Missing Justice sk-2

by Alafair Burke

  the adjacent parcels? Sorry for the extra work, but I forgot to bring

  it up earlier."

  I hit the pound key twice to send the message, hung up, and grabbed

  what I needed for court, making a vow to myself as I ran out the door.

  If Gunderson didn't own the rural property beyond the urban growth

  boundary, I'd let it drop.

  Ten.

  Word must have spread about T. J. Caffrey, because the TV crews were

  back. Asked to comment on the anticipated motion to quash, I said I

  was not going to address matters that had not yet been brought to

  court. It sounded more civilized than, "You mean that coward s motion

  to squirm out of testifying? No comment."

  Back in the courtroom, I noticed that Roger had returned without his

  client. Under the circumstances, I couldn't blame Townsend for wanting

  to avoid sitting in the same room with Caffrey.

  When the motion was argued, I stayed out of it as planned, but I found

  myself rooting for Slip. As much as I hated the idea of letting the

  defense use Caffrey as a distraction, I deplored even more the idea of

  Caffrey invoking the legal process to protect his ass politically.

  Fish's polka-dotted bow tie wasn't helping matters.

  I watched Caffrey occasionally catch himself chewing his lower lip

  while his attorney argued the motion. When Fish had finished his

  presentation, he summarized his principal point. "Your honor, Mr.

  Szlipkowski's subpoena would add nothing to this case other than an

  opportunity to question a high-profile public figure under oath about

  private matters, a spectacle that should be permitted only if there is

  a clear showing of the need for the information. Mr. Szlipkowski has

  made no showing at all, let alone a clear one. Put simply, even if he

  were to establish what he alleges a contention that we are not

  conceding it would have no bearing whatsoever on the question of Mr.

  Jackson's guilt."

  Put simply, Fish was insinuating that the subpoena was setting up a

  political perjury trap. He couldn't have spun it any better,

  especially for a big party Democrat like Prescott. There wasn't a soul

  among the party faithful who wasn't wary about demanding answers about

  sex under oath.

  Slip did his best, but in the end, it was all a big so-what? So what

  if Clarissa and Caffrey talked? So what if they were even boffing each

  other? There was no other reason to believe that Caffrey knew anything

  about Clarissa's murder.

  Except, of course, that nagging coincidence that she was found and

  Jackson worked at a property whose value would be determined by T. J.

  Caffrey's vote.

  Prescott being Prescott, she had to take a break in chambers before

  issuing her ruling. When she finally retook the bench, it was clear

  that Fish's spin had taken. She quashed the subpoena, thanked Caffrey

  for being present in the event she had decided otherwise, and told him

  he was free to leave.

  Hopefully, the news crews would be waiting for him outside, yelling the

  questions on the street that he'd bullied his way out of in the

  courtroom.

  Slip had played his last card. He did his best to gnaw away at the

  medical examiner's report, arguing that the state should be barred from

  proceeding until they reconciled their theory of the case with the fact

  that Clarissa had been dressed after she was killed. But, in the end,

  we all knew that wasn't the law. He'd have to do that kind of gnawing

  in front of the jury.

  "Does the defense have any more witnesses?" Prescott asked.

  "Not for this afternoon, your honor," Slip replied, "but we had assumed

  that the hearing would continue until Monday. I would like to have the

  weekend to reconsider. As your honor knows, the parties were given

  only a day to prepare by Judge Levinson."

  Any other judge in the courthouse would have ripped Slip a new one for

  assuming anything about the length of the hearing. To judges who have

  forgotten what it's like to practice, the lack of time to prepare is

  never an excuse for a lack of preparation.

  Prescott, however, had no problem with it. "I was planning on taking

  the weekend to consider my decision, so here's what we'll do: Reconvene

  here Monday morning at nine. If either party wishes to submit

  additional evidence, the record remains open. Otherwise, I will

  announce my decision then. And, in the event that it makes a

  difference to the lawyers, I have formed a tentative opinion based on

  what I've heard today."

  She was sending a message to Slip. He was going down in flames, but

  she was going to give him a reprieve before pulling the trigger.

  Slip caught up with me on the staircase. "What'd you think about

  Caffrey?"

  "He's a skunk, Slip, but he's not your murderer. For your sake, you

  might want to reconsider your Plan B before trial."

  "Maybe Plan B is for the two of us to sit down and talk. Got time for

  a drink after work?"

  "Sure. Right at five?" I'd been up late enough the night before

  working on the prelim. I wasn't about to spend my entire Friday night

  talking about the case.

  "Meet you at Higgin's. You still drinking martinis straight up?"

  "Damn straight."

  "You're my kind of woman, Kincaid."

  "Let's see what you've got to say after we have our little chat."

  Whatever Slip's plan had been for the prelim, it had clearly failed.

  Prescott may have thrown him a line, but we both knew he was in no

  position to grab it. I was sure the meeting at Hig-gin's would be a

  fish for a plea.

  I had three new voice mails back at the office. The first was from

  Jenna Markson. "It's Jenna again about your question on the property

  adjacent to your crime scene. You were right. Gun-derson Development

  owns another hundred and twenty acres west of the property he's

  building on. Gunderson purchased all the land at once as four separate

  parcels. You probably already know this, but the other parcels are

  mandatory rural. That's probably why he's not building on them."

  At least, not until they were re designated as ripe for development.

  "I'm sending my printouts about this to you interoffice mail," she

  said. "Let me know if you need anything else."

  The next message was from Nelly. "This is Nelly Giacoma. Judge

  Easterbrook's clerk? I testified today in the hearing you had on

  Jackson?"

  I've noticed that the people I remember assume I don't know them, while

  the people I've forgotten think we're best pals.

  "I overheard something after the hearing and think I should talk to you

  about it. I'm at City Hall right now, but I'm leaving in a few

  minutes." She had left her home telephone number and asked me to call

  over the weekend. I noted the time of her message, only fifteen

  minutes ago. Maybe I could still catch her.

  The third call was from Russell Frist. "I just got done with my grand

  jury. Looks like you're still out, so I'm assuming you're still in

  your prelim. Jesus, with Prescott running the show, she might hold you

  over until Monday. Anyway, I was calling to
see if you were up to

  having a drink after work. Let me know how it went."

  As much as I was warming to my new boss, fifty-plus hours a week at the

  courthouse is enough time for me to talk with my coworkers. I'd update

  him on the case, but we'd do it on the clock.

  First, I was calling Nelly. The voice that answered sounded flustered.

  "Oh, I'm glad you caught me. I was just about to leave, and I was

  worried you'd call while I was out running around."

  "Well, it sounded important."

  "I don't know whether it is or not, but I really can't talk about it

  here. Can you meet me somewhere?"

  I looked at my watch. If I was going to make my meeting with Slip, it

  was going to have to be quick. "Can you leave right now? The SBC

  behind the courthouse?"

  Seattle's Best Coffee isn't my usual choice, but it was only steps

  away.

  "Meet on the other side of the elevators in the building lobby," she

  said. "It's less likely someone will see us there."

  I dialed the general number for MCT. Nelly might want to sneak around

  like the Spy Kids, but I'd need a witness for whatever was about to go

  down. It was probably nothing, but attorneys can't testify in their

  own cases. With my luck, Nelly would show up and confess.

  "Forbes."

  "Chuck, it's Samantha. Is Ray around?"

  "That's all I get? I never heard from you last night."

  "Sorry. When I got back from dinner, I still had a bunch of work to

  do. And right now I really need to talk to Ray. Is he around?"

  "Nope. Might've left already." Their usual shift, which they rarely

  could stick to, ended at four.

  "Is anyone else there?"

  "You mean someone other than me? Sure, there's bodies here."

  "Anyone on the Jackson case? Walker or Calabrese?"

  "Sorry, babe, just me. I'm getting the feeling that's not the answer

  you're looking for."

  Damn. I had tried to minimize Chuck's involvement on the case, but now

  I didn't have much of a choice. I told him I didn't have time to

  explain anything but needed him to meet me and Nelly.

  "Far as the department's concerned, the case is cleared, Sam. The

  lieutenant will look at any OT we put in on it, and that might ripple

  back to your office. You sure?"

  See, this is why it's not wise for us to work together. His heart was

  in the right place, but Chuck was questioning my judgment when any

  other cop would be happy at the chance for easy time-and-a-half. "You

  don't need to tell me how it works. Just meet me over there."

  When he got to the corner where I was waiting, he tried to give me a

  peck on the lips, but I held a hand up.

  I led the way up the escalator to the main lobby. Nelly was already

  waiting.

  She was visibly alarmed that I wasn't alone, and seemed even more

  uncomfortable when I told her Chuck was a cop. For a second, I thought

  I was going to have to give her the "I'm not your lawyer, so there's no

  privilege" speech, but Nelly had obviously been paying attention during

  her ethics classes. "I guess even if I talked just to you, you could

  turn around and tell him everything anyway."

  "And I would. Now why don't you go ahead and tell me what's going on.

  You sounded pretty worked up on the phone."

  She looked around the lobby to confirm that no city hall types were

  around. "I don't know whether to be worked up over it or not. But

  when I got back to the office after I testified, Dennis Coakley was in

  Judge Loutrell's office. He's the chief administrative judge."

  I nodded.

  "I've been helping him out, now that I'm down to one judge. Anyway,

  they were talking about Judge Easterbrook and were saying something

  about privileged information. I don't think they heard me come in at

  first, but then when the phone rang and I answered, they closed the

  judge's door."

  "Could you tell what kind of information they were talking about?"

  "No, but it sounded like the judge thought they should tell you about

  it, and Coakley was saying they couldn't because it was privileged."

  "They were talking about me specifically?"

  "Well, I don't know if Judge Loutrell knew your name, but he said

  something about telling the DA, and then Coakley said something like,

  "We can't tell her anything that's privileged.""

  "And you don't have any idea what they could have been referring to?"

  "No. I knew Coakley had reviewed Judge Easterbrook's files for

  privileged materials, but he said he didn't have to remove anything."

  Nelly stopped talking, but I could tell from the way she ended the

  sentence that she had cut herself off.

  "But?"

  "I went back to the chambers and searched Judge Easterbrook's office. I

  didn't find any files other than the ones you already saw, but I did

  find a key."

  "To what?"

  She reached into her jacket pocket and removed a tiny silver key. "I

  don't know, but it looks like it could fit a safe deposit box.

  I found it in the drawer she keeps her personal junk in. She used to

  throw her purse in there during the day with some makeup and a

  hairbrush, that kind of thing.

  "It's probably nothing," she said, "but I was still getting over my

  nerves from testifying, and when I heard them talking about the case

  and then shutting the door, I got majorly paranoid. I was in her

  office searching like crazy. I opened her compact, and this was in the

  bottom with the puff. At the time, it felt important but now I guess

  it sounds a little stupid."

  It was definitely worth looking into. Given its location, the key had

  clearly been important to Clarissa. I took it, gave Nelly my home

  number, and asked her to call if she overheard anything else about the

  case.

  "For what it's worth," she said before turning away, "you were great in

  court today. I think Judge Easterbrook would have really trusted you

  to handle this case."

  Chuck gave me a look but knew me well enough not to comment on the

  compliment. When we were leaving the building, he said, "You'd look

  kind of cute with a haircut like that. Maybe purple instead of the hot

  pink."

  "You're into that kind of thing, are you?"

  "Nope. Can I have my kiss now?" he asked.

  "Not a chance. You know my views on PDA." There is a reason for every

  rule, and the reason for this one is that the only adults I ever see

  making out in public are ugly. I doubt there's a cause-and-effect

  relationship, but I'd rather not risk it.

  He mock-sighed, then turned his attention to the key I was rotating

  between my fingers. "You want me to tag that and put it in the

  property room?"

  "That's OK. I'm going to hold on to it."

  "Why do I get the feeling that you're about to make some mischief?

  After that run-in you had with Johnson the other day,

  he's not going to like it if you do anything to mess up what's standing

  as a perfectly good case."

  So Johnson had told the rest of them about the dress-down. "And why do

  I get the feeling that if Russell Frist made the same call you'd keep

&nbs
p; any doubts you had to yourself?"

  He looked away for a few seconds. When he turned back toward me, he

  pushed my hair behind my ear and said, "Sorry, Kincaid, but you're so

  much cuter than he is. I'll try to get used to it."

  "About that PDA you wanted?" I said, leaning into him.

  "Uh-huh?"

  "Come over around nine. We'll order a pizza, and I'll display some

  affection in private."

  I had just enough time to touch base with Russell before meeting Slip.

  I found him chatting in his office with the other MCU boys.

  "Sorry, I'll come back."

  "No, that's all right," he said, waving me in. "Sorry, guys, but we

  need to talk about a case real quick."

  They all filed out without saying a word to me, clearly disappointed

  that they'd have to move the socializing to a smaller office.

  "How'd it go today?"

  I filled him in on the preliminary hearing and Slip's request to meet

  with me at the end of the day.

  "He's probably hoping for a quick plea," he said. "If he offers to

  take a life sentence to avoid the death penalty, you're going to find

  yourself in a bind. You want me to come along?"

  Duncan hadn't formally announced his decision not to seek a death