Fire and Flint

by Andrew Grey

  Pierre stood and used the toilet before returning to the bedroom. Jordan was still asleep and he didn’t want to wake him, but Pierre also wasn’t going to sneak away like he was ashamed. He gathered up his clothes and dressed quietly. Then he leaned over the bed. “Jordan,” he whispered softly.

  “Yeah….” He rolled over.

  “I have to go. But I wanted to say goodbye. I need to go to the station and check on some things. I’ll meet you at the courthouse as early as I can. I’d like to see if we can go through any of the files for anything that might be out of place.” Pierre was truly beginning to think that the judge was suspicious, though why he would be was beyond him, other than the fact that he and Jordan were obviously friends. Hell, if he were a dirty judge, he’d probably be paranoid too. That only reinforced the fact that they needed to find hard evidence of wrongdoing that was unimpeachable. Hopefully the guys at the station had come up with a few leads from the lists he and Jordan had provided.

  “Okay. I’ll be there as soon as I can too. The judge doesn’t come in until 8:00 a.m. usually, so we can have some time to look.” Jordan kissed him again. “Thank you for last night. It was amazing.” He climbed out of the bed and hugged him.

  Pierre couldn’t resist running his hands down his smooth back and over his butt. “I need to get going or I’m not going to be able to leave.” He backed away. “I’ll see you at the office.” Pierre left the room quickly. Jordan was just way too much temptation, especially lying there naked, watching him go.

  “Fuck,” Pierre groaned under his breath. He was falling for him in a big way. That was frightening. Thankfully, he didn’t scare easily. Pierre had never had the excitement and happiness he got from Jordan before. Hell, the guy was like a legal drug, and he was quickly becoming addicted.

  Pierre was sitting on the sofa to put on his shoes when he heard quiet steps.

  “Mr. Pierre?” Jeremiah padded over. “Did you have a sleepover with Daddy?”

  Pierre wasn’t sure of his answer. “I have to go to work right away.” He hugged Jeremiah tightly. “Your daddy is still in bed and needs to get up. Why don’t you go in and wake him?” He spoke normally to give Jordan a heads-up. “I’ll see you soon. I promise.” He hugged Jeremiah again and then waited for him to go to the bedroom. Then he left the condo and went out to his car to drive home, where he showered and dressed before heading into the station.

  He didn’t have a lot of time to waste, so he went right to the sheriff’s office. Hunter wasn’t in yet, but he checked his email and was thrilled to find a report on the names of the people Jordan had given him. He printed it out to put in his bag. He needed to review it when he could without the judge around, but he did look it over.

  The note from Deputy Harris caught his eye.

  The starred cases are the ones we identified as possibilities for further review. In all cases the defendants ended up losing because of evidence that went missing at the last minute. I’ll wait for you to look this over and decide how you want to proceed. Realize this is very delicate.

  “Shit.” Pierre definitely needed to speak to the sheriff. There was no way he could keep what he knew to himself any longer. But he had to speak with Jordan first. This entire situation had the potential to put him between a rock and a hard place.

  He reviewed the list and made a note to see if he could get Jordan to pull the court records on the cases for him. No. He needed to go online and pull what information he could on the cases and then visit each person and see what they had to say. This was going to take hours, but he needed to do it himself.

  “Ravelle,” Sheriff Hunter called, and he followed him into his office. “What’s going on? That report—”

  “I know.” Pierre needed a little more time. “I’m going to talk to each of them as soon as I can. I have to be in court with the judge, but after he leaves, I’ll get started on these.”

  Hunter nodded. “You know how this looks and that our hands are tied damn tight by the law. Be careful, and make sure everything is tighter than a virgin. If what this indicates is true… holy crap… this is going to open a can of dog shit smellier than we can possibly imagine.” Sheriff Hunter whistled. “So make sure you’re right. This could help make your career, or it could end it.”

  Pierre swallowed. “I see. Then maybe I should just leave it be.” He was challenging his boss, but he needed to know where he stood.

  “Bullshit. I never took you for a man to back down from a challenge. We took an oath to protect and serve, and sometimes that means protecting from those who are supposed to be serving the greater good.” The sheriff stared at him, looking for something. “I’ve got your back no matter what. But I can’t stop the judge from issuing an order as long as he’s still sitting.”

  “I know that very well. But we have to see this through. If justice is being undermined and twisted, then we need to see to it that things are put right.” Pierre stepped forward and sat in one of the chairs across from the desk. “You realize that if this is true, then every case heard by Judge Crawford will need to be reviewed. This is going to blow back at us in a huge way because we will need to be part of that review, as will all the other police forces. This has the potential to be huge.”

  Sheriff Hunter lifted his bulk out of his chair. “I have… no… have you seen direct evidence that points to a crooked judge?”

  “Have I seen it? No.” Pierre was being truthful but skirting the bigger issue. “If it exists, we will find it. But right now, we have cover because we can use the threatening letters as an excuse to talk to people. How long that cover lasts is another story.”

  “Shit.” Hunter leaned over the desk. “I’ve said this before and it bears repeating. Be thorough and figure out where you need to look. Locate this letter writer and figure out what the hell they know.” He groaned. “Just what the hell we need, a judge on the take, but to who?” He banged his hand on his desk. “Find out.”

  “I also have a question that I need to consult a lawyer for. I saw the judge out last night having dinner with the mayor and borough council president. Apparently he does that regularly. But he’s to hear a case against the borough in the near future. I need to know if that’s allowed. A breach of ethics rules might give us further cover.”

  “Then find the hell out.” The sheriff smiled for the first time since the meeting began. “Ask Judge Fortier. He and Crawford hate each other with a passion. That’s not too well known, but I haven’t been in this job this long not to know the tangled web of courthouse politics. Don’t use any names, but find out.” He scratched his chin. “It might be good to have a judge in our corner if the shit hits the fan.”

  “Will do.” Pierre checked his watch and stood. “I need to get back so I’m not late.”

  “Have you actually seen any sort of threat at the courthouse?”

  Pierre shook his head. “No. Whoever is doing this is probably venting their frustration with the notes. Yes, they’re specific enough, like he wants something, or just wants the judge to know that he knows something. But don’t pull me off the duty, please. It gives me a way to stay close and observe.” He held his breath. Pierre knew the sheriff well enough to know that manpower wasn’t abundant and that he was going to be needed for other duties, but pulling him away was going to leave Jordan on his own. And if the judge was as suspicious as Pierre was beginning to think he was, then Jordan was in the potential line of fire.

  “Agreed. Keep your eyes open and your mouth shut. Let him think you’re there to watch out for him. Be solicitous, even ingratiating if necessary.”

  Pierre headed toward the door. “I’ll do my best.” He gathered the things he needed before leaving the station and taking a marked car to the courthouse, which allowed him to get there faster. He went right up to the judge’s chambers, where Jordan was already hard at work.

  “I went through the file drawers and found this. I don’t know how long it’s been there, but it doesn’t belong. The case file isn’t recent, but
it isn’t old enough to be archived there.” Jordan handed it to Pierre. “Go make copies right away and put them in your bag. The file itself is a little dusty, so it’s been there a while.” He grew nervous. “I think it was placed there to hide it and then forgotten about.”

  A thought struck Pierre. “Do you think the admin before you was in on this?”

  Jordan scrunched his face and then shrugged. “Gayle retired to Boca. Expensive. It’s very possible this was something the two of them cooked up together and he’s been keeping it going on his own. Either way, she’s gone and it’s going to be impossible to get anything out of her.”

  Pierre glanced at the door as a message came through from Judge Crawford, saying he was leaving the house. Pierre answered the text and then sprang into action, copying the file quickly and handing it back to Jordan to put away again. He then left the office and went to his car, where he placed the file copy in the trunk with the other files before meeting the judge as he strode up the courthouse steps.

  “Good morning,” he said, escorting him away from his private security and into the building, through the metal detectors. “Was everything okay at home?”

  “Yes. Very quiet.” Judge Crawford barely slowed down as he headed for the elevators. “No letters received there.”

  “I have a theory on that. From their wording, I believe that the letters are aimed at you, the judge, as opposed to you, the person.” They waited for the doors to slide open. “People often attribute personality and rage to a position of authority without regard for the actual person. If they were hurt by a decision you made, then they might attribute their anger to the judge. Hence, no letters coming to your home.”

  “Are you getting any closer to our letter writer?” The door slid open, and Judge Crawford stepped inside. Pierre followed, waiting to answer until the doors closed.

  “Possibly. We have a list of people we need to speak with so we can narrow our field of suspects.” He turned to the judge. “You know as well as I do that this type of threat is very easy to get away with. It’s very anonymous. Remember how they never did find the person sending anthrax through the mail in DC all those years ago? But we are doing our best, and the priority of the department is to keep you safe.” God, he was laying it on a little thick, but Crawford smiled slightly.

  “I appreciate that.” The carriage dinged to indicate their floor, and they walked briskly to the court office and closed the door.

  “I have the materials for today’s session,” Jordan said brightly, handing Judge Crawford his folder.

  “Did you have a nice dinner last night?” Judge Crawford asked, and Pierre stepped back, hoping to seem as though he were blending in, but staying close enough to hear.

  “Yes, it was nice. It’s good to have friends. It’s good for Jeremiah to go out and eat in nicer places. It helps him learn how to behave around grown-ups.” Jordan pressed a few keys and looked up. “How was your dinner? The food there was so amazing.”

  “It was nice.” The evasive tone was clear, and thankfully Jordan didn’t say anything more about it.

  “Is there anything else you need for this morning? You have an appointment in fifteen minutes. A lawyer has asked for a few minutes of your time to go over how you expect the case forms to be completed. I hope that’s okay. I figured it would save you additional aggravation down the road.”

  Judge Crawford checked his watch and his posture became more rigid. He clearly didn’t like having his time taken up like that. “All right.” He went to his office and closed the door.

  Jordan shook his head, but said nothing and went back to work.

  Pierre knocked on the judge’s door and then went on through to the courtroom. He did his regular morning check to make sure the room was clear and that nothing had been placed there overnight. It was an exercise in futility, but he did it to be thorough, and by the time the court session was ready to start, he had taken his place at the door, watching as the few people came in either as observers or the parties in the case.

  He spent much of the day listening and watching. This type of duty was dull, a lot of hurry up and wait for no payoff whatsoever. Until late in the afternoon when a middle-aged man in a shabby suit with unkempt hair entered the courtroom and sat down in the back. Pierre wouldn’t have thought much of him if it hadn’t been for the expression on his face and the way he stared at Judge Crawford.

  Pierre crossed over to where he sat. “May I help you?” he whispered forcefully, and the man turned, paled, and swallowed hard. “Maybe you and I should have a talk.”

  “I have a right to be here,” he countered weakly, but Pierre had a gut feeling. He wasn’t going to pester him, but his expression sent a chill up his spine. Most people in court watched the proceedings, paying attention to witnesses, rather than fixating on the judge and his every movement.

  “That you do, but I’d like to speak to you.” He motioned to the door, and the man stood. Pierre followed him out into the hall. “May I ask why you’re here?”

  The man shifted his weight from foot to foot. “I wanted to listen to the court session.”

  Pierre crossed his arms over his chest. “Did you? A case about the zoning of a property in the borough is so interesting that you came in to listen to an explanation of the various types of zoning codes and why they were applied?” He wasn’t buying it. No one would willingly sit there and listen to something that dull unless they were forced to. “Do you want to try again?”

  “I… I don’t owe you….”

  Pierre hardened his gaze and the man grew more nervous. “Let’s start with your name. You are in a secure building, so your identification, if you please.” He waited as the man pulled out his wallet and handed him his driver’s license with a shaking hand. “Norman Potter, why don’t you tell me why you’re really here?”

  Norman sighed. “I wanted to see the devil in person,” he spat, now that he seemed to have made up his mind.

  “Who are you referring to?” Pierre asked, guiding Norman out of the hall and into one of the conference rooms used by the counselors. He closed the door and pointed to a chair.

  “That judge,” Norman said. “My brother came before him for robbery. We worked with a private detective and were able to prove that my brother didn’t rob anyone. He was at home, and we were able to piece together proof. But suddenly that proof was nowhere to be found, and James was found guilty and sent to prison by that monster for three years. The maximum allowed. It took us months to get a hearing and recreate the evidence, but James was released after nine months. He isn’t the same anymore, and I want that bastard to know what he did. That he sentenced an innocent man.” His gaze strengthened and he set his lips. Pierre had little doubt he was telling the truth, at least so far.

  “Is that why you decided to send the notes to the judge?” Pierre pressed, watching Norman carefully.

  His only reaction was surprise, deep and genuine. “I didn’t send any letters to anyone. I only came here today to get a good look at him and hopefully talk to him. I wanted to tell him that he should be ashamed and that his job is to do what’s best and, above all, to get things right. I wanted him to know that he hurt an innocent man.” Norman’s eyes blazed with righteous indignation. Pierre believed him and he felt sorry for him.

  “I’d appreciate it if you’d tell me in detail what happened and when, as best you can remember.”

  Pierre sat down and took notes while Norman went over his version of events again. Unfortunately he didn’t have a great deal more to offer at the moment.

  “Thank you for talking to me,” Pierre said. “I appreciate it.”

  Norman’s eyes widened. He seemed surprised that someone actually believed and listened to him. “Are you going to try to do something?”

  “I’m going to try.” That was the most he could say.

  “I have copies of all the paperwork we gathered to prove James innocent at home.”

  Pierre handed him his card, then verified he had N
orman’s address and phone number noted properly. “I’ll come by your home, if that’s okay, to pick up what you have. It might help us.” If he was going to make this stick and help keep Jordan safe, then he needed to take things one step at a time. Cases weren’t always about smoking guns, but putting facts together a little at a time to build a clear image of the larger picture.

  Norman nodded slowly and seemed more relaxed. “I didn’t know who to bring this to, or if anyone would believe me.” He glanced down at himself with a shrug. “It took me weeks to find an attorney who would be willing to work with me. I ended up at legal aid, and they sent me to a man who agreed to do the paperwork in his spare time. Clark Mennson.”

  “He’s a good man.” Pierre had had some dealings with him in the past and had seen him around the courthouse on occasion.

  Norman shifted in his seat. “Can I go now?”

  “Of course.” Pierre wasn’t happy about how strong he’d come on to start, but it had yielded some information. “A word of advice, if you’ll take it. Just go home and help your brother live his life. Don’t let the past engulf you. I’ll do what I can, I promise you that. But stay away from the judge.”

  Norman scowled, but then his lips turned upward. “I get it. You don’t want the devil to know we’re onto him.”

  Pierre kept the smirk that threatened off his face. But he had to admit that Norman had a pretty good grasp of things. “I’d appreciate that.”

  “I’ll get the information together for you.” His spirit seemed lighter, and Pierre stood, gesturing for him to leave. He left the room and watched as Norman walked toward the elevators. This case and these suspicions he and Jordan had had a real basis now. There were others who thought the same things, and this investigation was going to affect their lives as well, not just Jordan’s and Jeremiah’s.

  Pierre returned to the courtroom just as Judge Crawford adjourned the court for the day. He stood, waiting for him to leave, and strode down the side aisle of the rather bicentennially decorated room, with white walls and red-and-blue-painted trim, to the judge’s chambers, knocked, and went inside.