Джозеф Файндер - Judgment

Then she remembered — a call she’d received from him. You are not to recuse yourself. That would be a serious mistake.

Yes, he’d called her, to threaten her. That call established a link between them.

“And what on earth does this have to do with investigating a homicide?” she said. She thought about how she could explain the call from Matías. She could say the guy called her, and she told him this was an ex parte communication, and she got off the phone right away. That was all.

Maybe.

“Juliana, let’s put our cards on the table. If we can establish that you had an intimate relationship with Matías Sanchez, an attorney who appeared before you, and you did not disclose this or recuse yourself... well.” He shrugged broadly. “I’m going to recommend that the matter be brought before the CJC.”

The Commission on Judicial Conduct. Which investigated judges. “Oh, for God’s sake.”

“And I’m going to recommend your removal from the bench. I’m sorry, but I don’t see a choice.”

She felt the blood rush to her face. She felt both trapped and angry. “I think what you’re talking about,” she said, “is that a pair of sunglasses with my fingerprints on them was found in the deceased lawyer’s hotel room. Fine. How my sunglasses ended up in his room, I have no idea. It’s peculiar. Did he find them? Did he take them? Who knows. But how that indicates that I had a relationship with him — is that the best you have? Seriously? That’s pathetic. Kent, don’t embarrass yourself.”

There was no longer any need to pretend they liked each other.

“Trooper Markowski is one of our best. If there’s something to be found, he’ll find it. He always does.”

“Hold on, is he investigating a crime of some sort?”

“As you well know, you’re a person of interest.”

“Kent, we know each other. I know you. If your Trooper Markowski had found something in the deceased’s phone records, you’d have told me already.”

“Trooper Markowski has requested the phone logs. He’ll get them tomorrow.”

“Then you should have waited before asking me out for a drink.”

“I’m offering you an opportunity. To resign from the bench with dignity, on your own terms.”

“On my own terms,” she said, shaking her head.

“You can avoid all the ugliness, all the publicity, by choosing to resign from the bench.” He spoke quietly, somberly. “Oh, and the disbarment that will inevitably follow. I think a resignation, for personal reasons, would be better for all concerned.”

They locked eyes.

He said, “Am I making myself clear?”

“You are,” she said.

“And I mean resign now, tomorrow morning, and not at the end of the year.”

“I understand.”

“I’m sure we can work out something that doesn’t damage your reputation.” He was not negotiating. He believed he had her trapped, that he was in control of the situation.

But he was bluffing. He was also going on instinct. He’d guessed that something had happened between her and Matías Sanchez.

But he doesn’t know for sure .

Tomorrow, the phone records would come in, and Trooper Markowski would let his boss know a call had indeed been made between Judge Juliana Brody and the deceased.

And the attorney general would file notice with the CJC. Would circumstantial evidence be enough to get her thrown off the bench?

Maybe.

“Kent,” she said, “the funniest thing. Your kind ‘advice to a friend’ is reawakening my own fond memories of working for you. I’m remembering all sorts of things.”

He cocked his head.

“I think we both know what I’m talking about.”

“I’m afraid I don’t.”

“The Ray Marshak case.”

“I remember it well too, Juliana.”

“And since you brought up the topic, we found your phone number in Marshak’s phone records. Quite a few times. When you know you shouldn’t have been in contact with him. But I didn’t see any reason to tell you. Nor anyone else, of course — at the time. Anyway.”

He blinked, then pursed his lips. She could see the realization dawn in his eyes, beady though they were. The fear that contorted his face. “Are you threatening me?” he said.

“I don’t know. Do you feel threatened?”

In a very low voice he called her a very bad word.

She gave him a large, gladiatorial smile, as if she was enjoying this. “So I am making myself clear, then?”

The waitress arrived with their drinks. Juliana lifted hers from the tray and raised it in mock salute. “I’m going to take mine to go, Kent. So glad we had this little chat.”

On the way home from the club, she kept her eye out for the dark blue Ford Mustang, but she didn’t see it this time. No one seemed to be following her.

Hersh had left her a text message asking her to call him if and when she saw the Mustang again, “or any other car that looks like it’s following.”

By the time she got home, he’d sent her another text message: I want to sweep your office in the morning — OK?

“Sweep,” she assumed, meant look for bugs, surveillance devices. The idea of someone planting a listening device in her lobby creeped her out, made her nervous again. She texted back: Sure.

The building’s maintenance staff had keys to her lobby. It wasn’t exactly high-security, ordinarily. There was no reason for it to be.

But then there had been the fake janitor. Maybe she could use some security.

In the morning, Hersh was waiting for her in front of the courthouse. He was holding a bulky aluminum briefcase.

“You been here awhile?”

“Half an hour, maybe. Thought you’d be in earlier.”

“Sorry. Late night.”

“I know. This briefcase is going to bum out the security guards. I’m going to need you to pull strings.”

They got in line.

“What’s in it?” she asked.

“TSCM equipment.”

She didn’t know what “TSCM equipment” was, but she didn’t want to ask. Something to do with sweeping her lobby, that was all she needed to know.

When they entered the building, she took one of the guards aside. He was a pudgy African-American guy named Lamar. “Morning, Judge,” he said.

“Morning, Lamar. This gentleman here is doing some security work in the courthouse.”

“He’s still going to have to put that case through the scanner.”

Hersh got through security without a problem. She led him to her lobby. He watched as she keyed the lock. When they were inside, he said, “I could pick that lock inside of a minute and a half.”

“I know. It’s not exactly high-security around here.”

“This is going to take me several hours. Is that too long a disruption?”

“Not if you do it while I’m in court.”

“Okay. Listen, don’t use my name after we enter your chambers—”

“‘Lobby.’”

“ Lobby , right. I don’t want them to know I’m there.”

“Let who know?”

“Whoever the hell is following you. Where were you when you made the plan to meet the attorney general last night?”

“In my office. On my landline.”

He nodded. “Then I know where to start.”

After they’d entered her lobby, he inspected the bookshelves while she checked her e-mail.

“You a big Trollope fan?”

“Trollope? I like him well enough, why?”

He reached over to the shelf in the bookcase where she kept the many crimson volumes of Massachusetts Practice . He plucked a leather-bound copy of Barchester Towers. Then, looking directly at her and not at the book, he opened it, revealing the hidden compartment. It was a hollow book, a book-safe, in which she kept a small stack of cash and a pair of pricey pearl earrings Duncan had given her on her fortieth birthday. Sometimes she went out in the evenings right after work and needed to style up.