by Diane Capri
“Sorry for the cramped quarters.” Mason settled himself behind what Ursula assumed was the manager’s desk, and she took a chair opposite him, folding her hands in her lap in front of her.
“That’s okay. Good to know the world still spins.” She tilted her head toward the noisy kitchen.
“Right.” Mason’s hangdog expression became more pronounced as his blond eyebrows pulled low over his sunken, tired eyes. “Well, first things first, I suppose. As I said, I’m Detective Phil Mason.” He gave her a card and asked for her ID, jotting notes as they spoke.
“So, as I understand it, you met with Mr. Taylor shortly before the incident this evening?” Detective Mason asked though he didn’t look up from his notebook.
Mr. Taylor. She tucked the name away and nodded. “We didn’t speak for very long,” Ursula hedged, holding her purse tightly closed on her lap.
“And what was the nature of your conversation?”
“Well…not much, really. He had e-mailed me letting me know about a possible news story. But when we met tonight, he seemed twitchy. Nervous. He didn’t say much of anything before running off.”
The detective looked up. “There was no mention of what he wanted to tell you in his initial e-mail?”
“I imagine if he could have e-mailed the information, he would have. Besides, I’m sure you know how people are when they’re being interviewed. They get nervous.” As if to prove her point, she wrung her hands tighter around her purse in her lap.
Detective Mason’s mouth contorted slightly into what might have been a sympathetic smile. “I see.”
“He didn’t even tell me his name.” Ursula nodded, nervously. “He had a briefcase with him, though. And when I saw him, uh, afterward, in the parking lot? I didn’t see the briefcase.”
The Detective glanced at her bag, and for a brief, insane moment, Ursula felt like he could see inside it, could see the contents that she was determined to keep secret until she could prove a connection to Judge Michaels.
Don’t ask me anything else. Just let me go.
He flipped to a new page in his notebook. “What did the briefcase look like?”
She closed her eyes to visualize what she’d seen only for a couple of seconds. “It was kind of medium brown leather. It had a flap and buckles on the front.” She gestured over her shoulder. “A long strap.”
“Was it monogrammed?”
She thought about it and shook her head. “I didn’t see a monogram.”
He nodded and finished his note. “Anything else you can recall about Mr. Taylor?”
“He dashed out so quickly that he left his coat in the booth where we were sitting. I gave it to George, and he gave it to Desiree, the hostess.”
Mason made a note of that, too. “Anything else?”
She shook her head again. Just let me go. Just let me go.
“Okay. Thanks for your time. I’ll call you for a follow-up in a few days if we need to.” Mason closed his notebook and stuffed it into his pocket along with his pen. “Something might come back to you. If it does, you’ll let me know?”
She gave him a shaky nod. “Of course. You have my card. Call anytime.”
If the police found the briefcase, they’d have copies of the photo, and whatever else he had in there. While they looked for the briefcase, she planned to look for something, anything, to confirm what Taylor had told her about Michaels.
She returned to the restaurant, but Willa had gone. She sat at the bar and ordered another glass of wine because the one she’d left when she ran out to the parking lot had disappeared. She reassured herself that she had, in fact, made the right decision. For now.
Tomorrow morning, she’d do what she did best. Find another source to support Taylor’s story.
CHAPTER FIVE
The next day, Ursula sat on the too-firm mattress in her hotel room, listening to the whirr of the ice machine down the hall while flipping through one web page after another. Experience told her that a man who abused one woman was likely to have been abusive to other women. If Taylor was right about Aaron Michaels attacking his mother, there were probably more victims.
The thing was, she had not found even a smidge of scandal, nor a whiff of wrongdoing by Judge Michaels. Nothing in his past and nothing in the present, either.
Her online investigation of the judge had turned up all the same things it had before she arrived in Tampa—a family full of beautiful kids, all perfectly balanced and successful. A wife whose smile was so toothy and white that she might have been auditioning for a toothpaste commercial. And, of course, the judge himself.
Article after article detailed his contributions to charities in the Tampa area, his tough but fair rulings, and his personal volunteering for community outreach programs. It was like the guy was prepping for sainthood.
Which really triggered Ursula’s radar. No man was that clean. And especially not a judge. Judges made enemies simply by doing their jobs well. Yet, she uncovered not one negative word against Michaels.
She rubbed the back of her neck and stretched her sore shoulders. She’d been hunched over the computer too long. But she did manage to unearth a few noteworthy points.
Judge Michaels had not been in Tampa the previous evening. Or in Florida at all.
No, he was off spreading his benevolence around at a hundred-dollar-a-plate charity ball in D.C. alongside his ex-debutant wife and their eldest son.
Good for him. He had an alibi—he hadn’t killed Taylor. Or at least, he hadn’t done the deed himself. Which made her feel slightly better about what she’d left out of her statement to Detective Mason.
But his alibi didn’t prove he was not involved in Taylor’s murder.
She clicked over to the judge’s website again and stared at the phone number. A direct line to his office. She could simply call to make an appointment. Or she could go over to the courthouse. It was a public building, after all.
But she couldn’t confront him today because he wasn’t there. Besides that, what would she confront him with? Unsupported charges from a dead man who could never speak out against him?
She clicked back to the list of events in D.C. to confirm that he was scheduled to speak at the event today and again tomorrow as well. Which meant he wouldn’t return to Tampa for at least another forty-eight hours.
Squaring her shoulders, she dialed the judge’s office number and maneuvered through the directory of choices until she reached the desk she wanted.
The phone rang twice and then a steely, serious female voice answered. “Judge Aaron Michaels’ office, how can I help you?”
“Hi, this is Ursula Westfield. I’m with Judicial World News, and I was hoping to do a short piece on the judge while I’m in the area, because he’s on the short list for the federal judgeship. Is he available at all tomorrow?”
“I’m afraid he is not. Perhaps if you try again next—”
“Actually, I can’t. I’m only in town for the next two days,” Ursula rushed, then, taking a deep breath, she added, “Is there anyone else I might be able to speak with instead? It’s going to be a great piece about his charity work and whatnot, but I could use a personal anecdote or quote.”
Silence punctuated the air. Ursula gritted her teeth, wondering if she’d somehow come on too strong, too suspicious. But then, the woman on the other line spoke.
“Well, I can ask him if he calls in.”
“What about his law clerk? She might be able to help me.” Ursula’s experience with law clerks was that they were loyal to their judges. She’d get nothing negative from the clerk, but she just wanted to get into the office. Look around. Find something she could use. She knew it was a long shot, but nothing else had panned out. If she didn’t make any progress by the end of the day, she’d go back to New York empty-handed.
“I’ll ask her to pick up. Hold on, please,” the woman said.
Another brief pause, and then the woman came back. “She has an opening for three o’clock on her schedule.�
�
“Perfect.” Hope, sure and solid, swelled in her chest. “And what is her name?”
“Tiffany Strong. I’ll let her know to expect you, and the security desk will be able to direct you when you get here. Have a good evening.” The line clicked off.
She searched out everything she could find about Tiffany Strong. By all accounts, she was as pristine as the judge himself.
She’d gone to a reputable school and received respectable grades. She’d interned in several different law offices during law school before finally coming to work with the judge. Even her posts on social media were sterile.
She had friends, a boyfriend, and hobbies, but none of that clogged her social media feeds. No selfies with her half-drunk friends and no pictures of her making out with her boyfriend. There were only photos of her smiling at the camera, usually holding an award or her pet cat, with her blond hair perfectly in place and not a single blemish on her smooth, youthful face.
Hopefully in this case youth went hand in hand with gullibility because she was going to be pressing poor Tiffany pretty hard and could really use a break of some kind.
Ursula closed her laptop and slid it into the bag beside her bed before she popped into the shower.
CHAPTER SIX
When Ursula knocked on Tiffany Strong’s office door at three o’clock, she was no better informed than she had been the night before. Tiffany had spent three years of her career working closely with Judge Michaels. If there were something dark and twisted about him, she’d likely have seen at least a glimpse of it at one point or another. The trick now was to get something useful from her.
The door swung open, and the pretty, blond woman she’d seen in countless photos smiled up at her. She was shorter than Ursula had expected, and thinner, too, but her poise and air of total competence were exactly as advertised.
“Come in,” Tiffany swept her hand out, then stuck it in front of Ursula. “Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Westfield.”
“Call me Ursula, please.” Ursula shook hands and then sank into one of the worn green leather wingback chairs opposite her desk. State court law clerks didn’t have a huge budget or palatial offices. If Judge Michaels moved onto the federal bench, all of that would change for him. For Tiffany, too, if he took her along to the federal courthouse.
Tiffany settled into her desk chair, still grinning broadly, and then said, “What can I help you with? I was told you wanted to put a personal touch on a human-interest story about the judge?”
Ursula glanced around the office briefly. The walls were lined with filing cabinets and bookshelves stacked with leather-bound books meant to impress. Legal research was done by computer these days. Several picture frames held the originals of the photos Ursula had seen online—Tiffany’s graduation day, her mewling cat, and then one of Tiffany alongside her boss at a local bar association dinner last year.
“He’s got quite the career, doesn’t he? And maybe the nomination now. You must be thrilled.”
“We’re cautiously optimistic.” Tiffany’s grin broadened.
Ursula cleared her throat. “So, you and the judge have worked together for nearly three years, is that right?”
She nodded, practically beaming, like a mother with a new baby. “I was an intern and then assisted his previous clerk before taking over my current position last year.”
“What can you tell me about him as a man? If you had to pick his best quality, say.”
Tiffany reflected on this, and for a moment her thin face took on an almost dreamy expression before she schooled her features into a polite smile. She glanced at the picture of herself with the judge. “I’m not sure I know where to start. Aaron is…the judge, I mean, he’s truly remarkable. Like no man I’ve ever known, frankly.”
“Is that right? How so?” Ursula raised her eyebrows.
“He’s a great father. And husband,” Tiffany said, almost perfunctorily.
“I’ve read that about him,” Ursula nodded. “But he’s neither of those things to you. What’s your personal experience with him?”
Tiffany’s gaze swept over her, appraising, and Ursula resisted the urge to straighten her hair or something.
“Well, he’s considerate,” Tiffany finally said, choosing her words carefully. “I remember one time my car broke down. It was my first week working here, and I was so nervous about being late. But when I called to tell him what happened, he just couldn’t have been nicer. He even came and looked at my car himself. He wound up ruining his suit, but he fixed the darn thing.”
“So a real knight in shining armor,” Ursula murmured as she scribbled in her notebook, but her gaze never left Tiffany. The younger woman was wringing her hands in her lap, her eyes flicking to the photo on her bookshelf every few minutes.
“He really is. He’s taught me so much. Not just about law, either. He’s…well, my life wouldn’t be the same without him.” Again, slavish devotion crossed Tiffany’s face, and Ursula frowned, wondering how best to approach her suspicions.
“Would you say you’re very close with the judge and his family?” Ursula lifted an eyebrow, and Tiffany’s cheeks reddened slightly.
“He’s been my boss for a long time, I mean you have to sort of know someone quite well by that point.”
“And are you aware of any accusations of misconduct leveled against the judge?” she said the words lightly, but Tiffany’s stiffened instantly.
“Of course not. Not at all.”
But the look on her face said she did know.
Adrenaline shot through Ursula as silence settled over the room.
This was the precipice right here. Either she went for it, or she backed off. Tiffany knew something. She was sure of it.
But if she asked outright, her cover story about a puff piece was blown, and Tiffany might call security. She weighed the risks and sucked in a breath. No guts, no glory.
“Look, Tiffany, this…this is off the record.” Ursula placed her notebook inside her bag and then met the younger woman’s eyes as she leaned in. “I like Judge Michaels. I think he’s the best man for the job. I’m here to warn you about some rumors floating around.”
“I don’t know what you mean.” But the look on her face clearly said otherwise. “Please leave. Now.”
Ursula sat up straighter. “Are you having an affair with Judge Michaels? Is that why you don’t want to talk to me?”
“Absolutely not. That’s ludicrous. Where did you hear that?” Fiery indignation coated every word and Ursula’s pity for the woman ratcheted up another notch.
She wouldn’t be the first young woman to be taken in by a powerful, married man.
“You need to see this.” Ursula pulled the manila envelope from her bag, careful to hide the notes she’d scribbled on the front, then slid the photo out and toward Tiffany.
“What’s this?” She barely glanced at the picture and rolled her eyes. “Ancient history.”
Ursula’s throat went dry. “W-what do you mean?”
“I’ve heard the rumors. We all did a while back. He supposedly got rough with a prostitute?” She guffawed. “This is what people do. They take a great man like Aaron, and they try to doctor up some crap story like he’s a villain because they want someone else for the job. Fake news, that’s all it is. You of all people should know that rumors are exactly that—rumors. Nothing more.” She lifted the photo and tossed it across the desk. “Now I believe I asked you to leave.”
“But—”
“Leave,” Tiffany pushed the word through gritted teeth. “I won’t have you talking about Aaron like this. If you continue to harass us or disclose those photos to anyone, I will have you arrested. Blackmail is a crime in this state, Ms. Westfield. Bury those doctored pictures wherever you found them. Now get out before I call the bailiff.”
Defiance shone in Tiffany’s eyes, and somehow, despite everything Ursula had uncovered so far, Tiffany’s anger was one of the most unnerving parts of this story. Tiffany wasn’t simply in denial abo
ut Judge Michaels. She wouldn’t even glance at the photos because she didn’t care about the truth. All she wanted was to keep her distorted image of Aaron Michaels intact.
And maybe, just maybe, she would be willing to kill in order to defend it.
“Right.” Ursula nodded, and then shoved the picture back into her purse. She rose slowly and walked to the door. “Thank you for your time, Ms. Strong.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Ursula stared at the image of the young woman on the screen, a heavy sadness closing over her. Millie Taylor.
This picture was much better than the one she’d seen of the girl at George’s Place last night. Here, a young Millie was smiling for her class yearbook. A smile that held so much hope. Unless Ursula’s instincts failed her, Millie’s bright future had been stripped away just a couple years later by Aaron Michaels.
Ursula shifted on the desk chair and straightened her aching back. It had been a long day and was setting up to be an even longer night. Once the police had released the name of the man who had been murdered in front of the restaurant—Jason Taylor—it had been easy enough to find out about his mother.
What was taking much longer was trying to find anyone willing to talk honestly, on the record, about Michaels. She’d hit one roadblock after another, and, eventually, she’d thrown her net far and wide. If he didn’t know she was investigating him already, he’d know soon enough. Probably the day after tomorrow when he got back to town.
Which meant there was no time for rest, and there was even less time to be a yellow-bellied chicken. It was time to get help.
She tapped her fingernails on the screen of her phone for a second before punching up a contact number. She held the phone to her ear and waited as it rang.
“Hey, Ursula,” Willa said. “Are you still in town?”
Willa’s voice made Ursula prickle with interest. “Yes. Why?” Another call came in. She looked at the phone. Detective Mason. “Willa, can I call you right back?”
