Joel Goldman - Chasing The Dead

Before Bonnie left for the hospital, she gave Alex strict instructions to take it easy for the next few days. Alex promised to do as she was told, but she couldn’t ignore Judge Steele’s message, certain why he had called. It was one thing to deny remembering Joanie. It was another to deny it knowing that Alex was going to get medical records that identified him as the one who’d paid for Joanie’s treatment at Fresh Start. Better to come clean than to invite more questions. And volunteering would buy him credibility for any other denials. Alex could have called him back and let him tell her over the phone, but she wanted to hear it in person to better evaluate whether he was telling the truth.

She had another reason for going. Staying in bed, cooped up in the house, made her feel more trapped than safe. If someone wanted to kill her, she liked her chances better in Judge Steele’s chambers than as a sitting duck at home.

She eased herself out of bed and into her clothes, each movement launching a jolt of pain through her midback. She dug through her T-shirt drawer, slipping into one with a favorite marines saying on the front- Pain is only weakness leaving the body . Repeating it out loud made her feel better already.

Judge Steele sat on the Missouri Court of Appeals for the Western District of Missouri. It was the only intermediate appellate court in Missouri that had its own courthouse. Located at Thirteenth and Oak in the shadow of the Sprint Center, it was the southernmost of the trio of courthouses on Oak that included the Federal Courthouse at Ninth and the Jackson County Courthouse at Twelfth.

The judge’s secretary ushered Alex into his chambers. It was twice the size of Judge West’s, a beautiful Oriental rug covering the center of the hardwood floor, two chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, and walls lined with mahogany bookshelves jammed with case reporters and statutes. State and federal flags stood behind the judge’s desk, draped floor-to-ceiling windows completing the backdrop.

Judge Steele sat at an oval table on one side of the room, wearing khakis, a long-sleeved polo shirt, and deck shoes without socks, one shoe off and dangling from his toes. He looked up from the brief he was reading, his glasses partway down his nose.

“Come on in, Alex. You’re awfully pale. Are you all right? Have a seat, please.”

She held one hand over her wounds, grimacing as she slid onto the chair, not wanting to talk about what happened.

“Sort of threw my back out yesterday.”

“Believe me, I’ve been there with the way my wife makes me work out. She’s a fitness buff and I suffer for it.”

Alex was surprised at his informality, since formality was one of a judge’s strongest assets. Lawyers called them by their honorific title as if using their given names was forbidden. Rules against ex parte communications stifled casual conversation. Their black robes and elevated courtroom benches were a reminder of their exalted status. On the few occasions she’d run into judges on a weekend, dressed like civilians and running errands like ordinary folks, she’d almost failed to recognize them. But here was Judge Steele, dressed down and kicking back.

“I didn’t know the Court of Appeals had adopted a casual dress code.”

“If you had gotten here an hour ago, you’d have caught me in my workout clothes,” he said, chuckling and pointing to the duffel bag on the floor. “One of the little-known perks of being an appellate judge is that I can wear whatever I want as long as we don’t have any oral arguments scheduled. And if there’s an emergency hearing of some kind, I just put on my robe and no one can tell what I’m wearing underneath. It’s kind of like the TV anchorman who reads the news wearing a shirt, jacket, tie, boxers, and nothing else.”

Alex smiled. Not taking himself too seriously was part of the judge’s charm.

“Your message said that you remembered Joanie Sutherland.”

“Yes, but not at first. You mentioned something about Fresh Start, and later on, when I was telling my wife, she said that Joanie was probably one of the people whose treatment we had paid for over the years. I went back and checked our records, and, sure enough, that’s what happened.”

Alex arched her eyebrows. “You and your wife pay for other people’s treatment at Fresh Start?”

“Well, not personally. My parents were wealthy-quite wealthy, actually. That’s why I can afford to be a judge. They set up the Steele Family Foundation for their charitable work. I had an older brother who died of a drug overdose when he was only twenty-five. My parents blamed themselves for not recognizing what bad shape he was in and doing something to save him. So, they made prevention and treatment of substance abuse one of the foundation’s priorities, including paying for the treatment of low-income people who wouldn’t otherwise get the quality of care that Fresh Start provides.”

“How did Joanie Sutherland get on that list?”

“COMBAT, Jackson County’s drug abuse prevention program, referred her.”

“We’re you personally involved in approving payment for her?”

“I’m certain I was. Since my parents died, I’m in charge of the foundation, and those applications come across my desk for approval.”

Alex was deflated. She’d thought she’d gotten lucky with a long shot. Judge Steele’s explanation made sense, and since it was easily verifiable, he had no reason to lie. Still, she decided to press.

“Did you or the foundation provide any other financial support to Joanie?”

“Not that I’m aware of, at least not directly. We don’t make grants to people like Joanie because there’s too much risk that the money won’t be well spent. We support organizations and programs that help people like her and she may have benefited from one of those, though the foundation doesn’t keep records of the people who use those services.”

It was the answer Alex expected. “Well, that explains that. Thank you for your time, Your Honor.”

“If you don’t mind my asking, why were you so interested in knowing who paid her medical bills?”

“Because lending a helping hand can get pretty expensive if someone asks for too much help.”

“Ah, I see. And you think Ms. Sutherland may have been such a person and that may have gotten her killed.”

“It’s possible.”

He leaned back in his chair, hands clasped in his lap and smiled. “Which means you thought, to be blunt, that I might have killed her because she was blackmailing me.”

Alex blushed. “I’m sorry, Your Honor, I. .”

He waved her off. “You were just doing your job, and in a way, I’m flattered that anyone might think that someone as boring as I am could be caught up in something so dramatic. Thank you for helping me hold up my end of the dinner table conversation tonight when Sonia asks me about my day.”

Alex returned home, worn-out. She poured herself into her easy chair in the den and took a nap. After lunch she stayed at the kitchen table, using her laptop to catch up on her e-mail. Late in the afternoon, Grace Canfield called her.

“Where’ve you been all day?”

Alex didn’t want Grace worrying and asking too many questions.

“Home with a cold.”

“Drink plenty of liquids.”

“I promise.”

“I got Joanie’s records from Fresh Start.”

“Let me guess. The Steele Family Foundation paid for her treatment.”

“If you knew that, why did you run my butt around to get these records?”

Alex laughed. “I just found out this morning,” she said, filling Grace in on her conversation with Judge Steele.

“So you were well enough to go see the judge but too sick to tell me what he said so I wouldn’t spend my day hollering at some poor medical records clerk at Fresh Start?”