Courting Death

by Paul Heald

  * * *

  Arthur emerged from Melanie’s apartment around eleven that night and slipped quietly down the stairs. He marveled at her as he crossed the lot to his car. There was much more to her than met the eye. Cursing his missing rearview mirror, he rolled down his window to back out and sped away from the complex. Preferring the undifferentiated noise of the swiftly moving night, he kept the radio off and the window down, left arm hanging out, claiming ownership of the dark small town streets.

  When he pulled up to the house on Oak Street, he contemplated going in and talking to Suzanne, but then he abruptly pulled away, circling the neighborhood twice before eventually making his way to Kennedy’s house across the river. Although it was almost 2:00 a.m., he knocked at the door until the wary professor flipped on the porch light and let him in. After telling his wife to go back to sleep, he led Arthur into his den and brewed a pot of tea. They talked until shortly before dawn. When the morning sun finally arrived, it found Arthur asleep on an overstuffed sofa in the sitting room, covered by a comforter sewn years earlier by the local chapter of the Daughters of the Confederacy.

  XXX.

  HAVE A CUP OF TEA

  “So, how was the trip?” Phil sat in the library, eating a doughnut and tapping his pencil on the empty yellow pad in front of him. The precedent needed to save Sergeant Watkins from execution continued to elude him. He had been in the library over an hour and had written not a single word of the required memo. Resigning from the job was looking like the only ethical course of action.

  “Oh, the firm was really interesting.” Melanie sat down and laid two books on the table. “I’m really glad I talked to them.”

  “I didn’t mean that part of the trip.”

  “Oh, you mean my little chat with Jennifer Huffman?”

  “Yes!”

  “Well, when I think about it real hard,” she said with a sly grin, “I think she convinced me that she killed Carolyn Bastaigne.”

  “She did what?” Phil got up and shut the library door. “What exactly did she say?”

  “Ironically, I tripped her up with the nylons.” Melanie leaned back and grinned. “When she insisted that Carolyn was wearing them when she died, I told her about the inquest report, threatened her with the merger story, and asked her to tell me what really happened. She claimed not to know about the securities scheme until the night of the accident. She said that she prevented Carolyn from confronting the Judge by stopping her in the hallway, but that Carolyn ran back down the hall and through the stairwell door.” She put her palms on the table and gave him a knowing glance. “Jennifer says she never saw her again after that.”

  Phil thought for a moment, more than willing to be distracted by the story. “It’s all plausible. Why don’t you believe it?”

  “Because Jennifer Huffman is one of the smuggest, most obnoxious narcissistic bitches that I’ve ever met. She wouldn’t have chased Carolyn down the hallway out of some altruistic impulse to save Carolyn from herself. Jennifer only thinks about the well-being of Jennifer. If she chased her down the hall, it was to save her own ass.” She leaned over the table, her eyes bright with excitement. “Given what we know about Carolyn, does she strike you as the type to go down alone? Would she take the rap by herself while her friend goes off to a promising career in New York?”

  “My guess is Carolyn threatened to tell the Judge about Jennifer. Sure, Jennifer chased Carolyn, but it was to save herself. And once she was in the stairwell, just one little push would take care of her problem.” She screwed up her face in an expression of disgust. “And she struck me as someone who’d enjoy doing the job.”

  “You’ve got no evidence.” He scrutinized her carefully. “You’re not going to the police are you?”

  “No! She’d just deny that she ever said anything to me. There’s no physical evidence that she did it, and there’s nothing to link her directly to the securities fraud either. She’s way too smart to have bought any stock in her own name.” Melanie shook her head emphatically. “I might even get the Judge in trouble.”

  “So, you solved the mystery, but it gets you nowhere.” Phil smiled. “I don’t remember any Nancy Drew books ending like that.”

  “Like Arthur says, ‘welcome to reality.’”

  “Not too pretty, is it?”

  “Nope.” Melanie leaned back in her chair and looked up at the ceiling. Phil could see she was thinking hard. She stood up and paced about the room, running her index finger over the spines of the books lining the walls.

  “Do you think I should tell the Judge?”

  “What! Are you crazy?”

  “Maybe.”

  “He’ll figure out it was you calling Sydney DuMont,” he exclaimed. “He’ll know it was you snooping around.”

  “I know, but there’s nothing illegal about calling a reporter or looking at a coroner’s inquest.”

  “Technically true.” He did little to conceal his horror at what she was contemplating. “But what about snooping around in a federal judge’s personnel files?”

  “I’ve thought about that.” She pushed in a volume that was sticking out over the edge of the bookshelf. “If he asks me how I know about the securities fraud, I’ll tell him that I made a guess based on her bench memos and that Jennifer confirmed it. She’ll be my source for why Carolyn was fired too.”

  “So now you’re gonna to lie to him?” His arguments were having little effect. “Why would you want to do this?”

  Melanie sighed and finally sat down. “Because I think he blames himself. Why else the five-year depression? Why else has he been sitting in the dark? He’s got the right to know that Jennifer’s responsible, not him. I’m going to talk to him after lunch.”

  “You’re playing with fire.”

  “Maybe. But it’s just playing, isn’t it?” She looked at him sympathetically. “Not like what you’ve got sitting in front of you.”

  * * *

  By the time Arthur arrived home the next morning, Suzanne had already left to keep a hastily made appointment with her gynecologist. No one witnessed the curious grin on his face when he arrived, nor the furrow that creased it when he realized she was gone. He washed and dressed slowly, hoping she was just running an errand, but as ten o’clock approached, he gave up and wrote her a note, pinned it under the butter dish on the kitchen table, and walked briskly downtown to the Judge’s chambers. He was dangerously late, but he didn’t care.

  * * *

  The office was humming with activity. Phil was scheduled to leave Sunday with the Judge for the final sitting of the spring term. The Judge was studying his bench memos and charging out of his chambers with alarming frequency asking questions that sent his clerks scurrying back and forth from bookcase to computer. Amid the activity, Phil sat in the library and wondered whether he would have a job by the end of the day. The Judge had requested his memo on Watkins’ habeas case by 5:00 p.m., and he had resolved to hand the file back to the Judge without writing one. The law was clear: Watkins had to die. But Phil would not participate. Moreover, he would refuse to explain why to the Judge. Reporting the case was hopeless from the petitioner’s perspective would be tantamount to delivering an oral memo of condemnation. Worst of all, his decision had not left him feeling virtuous. He felt like a failure. Perhaps there was something perversely admirable in Arthur’s ability to take a cold look at a case and do his job.

  As midday approached, the pace of work quickened, so Ms. Stillwater risked the Judge’s wrath and ordered pizza for a late lunch in the library. The Judge claimed that the spectacle of food in the office was inconsistent with judicial propriety, but the three clerks confirmed her opinion that a quick in-chambers meal would increase the chance that they would finish that afternoon. If the preparation for the upcoming sitting was not completed before the Judge left, then everyone would have to work on Saturday. She took their orders and told the courthouse marshals to call as soon as the delivery boy came.

  When the phone rang fifteen m
inutes later, Phil assumed that lunch had arrived, so he was surprised to hear Ms. Stillwater call Arthur’s name. His friend got up from the library table and picked up the phone. Ms. Stillwater entered room and handed Phil a typed revision of a draft opinion.

  “Hey, thanks for calling me back … Why don’t you come down to the office?” Phil saw a look of concern crease Arthur’s face. “I’m sorry you’re not feeling well. You know, we’re breaking the rules and having pizza delivered in a few minutes. Why don’t you take a couple aspirin and eat with us?” He looked over at Ms. Stillwater to see if such an unprecedented invitation were permissible. She cast a glance toward the Judge’s office and nodded.

  “Please? Even Ms. Stillwater says it’s okay.” Another pause. “Well, come if you can.”

  When the food finally arrived, Ms. Stillwater found some paper towels to use as napkins and then sat down with the hungry clerks. As they attacked their first slices, the Judge stuck his head in the library and frowned his disapproval, but before Ms. Stillwater could defend their violation of the chambers sanitary code, he grunted and told her to bring him a couple of slices later. When they heard his door shut, they let out their breath and giggled like school children just excused for drawing a naughty picture of their teacher.

  “We need to do this more often, Mrs. S.,” Phil teased, “now that the Grinch is on board.”

  “Believe it or not,” she replied as she gingerly patted the grease off her mouth with a paper towel, “we used to have covered dish lunches here about once a month, to celebrate birthdays or welcome a new clerk. The Judge used to sit right down with us.” She continued her story solemnly, “In fact, his wife, God rest her soul, used to give him something to bring.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding.” Melanie goggled. “I can’t see him strolling into the library with a plate of fried chicken instead of an armload of file folders.”

  Ms. Stillwater lowered her voice and the clerks leaned over the table in one motion. “He wasn’t always as distant as he is now. He used to do a lot more socializing before we started getting those awful death cases.” A look of disapproval crossed her face and she shook her head. “That’s when he started smoking again too. Anyway, he can deal with a little food in the chambers.” Then she winked at them. “And I’m sure it does him good to be poked at once in a while.”

  After a moment’s contemplation of Ms. Stillwater’s revelations, the group finished their meal and plotted the most efficient way to complete the day’s remaining tasks, but as they got up to leave, they heard a rap on the open library door.

  “I hope I’m not bothering y’all.” Suzanne stood in the doorway dressed in jeans and a T-shirt advertising her daycare center.

  Melanie looked at Arthur warily as he invited her in with flourish of his cheese-encrusted paper plate.

  “Sit down!” Phil scooted over to make room for her. “We’ve got a slice of mushroom for you right here.”

  “Thanks, but I’m not feeling very hungry.”

  She looked nervous and pale, plainly uncomfortable amid all the gray wool outfits. An awkward silence settled over the group, and Arthur stared intently at her. He looked anxious to say something, but then the Judge appeared suddenly in the doorway next to Suzanne.

  “I thought I heard the voice of my favorite goddaughter.” He broke into the broadest smile they had ever seen crack open his hoary face.

  Suzanne returned the warmth with a tight hug and a peck on the cheek. “It sure is good to see you God-Judgie.”

  “God-Judgie?” Phil mouthed to Melanie with mock horror.

  Suzanne chided the old man as she reluctantly detached herself from his embrace. “You’ve been neglecting your duty to guide my spiritual development.”

  “You’re absolutely right, but I do get progress reports from Arthur and Ms. Stillwater. All is well with Miss Maria, I hear?” He gave her a mischievous grin. “What brings you to the halls of justice at lunchtime? And don’t tell me it’s the smell of onions. These people”—he flicked his hand at the table—“think we’re running a restaurant here.”

  Everyone laughed and Arthur jumped into the brief silence that followed. “Judge, I asked Suzanne to come in today.” All eyes turned to him and his face colored, but he stumbled on. “Uh, I haven’t been the easiest person to live with recently, and I wanted to apologize to her for the last couple of days.” At this bizarre announcement, Suzanne gave Arthur a distressed look that begged him to maneuver the conversation in a different direction. Melanie stared at Arthur with eyes like saucers.

  “More importantly, I’ve got an announcement to make.” He gestured with his arm around the room. “I’m really glad you all are here.” He cast a nervous glance at Suzanne and continued. “I had a big day yesterday … I don’t know how else to explain it, but some things matter more now than they used to, and others don’t seem to matter as much anymore.”

  He had the group’s undivided attention and his voice gained strength. “Anyway, this morning I called up the Office of Legal Counsel and told them that I wouldn’t be joining them next July.” He paused and let the news sink in. “I told them I was accepting a temporary position in the History department here at Clarkeston College.”

  Phil let out an audible gasp. Melanie and Ms. Stillwater sat motionless at the table as Arthur walked toward the Judge and Suzanne. The young mother’s expression resembled that of a doe that sees an eighteen-wheel truck bearing down on her at seventy miles an hour.

  “Judge, since Suzanne’s parents are gone, I want to ask your blessing … what I mean is that I’d like you to marry us—that is if Suzanne will have me.” His look of supplication turned to alarm as he saw the stunned expression on Suzanne’s face.

  For a moment, the room was absolutely still. Phil, assuming that the couple had already fully discussed the proposition, offered his hand to Arthur. “Congratulations, old boy! You’re a lucky man.”

  Suzanne’s shoulders slumped, and she slowly shook her head, tears welling in her eyes. “Arthur … don’t,” she whispered and bolted from the library with a sob.

  Arthur chased her to the door, but the Judge grabbed his arm and dragged him protesting into his office, leaving the others to assess the aftermath of the meltdown.

  “I can see why the Judge doesn’t like food in chambers,” Phil said as he took the stunned ladies’ plates and dumped them in the garbage before tiptoeing back to his office.

  * * *

  “Judge,” Arthur said urgently, “I need to go to her right now!”

  “Sit down.”

  “But, Judge—”

  “I said sit down,” he bellowed and forced Arthur into a chair with eyes that had terrified attorneys for thirty years. The Judge rifled his drawers until he found a pack of Lucky Strikes. He lit one with great deliberation and sunk down next to Arthur in an overstuffed wingback chair. He took a couple of deep drags and let the clerk stew for a while before he spoke.

  “Son, I’m not the world’s expert on women, but my advice would be to let Suzanne calm down and let all of this”—he searched for an adequate description of the scene he had just witnessed—“all this crap sink in.” The boy’s fidgeting gradually stopped, and he stared at the carpet pattern at his feet.

  “Arthur. Look at me!” The Judge snapped his fingers. “Do you think you could explain what happened out there because I gotta confess I can’t make any sense out of it.” He exhaled a long stream of smoke with a sigh that suggested the forthcoming interview was unlikely to be a short or pleasant.

  “Well, I thought that it would be romantic to ask her to marry me in front of everybody.” He started to explain further, but his voice trailed off into nothing. He picked at the fabric on the arm of his chair for a moment and then added, “And I thought that it would be harder for her to say no. That’s why I explained about the job first, so she’d know that I was really serious.”

  “So, you’d never brought marriage up with her before?”

  “No,” Arthur s
aid before abruptly correcting himself. “Well, actually we have, but not really.”

  The Judge rolled his eyes toward the ceiling and settled himself deeper down in the chair as Arthur struggled to explain.

  “You see, I did ask her before and she said no, but that didn’t really count—”

  “Wait a minute: You put her on the spot with your job-switching story after she had already turned you down?” The Judge began formulating an impromptu speech on how to treat a southern lady properly, but Arthur looked too miserable to absorb the lesson. The red-faced young man leaned forward in his chair, desperate to be understood.

  “Sir, you’ve got to believe me. I thought I was doing the right thing. I was absolutely sure I was doing the right thing.” The boy clearly had some sort of secret that he didn’t want to reveal, and the Judge tried to figure out what it could be while Arthur rambled on.

  “Uh, Judge, I know that you understand the need for discretion … um … Let’s just say that the first time I mentioned marriage to Suzanne, there were circumstances that made her doubt my sincerity. I don’t think she turned me down because she doesn’t love me.” This assertion got a raise from the Judge’s eyebrows. “I had every reason to think that she would agree this time.”

  “She loves you?”

  “I can’t read minds, but she has said it.” He leaned back in the chair, obviously unable to puzzle out what had gone wrong with his brilliant plan.

  The Judge studied the heavily starched curtains behind his desk while he added together two and two. He had spent more than thirty years listening to hundreds of witnesses and attorneys spin facts far more complex than those presented by Arthur and Suzanne’s love life, and it didn’t take him long to make four. His logic began from the premise that 90 percent of all clumsily timed marriage proposals are made for the same unfortunate reason. He imagined several possible explanations why Suzanne did not take Arthur’s first offer seriously, the most likely being that it was made out of duty and not desire. If so, he thought, then Arthur’s strategy of first committing to stay in Clarkeston at incalculable cost to his career was plausible, although highly risky.