Pope's shoulders hunched. He looked like he was going to say something to Griffen, then he changed his mind and turned back to Tracy.
"I expect you to make that call. Then I'll expect an apology."
Pope pushed past Griffen and stormed down the hall and out of the clerks' area. As soon as the door slammed, Griffen asked, "Are you okay?"
Tracy nodded, afraid that the judge would see how frightened she was if she spoke.
"What was that about?"
Tracy hesitated.
"Please," Griffen said. "I want to help."
"I told something to the police. Something about Justice Pope and Laura. That's why he was upset."
"What happened between them?"
"I . . . I really shouldn't say. I don't have anything more than suspicions. Maybe I was wrong to tell the police in the first place."
"Tracy, I feel terrible about what happened to Laura. If you know something, you have to tell me."
Tracy hesitated, not certain if she should go on.
"What is it, Tracy?"
"I think Justice Pope was bothering Laura."
"In what way?"
"Sexually. I... There was an incident in the library. I couldn't hear what Justice Pope said but it looked like he was making a pass at her.
When I asked Laura what happened, she wouldn't come out and accuse him, but she was very upset. Laura was disturbed a lot recently. She looked like she wasn't sleeping and she was very jumpy."
"And you think that was because Arnold was bothering her?"
"I don't know."
Griffen considered what Tracy had told him. Then he closed the door to her office and sat down.
"I'm going to tell you something in confidence. You'll have to promise never to discuss this with anyone."
"Of course."
"We've had trouble with Arnold Pope since he came on the court. Justice Kamsky was highly respected. He was not only brilliant, he was very practical. I can't tell you how many times he was able to break a deadlock among the justices with his insights.
"When Pope beat Ted in the election we were crushed. Ted was not only the court's finest justice but a dear friend to us all.
Still, we tried to treat Pope as a colleague. We bent over backward to be fair to him. But the man's been a disaster. And one of the worst problems we've had has been his relations with women.
"Stuart had a long talk with Pope about his conduct after we received complaints from a secretary and a woman clerk. We all hoped he learned his lesson, but it appears he hasn't."
"What are you going to do?"
"I'll discuss what you've told me with Stuart, but I don't think there's anything we can do. You're our only witness and you can't say what really happened. But it helps us to know that there's still a problem.
"I hope you understand why you can't talk about this. The image of the court is very important. People have to believe that they are receiving justice when we decide matters. It's the public's acceptance of our decision-making authority that maintains the rule of the law. Any scandal weakens the public's image of what we do."
"I've already told the police."
"Of course. You had to. And I appreciate your candor with me."
Now it was Griffen's turn to pause. He looked uncomfortable.
"You were Laura's friend, weren't you?"
"I'd like to think that, but Laura was tough to get to know."
"Oh?" Griffen said, surprised. "I had the impression you two were close."
"Not really. We were the only woman clerks, so we gravitated toward each other, but Laura didn't make friends easily. She came over to my house a few times for dinner and I was at her place once, but she never let her hair down with me." Tracy paused, remembering Laura's last message.
"I think she wanted to that night. I think she was desperate for a friend. I wish . . ."
Tracy let the thought trail off. Griffen leaned forward.
"Alice told me about the call. Don't blame yourself. There's nothing you could have done."
"I know that, but it doesn't make me feel any better."
"Laura was a tough person to befriend. I try to get to know my clerks.
We go fishing or hiking a few times during the year. You know, do something that has nothing to do with law. Laura always had some excuse. I tried to draw her out, but our relationship stayed strictly professional. Still, recently I also had the feeling that something was troubling her. She seemed on the verge of confiding in me a few times, then she would back off. When I heard she'd been killed . . . I don't know . . . I guess I felt I'd failed her in some way. I was hoping she'd told you what was troubling her."
"You should take your own advice. If I'm not allowed to blame myself, how can you feel guilty?"
Griffen smiled. He looked tired. "It's always easier to give advice than to take it. I liked Laura. She seemed to be very decent. I wish she trusted me more. Maybe she would have told me what was bothering her and I could have helped."
"She trusted you a lot, Judge. She was your biggest fan. She looked up to 'you."
"That's nice to know."
Justice Griffen stood up. Before he left, he said, "You should know that your reputation among the justices is excellent. You aren't only the best clerk we've had this term but one of the finest lawyers I've worked with since I started on the court. I'm sure you'll make an excellent attorney." Tracy blushed.
"Thanks for talking to me," Griffen continued. "I know this has been hard for you. If there's ever anything I can do for you, I'd be pleased if you would consider me a friend."
Raoul Otero was wearing a custom-tailored gray suit with a fine blue weave, a white silk shirt and a yellow-and-blue Hermes tie.
In the subdued lighting of Casa Maria, he could easily be mistaken for a successful executive, but a brighter light would have revealed the pockmarked face and wary eyes of a child of Mexico City's most dangerous slum.
"You're looking good for a dead man, amigo," Otero said as he threw his arms around Charlie Deems. Otero was putting on weight, but Deems could still feel muscle as the big man smothered him.
"I'm feeling good," Deems said when Otero let him go.
"You know Bobby Cruz?" Otero asked. A thin man with a sallow complexion and a pencil-thin mustache was sitting quietly in the center of the booth. He had not risen when Otero greeted Deems, but his pale eyes never left Charlie.
"Sure. I know Bobby," Deems said. Neither seemed pleased to see the other. Cruz was wearing an open-necked white shirt and a sports jacket.
Deems knew Cruz was armed, but he was not concerned about Otero's bodyguard.
"So," Otero said, sliding back into the booth, "how does it feel to be out?"
"Better than being in," Deems cracked. Otero laughed.
"That's what I like about you, amigo. You got a sense of humor. Most guys, they'd come off the row all bitter. You, you're making jokes."
Deems shrugged.
"We already ate," Otero said, gesturing apologetically at the remains of his meal. "You want a beer, some coffee?"
"That's okay, Baoul. I'd rather get down to business. I've got fifteen and I want a key."
Otero looked uncomfortable. "That may be a problem, Charlie."
"Oh? That's not the price?"
"The price is right, but I can't deal with you right now."
"I know one key ain't much, Raoul, but this is just the beginning. I'm going to be into some big money soon and I just need the key to help me reestablish myself."
"I can't do it."
Deems cocked his head to one side and studied Otero.
"My money was always good before. What's the problem?"
"You're hot. You start dealing and the cops gonna be all over you and everyone you're seen with. There's plenty people still pretty mad about you takin' out that kid. It caused trouble. We couldn't push shit for three months. The operation was almost shut down. I wish you'd talked to me before you done it, amigo."
"Hey," Deems asked, "w
hat was I supposed to do? Stand in a lineup and hope Mr. Citizen didn't pick me? The fuck should have minded his own business."
Otero shook his head. "If you'd come to me, I could have worked it out.
Taking out that little girl was bad for business, Charlie."
Deems leaned across the table. Cruz tensed. Deems ignored Cruz and looked directly into Otero's eyes.
"Was it bad for business when I took care of Harold Shoe?"
Deems asked. "Was it bad for business when I didn't tell the cops the name of the person who thought it would be neato if someone performed unnecessary surgery on Mr. Shoe while he was wide awake?"
Otero held up a hand. "I never said you wasn't a stand-up guy, Charlie.
This is business. I bet the cops been following you since you got out.
Any business we do is gonna be on videotape. Things are back to normal and I want to keep it that way."
Charlie smiled coldly and shook his head.
"This is bullshit, Raoul. You owe me."
Otero flushed. "I'm tryin' to say this politely, Charlie, 'cause I don't want to hurt your feelings, okay? I ain't gonna do business with you. It's too risky. Maybe, in the future, when things quiet down, but not now. I can't make it any clearer."
"It might be worse for business to fuck with me."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"You're a smart guy. Figure it out." Charlie stood up. "I'm gonna be in a position to move a lot more than a key pretty soon.
When I'm ready, I'll be back to see you. That will give you time to think about how intelligent it is to stiff a guy who went to the row instead of trading your fat ass for a life sentence. A person like that isn't afraid of death, Raoul. Are you?"
Cruz started to bring his right hand out from under the table, but Otero clamped a hand on Cruz's forearm.
"I'll think about what you said, amigo."
"It's always better to think than to act rashly, Raoul. See you soon."
Deems walked out of the restaurant.
"Charlie Deems has been too long on this earth, Raoul," Cruz told Otero in Spanish, still watching the front of the restaurant.
"Charlie's just upset," Raoul answered in a tone that made it clear he was not certain about what he was saying. "He's just being the man.
When he calms down, he'll do what he told me to do. Think. Then he'll see things my way."
"I don' know. Charlie, he ain't like other guys. He don' think like other guys. He's fucked up in the head. Better I take him out, Raoul.
That way we don' take no chances."
Otero looked troubled. Killing people was bad for business, but Bobby Cruz was right when he said Charlie Deems didn't think like other people. Charlie Deems was different from any man Raoul Otero had ever met and he had met some bad hombres in his time.
Charlie Deems sat in his car behind the restaurant. Anger was flowing through him like a red tide. The anger was directed at Raoul, whom he'd gone to death row to protect and who now turned his back on him. It was also directed at Abigail Griffen, the bitch who was responsible for all his troubles. If she hadn't made prosecuting him a personal crusade, he would not have lost almost two years of his life.
Charlie let his imagination run wild. In his fantasy, Deems saw himself gut-shooting Raoul, then sitting in a chair with a beer as he watched him die slowly and in excruciating pain. His fantasy about Abigail Griffen was quite different.
Caruso's did not have the best Italian food in Portland or great atmosphere, but it did have subdued lighting, stiff drinks and the privacy Abigail Griffen needed to brood about her bastard husband, who was in her thoughts because she had just come from a two-hour conference with the attorney who was handling her divorce.
At thirty-three, Abbie felt she had lived long enough to have some idea of what life was supposed to be about, but she was still in a state of tortured confusion when the subject was love. Abbie's parents were killed in a car accident when she was three and she grew up believing that she was missing a special kind of love that all the children with mothers and fathers received.
Abbie was afraid to form relationships with men, because she was afraid that the love she shared would disappear like the love that had been snatched away when her parents were taken from her. It wasn't until her sophomore year at the University of Wisconsin that she fell in love for the first time.
Abbie sipped from her wineglass and thought about Larry Ross, a sure sign that she was courting severe depression. When she married Robert, Abbie had been so happy that she stopped thinking about Larry, but she found herself clinging to his memory with increasing urgency as her marriage soured.
The alcohol Abbie had consumed since entering Caruso's was beginning to make her woozy. She tried to remember what Larry looked like, but his image was blurred and insubstantial. What if Larry's memory slipped away forever?
Larry Ross was a quiet, considerate pre-med student who was a friend for a year before he became Abbie's first lover. When Larry started medical school at Columbia University, Abbie sent out applications to every law school within commuting distance of New York. They both felt that they would be together forever.
She was accepted at New York University exactly one week before Larry was fatally stabbed during a mugging. Abbie fled home to the aunt who had raised her.
After Larry's death, Abbie ran away from every man who tried to form a relationship with her, because she was certain she could never survive love's loss a second time. Then she met Robert Griffen, who made her love him and then betrayed her.
Abbie had downed several Jack Daniel's in rapid succession soon after sliding into a deep leather booth well away from the front door of the restaurant. She was through most of a bottle of Chianti and a dinner of linguine con vongole when Tony Rose blocked what little light there was in the booth.
Tony was a cop who had testified in a few of Abbie's cases when she was in the drug unit. He was handsome, well built, and had the testosterone level of a teenager. After two cases, Abbie stopped prepping him for his testimony unless someone else was present. Putting together a good direct examination while trying to fend off a horny cop was too exhausting.
"Hi," Rose said, flashing a wide smile. "I thought that was you."
Alcohol had dulled Abbie's reactions and Rose was sitting across from her before she could tell him to buzz off.
"How you doin'?" Rose asked cheerily.
"Not so good, Tony."
"What's the problem?" Rose asked with phony concern.
"My son-of-a-bitch husband, the Honorable Robert Hunter Griffen," Abbie answered with a candor she would never have offered if she was sober.
"Hey, that's right. I forgot. You're married to a Supreme Court justice, aren't you?"
"Not for long."
"Oh?"
"I walked out on the bastard," Abbie said, slurring her words.
Rose noticed the half-empty Chianti bottle and the melting ice cubes in Abbie's last glass of Jack Daniel's. He was an old hand at bedding inebriated women and he guessed that Abbie's inhibitions were way out of town by now.
"Hey! Isn't Griffen the judge who let out Charlie Deems?"
"He certainly is. The next time Deems kills somebody, they can thank good old Robert. And I'll tell you something else. I think he reversed the case just to embarrass me. Maybe next time Deems will do us all a favor and blow my asshole soon-to-be-ex to kingdom come."
Abbie reached for her wineglass and knocked it over. A river of ruby-red Chianti flowed over the edge of the table. Abbie tried to slide away from it, but she was too slow.
"Ah, shit," she said, dabbing at her lap with a napkin.
"Are you okay?"
"No, Tony. I'm fucked up," Abbie answered distractedly.
"Look, I was on the way out. Can you use a lift home?"
"i've got a car."
"You've got to be kidding." Rose laughed. "If I saw you driving tonight, I'd have to bust you."
Abbie slumped down on a dry section
of the booth and put her head back.
"What a terrific way to end a rotten day."
"Leave your car and take a taxi in the morning. Come on. I'll get the check and you can pay me back."
Abbie was too tired to fight Rose and too drunk to care. She let him take her arm.
"What?" Abbie mumbled.
"I said, watch your head."
Abbie opened her eyes. She was staring at Tony Rose's chest and she had no idea where she was. Then Rose shifted and she could see her house through the car door.
"Come on," Rose said, easing her out of the car. Abbie stood unsteadily. Rose wrapped an arm around her waist. Abbie tried to stand up. Her head swam and her vision blurred. She leaned back against Rose's shoulder. He smiled.
"Take it easy. We're almost there. Where's your key?"
Abbie realized she was holding her purse. She fumbled with the clasp and finally got it open, but missed the keyhole on the first try.
"Here," Rose said, taking the key from her.
Rose helped Abbie into the house and switched on the light.
Abbie shut her eyes against the glare and leaned on the wall. She heard the door close and felt Rose near her. Then she felt Rose's lips. His breath smelled minty. His kiss was gentle. So was his touch when he slipped his arm around Abbie's waist.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"What you want me to do," Rose answered confidently.
"Don't," Abbie said, pushing against Rose. The cop's muscular arm tightened around her and she was crushed against his chest. Abbie strained against Rose's grip, but he was very strong.
She felt his hands on her buttocks. Fear suddenly coursed through her, cutting through her haze. She pulled her head away and Rose pressed his lips against her neck while his right hand groped under her skirt. Abbie shifted until she could get her teeth around Rose's ear, then she bit down hard.
"Hey," Rose yelped, jumping back and holding a hand to his ear.
Abbie slapped Rose as hard as she could. The policeman looked stunned.
"What's wrong with you?" he asked in a shocked tone.
"Get out, you son of a bitch," Abbie yelled.
"What's going on here? I was just trying to help you out."
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