Randy Singer - The Justice Game

She read the e-mail a second time, then a third. The Kryptonite blog was a gossip site that broke embarrassing stories about actors, politicians, and rock stars. It was the blog equivalent of National Enquirer, more reckless in its accusations than most blogs, but every once in a while it would actually get something right.

Judge Shaver was the district court judge for whom Kelly had clerked nearly seven years ago. He had recently been nominated for a seat on the Fourth Circuit Court of Appeals. He would have his grilling with the Senate judiciary committee if and when the senators found a way to break up the logjam of appointees in the pipeline. In the meantime, he was in limbo.

The timing of the e-mail couldn’t have been worse.

What floored Kelly was the fact that somebody else knew about her relationship with the judge. She had never discussed it with anyone. Not a single living soul. Not her father. Not her best friend. Not a psychiatrist or counselor. Nobody knew.

Except this person named Luthor.

Luthor. That was the name the writer used to sign off the e-mail. An allusion, Kelly knew, to Superman’s greatest nemesis.

She printed the e-mail, folded it in thirds, placed it in a sealed envelope, and put it in the bottom of her briefcase. She deleted the original e-mail from her computer and emptied her computer trash. She realized that the original was still lurking on the firm’s server someplace, but she couldn’t help that.

It would be hours before she could focus on the corporate e-mails again. The task suddenly seemed incredibly insignificant. Her world had just been turned upside down. A ghost from seven years ago had returned with a vengeance.

She ran down the worst-case scenario in her mind. As a former clerk, she had been interviewed during the FBI’s background check on Judge Shaver. She vividly recalled the visit by the agents, the cordial conversation and probing questions they had asked. She had protected the judge and, in the process, placed her own head on the guillotine.

“Is there anything that might make you question his judgment?” they had asked.

“No.”

“Are you aware of anything a person could use to blackmail or threaten Judge Shaver?”

“No.”

“Are you aware of any intimate relationships between Judge Shaver and anyone other than his wife?”

Though she thought it was none of their business, Kelly had not hesitated. “No.”

Now she could be looking at a national scandal, a Shakespearean tragedy, with Kelly in a leading role. The thought of it made her stomach churn with anxiety.

So far, Luthor had demanded something that Kelly fully intended to do anyway-try the case to a verdict. But what would he want next?

She called Judge Shaver, something she had not done since she took the job at B amp;W. His legal assistant answered the phone and perked up once Kelly said her name.

“It’s great to hear from you! How long has it been?”

“Seven years,” Kelly said.

They chatted for a while, though Kelly hardly heard a word the lady said.

“Is Judge Shaver in?” Kelly eventually asked.

“No.” His assistant drew the word out, hating to disappoint Kelly. “He’s at a judicial conference in Phoenix until next Wednesday. But I’m sure he would love to hear from you. Do you want his cell phone?”

“Sure.”

As soon as Kelly hung up, before she lost her nerve, she dialed Judge Shaver’s cell. Again, there was an exchange of pleasantries.

“I need to see you about something,” Kelly explained. “It’s fairly urgent.”

Shaver asked if they could talk about it over the phone, but Kelly insisted on meeting in person. When he asked if it could wait until next Wednesday, she heard the tension in his voice.

“I think so,” Kelly said.

The judge didn’t respond immediately. “Should I catch the first flight home?”

Kelly wanted to say yes. She needed to talk this over with him as soon as possible, needed to prepare him for the worst, develop a plan. But having the judge abruptly leave the conference would create its own set of problems. What if Luthor was following him? Maybe Luthor knew about the judicial conference. Maybe he wanted Kelly and Judge Shaver to drop everything and get together for an emergency meeting so he could capture it all on video.

“It’ll keep until next Wednesday,” Kelly said.

“Okay,” Shaver responded, sounding uncertain. “You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

The judge checked his calendar and said he had a heavy morning docket next Wednesday but could meet at 11:30.

Eleven thirty. The middle of the day, a time when others would be milling around the office. The judge was being careful. He didn’t want the two of them to be together alone.

She wished they had both been this circumspect seven years ago.

At first, Jim Noble’s face lit up at the sight of his kids and Matt Corey standing on his doorstep. He looked like a child who had stepped into a surprise birthday party. His expression only made Jason feel worse.

“Jules!” he exclaimed. Julie stepped forward and gave him a hug.

“Hey, Dad.”

He smiled at Jason. “Hey, buddy.”

“Hey.”

Dr. Prescott stepped forward and extended his hand. “I’m Dr. Paul Prescott. I work with the force on a number of matters.”

The introduction froze Jason’s dad, his impromptu joy quickly turning to realization that something nefarious was going on. He ignored Prescott’s hand, looking from Jason to Matt. “What’s this about?” he asked. The momentary silence made his eyes narrow and his complexion darken-suspicion giving way to the first vestiges of anger.

“Somebody want to fill me in?”

“We want to talk with you for a few minutes about some personal matters,” Prescott said. “Can we step inside?”

“Personal matters?”

“Let’s do it inside.”

Jason’s dad stood there for a few seconds, blocking the way of the much larger Prescott. Jim Noble might be down four inches and seventy-five pounds to the doctor, but there was no doubt where Jason’s money would lie if a fight broke out. His dad was one tough dude.

“Please don’t make this any harder than it already is,” Prescott said, his voice calm.

It took Julie to break the stalemate. When she asked her dad to cooperate, he stepped aside and let them in. “What’s going on, Jules?” he asked.

“Can I tell you when we get inside?”

He nodded and followed his daughter into the living room.

The place looked even worse than it had at Christmas. In addition to empty glasses, unopened mail, and dirty clothes, the living room had various case files scattered around the floor. There was an old bowl of Doritos, an empty coffee mug, a few books, and a couple of magazines on the coffee table. Jason counted at least a dozen empty beer bottles strewn around the room. The four visitors each had a seat, Jason bringing in a chair from the kitchen table. They left the reclining chair empty.

Prescott invited Jason’s dad to sit, but he refused. “What’s going on here?” he asked, looking from one person to the next.

“It would really help if you had a seat,” Prescott insisted, his voice firmer this time. Jason knew it was the wrong approach. He studied his dad’s reaction. He had lived with the man for eighteen years and had learned to recognize the signs of an impending explosion-veins bulging in the neck and forehead, nose flaring, intense scowl.

“Your kids and Matt care a lot about you,” Prescott said. “They’ve seen some things that concern them enough to come all the way here-in Julie’s case from California-and talk to you about them. They’re just asking that you hear them out.”

Jason’s dad snorted, his temper taking control. “Don’t give me this psychobabble crap,” he said. He turned to Jason. “My son comes once a year at Christmas and then gets out of town as soon as he can. Even Julie thinks of every reason to stay away-”