Scott Turow - Personal injuries

"We'd like to speak to Judge Skolnick."

"This is something to do with court?" she asked.

"Exactly," said Sennett. "It's official business."

She shrugged as she opened the screen.

"Bar-nett!" she yelled. "Barney. You got friends here!" She was, apparently, not unacquainted with nighttime visits by lawyers. Skolnick was the kind to leave the bench promptly at five. If lawyers wanted more of his time, they could come to him, and lawyers, being who they were, occasionally did on emergency matters. No doubt there were also visits for less savory purposes now and then.

Skolnick's voice rose from a distance with the same phlegmy cheerfulness heard in his courtroom. He asked his wife to send them down. Behind Sennett, Evon and the others descended a narrow stairwell. A few steps from the bottom, Sennett waggled a finger at Robbie to stay put. Feaver would be a surprise, Sennett's own jack-in-the-box.

It was well past 10 p.m. by now and they had been scrambling all day. With the assistance of a late-arriving sergeant from Community Relations, the impasse at the roadside in the Public Forest had been resolved with a deal to deliver the FoxBIte to Linden Seilor, Chief Deputy P.A., who was a former trial partner of Stan's. Sennett recovered the recorder personally. Linden had heard Tuohey's name in the subsequent accounts and was determined to ask no questions. However, he vouched for the cop, who was named Beasley. Beasley's lieutenant had directed him to stake out the bridge by 5:45 and to stop whoever went over. The lieutenant warned that the groundskeeper had chased somebody away last week, ceasing pursuit when the fellow actually turned on him with a gun. A thorough pat-down was therefore in order. If the cop found anything, he'd been instructed to give a shout over the police radio. Seilor had already had a word with the lieutenant about where his information and instructions came from, but it trailed off to smoke up the chain in McGrath Hall, police headquarters. As usual, there were several layers between Tuohey and whomever it was on the Force he'd reached out to for this favor.

Yet it was certain that the cop's story of seven FBI agents drawing on him would soon be departmental legend, along with the inevitable deduction that Robbie Feaver was a Bureau informant. Tuohey had almost certainly learned that this morning, but his people would spread the word slowly for fear that anybody they spoke to might be wired. Nonetheless, given the panic that would grip everyone Robbie had dealt with, the Presiding Judge and his circle would need to make stealthy efforts to hold them in line. Despite the dwindling odds, Stan maintained one last hope that in the fraught atmosphere, Tuohey might blunder. If Sennett could quickly turn someone whom Brendan was unlikely to suspect, or whom he had no choice about talking to, there might yet be an opportunity tonight, or early tomorrow.

For this effort, the FBI had put the entire Kindle County Field Office at the Project's disposal. Sennett had fielded a full squad of Assistant U.S. Attorneys who were grinding out subpoenas to banks and currency exchanges and the courthouse, which would be served tomorrow to prevent records from going astray. In the meantime, several `flip teams' had been organized. Klecker and Stan's First Assistant, Moses Appleby, were sent after Judith and Milacki. Another group would go to the homes of various clerks-Walter; Pincus Lebovic; Crowthers' clerk, Joey Kwan. Sennett reserved the top targets for himself.

Amari's people had staked out Kosic all day. The idea was to catch Rollo alone so that Sennett could confront him with the array of incriminating evidence the government had developed and offer Kosic the deal of a lifetime to turn on Tuohey. But Rollo never left Brendan's side, although this, more likely, was for protection and counsel in a moment of crisis, rather than to foil Stan's plans. Once surveillance put the two back inside Tuohey's house in Latterly, Sennett decided to go after the others, leaving Rollo for the next morning.

At the bottom of the stairs, they found Skolnick huddled on a new tartan sofa-a colonial piece with dark maple arms-watching the Trappers game on TV. He was dressed in green pajamas with black piping, and a velvet bathrobe, adorned at the pocket with the crest of a family to which he surely did not belong. The room was clad in lacquered knotty pine and newly carpeted. The astringent factory odor of the rug did not quite obscure a lingering smell of mold. Along the paneled walls, built-in pine shelves were filled with family memorabilia, snapshots of children and grandchildren, trophies earned by Skolnick's kids in long-forgotten athletic triumphs, and a few photos from Skolnick's official life, including one 8 x 10 from his induction as a judge more than a quarter of a century ago. In it, he stood flanked by a large group, including Tuohey and the dear departed Mayor Bolcarro, as well as Knuckles, Skolnick's connected brother. By now Evon recognized all the faces, which appeared so much more appealing in youth that she had to suppress an impulse to laugh. Looking around, she realized the basement had been refinished recently. She made a note to get the IRS guys Sennett had in the background to go through Skolnick's financials for evidence of how he'd paid for the renovation. Nine would get you ten there'd be no credit card records or checks. Barney, almost certainly, had been a cash customer.

Skolnick jumped up to welcome them. "So come in, come in."

Sennett introduced himself as Skolnick was pulling the wooden barrel chairs from his leather-topped poker table into a circle, a task with which Tex Clevenger rendered wordless assistance.

"I know you, I know you," said Skolnick. He mentioned a moot-court function at Blackstone where they'd met. He resumed his seat on his sofa, pulling his robe closed to assume whatever dignity he could under the circumstances. He cast a final shameless glance at the game and then used the remote to darken the set. "So, fellas," he said, "what have we got here?"

He always proved as dim as Robbie's initial portrayal. Every now and then, given the peculiarities of certain statutes, the United States was forced to appear in the Common Law Claims Division, and Skolnick seemed to believe that Sennett and his coterie had arrived for that reason. An emergency motion of some kind.

"Judge, I'm not here as an attorney, at least not one appearing before you. I need to ask you a few questions. On behalf of the government of the United States."

"At eleven at night? This can't wait till the morning?" Confusion swarmed over Skolnick's large pink face, and he glanced to the others as if they might explain. When his eyes lit on Evon, the only female, he smiled very slightly and she found herself mildly surprised by the impulse to respond in kind. It was like being nice to an infant or puppy.

"There's a case I'm concerned about, Your Honor." Stan named it. "Involving a painter who fell off a scaffolding? A widower? There was a motion for a judgment on the pleadings. Do you recall that?"

Slowly, very slowly, Skolnick was beginning to realize there was some gravity in this situation.

"Mr. Sennett," he said. "I can call you Stan? Stan, there are hundreds of motions before me. Thousands. Thousands, actually. You should come and sit in my courtroom one day. It's not like the federal court, you know. I know a lot of the fellas sit on the federal bench-Larren Lyttle I know for years and years-and it's not the same. We still give argument now and then. We don't have full-time law clerks. It's a terrible backlog. And one motion, you know, it can look just like another. Now, if you had the papers, the documents, I'm sure I'd remember."

Sennett nodded and from her briefcase Evon withdrew Robbie's motion and McManis's response. Sennett let them drop on the new colonial coffee table, which matched the sofa arms.