“No, just a great legal assistant. Let’s get everything out of your car. I’ll feed Sam. You get changed and put on some makeup. And for heavens sake, do something about your hair.”
I thought about how lucky I was to have Catherine come to work for me. She’s a single mother with two great boys. She lives in the neighborhood and rides her bike to work. She only asked for three things when she applied for the job: decent pay, time off to see her boys play soccer once in a while, and that there be no dress code for her. She prefers to come to work in jeans. I’m okay with all of it as long as she keeps the office ticking, which she always does.
By five o’clock the office was cleaned up and so was I. Sam was back asleep under my desk. A freshly brewed pot of coffee was on the table in front of the sofa along with the left over cookies that we had rehabbed in the microwave. I could hardly wait to hear why Liz Maxwell was coming to my office.
I glanced around my little office. I moved here after I broke my five-year engagement to Franklin Fieldstone, who also had been my boss at the very highbrow Fieldstone law firm. If I hadn’t met Carlos and hadn’t been immediately turned on to him, I guess I’d still be sweating out billable hours, and putting off the oft-planned wedding to Frank. Instead, I had a hot Latin boyfriend, and this great law office all my own.
My old office overlooked Biscayne Bay and the sailboats docked in the harbor. This office overlooked the parking lot, but I felt at home here. I had managed to buy two slightly used desks at a furniture rental store, a sofa and table at the Goodwill Thrift Shop, along with two chairs for the waiting room. My parents bought me the microwave and the coffeepot after they got over the shock of Frank’s exit from my life. Things were not so bad. Now, if only I could trust Carlos to tell me the whole truth most of the time — well, you can’t have everything. What’s more important, truth or good sex?
Catherine appeared in the door. “Judge Maxwell is here. If you don’t need anything else, I’m out of here.”
CHAPTER FIVE
I ushered Judge Maxwell into the office. “Let’s sit over here.” I indicated the sofa. “How about some coffee?”
“That would be great,” she said.
I poured two cups of coffee as I looked at Liz Maxwell. She’s a cool, reserved woman. She always looks put together and never raises her voice in court. I was shocked as I surveyed her. Her eyes were red and puffy. Her makeup was smeared. Her usually well-coifed hair was pulled back in a ponytail. She looked much younger than she appeared on the bench. She also looked very vulnerable.
“How can I help you?” I asked in the soothing voice I reserved for the parents of juveniles who have just been arrested.
Just then Sam crawled out from under my desk. In one swoop, he located the cookies and gulped them down in a single mouthful. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. Then I saw that Judge Maxwell was laughing. She patted her lap and Sam put his front paws up. Liz scratched his ears. Her face relaxed.
“I love dogs,” she said. “Listen, I won’t beat around the bush. I want to hire you. I believe I’m in need of a good criminal defense attorney. I’m under investigation by the state attorney. From here on out, drop the judge and ‘Your Honor’ stuff. Please, call me Liz. I saw you on TV this afternoon. I hope you aren’t too busy. I could see that you have an important federal case. Can you make time for me?”
I felt slightly dizzy from all the events of the day so far, and now I had a judge asking me if I had enough time for her. I may be exhausted, but I’m sure never bored.
“Of course, I have time to help you. Just start at the beginning and tell me everything you know about this investigation. Do you mind if I take notes?” I asked as I pulled out my yellow legal pad.
CHAPTER SIX
Liz’s Story
Judge Elizabeth Maxwell was glad to be back in criminal court after a six-month sojourn in the civil division. Defendants are on their best behavior in criminal court, but litigants in civil court exhibit their worst behavior since their beef is over money.
She was happy in criminal court, but glad to be through for the week on this Friday afternoon in June. Her bailiff, Gladys, grabbed the judge’s files, and hurried to keep up with the judge who was sprinting down the hall, her robe flying about as she shrugged it off.
The courthouse was emptying even though it was only three o’clock. The hall echoed with their footsteps. Gladys unlocked the door to their chambers and Liz stopped for a second at her judicial assistant’s desk. Patricia, her judicial assistant, handed Liz a few phone messages.
“These can wait ’til Monday, can’t they, Patricia? I’m really in a hurry.”
Patricia nodded and took them back.
Gladys picked up a sheaf of papers from her desk. “Wait, Judge, you need to sign these before you leave.”
“What are these? I thought I already signed all the orders.” Liz tried not to show her annoyance. Patricia and Gladys were a great support staff. The three enjoyed an easy camaraderie. They took a lot of kidding about their all-female division, but having their support canceled a lot of the stress of the job.
“These are just boilerplate stuff. The continuances for Monday. I put all the signature pages on top so you can sign them quickly. You must have a fun weekend planned,” Gladys said.
“I’m driving down to the Keys for the weekend. I’ll have my cell phone on, if anybody needs me. I want to get on the road before the traffic gets too bad,” Liz said as she signed the orders.
“The Keys this weekend?” Patricia frowned at Liz. “It’s the rainy season and the weather guy says it’s gonna rain most of the weekend.”
Liz smiled at Patricia, whose maternal instinct was directed at Liz most of the time. “Well, you have to go when you get invited to stay with friends. We can still fish and have a few beers,” Liz said.
She went into her private chambers, shut the door, and locked it. She hung up her robe, and retrieved her overnight bag she had brought with her that morning. She was out of her dark suit and into jeans, a pink shirt, and sandals. She put on fresh makeup and sped out the back door into the private judges’ elevator that took her to the garage.
As soon as she turned on her car, she grabbed her cell phone, hit the speed dial and said, “I’m on my way.” She roared away from the Justice Building and headed south through Miami-Dade County.
Liz hadn’t totally lied about her weekend plans. She was headed for Key Largo, but she didn’t expect to do much fishing. She didn’t care if it rained all weekend.
She joined the crawling traffic down the turnpike through Homestead, past the tomato fields and strawberry stands now closed until next winter’s produce season. She turned onto U.S. 1, also known as Useless One. The narrow highway was the only entrance and exit to the Florida Keys. One accident could mean hours of delay. She breathed easier when she saw traffic was moving, and there was no red line of brake lights ahead.
The rain began as a drizzle against the windshield. Soon it turned into a steady pelting. The anticipation of the weekend filled her with nervous energy. The drive seemed extra long.
An hour later she stopped in the village and bought two bottles of wine and a few breakfast and sandwich provisions. She turned off a side road and smelled the fishy, salty smell of the Atlantic. She passed two motels and finally came to a driveway in front of a tall house built on pillars. Stilts is what they called them in the Keys. She pulled into the ground-floor parking area and saw that the red BMW was already parked there.
Liz struggled to pull the grocery bags and her suitcase from the car as the door of the house opened above her.
“Let me help you,” a male voice called. Joe Fineberg ran down the steps and grabbed Liz and her packages in a hug. Then he took everything out of her arms and kissed her hard.
“You should park your car in back,” Liz said. “It’s easy to spot out here.”
“Quit worrying. It’s my house. Why shouldn’t I park here?”
They entered the house. Joe
had opened the blinds. The ocean view was mesmerizing, even in the rain. The mist over the water added to the feeling of secrecy.
“Joe, I know we can’t keep coming down here like this,” Liz said. “Where is Janey this weekend?”
“Visiting her mother again in Atlanta. She spends more time with her than she does with me, anyway,” Joe said. “You know my law practice takes so much of my time. That’s just the way a criminal trial practice is. I think Janey has been paying me back by going off on her own. I don’t know why she married me in the first place. Please, Liz this isn’t your problem. I want to be here with you. Don’t spoil our weekend.”
Liz put her arms around Joe. She loved being here with him, but she knew everything about this affair was a disaster waiting to happen.
Joe stroked her hair and kissed her. He unbuttoned her jeans and they moved together into the bedroom. He began to undress her. She was so eager to be with him that she quickly pulled her shirt and jeans off and dropped them on the floor. She pulled at his tee shirt. In a second, they were involved in passionate and enthusiastic sex.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Liz looked at her watch. She must have fallen asleep. She glanced at Joe. He was sound asleep. She got up, and pulled on Joe’s shirt. It smelled of his aftershave. She went into the kitchen and opened the wine. The rain was coming down in sheets now, obscuring the view.
She looked down at her hands. They had begun to look old. She was forty-five. She was lonely. Except for a brief marriage right after law school, she had been alone. Her career took up all of her time. Her goal was to be a judge. She handled every high-profile case she could get her hands on while in practice. She developed feminist connections through NOW and courted gay and lesbian causes. Ten years ago she put all her energy into the election campaign and beat an incumbent to achieve her seat on the bench. The years on the bench were exciting at first. Then the loneliness began to creep over her like a thick, suffocating blanket.
She was ripe for an affair when Joe came along. He tried a case in her court. He was a skilled criminal attorney. His good looks appealed to women jurors, and to Liz. The jury acquitted his client, a midlevel drug dealer who was not without his own charm.
A week later, Liz was seated at a Dade County Bar dinner when Joe took the seat next to her. They had a great time talking about the Justice Building characters. He walked her to her car, and they went to have a nightcap in the Grove near her condo. He suggested that he drive her home. Drinking and driving are not a good combination for a judge. She invited him in and she was hooked; flattered that he was a few years younger than she. He made her feel beautiful and sexy. She also felt scared. She could be throwing away her whole career.
As she began to put together a simple dinner, she felt another emotion that was becoming all too familiar. She was angry; at herself for being available every time Joe snapped his fingers, and at Joe, for not being able to take her out to dinner for fear of being recognized. He never made any mention of leaving his wife. She knew this was a dead-end relationship. Soon she would be lonely again.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Liz overslept on Monday morning. She awoke to the same gray drizzle that permeated the weekend. She felt exhausted from the drive home in Sunday traffic and from the emotional traffic that accompanied being with Joe.
She arrived in her chambers with just five minutes to organize her calendar and take the bench. Gladys met her as she opened her door. Her bailiff looked frantic. “Thank goodness you’re here. Judge Marconi has been calling for you. He wants you in his chambers now,” Gladys said in a whisper.
Several attorneys glanced up, but went on with their gossip. Patricia always had a pot of coffee ready, and attorneys dropped in on a regular basis.
“What now? Can’t it wait ’til I get through the arraignments?” Liz couldn’t hide her annoyance.
“No. He said to come over the minute you got here and not to start your calendar.”
Liz put her briefcase away and pulled on her blazer. She walked back to the elevator and went to the top floor where Chief Administrative Judge Paul Marconi’s chambers took most of the floor. He had awarded himself two judicial assistants, a secretary, and a bailiff although he had removed himself from the regular case assignments, handling only a few high-profile cases.
“Is he available?” she asked the secretary in the outer office. “He’s expecting me.”
“Oh, yes, he is and he’s been waiting for you,” she answered as she motioned Liz through the office to the mahogany-paneled door marked “private.”
Liz knocked and entered before Judge Marconi answered. He was on the phone and motioned her to a chair across from him.
“Yes, she’s here now and I’ll take care of this. No need for you to come over,” he said as he hung up.
Marconi stood up and reached across the desk extending his hand. He was a short, heavy man who generally appeared ill at ease. This was especially evident this morning. The hand he extended was wet with a cold sweat. It felt like a shrimp in need of refrigeration.
“Good morning, Paul,” Liz said as she shook his outstretched hand. “What’s up?”
“This is very painful for me, Liz. There’s no easy way to approach this. I have to remove you from criminal court.”
“Why, Paul? You promised me if I played ball and went to civil court, you’d let me come back here. I’ve only been back six months. You asked me to be a team player, and I have been.”
“This is very difficult for me. I was informed on Friday that you’re under investigation by the State Attorney’s Office. It would be impossible for you to sit in judgment of the state’s cases in this situation.” Paul cleared his throat and looked over her head as he spoke.
“Investigation? For what? And why didn’t you tell me on Friday?”
“The state attorney and I thought it best to wait until this morning.” Paul cleared his throat again. Liz thought he looked like a rabbit about to be hit by a car. He almost smelled of fear.
“So I was to get no advance notice in order to defend myself. Thanks, Paul. What happened to your speech before we elected you chief judge? You know, the one where you told us how you would always stand behind your judges. I guess you meant way behind us. I deserve to know what this is about.”
“I really can’t tell you much. It has to do with some drug cases that you’ve handled. It seems that you’ve dismissed some cases prematurely. Your sentencing in some drug cases is said to be much lighter than in other types of cases. The prosecutor in the case that Joe Fineberg won in your courtroom complained that you cut the defense some breaks. I guess it’s triggered some concerns.”
“If they were concerned they could have spoken to me about this. Are these concerns or is this an investigation?”
“It’s an investigation. That case where the informant was murdered was in your division also. He was murdered after you ordered his deposition. My hands are tied. My choices are to suspend you altogether, pending the outcome of all this or to remove you from the criminal division and send you to a division in family court. It’s up to you.”
Liz felt ill. Her ears were ringing and she felt sweat under her blouse. She couldn’t believe that this was happening to her, after all her years of hard work. She realized that she was still standing in front of Paul clutching the chair in front of her.
“I’ll report to family court tomorrow. Today I will be busy hiring a lawyer. And I will not be meeting with you or the state attorney in the future without my lawyer present, so pass that on to the state.”
She slammed the heavy wooden door on her way out.
•
Gladys and Patricia were watching the door as she returned to her chambers. She was shocked to see retired Judge Stanley Franks in his robe looking through her docket.
“Hello, Stanley. I guess you’re here to fill in for me,” Liz said as she brushed past him. “Girls, start packing. It seems we’re moving to family court.”
“But why?” Pa
tricia asked.
“I’ll discuss it with you later. Don’t worry,” Liz said as she looked at their anxious faces. “And please, get Mary Magruder Katz on the phone for me right away.”
CHAPTER NINE
I had been taking notes furiously as Liz talked nonstop. She seemed unable to draw a breath. I had seen this reaction in many clients. The ability to unburden oneself to someone with no preconceived bias is cathartic. I looked up from my notes when I realized that Liz had stopped talking and was staring at me. The silence lengthened in contrast to the torrent of words that had gushed out of her.
“What is it, Liz?” I asked, still not comfortable calling her by her first name.
“Is everything I’ve told you totally confidential?”
“Of course. You know as well as I that attorney-client privilege means exactly that. I will never divulge what a client tells me, unless the client directs me to do so, or gives me permission to do so.”
“It’s just that I haven’t told anybody about the affair with Joe Fineberg. He’s married. You probably know that, and you probably know him. I would never have mentioned it, if Judge Marconi hadn’t brought up his name. I can’t risk having the entire legal community gossiping about Joe and me.” Liz’s face turned a deep red.
I’ve never been known for my poker face, but I prayed I looked cool. Liz Maxwell, who some people called the ice judge, had just opened up her inner life to me. My guess was that Joe was part of her global warming.
“Sure, I know Joe,” I said. “He’s a good guy. We tried a case together a couple of years ago. We represented two brothers. You might remember the case. The Moldovan Brothers. The paper played it up as the family business that became dysfunctional.”
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