by Joel Goldman
“And was that the last time you saw Joanie alive?”
He raised his head, looking squarely at Alex, not blinking. “Yes, ma’am.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
ROSSI DIDN’T LIKE GOING to the courthouse because it usually meant that he was going to have to testify in one of his cases, and that always meant that a defense attorney was going to second-guess his investigation and twist his testimony to create reasonable doubt where there was none. He got the whole innocent-until-proven-guilty thing and he wasn’t so full of himself that he thought he was infallible, but smarmy defense lawyers and their smirky clients made him long for frontier justice.
He’d been a witness in Judge West’s courtroom dozens of times, always appreciating how courteous the judge was to him and enjoying each time the judge jammed his gavel up defense counsel’s puckered ass. The days of frontier justice weren’t coming back, but every cop knew that Wild Bill’s courtroom was the next best thing.
So he had mixed emotions about starting his Monday by bracing his favorite judge. He couldn’t fathom how the judge could have gotten tangled up in either Robin Norris’s murder or Jared Bell’s case, and that was enough to make him cautious. Not because he might ruffle the judge’s feathers but because hard experience had taught him that the quickest way to miss something important was to rule out the improbable. And while he doubted that Judge West had anything to hide, he couldn’t ignore the threads that tied the judge and Alex Stone together.
Lawyers, litigants, and potential jurors were crowded outside the judge’s courtroom, typical for a Monday morning, when new trials were starting. Rossi threaded his way past them and into the office outside Judge West’s chambers. His secretary was on the phone but the door to the judge’s chambers was open. Judge West looked out into the office as he slipped into his black robe, recognizing Rossi and waving him into his chambers.
“Morning, Your Honor,” Rossi said, shaking his hand.
“What brings you over here, Detective? I’m starting a civil case this morning, not criminal.”
“And I won’t keep you from that,” Rossi said. “I just need to ask you a couple of questions.”
“About what?”
One of Rossi’s rules about questioning a witness was to establish control. His badge was usually enough to do that, but he knew it wouldn’t have any effect on Judge West. Another rule was to slow it down, because most people couldn’t wait to get the questioning over. Making them go at his pace was one more way of letting the witness know who was running the show. Judge West was in a hurry. Rossi wasn’t. He looked over his shoulder at the open door.
“Mind if I close this?”
“Go right ahead,” West said, looking at his watch. “But let’s be quick about it. I’ve got a bunch of people dying to get out of jury duty and I want to disappoint them just as soon as I can.”
Rossi closed the door. “I’ve got to tell you, Judge. I kind of sympathize with them. Every time I’m in your courtroom, I can’t wait to get out either.”
Both men chuckled, though the judge didn’t say anything. He was waiting for Rossi.
“Mind if we sit down, Your Honor? It’s easier for me to take notes that way.”
Rossi pulled a small spiral notepad from his pocket to make the point.
“Do we really need to do this right now? I’ve got—”
“A jury and a trial, I know, Your Honor. But I wouldn’t be here taking up your time if I didn’t have to. I’ve just got a few questions about a case I’m working on.”
“How could I possibly know anything about one of your cases unless it was in my court? And if you want to talk to me about one of my cases, you’ll have to go through the prosecutor’s office. I don’t want to give defense counsel any grounds for claiming judicial misconduct by claiming I was helping the prosecution.”
Rossi sat in one of the chairs in front of the judge’s desk. “That’s the last thing I want to happen, but I talked to the prosecutor and she suggested I come see you.”
The judge didn’t move. “Which prosecutor is that?”
“Kalena Greene.”
West raised his eyebrows. “And which case?”
“Actually, it’s three cases. One of them is in your court, State v. Jared Bell. It’s a murder and rape case.”
“I know the case, Detective.”
“The second one concerns the death of Robin Norris.”
“The newspaper said that was an accident.”
“We’ve reason to believe she was murdered.”
Judge West’s jaw dropped, and he took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. He unzipped his robe and sat in his desk chair. “Murdered. How? By whom?”
“Run off the road up in Clay County, which puts it out of your jurisdiction, so there’s no chance the case will be in front of you. As for who did it, we don’t know.”
West swiveled his head slowly from side to side. “Murdered. What possible reason would anyone have to murder that woman?”
“Like I said, we don’t know.”
“You said there were three cases.”
“The third involves a man named Mathew Woodrell. He robbed a liquor store yesterday. He was caught and put on the seventh floor of the jail. First thing he did was stab Jared Bell in the neck with a shiv he made out of the frame for his glasses. Bell’s okay and now Woodrell is facing two felonies.”
“Well, Detective. I can’t help you with that one. I don’t know anything about Mathew Woodrell.”
Rossi sat back in his chair, notepad on his thigh. “Actually, Your Honor, you do.”
Judge West squinted at him. “How’s that?”
Rossi pulled up Woodrell’s booking photo on his cell phone and showed it to the judge. “You recognize this man?”
West studied the photograph, eyes opening in recognition. “This man was waiting for me in my chambers last Wednesday when I got off the bench. What’s his connection to Jared Bell?”
“He says Bell raped and killed his daughter while they were in the army stationed in Afghanistan.”
“Did he?”
“According to Woodrell, the army says no but Woodrell doesn’t buy it. When he found out Jared had been arrested for raping and murdering someone else, he drove here from Ohio to tell you what happened to his daughter so you wouldn’t let Jared off on a technicality. What happened when you saw him in your chambers?”
“I asked him who he was and he said he’d made a mistake and was in the wrong place and he apologized and left.”
“Did he tell you who he was or why he wanted to talk with you?”
The judge scooted his chair toward his desk. “Detective, I just told you everything the man said to me.”
Rossi nodded. “Just wanted to be sure, Your Honor. Was anyone else in your chambers at that time?”
“Alex Stone. She was also waiting to talk to me. I believe you’re familiar with her.”
The judge was smooth. He’d denied knowing Woodrell until Rossi showed him the photo, covering the denial by admitting the man had been in his chambers but he hadn’t known the man’s name. He’d handled Alex Stone the same way, not making Rossi work for answers to his questions. That’s what someone did who either had nothing to hide or who was well prepared.
“That I am. Why was she in your chambers?”
“She wanted to talk to me about deadlines in cases where the PD’s office was representing the defendant. She said that with Robin Norris’s death, they may need some more time.”
Another match, but Rossi would have bought it more easily had the judge stumbled on that one. It was rare for two people to tell the same story down to the smallest details. And although there weren’t a lot of details in these stories, there was something about the telling that didn’t sit right with Rossi. Alex had struggled to get her legs under her before she gave her version, but the judge was right there with her, word for word, beat for beat.
“And what did you tell her?”
“I told her that
I’d entertain any motions her office might file but that I couldn’t discuss any particular case in which she was not counsel of record and that those discussions would have to include opposing counsel. Now, is that all?”
“One last thing, Your Honor. Kalena Greene tells me that someone gave Robin Norris an advance copy of the police department’s investigative report on Jared Bell—my report, as it turns out—and the criminal complaint. Her office provides that to defense counsel at the initial appearance, but Alex Stone already had a copy. I’m wondering if you might know how that happened.”
“What difference does it make when defense counsel gets those documents? They’re certainly entitled to them.”
“As I said, it’s the prosecutor’s policy not to provide it before the initial appearance.”
“Fuck the prosecutor’s office.”
Rossi grinned. “You might have to get in line to do that, Your Honor, but that doesn’t answer my question. Do you know who sent that file to Robin Norris?”
Judge West leaned back in his chair, hands clasped over his belly. “I did.”
“Mind if I ask why?”
“She asked me for it. She called me the day Bell was arrested. She knew about the case from all the press coverage, figured Bell would need a public defender, and said she’d like to get a head start on it. When I suggested she get the file from the prosecutor’s office, she told me about their policy and I said I’d be glad to send the file over to her.”
“Did the two of you discuss which lawyer in her office would handle the case?”
“She mentioned that she was going to assign the case to Alex Stone, but we didn’t discuss it.”
“What was your reaction to that?”
“Reaction? I didn’t have one. Now, I’ve been very patient with you, Detective, even if I do have a full courtroom waiting for me. I’ve answered your questions, and now you can answer mine. What the hell does any of this have to do with me?”
Rossi smiled as he stood. “Just going where the case takes me, Your Honor.”
“Which case? You’re asking me about three different ones.”
“All of them,” Rossi said, sliding his notepad into his pocket.
Judge West rose, closing the zipper on his robe. “I take it, then, that we are done.”
“We are.” Rossi turned toward the door to the judge’s outer office, stopping with his hand on the knob, looking back at West. “Except for one thing. What’s the nature of your relationship with Alex Stone?”
Judge West held his look but couldn’t help the way his eyes narrowed, his nostrils flared, and his fists clenched. Rossi knew the judge might not even be aware he’d done any of those things, but Rossi picked up on all of them, knowing he’d touched a nerve. This was Judge West unplugged and honest. The judge opened his mouth just enough to let his words out.
“She’s a lawyer who appears in my court.”
“What do you think of her . . . as a lawyer who appears in your court?”
“She’s very good at what she does.”
“Can’t argue with that. After all, she gunned down her client and got away with it in your courtroom.”
Judge West glared at him, Rossi giving him a flat look in return, neither moving the other.
“Yes,” Judge West said. “She did.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
ROSSI WALKED DOWN THE COURTHOUSE STEPS, satisfied that he’d accomplished one of the basic objectives of any interrogation. He’d confirmed another witness’s story. Both the judge and Alex gave the same explanation for why she wanted to talk to him, meaning either they were telling the truth or they’d gotten their stories straight before he got to the judge.
If it were anyone other than Alex Stone, he’d give a heavy lean to the first option, particularly since both also confirmed Mathew Woodrell’s story about their encounter in chambers, but he couldn’t do that with her. And that left him wondering what could possibly be going on between them that would prompt both of them to lie.
He was also pleased that he’d accomplished a second goal of interrogation, pissing off the witness, because pissed-off people make mistakes that can turn into breaks that solve cases. The judge was annoyed that Rossi was keeping him from his courtroom, but annoyed people don’t give him the bull-about-to-charge look that West flashed at him when he asked the judge about his relationship with Alex. And when he said that Alex had not only gotten away with killing Dwayne Reed but that she’d gotten away with it in his courtroom, the look the judge gave him was more executioner than judicial.
All of which made him think that whatever was going on between the judge and Alex had to do with Alex killing Dwayne Reed. The judge might have reacted that way because he’d been forced to acquit her because the prosecutor didn’t have enough evidence to make the case. Given West’s hanging-judge reputation, Rossi could understand how that would chap the judge’s ass. But there were two other possibilities that were more intriguing.
The first was that Alex had something on the judge that she used to pressure him into the acquittal, but the judge didn’t strike him as someone who would let himself be blackmailed. The second was that Alex and the judge had conspired to get her off, but that made less sense to him than the blackmail scenario. Neither theory got him closer to the truth—not yet—but if he kept pissing off enough people, he knew he’d get there.
**
“In here, Rossi,” Mitch Fowler said from his office when Rossi got back to the homicide unit.
Rossi stood in the doorway. “What’s up?”
Fowler looked up from a stack of reports on his desk. “You’ve got a visitor.”
Rossi glanced around the empty bullpen. “Where?”
“Interrogation Two. She said she wanted to have a private conversation with you.”
“Who is she?”
“Sonia Steele. Says she’s a lawyer but I didn’t ask to see her bar association card.”
“Why not?”
“Didn’t have to. She had arrogant ballbuster written all over her face. You know her?”
“Enough to say hello.”
“If she’s representing someone who’s getting ready to sue your ass and the department because of some bullshit you pulled . . .”
Rossi held up one hand. “Easy, boss. She’s representing Robin Norris’s kids. Wheeler and I met her at the Norris house Friday night. I haven’t had time to pull any bullshit on her, but I’ll see what I can do.”
Wheeler’s mouth turned down like he got a bad taste of something. “I’m tired of you fucking with me, Rossi.”
Rossi grinned. “Don’t worry, boss. You’ll get a second wind.”
Sonia Steele was seated at the interrogation table, her briefcase at her feet, her backbone straight, tapping away on her smartphone when Rossi walked into the room. She was wearing slacks and a sleeveless scoop-neck blouse under a jacket she’d set on the back of her chair. The blouse showed off her buff arms and shoulders. She was in her fifties but in better shape than women—and men—ten years younger. Having met her twice, Rossi was impressed with more than her good looks. He liked the toughness in her muscle message.
“Mrs. Steele,” Rossi said, taking a seat opposite her and gesturing at the scuffed table. “This is what passes for a homicide cop’s conference room. I’m sure you’re used to better.”
She smiled at him with perfect teeth. She may have had them whitened, but the rest of her face was original equipment, down to the crow’s-feet in the corners of her eyes and the laugh lines at her mouth.
“I’ve never seen a table that could get a deal done. It always comes down to the people sitting around the table.”
“So what kind of a deal are you interested in?”
“That’s not why I’m here, Detective.”
Rossi spread his hands wide. “Then what can I do for you?”
She took a breath, pursed her lips, and let it go, her posture softening to rounded shoulders, the confident sheen she’d had when he walked i
n the room fading. He might have been wrong about the toughness thing, working out taking her only so far.
“I don’t really know. I mean, you can’t do anything for me.” She sat back, chewing her lower lip and shaking her head. “I’m sorry. It’s just that I’m really out of my element here,” she said, pointing to the mirrored wall. “Is that one of those two-way mirrors I see on Law and Order and all those other shows?”
“Yes.”
“So you really do that? Watch people while they’re being interrogated.”
“If we could sell tickets, we’d make a bundle.”
She didn’t say anything. She was stalling, but it was her meeting, so Rossi let the silence do its work. She pressed her palms flat on the table and took another deep breath.
“Okay. I’m just going to tell you what I came to tell you and I’ll leave the rest up to you.”
“And what’s that?”
She reached into her briefcase for a manila envelope, placing it on the table in front of her. It was the kind of envelope that was held closed by a metal clasp inserted through a hole in the flap. She toyed with the clasp, opening and closing it.
“It’s just that Ted is still the father of those kids, and even though he’s been a lousy father—and that’s putting it mildly—he’s still their dad, and with Robin gone, well . . . I hate to do anything that might hurt the kids even more. Especially if I’m wrong.”
“Wrong about what?”
She looked at him, her fingers on the clasp, deciding. “It’s possible Ted killed Robin. I mean, I don’t know that for certain. I don’t have a smoking gun or anything like that. In fact, what I have is strictly circumstantial and can probably be explained. I haven’t said a word to Ted or my husband or—God forbid—the children, but I couldn’t stop thinking about it all weekend. Not after you told us what happened to Robin.”
“How about this,” Rossi said. “You tell me whatever it is you came to tell me and show me whatever is in that envelope, and I’ll figure out what to do with it. If it raises any questions about Mr. Norris, I’ll look into it.”
