Joel Goldman - Chasing The Dead

Judge West held his look but couldn’t help the way his eyes narrowed, his nostrils flared, and his fists clenched. Rossi knew the judge might not even be aware he’d done any of those things, but Rossi picked up on all of them, knowing he’d touched a nerve. This was Judge West unplugged and honest. The judge opened his mouth just enough to let his words out.

“She’s a lawyer who appears in my court.”

“What do you think of her. . as a lawyer who appears in your court?”

“She’s very good at what she does.”

“Can’t argue with that. After all, she gunned down her client and got away with it in your courtroom.”

Judge West glared at him, Rossi giving him a flat look in return, neither moving the other.

“Yes,” Judge West said. “She did.”

Rossi walked down the courthouse steps, satisfied that he’d accomplished one of the basic objectives of any interrogation. He’d confirmed another witness’s story. Both the judge and Alex gave the same explanation for why she wanted to talk to him, meaning either they were telling the truth or they’d gotten their stories straight before he got to the judge.

If it were anyone other than Alex Stone, he’d give a heavy lean to the first option, particularly since both also confirmed Mathew Woodrell’s story about their encounter in chambers, but he couldn’t do that with her. And that left him wondering what could possibly be going on between them that would prompt both of them to lie.

He was also pleased that he’d accomplished a second goal of interrogation, pissing off the witness, because pissed-off people make mistakes that can turn into breaks that solve cases. The judge was annoyed that Rossi was keeping him from his courtroom, but annoyed people don’t give him the bull-about-to-charge look that West flashed at him when he asked the judge about his relationship with Alex. And when he said that Alex had not only gotten away with killing Dwayne Reed but that she’d gotten away with it in his courtroom, the look the judge gave him was more executioner than judicial.

All of which made him think that whatever was going on between the judge and Alex had to do with Alex killing Dwayne Reed. The judge might have reacted that way because he’d been forced to acquit her because the prosecutor didn’t have enough evidence to make the case. Given West’s hanging-judge reputation, Rossi could understand how that would chap the judge’s ass. But there were two other possibilities that were more intriguing.

The first was that Alex had something on the judge that she used to pressure him into the acquittal, but the judge didn’t strike him as someone who would let himself be blackmailed. The second was that Alex and the judge had conspired to get her off, but that made less sense to him than the blackmail scenario. Neither theory got him closer to the truth-not yet-but if he kept pissing off enough people, he knew he’d get there.

“In here, Rossi,” Mitch Fowler said from his office when Rossi got back to the homicide unit.

Rossi stood in the doorway. “What’s up?”

Fowler looked up from a stack of reports on his desk. “You’ve got a visitor.”

Rossi glanced around the empty bullpen. “Where?”

“Interrogation Two. She said she wanted to have a private conversation with you.”

“Who is she?”

“Sonia Steele. Says she’s a lawyer but I didn’t ask to see her bar association card.”

“Why not?”

“Didn’t have to. She had arrogant ballbuster written all over her face. You know her?”

“Enough to say hello.”

“If she’s representing someone who’s getting ready to sue your ass and the department because of some bullshit you pulled. .”

Rossi held up one hand. “Easy, boss. She’s representing Robin Norris’s kids. Wheeler and I met her at the Norris house Friday night. I haven’t had time to pull any bullshit on her, but I’ll see what I can do.”

Wheeler’s mouth turned down like he got a bad taste of something. “I’m tired of you fucking with me, Rossi.”

Rossi grinned. “Don’t worry, boss. You’ll get a second wind.”

Sonia Steele was seated at the interrogation table, her briefcase at her feet, her backbone straight, tapping away on her smartphone when Rossi walked into the room. She was wearing slacks and a sleeveless scoop-neck blouse under a jacket she’d set on the back of her chair. The blouse showed off her buff arms and shoulders. She was in her fifties but in better shape than women-and men-ten years younger. Having met her twice, Rossi was impressed with more than her good looks. He liked the toughness in her muscle message.

“Mrs. Steele,” Rossi said, taking a seat opposite her and gesturing at the scuffed table. “This is what passes for a homicide cop’s conference room. I’m sure you’re used to better.”

She smiled at him with perfect teeth. She may have had them whitened, but the rest of her face was original equipment, down to the crow’s-feet in the corners of her eyes and the laugh lines at her mouth.

“I’ve never seen a table that could get a deal done. It always comes down to the people sitting around the table.”

“So what kind of a deal are you interested in?”

“That’s not why I’m here, Detective.”

Rossi spread his hands wide. “Then what can I do for you?”

She took a breath, pursed her lips, and let it go, her posture softening to rounded shoulders, the confident sheen she’d had when he walked in the room fading. He might have been wrong about the toughness thing, working out taking her only so far.

“I don’t really know. I mean, you can’t do anything for me.” She sat back, chewing her lower lip and shaking her head. “I’m sorry. It’s just that I’m really out of my element here,” she said, pointing to the mirrored wall. “Is that one of those two-way mirrors I see on Law and Order and all those other shows?”

“Yes.”

“So you really do that? Watch people while they’re being interrogated.”

“If we could sell tickets, we’d make a bundle.”

She didn’t say anything. She was stalling, but it was her meeting, so Rossi let the silence do its work. She pressed her palms flat on the table and took another deep breath.

“Okay. I’m just going to tell you what I came to tell you and I’ll leave the rest up to you.”

“And what’s that?”

She reached into her briefcase for a manila envelope, placing it on the table in front of her. It was the kind of envelope that was held closed by a metal clasp inserted through a hole in the flap. She toyed with the clasp, opening and closing it.

“It’s just that Ted is still the father of those kids, and even though he’s been a lousy father-and that’s putting it mildly-he’s still their dad, and with Robin gone, well. . I hate to do anything that might hurt the kids even more. Especially if I’m wrong.”

“Wrong about what?”

She looked at him, her fingers on the clasp, deciding. “It’s possible Ted killed Robin. I mean, I don’t know that for certain. I don’t have a smoking gun or anything like that. In fact, what I have is strictly circumstantial and can probably be explained. I haven’t said a word to Ted or my husband or-God forbid-the children, but I couldn’t stop thinking about it all weekend. Not after you told us what happened to Robin.”

“How about this,” Rossi said. “You tell me whatever it is you came to tell me and show me whatever is in that envelope, and I’ll figure out what to do with it. If it raises any questions about Mr. Norris, I’ll look into it.”

“But what about the children? Will they have to know?”

“It depends on what I find out. But you have to tell me first.”