Night Justice

by Diane Capri

  I frowned. What I knew for sure was something I’d learned while practicing law. The only way to make anyone do anything was to incentivize them to do so. What would incentivize Rinaldo Gaines to get the hell out of my life?

  The best answer was for me to get out from under the heavy weight of suspicion and get back to work. Gaines would leave me alone when I was no longer interesting. Or more specifically, when my life no longer served as click bait for his bottom-feeding audience.

  What he was doing was harassment and stalking. I had not filed a complaint with Chief Hathaway because the extra publicity was exactly what Gaines wanted. CJ wouldn’t have been unhappy about it, either.

  But I’d decided to give Gaines a choice. Leave me alone, or go to jail. At the moment, I thought the odds were about fifty-fifty as to which he’d choose.

  Decision made, I nodded once. “I’ll go tomorrow. Between now and then, we’ll figure it out.”

  “And what do you want me to tell CJ and the special committee? Besides go to hell, I mean,” Augustus said with a grin.

  “Just keep taking messages, unless they really press you. And then you can tell them that I was called out of town unexpectedly for a few days.” I said, already checking online for plane and hotel reservations.

  “What about George? He’ll be worried,” Augustus said, continuing to tick off all the problems this impromptu travel presented.

  “As soon as we figure everything out, we’ll let him know.” My attention was on the travel plans first. Which didn’t take long.

  A flight to Pittsburgh tomorrow morning with an open return date was both possible and pricey. I plunked down my credit-card information and paid extra for first-class seats with more legroom. No way could I fold my long legs into one of those standard coach seats. Besides, Gaines wasn’t likely to have the money to buy a seat in the first-class cabin. I hoped.

  I reserved a rental car and made a hotel reservation at the Pittsburgh airport. Then I checked the weather and shivered. The Pittsburgh forecast called for highs in the 50s and lows in the 30s for the rest of the week. At least it shouldn’t snow. But I definitely needed warmer shoes and a coat. Gloves would be good, too. I’d brought none of that to Le Méridien.

  “How long will you be gone?” Augustus wanted to know.

  “A couple of days, more or less. But I’m going to be home for Thanksgiving, regardless. Which means I’ll be gone for not more than five days.” When the computer spit out all the confirmation numbers and I’d recorded everything where I could find it easily, I closed all the tabs and windows and turned to Augustus.

  I waved to a chair, and he seated himself across from me. “I’m all ears,” he said with a grin.

  Which was when I explained my plans. He asked a few good questions but mainly agreed with everything I’d worked out.

  We spent the rest of the afternoon collecting everything I’d need to make the trip to Pittsburgh worthwhile. Including Cindy Allen’s last known address and Pittsburgh-area employers, and contact information for Charles Evan Hayden’s college roommates.

  Dr. Martin Eberhard, the medical examiner, returned my call. He provided the name and phone number for two Pittsburgh-area coroners who had identified instances of the same toxic heroin involved in Hayden’s death. He said they’d be willing to speak with me Friday afternoon.

  I collected photos of all witnesses Chief Hathaway had shared with me, along with their witness statements, and stored them on my phone.

  I made two phone calls from my office to local media friends. Both went to voicemail, and I left messages requesting a return call. The favor I wanted was too sensitive to risk to a recording that could be subpoenaed and used against me at my impeachment hearing.

  After that, I snuck out one of the side entrances and made my way back to Le Méridien to pack and prepare to check out in the morning. I wouldn’t be returning to the hotel again.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Thursday, November 17

  9:30 a.m.

  Thursday morning, I drove the rented SUV over to the front entrance to the courthouse and waited for Augustus. He made a big show of bringing a briefcase to my car. A few citizen journalists stood on the sidewalk nearby and shouted questions that Augustus, of course, didn’t answer.

  Rinaldo Gaines was there, front and center, just as he had been every day since Hayden had died.

  Augustus bent to open the passenger door and slipped inside with me. Before I could ask why he was there, he said, “Let’s pretend that you need to tell me something on your way to the airport on this impromptu trip, shall we?”

  I grinned. “Nicely done. You have a future in covert ops.”

  Augustus frowned for the cameras, but he was enjoying himself.

  I pulled the SUV away from the curb and pulled into traffic headed north on Florida Avenue. At the entrance to I-275, I headed toward the airport. I drove slowly and made no effort to hide my intentions.

  “I didn’t see Gaines grab a cab back there,” Augustus said. “Were you able to get your plans to him?”

  “Yeah. I’m expecting to see him on my flight.”

  Getting word to Rinaldo Gaines that I was leaving town had been easier than I’d expected. The two legitimate reporters I contacted last night had zero respect for Gaines and were only too happy to help. They posted a couple of anonymous comments on his video channel about a certain federal judge who was on her way to Pittsburgh tomorrow.

  His replies made it clear the chum we’d tossed in his waters had been too juicy to resist.

  Traffic was heavier than expected. Once upon a time, I could leave the courthouse and be walking onto a plane in less than thirty minutes. Alas, those days were gone.

  Augustus nodded. “I’ve been following his video channel since all this started. You should know I’m not the only one in the courthouse who is.”

  “CJ and the special committee are following it, too, you mean? How do you know?”

  I flashed my left turn signal and moved around a slow truck in the right lane. The airport exit wasn’t too far ahead, so I moved back to the right lane once I passed the truck.

  “You and CJ don’t talk to each other, but the judicial assistants and the law clerks do,” Augustus said with a nod. “The gossip mill is alive and well among the courthouse employees.”

  I took a breath. Of course, they were talking about all this. How could they not be? It wasn’t every day a federal judge was under suspicion for murder. “What have they been saying about my, uh, situation?”

  “Well, they’re annoyed about having so much more work dumped on them. They’re all putting in extra hours and scrambling to reschedule their dockets. Our district is one of the busiest in the country. It’s not a simple matter to absorb the workload of one of the judges. Especially one who works as hard as you do,” Augustus said, finishing his sentence as I exited the expressway at the Tampa International Airport exit and headed north.

  “What do you say in response to all that?”

  “I say it wasn’t your decision. That you’d be working, but CJ pulled the files.” He paused. “Most of them are outraged about how you’re being treated. You’ve got friends in the courthouse. More friends than CJ does.”

  I blinked back a spate of unexpected glassy tears. Augustus might have been an enigma, but his loyalty to me was absolute. “What about the Stingy Dudes? How’s that going?”

  “Okay, I guess. The trial resumed on Monday and witnesses have been traipsing on and off the witness stand pretty regularly, from what I hear.”

  I pulled into the lane marked “Rental Car Return,” and drove to the drop-off location. We parked, and I handed the keys to the attendant. Augustus pulled my bag out of the trunk, handed me the briefcase, and we were on our way.

  I’d already checked in and downloaded my electronic boarding pass. My flight was set to depart in an hour. I had time for coffee after I cleared security.

  Augustus said, “I’ll catch a cab back to the courthouse.
When will I hear from you next?”

  “I’m not sure. You have my itinerary. You can reach me by text. The flight time to Pittsburgh is slightly more than two hours. I’ll be landing about lunchtime. And I’ll call when I can.”

  “See you when I see you,” he replied.

  We exchanged smiles on the sidewalk at the entrance. Augustus turned left toward the taxi stand at the end of the building, and I walked through the glass doors.

  Inside the terminal, I took the escalators up to the third floor and then the air slide over to the Jet Green terminal. My TSA PreCheck status gave me a shorter waiting line, but a long trail of travelers clogged the regular lanes. Passengers moved along slowly through winding lanes that were longer than the lines for the most popular attractions at Disney World.

  I spotted Rinaldo Gaines three lanes away. He was standing behind a couple traveling with two kids and what seemed like everything they owned in the world. They might take a full ten minutes or more to get all that paraphernalia onto the screening belt and then get the kids through and repack on the other side.

  I raised a hand to my mouth to cover the laugh. The guy was predictable. And he was also supremely annoyed. Perfect. With any luck, he’d give up soon. Or go broke first. Either outcome was fine with me.

  By the time we passed through security, the gate agent had called my flight. My first-class cabin was the first to board. I settled into seat 2B on the aisle and stowed my bags. The seat next to me was occupied by a businessman, with two empty seats across the aisle. I breathed easier once those seats were filled by passengers who were not Gaines.

  Several minutes later, I pretended not to notice him when he boarded. I turned my head to talk with my seatmate briefly. Gaines probably noticed me, but that was the whole point. So far, so good.

  The flight to Pittsburgh was uneventful. I worked on the plane, spending time online to locate the neighborhoods where Cindy Allen and Evan Hayden had grown up, and the nicer neighborhood where Hayden’s parents now lived.

  I knew a few lawyers and judges in Pittsburgh. I’d contacted them last night, just in case I needed help while I was in town. One of my theories is that we can get connected to just about anybody in the legal community with three phone calls. So far, I’d never lost that bet, and I didn’t expect to lose it this trip, either.

  We landed in Pittsburgh right on time. I was the fifth person off the plane. I stopped at the women’s restroom to freshen up and give Gaines time to notice me before I rolled my luggage to the escalator and down to ground transportation.

  On the main level, I walked to the garage, collected my key at the kiosk, found my rental, and drove away. Gaines was standing at the rental counter when I passed by. I half expected him to run for a taxi and yell, “Follow that car!” But he didn’t.

  The little twerp probably thought he knew where I was headed.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Thursday, November 17

  3:30 p.m.

  Charles Evan Hayden’s funeral service was scheduled for Friday afternoon at 1:00 p.m. Visitation for friends and family was tonight from seven to nine. I’d booked a room at a nearby Hampton Inn, as if I’d planned to attend both.

  My plan was to find Cindy Allen. I expected her to show up at her boyfriend’s funeral.

  The drive from the Pittsburgh Airport east to Hayden’s neighborhood in Laurel Heights consumed fifty-three minutes of roads winding through the hilly terrain. Colorful fall foliage mingled with bare tree limbs, a few evergreens, and browned grass along the roadway, already dormant.

  Laurel Heights was a slice of homey Americana. A small downtown area with the main street lined with sidewalks and old-fashioned streetlights. There were storefronts on both sides, already decorated for the holidays. Clusters of pedestrians wearing coats, hats, and gloves walked along briskly in the cold.

  The yellow-brick Butler Funeral Home was set back on a wide lawn at one end of Front Street. A spacious parking lot behind the house exited onto the back alley. There were no cars parked in the lot yet.

  Across the street from the funeral home was a casual restaurant with a good view of the entrance, but no view of the parking lot. I circled around to the alley. The side entrance was covered to protect visitors from the elements. Most people would probably get dropped off under the cover or park in the lot and walk in through the side entrance tonight.

  I’d hoped to stand outside and mingle with the guests tomorrow. But given the setup and the cold, people would be quick about coming and going. I’d be forced to go inside.

  I drove through the alley and a few blocks north to my hotel. Once I’d established my bearings, I headed south to Bronsonville and the address on Cindy Allen’s Pennsylvania driver’s license. My lawyer friend had also pulled her credit report.

  Her credit report looked about like I’d have expected for a heroin addict. She had trouble holding a job. Several long gaps in her employment history were listed. She didn’t own a home or a car, but she’d filed for bankruptcy a few years ago.

  Once upon a time, Cindy Allen had been a real estate agent in Bronsonville. After her last stint in rehab, she’d apparently moved to Florida—her credit report didn’t show any further activity in Pennsylvania. She wasn’t a licensed realtor in Florida, according to the state licensing records. But she might be working in a realtor’s office.

  I’d kept watch over my shoulder, but so far, I’d seen no sign of Rinaldo Gaines since I’d lost him back at the rental-car pickup. He wasn’t an idiot. He would figure I was planning to attend the funeral and show up there.

  But so far, Cindy Allen’s name had not been out there. I hoped Gaines wouldn’t know she existed. Or at the very least, that he hadn’t been able to locate her, either.

  The maps program on my phone led me straight to the offices of Bronsonville Realty, Cindy Allen’s last employer in Pennsylvania. It was almost six o’clock, but the sign on the door said office hours ended at nine. Lights were on inside, and at least two of the desks were occupied. I parked the rental out front.

  When I stepped out of the car, the full blast of wind that blew across the street made my teeth chatter. I snugged my summer-weight jacket closer around my body and hurried to the entrance. When I opened the door, an old-fashioned bell rang somewhere deeper in the building. A welcome blast of warmth surrounded me as I moved inside and closed the door.

  The office was one large, open room in front of a divider wall. I guessed there were back rooms on the other side of the wall. Six smallish, modern desks were set out in no obvious pattern. Each desk had one chair on one side and two chairs opposite. As I’d noticed from outside, two of the desks were occupied.

  “I’ll be right with you,” a man dressed in a casual sport coat, red hair, about thirty-five, called to me from one of the desks on the right side of the open floor plan.

  “Thanks,” I called back.

  I studied the wall in the waiting area covered with photos of listings for local real estate for sale or lease. Next to the listings were photos of brokers and agents. None of them were Cindy Allen. Not that I expected her to be employed here now. Not really.

  The carpet muffled his footsteps as he made his way toward me. “Larry Kent,” he said, hand extended. “How can I help you?”

  I didn’t offer my name, but I did shake his hand. “I’m actually looking for a woman who works here. Cindy Allen. Is she around?”

  Kent frowned and shook his head. “She moved out of state a few years ago. Florida, I think it was. If you’re looking for a home, I’m sure I can help you.”

  “I’m really just looking for Cindy.”

  He narrowed his eyes and cocked his head, and I could see his welcoming openness morphing into closed and wary suspicion. Which made sense. I hadn’t even offered my name, because it seemed smarter not to. Why would he trust me?

  I put a warm smile on my face, hoping that would help. “Has anyone else been asking about her?”

  “Not that I know of,” he replie
d. His tone was decidedly frosty now.

  He stood straighter and squared his shoulders, as if he might be preparing to toss me out the front door. I’d never been bounced from an establishment in my life. I wasn’t keen for this to be the first time.

  “I need to find her, and it’s important. Someone close to her has died. We’re trying to get word to her before the funeral.” Judges don’t lie. What I said was true, as far as it went, but I still crossed my fingers behind my back, just in case.

  His stance and his face softened a little, which made me feel guilty. But I wasn’t planning to harm Cindy Allen. All I wanted to do was find her.

  “I don’t know Cindy. She left the company before I started working here,” he said.

  “I see.” I wasn’t sure why I felt such disappointment. But I did. My shoulders slumped, and I stuffed my hands into the pockets of my jeans. “I’d really like to find her before the funeral. Do you have any suggestions? Someone else I could ask?”

  He watched me and thought about things for a few seconds. Why this was such a tough question, I couldn’t guess. But he was having some sort of internal decision-making issue about it, for sure.

  Eventually, like after about a millennium or two, he said, “Wait here. I’ll ask one of my colleagues for you.”

  “Okay,” I said. He might have been headed to call the police, but I wasn’t concerned about that. The Bronsonville police station was the next stop on my list, anyway.

  While he was gone, I pulled out my phone and snapped a few photos of the smiling faces posted next to the real estate listings. At least one of them might know Cindy Allen. They were business people working in the community. They’d be fairly easy to find, if Larry Kent didn’t give me anything useful.

  A few minutes later, I’d ruled out three agents and identified another three as possibles based on biographical information, such as how long they’d worked here. A woman emerged from the back offices. She was older than Kent. I guessed her to be about forty-five. She was smartly dressed in a blue business suit and sported a fashionably trustworthy hairstyle.