“They’ll be back before you know it,” he told the dogs, giving each one a pat.
On the walk back to the house, Charles called Jack Emery. His message was short and curt. “The cable car just left the mountain. Take care of them, Jack.”
Chapter 17
Judge Easter hung her black robe on her grandfather’s antique coatrack. She’d brought it to these offices years and years ago. With painful, arthritic hands, she smoothed the folds of the heavy material that was worn and threadbare in certain places. It was her only robe, one she took care of, taking it personally to the dry cleaner’s every Friday afternoon and picking it up on Monday morning.
The robe, the coatrack, the books on the shelves, the green plants…all meant a lot to her. No, that wasn’t quite true. Once they had been her very life, but these days they simply didn’t seem as important. They were just things. Things.
Nellie Easter looked up to see her clerk standing in the doorway. No one, not even her trusted clerk, ever crossed the threshold to her office until she invited them to join her. “Just put it on the desk, Jane. Thanks. Go home to your family. I’ll be leaving in a few minutes myself. Have a nice weekend.”
“You, too, Judge. Call me if you need me for anything.”
Nellie nodded. There had never been a need to call Jane over a weekend during the last twenty-five years and she seriously doubted if the need would ever arise, but she made the same comment she always made: “Thank you, Jane, I will call if I need you.”
Nellie sat down and reached for what she always called the perfect cup of coffee, made by Jane with fresh beans and brewed to perfection. Jane said it was the real cream and not the coffee that made all the difference. Nellie didn’t care what it was, she just liked it.
Nellie leaned back in the old, comfortable chair that had once been her father’s. The leather was cracked, patched with strips of duct tape to protect the stuffing. It was softer than butter and hugged her aching bones. She’d often said she would part with her left foot before she’d give up her father’s chair.
She should have retired when her daughter died, but Myra Rutledge and Nikki Quinn had talked her out of it. They said she couldn’t wallow, she had to take their advice. Since she loved and respected both women she did her best to get on with her life. Like Myra, who had also lost a pregnant daughter, she went through the motions like a robot. While her days were busy and active, the nights had never gotten any better. In many respects she was still a robot, but that was slowly changing with the recent turn of events.
Nellie looked down at her hands that were holding the cup of coffee. They were trembling. She carefully set the cup on the desk. Maybe she needed to lay off the caffeine. Maybe she needed to back out of the deal she’d made with Myra. She knew she’d never do the latter. Giving up caffeine would be easier.
She thought about everything she knew, all the secrets Myra and Annie, her two best friends in the whole world, had confided in her. She remembered how intently she’d listened to Charles Martin when he’d detailed the operation he headed. How quickly she’d agreed to become a member of the Sisterhood. How quickly she’d agreed to what went on in court that day ten months ago. She hadn’t even blinked. Nor had she blinked when the press railed at her day after day. Nor had she caved in when Mitchell Riley came after her like a pit bull. She’d held her ground and thumbed her nose at all of them.
Nellie knew she could walk out of this office right now with her robe, her coatrack and her father’s chair and never come back. If she wanted to. Well, she did want to but she was going to toe the line and do what she’d signed on for. Because? Because she was disgruntled with the judicial system, sick and tired of defense lawyers who convinced juries that a triple murderer was an otherwise upstanding citizen, sick to death of seeing prosecutors dropping like flies because of technicalities in the law. Which brought to mind Jack Emery. She squeezed her eyes shut and then laughed out loud. She adored the pugnacious prosecutor and often found it hard to hide her feelings. More often than not she wanted to give him carte blanche in her courtroom and had to physically pinch herself not to do so.
Nellie remembered his sterling performance in court the day the Sisterhood had been arraigned. It was nice to know that she wasn’t the only actor in this particular courthouse on that infamous day.
As Nellie gathered up her purse and briefcase, she wondered if her reputation as a predictable judge was going to be a blessing or a hindrance where Mitchell Riley was concerned.
Nellie juggled her robe, her purse and briefcase along with the special key to her office. Finally she was ready to leave this airless hellhole for the weekend. Albert Fazio, her personal bodyguard, and Joseph, her driver, were waiting for her at the end of the hallway by the elevator. Both were kind men, caring men with families, who protected her with their lives. Both men told her on a daily basis that being a judge these days was a dangerous business. They’d made a believer out of her on two separate occasions that she didn’t want to think about.
Ten minutes later she was settled in the back of the specially equipped Crown Victoria. Albert climbed in beside her, and then Joseph expertly guided the car out of the parking garage toward the highway.
The things she’d learned from these two boggled her mind. In particular was the lesson on cell phones. Who knew that when your cell phone was turned on, even though you weren’t talking to anyone, towers could track your whereabouts. In a panic that did not go unnoticed by either man, she’d turned off her phone. She’d learned some other things that had given her a raging case of hives that had taken months to control.
Being a bad guy wasn’t easy these days.
The conversation on the ride home was mostly about both men’s families, the weather, Joseph’s dilemma concerning the new car he had to buy for his wife.
“So, what’s going on in the world today, gentlemen? Any more sightings of the vigilantes?”
“Four.” Albert chuckled. “Dimples,” he said, referring to Mitchell Riley, “was ranting on the noon news that he has them in his crosshairs and it’s just a matter of time before he hauls them in.”
“Really,” Nellie drawled. “I thought it was all a ruse on a slow news day. Those women are way too smart to come back to the scene of the crime, so to speak. What are your feelings, Albert?”
“Well, Judge, my wife says those dames are smarter than the entire FBI. She also said if it’s true, she pities the person they’re after. I tend to agree with her. It’s a given they skipped the country, so to take a chance on coming back into the country would take some planning and some…uh…some inside help. That’s my personal opinion.”
“Mine, too,” Joseph said from the driver’s seat.
Nellie’s heart kicked up a beat. “Are you two just trying to be polite or is there a reason you haven’t mentioned Riley’s crusade against me?”
“That’s all smoke and mirrors, Judge,” Joseph said. “He’s under the gun with his superiors. Scuttlebutt is he’s just days away from having the case ripped out from under him and turned over to the CIA. Something like that hanging over your head could make a person stick his neck out a little too far. My wife thinks he started that rumor himself, just to make himself look good. Since you brought it up, Judge, if Riley can make you look bad, if he can successfully smear you, he gains time.”
Nellie’s heart kicked up another beat. “I think I can hold my own. My record stands on its own.” She thought about the special encrypted cell phone at the farmhouse. Would Riley get a subpoena and search her house if he was serious about framing her?
“With all due respect, Judge, you have been lifelong friends with two of those vigilantes. There are those who are saying, and Dimples is one of them, that you should have recused yourself.”
“I tried, Albert, as you well know. Miss Fox and Mr. Emery were fine with me presiding. I conducted the arraignment by the book.”
Albert, who could have posed as a linebacker, patted the judge’s arm. “I got you
r back, Judge. I don’t want to alarm you, but today’s rumor is that the vigilantes are after you.”
Nellie forced a laugh she didn’t feel. “That is so absurd I can’t even comment on it.”
Joseph brought the Crown Victoria to a stop outside Dell Cleaners. He hopped out, opened the back door for Nellie. She was back within five minutes and the drive out to McLean continued.
“There’s talk, Judge, about posting a security detail outside your farmhouse,” Albert said.
The judge reared up in the backseat. “Absolutely not! I will not live in fear. Who do I need to call to settle that issue immediately?”
“Relax, Judge. I knew you wouldn’t go for it. I’m doing double duty. Joseph is going to help. The powers that be agreed. For now.”
“It had better be forever,” Nellie snapped. “I will not have cops and agents disturbing my weekend with my guests. Religious people do not understand that kind of nonsense. I am hosting this retreat and I don’t want anything to tarnish it. Whose brilliant idea was it, anyway?”
“Judge Spano’s.”
“He’s a twit, afraid of his own shadow. He sentenced a man to two years’ probation and then had a nervous breakdown. Probation!”
“I hear you, Judge.”
Oh God, oh God! Nellie squirmed in her seat, fidgeting with her seat belt, wishing she had a cigarette. What the hell, she could do whatever she pleased. She rolled down the window and fired up one of her cigarettes. Neither man said a word as she puffed away.
Twenty minutes later the Crown Victoria sailed through the electronic gates Myra and Charles had installed two days before Nellie took up residence a year ago. She let out a sigh that was so loud, Albert turned to look at her, a frown on his face.
“It’s been a hard week, Albert. I’m just glad to be home. My hip is bothering me and I have this retreat to look forward to. Seventy-two hours of trying to be the perfect host is not something I do well. If you hear any other rumors you think I should know about, call the house. Thanks for taking care of me.”
Joseph opened the back door and helped the judge step out onto the shale driveway. She waved him away as she walked up to her back door where her cats always waited for her. The two men looked at one another, their eyes full of questions that neither man felt comfortable asking aloud.
Joseph turned the car around and headed back the way he had come. On weekends the judge was on her own, though protected by every security device known to man. He knew for a fact that there were panic buttons in every room of the house. Monitors were attached to the electronic gates and on the corners of the house. The judge was electronically safe.
Inside the house, Nellie dropped her gear on top of the butcher-block table. Her cats scurried around her ankles as they tried to tell her it was dinnertime. She obliged and then poured herself a double scotch on the rocks. Her shoes found their way to the far reaches of the kitchen. The cats would eventually discover them and push and shove them into the living room.
Nellie eased her tired body down into her old chair, lifted the footrest and leaned back. She gulped at the drink in her hand as her other hand rummaged in her knitting bag for the encrypted phone. She would use it when she finished her drink. Or her second drink, or maybe a third. A special security detail. “Not in this lifetime,” she sputtered.
Chapter 18
Alice Riley was glad it was Friday. On Fridays she allowed her daughter to attend sleepovers. With her husband in such a foul mood it was better for Sally not to see or hear the verbal confrontations that went on. When Sally returned at noon on Saturday, Alice made sure she had the hours covered with meaningful things to do that interested both of them.
The clock on the kitchen stove made a slight buzzing sound to indicate another hour had passed. Over the years she’d tried to do away with the buzzing, to no avail. Now she just lived with the sound and chalked it up to modern technology. Normally it didn’t bother her. With her daughter gone, the house was quiet. She heard the pinging sound from the front door, another modern technology gizmo that irritated her because it meant someone had just opened her front door. At four o’clock in the afternoon! She looked out the kitchen window and stifled a gasp when she saw her husband’s car in the driveway. She hoped he was sick. Maybe dying. But she knew she couldn’t be that lucky.
Alice turned on the kitchen television just for sound and was startled to hear the Fox News afternoon anchor’s excited voice describing a massive accident on the Beltway. She almost fainted when she heard the name Josh Carpenter. Carpenter was the director of the FBI. She pulled on her earlobes to make sure she was hearing clearly. The director, suffering head wounds and internal bleeding, had been taken to Walter Reed Hospital and was at this moment in the operating room. The prognosis probably wouldn’t be good.
Alice shivered under her lightweight sweater and hugged her arms to her chest. She whirled around to see her husband watching her from the doorway. She knew she was pushing her luck, and hating herself at the same time, but she did it anyway: “Congratulations, Mitch!”
“Why, thank you, Alice. I’m going to be the best director the nation’s capital has ever seen. For starters I’m going to haul in that goddamn Judge Easter to make sure she never sees the light of day again. She was part of that little group you admire so much.”
Alice worked her tongue around her teeth as she grappled with what she was hearing. “I thought you said it was your old girlfriend Lizzie Fox who was in on that whole thing.”
“Her, too. I’m going to have them both hauled in as soon as I can get things squared away here. They’ll be behind bars by morning. That’s how long the director is supposed to last.”
Squared away here? Alice was surprised at how casual her voice sounded when she asked, “Does that mean Jack Emery is in the clear? I thought you hated him, too. Isn’t this all about your own personal vendetta against all the people you think are against you? Didn’t you say the three of them made you the laughingstock of the Bureau? Well, I guess this shitful town will have to stand up and then bow down to worship at your feet.”
“Any day now. Old Josh isn’t going to make it. I have it on very good authority. Like I said, they say he’ll be lucky if he makes it through the night. Then it’s that big place in the sky for him. No one will miss him. He’s a Neanderthal and he’s outlived his career. But to answer your question about Jack Emery, he’s in this up to his teeth. We’ve been stringing him along, just waiting for him to step out of line. The whole thing is a goddamn conspiracy.”
“Do you want to know what I think? I think your old lover, the judge and Emery bested you and the entire FBI. Now you’re trying to save face and you’re prepared to do whatever you have to do to ruin all three of them. You can’t get the vigilantes so you’re going after those three, probably concocting some story that will ruin their lives. That’s what you’re doing, isn’t it? How cruel you are, Mitch.”
“I prefer the word realistic. What are you doing home, anyway?” Mitch asked, suspicion ringing in his voice.
Alice sighed as she turned around to prepare a pot of coffee. “I take Friday afternoon off because I go back and close the shop at 10:00 PM; Fridays are our late nights. I’ve been doing it for four years, Mitch. How strange that you finally noticed. Now it’s my turn: What are you doing home at this hour? Oh, right, I forgot, this is where you do all your dirty work so no one at the Bureau can point fingers.”
Alice’s mind raced as she spooned coffee grounds into the filter in front of her. He was going to go into his home office with the special lock on the door. One she’d been able to pick with the aid of a few sharp little tools. She’d then had a key made and every day, after Sally went off to school, she went in there and photocopied everything in sight. Right now, this very minute, she had four huge boxes in the basement labeled KITCHEN FLOOR TILES, each with a different tile glued to the top of the box. She’d stacked them right out in the open. As far as she knew Mitch never went down to the basement and even if he
did, the last thing he’d be interested in looking at would be kitchen tile.
Alice’s mind continued to race. She had to give him time to do whatever dirty work he was going to do and then she needed to copy it, but she had to get him out of the house quickly. And she needed to get back to her shop. She had two and a half hours to work some magic. She whirled around but her husband was gone.
Every plop of the coffee dripping into the pot sounded like a thunderclap to her ears. Alice sat down on one of the kitchen chairs. She was shaking inwardly and outwardly. She tried taking deep breaths but she was so wired up it wasn’t working. She bounced up and then sat back down on her hands. She needed to think. She needed a plan of action. What she had was a pot of dripping coffee, and that was it.
She liked Josh Carpenter, always had. He’d been kind to her the few times they’d met, always asking about Sally, the shop and how she was doing. In his heyday he’d been a fierce man but a fair man, or so the stories went. She knew he didn’t like Mitch. Not that he ever said anything but she could tell. There weren’t a whole lot of people who did like her husband.
Alice closed her eyes. Maybe now she could finally get away from Mitch. Maybe he’d let her go without any ugliness. Then again, maybe he wouldn’t. He might need her image to bolster his own if Josh Carpenter died.
The red button on the coffeemaker blinked. The coffee was ready. So was the brandy bottle in the cabinet. With trembling hands she poured a healthy jolt into the cup and then dumped it down the sink. She couldn’t drink if she was going to drive later on. She poured the coffee, added an ice cube and gulped at it. She was on her second cup when a plan began to form in her mind. She closed her eyes and let her thoughts go in all directions.
The crazy clock on the stove buzzed at six o’clock. Alice got up and called her shop to ask her assistant if she would close the store at ten o’clock, citing the accident to the director of the FBI and saying her husband needed her. Like anyone at the shop would believe that little story.
Hide and Seek (The Sisterhood: Rules of the Game, Book 1) Page 11
