get out if only to clear her head and, if Rossi was lucky, talk to someone, probably Bonnie. If she did that, he’d take another pass at Bonnie. He settled onto a bench with a good line of sight and waited.
Twenty minutes passed before Alex emerged, heading south on Oak. Rossi gave her a head start before following, puzzled when she didn’t turn into the garage where he knew she parked her car. He was even more curious when she crossed Twelfth Street, angling toward the Jackson County Courthouse. She wasn’t carrying a file or a briefcase, so he doubted she had a hearing. He couldn’t imagine a less likely place for Alex to go to lay down her burden.
He stopped on Oak, just north of Twelfth, standing in the shadow of a bail bonds office, and watched her enter the courthouse because he couldn’t follow her immediately without her seeing him.
Once she was inside, he trotted across the street, past the bronze statue of a mounted President Andrew Jackson, the county’s namesake, and up the stairs to the courthouse doors. Peering through the glass, he saw her standing in front of the lobby elevators.
When she disappeared into one of the elevators, he went inside, the deputies waving him through security, and watched as her elevator door slid shut. The number of each floor was displayed above the elevator, lighting up as the elevator reached that floor. The car in which Alex was riding made its first stop on the fifth floor. Rossi watched the numbers. When the car began its descent, he took the stairs to the fifth floor, coming out in the center of a wide, oval-shaped rotunda ringed by four courtrooms. Doors at each end opened into interior corridors leading to offices for each judge’s staff and chambers.
It was near the end of the lunch hour, and the expansive hallway was filled with lawyers, litigants, jurors, and courthouse personnel getting ready for their afternoon sessions. Alex wasn’t among them and she wasn’t in any of the courtrooms.
She could have gone into one of the interior corridors to see a secretary, law clerk, or judge, but that didn’t make sense if he was right about her reason for being there. And he couldn’t go prowling through those offices without having to answer more questions than he could ask.
There was another possibility. She could have realized he was following her, led him to the fifth floor, and jumped on another elevator, giving him the slip. Either he was wrong about her knowing something about Robin Norris’s death or she’d beaten him again.
Chapter Sixteen
ALEX STOOD OUTSIDE JUDGE WEST’S COURTROOM, looking through the glass set in the upper half of the swinging double doors at the lawyers huddled in front of the bench. The court reporter had moved alongside them with her steno machine to capture what they were saying in hushed voices the jury couldn’t hear, while the jurors studied ceiling tiles and the handful of spectators checked their e-mail. It was twelve forty, well past the usual time for a lunch break, but Judge West was notorious for long sessions and short recesses.
Knowing that he had to break sooner rather than later, Alex decided to wait for him in his chambers, hoping his secretary and law clerk had gone to lunch so she wouldn’t have to make up an excuse for a private, unscheduled meeting with the judge. She let out a quick sigh of relief when she found their offices empty, sucking in a sharp breath as she stood in front of the closed door to Judge West’s chambers. She hesitated for a moment, debating whether to let herself in, deciding that Wheeler and Rossi hadn’t left her a choice.
She’d always felt uneasy in his chambers even before they became coconspirators. It wasn’t just his prickly gruffness or the perpetual dusk he maintained with drawn shades and muted lighting. And it wasn’t the dark woodwork and black leather chairs or the absence of any trace of kith or kin. It was how well the shadows suited him.
In her nightmares, he strode toward her on legs welded from steel prison bars, swinging arms made of long-handled gavels in punishing arcs at her head, his corpulent body bursting at the seams as a putrid discharge boiled over his collar. He kept coming at her, his eyes shrunk to red slits, his mouth torn in an executioner’s snarl, until she turned and ran, only to be caught by Dwayne Reed, who pinned her against the wall, one hand clamped around her throat, the other ripping at her clothes until she broke free, pulling a gun, both of them laughing at her until she pulled the trigger again and again and woke up screaming.
Alex never told her therapist that Judge West haunted her dreams along with Dwayne Reed. Physician-patient privilege was not a safe enough sanctuary for that confession. Nor did she tell Bonnie, too afraid that once Bonnie tugged on that thread, she wouldn’t stop until she’d unraveled her.
She understood why she couldn’t escape him in her dreams, but that wouldn’t stop her from confronting him about Robin Norris’s death. Had he told Robin how to handle Jared Bell’s case? Had she refused and unwittingly signed her death warrant? What would drive him to such extremes? She would demand answers, and if she wasn’t satisfied, she’d go to Rossi and tell him everything because there wasn’t room on her conscience or in her dreams for Robin.
The door from the hallway swung open, making her jump, clutching her hand to her chest, wondering how she would explain her presence in his chambers to Judge West’s secretary, until she realized it wasn’t his secretary. It was a wan-faced, slim-shouldered man dressed in a charcoal-gray suit, his silver hair buzzed close to his scalp, patchy in places. A round gold pin the size of a quarter was stuck to his lapel, an eagle perched at the top, its wings wrapped around the sides.
“Oh,” the man said, staring at her through his black-framed glasses, his eyes more curious than startled.
Before Alex could answer, Judge West came through the door from the courtroom, his black robe billowing around him like a storm cloud. He glanced at Alex and the man, then, hanging his robe on a coat stand, lumbered to his desk and dropped into his chair.
“Her I know,” he said, pointing at Alex, “but who the hell are you?” he asked the man.
The man chuckled and tugged at his collar, then shook his head. “I’m sorry. I get so turned around in these big buildings I’m not sure where I’m supposed to go or how to get there. I�
�m looking for the probate court and I’m guessing this isn’t it.”
“Next floor down,” the judge said.
“Thank you, and I’m sorry for intruding,” the man said and left.
“Who was that guy?” Judge West said.
“Beats me,” Alex said. “I’ve never seen him before.”
“Jesus fucking Christ! I’ve told the county a dozen times we need more money for courthouse security and they keep telling me I’m crying wolf. Well, mark my words, one of these days, some nutcase is going to waltz right past our five-and-dime security team of overweight and out-of-shape deputies and spray a few hundred rounds into a jury pool, and then we’ll see who’s crying wolf, by God!”
“He didn’t look too dangerous to me. He was probably an out-of-town lawyer who doesn’t know his way around the courthouse.”
“That’s not the goddamn point, Alex. The goddamn point is that a stranger walked right into my chambers and nobody asked him who he was, why was he here, and did he have an appointment.”
Alex nodded.
“For that matter, I could say the same thing about you, except for the part about you being a stranger. So what are you doing here?”
He was a bully and bluster was his natural state. At times, she let herself believe that he’d bullied her into joining forces to railroad her most heinous clients into a life behind bars, but in her honest moments she knew that wasn’t true. She’d been a willing partner. He’d exploited her guilt-driven weakness, but that didn’t make him responsible for what she’d done. She owned that, which made it easier to stand up to him in spite of his threat to ruin her life.
“Robin Norris is dead.”
He rocked back in his chair, arms folded across his belly.
“So I heard. Damn shame.”
Alex balled her fists, arms at her sides. “Is that all you can say?”
He spread his hands. “What would you have me say? I didn’t know her well, but from what I knew, she did a good job and I assume she had a family. But accidents happen and some days life is a shit sandwich. Seems to me that damn shame covers that and a lot more.”
“The police think it wasn’t an accident.”
West leaned forward, shuffling papers on his desk, not looking at her. “What makes you say that?”
Alex watched him for a moment, his nonchalance not what she expected, wondering if it was too practiced, his way of keeping his emotions in check.
“Because two detectives came to my office to talk to me about it.”
“Why would they do that?” he asked, leaning back in his chair again.
“You think they’d tell me? One of the detectives, a guy named Wheeler, is in the accident investigation unit, but the other detective was Hank Rossi, and he’s strictly homicide. If he didn’t think Robin might have been murdered, he wouldn’t be involved in the investigation.”
Judge West laced his fingers together across his belly. “Why are you telling me this?”
She looked at him, hesitating for a moment, then plunged in. “A woman from the St. Louis PD’s office, Meg Adler, is filling in for Robin. She brought me Jared Bell’s file first thing this morning. She said she found it on Robin’s desk with a Post-it note with my name on it, but the file was never logged in. It just showed up out of nowhere.”
West narrowed his eyes. “Get to the point, Counselor.”
Alex took another deep breath. “You told me I was going to be assigned to Jared Bell’s case. The next thing I know is that Robin is dead, Bell’s file is on her desk with my name on it, and no one knows how it got there.”
The judge pulled his chair tight against his desk, color flooding his cheeks. “If I were you, I’d be very careful with the next thing that comes out of your mouth because I don’t like your tone or your implication.”
Alex planted her palms on his desk, boring in on him. “Did you talk to Robin about Jared Bell’s case? Did you tell her how I was supposed to do my job?”
Judge West eased back, a thin-lipped smile cutting across his face. “No. Anything further, Counsel?”
Alex didn’t blink. “Yes. Where were you last night at ten fifteen?”
He gave her a weary grin like a parent whose patience has been strained to the limit. “In bed listening to my wife snore.”
“Did you have anything to do with Robin Norris’s death?”
The judge remained impassive. “No.”
Alex hung her head for a moment, then straightened and turned away.
“Anything further, Counsel?”
She shook her head, her back to him.
“Then let me give you some advice. The next time you accuse me of murder, try digging up some evidence first, like a photograph maybe. In my experience, that’s much more persuasive to a jury.”
Alex stiffened at his mention of the photograph, unwilling to let him turn the tables on her. She faced him, her jaw set.
“Photograph or no photograph, if I find out you’re responsible for Robin’s death in any way, so help me God, I will burn you down!”
“Really?” West said, his face as calm as that of a card player holding a winning hand. “When did you take up arson? I thought you favored shooting the unarmed and defenseless.”
She cocked her head to the side, showing him a steely smile. “I’ll make an exception for you.”
Chapter Seventeen
ALEX POUNDED DOWN FIVE FLIGHTS of stairs to the street, taking her anger and frustration out on each step. She couldn’t decide what was worse: that she’d let Judge West goad her into threatening to kill him or that she’d accused him of murder.
By the time she reached the first floor, she’d burned enough energy to think clearly. What mattered was whether she believed his denial and his alibi. She couldn’t picture him rear-ending Robin’s car, forcing her off the road. It was easier to imagine him whispering in someone’s ear about a problem that had to be solved in a hurry, never mind the details.
If the judge was responsible for Robin’s death, she was culpable as well, even if the law wouldn’t draw that link. She’d given in to her weakest self by joining hands with West, making it easy to draw a straight line from that moment to this. She had to find out the truth about Robin’s death, no matter the consequences. She couldn’t leave it up to Rossi, because he wouldn’t hesitate to use the investigation as another way to bring her down. And she couldn’t ask anyone for help without putting them at risk by dragging them into the deal she’d made with the devil.
When she left the courthouse, she saw the man who’d walked into Judge West’s chambers staring up at Andrew Jackson and his horse. She was about to pass him when he turned, head still raised, and ran into her.
“Oh,” he said.
“That’s two ohs in one day,” Alex said.
“Yes, it is,” he said with a smile. “That’s my limit, I’m afraid.”
He was an inch shorter than her, his gray complexion waxy in the sunlight. She was close enough to make out the detail on his gold pin. There was a navy blue inner circle inscribed with Service—Valor—Sacrifice. A map occupied the center of the pin with 50th superimposed over it. The words Vietnam War appeared beneath that. A small rectangular ribbon in green, gold, and red was attached to the bottom of the pin.
Alex pointed to the pin. “You served in Vietnam?”
“Eighty-Second Airborne, 1968 to 1970.”
“Long time ago.”
“But not forgotten.”
“Nor should it be,” Alex said, hesitating for a moment. “Did you find the probate department?
“I did, but everyone was at lunch. I’ll have to try again, but next time I’ll know where I’m going.”
“Since you didn’t know your way around the courthouse, I take it you’re not a lawyer.”
He laughed. “Oh, no. I was looking into a matter for a friend, another vet, that’s all. I’m retired, so I don’t have much else to do.”
The man was so courteous and disarming that Alex warmed to him i
mmediately, their pleasant conversation a welcome antidote to her confrontation with Judge West.
“What did you do before you retired?”
“Pretty much the same thing, helping vets, so I guess you could say I didn’t work very hard or I never retired.”
“I know a few lawyers who do probate work. I’d be happy to give you their names.”
“Then you must be a lawyer.”
“Guilty,” Alex said.
“And a good one, if I’m any judge of people.” He stuck out his hand. “Mathew Woodrell.”
“Alex Stone,” she said, shaking his hand.
“A pleasure,” he said. “Nice to know a lawyer if I ever need one.”
“Well, you won’t want it to be me.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because I only represent poor people accused of crimes.”
“Then I hope you’re right.”
She watched him walk away, then look back at her and give her a little wave. A westbound bus was stopped on the other side of Twelfth Street. When it left, she saw Rossi standing on the sidewalk. They stared at each other, neither of them moving, waving, or nodding, until Rossi turned his back and walked away.
Chapter Eighteen
ALEX STOPPED AT A PHONE STORE on her way home and bought a new phone, keeping her old number. The salesperson confirmed Rossi’s explanation that her voice mail was stored on the carrier’s server and not on the phone. She’d sync the new phone with her laptop to restore everything else that was on her old phone.
Bonnie was on her hands and knees, wrist deep in dirt, working along the edge of a flower bed that bordered their patio when Alex got home. Alex watched her from the den window that looked out on the backyard. Soil littered the patio’s redbrick pavers behind her. Alex couldn’t tell whether she was digging a trench or digging to China.
Bonnie was the gardener in the family. She delighted in choosing the plantings, putting them in, and nurturing them from one season to the next, taking Alex by the hand for a tour and explaining about annuals and perennials, irises, day lilies, impatiens, and hydrangeas, and junipers and ferns and all the rest. Alex never got past the colors, telling Bonnie she liked the purple and yellow flowers and the green bushes until Bonnie poked her in the arm and called her a moron.
