The Midnight Hour

by Karen Robards

  She did not want Jessica to be alone, not even for a minute. Her mother-instinct was working overtime, telling her that something was wrong. Ridiculously, she pictured it as being rather like the robot in Lost in Space, waving its arms and warning: “Danger! Danger, Grace Hart!”

  Whether Tony Marino and the police department took what was happening seriously or not, Grace did. And she meant to protect her daughter at all costs.

  Her second phone call of the morning, after speaking to Linda, was to a home alarm company. They promised to come out and install a security system the following Monday. Her third call, to a locksmith, was equally productive: she would have the locks changed on Monday as well.

  Four days to go, and then at least they would be safe inside their own house.

  “I kinda thought you might be late this morning, with what’s happening at Hebron and all,” Walter said with a commiserating look as Grace emerged from her chambers right on time. The zipper on her judge’s robe had stuck three quarters of the way up, which meant she’d had to wrestle with it so as to appear properly gowned. Therefore, she was pink-cheeked and irritated and still in the process of settling the white lace collar of her blouse over the neckline of the enveloping black polyester garment that was the symbol of her authority.

  “What’s happening?” Upraised hands stilling on her collar, Grace blinked at Walter with surprise. Had she forgotten a school program, or a parent meeting, or something? But how would Walter know about anything like that?

  “The drug thing. The dogs. You know.”

  Grace stopped walking some three feet short of the bench and stood stock still, staring at him. “No, I don’t know. Tell me.”

  “It was on all the news shows this morning. A late-breaking bulletin, they called it. Don’t tell me you missed it.”

  “I missed it. Fill me in, please.” Anxiety sharpened her voice.

  “You didn’t hear about the Hebron kid getting shot last night?”

  “No!”

  “Your Honor, with respect, shh.” Walter glanced around significantly, reminding Grace that they were in the courtroom. Lallie Baker, the court reporter, was already behind her small desk in front of the bench, poised to go to work. About half the seats in the courtroom, a typical case load for a Thursday morning, were filled.

  Everyone was waiting on her. Quite a few were looking at her expectantly. Of course, there was no mistaking the judge in her black robes.

  Grace didn’t care.

  “Walter, please, tell me the whole story,” Grace said in a lowered voice. “Quickly, if you don’t want me to turn into a raving lunatic right here.”

  He looked surprised. “Okay, sure, of course I will. Well, let’s see. Last night a group of kids from Hebron apparently drove to an apartment down by the university to buy drugs, and one kid got shot. A boy. I can’t remember his name but I remember thinking that Jessica might not know him even though he was a Hebron student because he was a couple of grades ahead of her. He’s in serious condition this morning at University Hospital. Anyway, the upshot is that the police arc raiding the high school this morning. They’ve got dogs there and they’re searching all the lockers. Supposed to be some big drug ring involving a lot of the kids. ‘Course, I’m sure Jessica’s not part of it, or any of her friends either, most likely.”

  “Oh, my God!” Grace was appalled. She should have been told—Tony Marino should have told her. He had to have known what was going down. Under the circumstances, he should have called her and told her. She would not have sent Jessica to school if she’d known.

  She didn’t know what worried her more, the prospect that drugs might be found in Jessica’s locker, or the prospect that some of the other kids—or someone who was not a kid—might blame Jessica for the raid.

  Well, yes, she did. If Jessica was arrested for drug possession, personal use, first offense, it would be a misdemeanor and as a juvenile she would receive, at most, a referral to counseling and her record would eventually be expunged. If Jessica was targeted as an informer by someone involved in a drug ring, she could end up dead.

  Terror, cold and stark, began to race through Grace’s veins.

  “Jessica at school?” Walter asked.

  “Yes. I dropped her off. We were in such a rush . . . I didn’t notice anything out of the way at all. There must have been police cars, something, but I didn’t see anything.”

  “Well, likely they’re making a bigger deal of it on TV than it is in real life.” There was rough comfort in his tone.

  “Walter, I need to make a quick phone call. I’ll be right back.” Grace was already turning toward her chambers. Warning! Warning, Grace Hart! her arm-waving mother-instinct shouted again.

  “Sure, Your Honor.”

  Grace was barely conscious of the multitude of eyes watching her as she strode back into chambers, her robe billowing behind her. She shut the door, grabbed her purse, fished out the card he had given her, and called Tony Marino. Of course, she did not get him, but his pager. Seething, she left her number. Then she called Hebron High School. Mrs. Page, the principal, who’d always been very nice to her and Jessica, assured her that despite the locker searches, which were admittedly upsetting, the school day was proceeding as usual. Yes, Jessica was fine. Everything was fine. In case she was worried, which of course she had no reason to be, Jessica’s locker had already been searched and nothing out of the way had been found.

  Good. Fine. Thank you. Have a nice day. What more could Grace say? I’m coming to get my daughter right now? But she had a courtroom full of people waiting for her, and according to Mrs. Page, Jessica was fine. Pulling her out might just draw more attention to her, anyway, if any druggie types were looking for a scapegoat. Grace replaced the receiver slowly, stared into space for a moment, and then walked back into her courtroom.

  “All rise. . ..”

  With her thoughts full of Jessica, she was barely aware of the traditional opening of court as she took her place on the bench.

  Just before the noon recess, Tony Marino walked in and sat down in the back of her courtroom. For a moment Grace was so glad to see him that she was shocked by the intensity of the feeling. It was as though a friend, an ally—someone she could depend on—had suddenly appeared. Then she remembered that she was furious at him, and why, and the warm rush of gladness disappeared. Frowning, she returned her attention to the case at hand.

  It was a man who had broken into the home of his former girlfriend and assaulted her. She had taken out an order of protection against him earlier on the day of the assault, and the fact that she had thus publicly dissed him—his words—was his justification for the attack.

  “Mr. Harmon, I find you in violation of a court order of protection and guilty of assault in the first degree. Six months in county jail,” Grace said after listening to both sides of the story. The man’s version of what had happened—he didn’t deny hitting his girlfriend, but kept insisting she had it coming because she had humiliated him by making their private troubles public—sealed his fate.

  “What? What?” the defendant howled as Walter and another bailiff started to clap handcuffs on him. “You can’t send me to jail for this, you bitch! I got fuckin’ rights!”

  “So does the woman you assaulted,” Grace said, dismissing the case.

  “I’ll get you for this, bitch!”

  Grace was already looking down at her docket for the next case as the man, yelling threats, was hauled off.

  It was 11:35. The next case was a custody dispute that threatened to be both lengthy and complicated, and Colin Wilkerson was the attorney representing the plaintiff. That, coupled with Tony Marino’s presence in her courtroom and her urgent desire to speak with him, was enough to make Grace’s decision easy. She banged her gavel on the wood surface in front of her.

  “I realize that it’s a little early, but I’m going to call the lunch break now. Court will reconvene at one P.M,” Grace announced. Over the sea of heads, her gaze met Marino’s. Wit
hout a word or gesture being exchanged, Grace knew that he understood that he should join her in her chambers as soon as she left the bench.

  “Please clear the courtroom,” Walter intoned as Grace stood up. Out of the corner of her eye she saw that Colin Wilkerson was headed toward her. What now? she thought as she stepped down. Colin had better watch himself; she wasn’t in the mood for histrionics today of all days.

  “Grace! Grace, wait a minute!” He caught up with her halfway to her chambers.

  “What can I do for you, Colin?” she asked with resignation, turning to face him.

  To her surprise, he smiled at her. His blue eyes were warm and coaxing. For a moment she glimpsed what had attracted her to him to begin with.

  “I want to apologize for my behavior the other day,” he said, taking her hand and clasping it earnestly between both of his. His hands were long and narrow and warm, and she had once enjoyed their touch. No longer. “I was out of line.”

  “You certainly were,” Grace agreed, pointedly removing her hand from his hold. Fool me once, shame on you, she thought. Fool me twice, shame on me. “But I accept your apology. Now if you’ll excuse me . . .”

  “I was hoping you’d let me take you out to lunch to make amends.” He was trying to charm her, for what reason Grace couldn’t fathom, but she was sure there was a reason. She would have to pay particular attention to the client he was representing after lunch, she thought. Something was up.

  “Thank you, but I have a previous engagement.” Grace was cool.

  “But . . .” Colin protested, then glanced over his shoulder as Tony Marino walked up behind him.

  “Hi,” Grace said to Marino. His black hair was combed back off his brow today, and it was in waves probably because of the rain. His eyes were slightly narrowed as they met hers. Dressed in the ubiquitous leather bomber jacket over a T-shirt and jeans, broad of shoulder and heavy of muscle, he looked like the quintessential working-class stiff next to Colin’s slender, pin-striped elegance.

  How she had ever found Colin attractive when there were men like Marino in the world, Grace couldn’t fathom.

  “Hi.” He was equally to the point. The very brevity of the unsmiling exchange spoke of familiarity, Grace realized. Colin’s eyes focused on the newcomer, and his fingers twitched at his sides. Obviously he thought Marino was her “previous engagement” and didn’t much like the notion.

  Too bad, Grace thought. What Colin Wilkerson thought mattered to her not at all anymore.

  “Excuse me.” Her words to Colin were perfunctory but polite. To Marino she said, “Come into my chambers, please.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he answered, following her, his pseudorespectful tone a payback for her brusqueness, she knew.

  Once they were both inside, she closed the door, leaned back against it, and glared at him.

  Chapter

  23

  “YOU DIDN’T TELL ME,” Grace accused angrily.

  “It was a confidential police matter. I couldn’t.” Marino made no attempt to pretend not to know what she was talking about. Thrusting his hands into the front pockets of his jeans, he rocked back on the heels of those black basketball shoes and looked maddeningly nonchalant.

  “Bullshit.”

  “It’s the truth. What do you think I should have done? Called you up this morning and said, by the way, Your Honor, we’re getting ready to conduct a raid on your daughter’s high school, so be prepared? Number one, if she’d had pot or anything else in her locker, and you had told her, which I’d be willing to bet anything I possess you would have done, she would have had a chance to get rid of it, and that would have been an obstruction of justice on both our parts. Number two, she—or you—would have had time to tell someone else, might have told someone else, probably would have told someone else, thus compromising the raid. I’m a professional, just like you. I could not have told you.”

  “Last night, when you were so busy assuring me that there was no good reason that you knew of for anyone to want to scare or harm Jessica, you knew this was going down; you knew there was a reason. That’s why that message was written on her mirror, isn’t it? Because of this!”

  Grace was so angry by now that she was practically hissing at him. The fact that he didn’t seem one whit chastened, contrite, or even concerned just added fuel to the fire.

  “Your timing’s off again. The message came before the raid.”

  “Someone obviously knew about it!”

  “No one knew about it. It happened too fast. When I was at your house last night, there was nothing planned. The kid getting shot triggered it. The powers that be felt we couldn’t have any high school students getting killed just to further our investigation, so we had to end it. The raid ends it.”

  “You and your—what is he, anyway? brother? cousin? stepgrandpa?—whoever he is, you were wearing dark sweats when you came to my house last night. You were dressed for what was going down. Don’t deny it.”

  “Dom’s my brother. Older by three years. Thank you for asking. And did it ever occur to you that maybe we were dressed that way because we, like you and your daughter, were planning on getting some exercise?”

  “Bullshit!” Grace said again.

  He crossed his arms over his chest and cocked his head at her. To her fury, a twinkle appeared in his eyes. “You know, you might want to think about getting some help with that rampant paranoia you seem to be developing.”

  The lid blew off Grace’s temper. Pointing an accusing index finger at him, she moved away from the door, her eyes narrow and as cold as steel as she closed in on him.

  “Listen, Detective, your antics are endangering my daughter and I won’t have it. Is that clear? I won’t have it! You’re aware of what’s going on at my house, you’re aware that Jessica’s being stalked and threatened because of this drug thing, and proceeding with a raid at her high school without notifying me and giving me a chance to get her out of harm’s way is nothing short of criminal irresponsibility! My inclination at the moment is to call the district attorney, call the chief of police, and call the police department internal-affairs unit and scream bloody murder about the tactics that you have used in this case!”

  Practically vibrating with outrage, she came to a stop less than a foot in front of him, her finger jabbing the air with each point she made. She was tall, he was taller. She was also thin where he was muscular, but then, she was furious while he gave every evidence of being amused. That, she felt, was enough to balance the physical scales.

  He reached out, caught the hand that was pointing at him, and held it fast. The feel of his hard, warm fingers wrapping around her slimmer, cooler ones was startling enough to be distracting. Their gazes met over their joined hands.

  “Tell me something, Your Honor: Do you try to bully everyone you meet, or am I just lucky for some reason?” There was no mistaking the amusement in his face now.

  Grace jerked her hand from his hold, her anger reenergized by his levity. On the verge of exploding at him, she managed not to. Taking a deep, calming breath, she said nothing for the space of several seconds. Remaining in control was the secret of wielding authority, she had found. Once you lost control, the other person gained the upper hand.

  “I want my daughter protected.” She used her judge’s voice, the cold, clear tones that stated distinctly that she expected to be obeyed. “I want someone sent to her school to watch over her for the rest of the day. I want her—and the girl I’ve sent to pick her up—to have an escort home. I want a police officer in my house to provide protection for us until I am sure that Jessica is safe. If you don’t have the authority to make the necessary arrangements, I will go over your head and find someone who does.”

  He looked at her for a moment as if he were considering how to reply. He crossed his arms over his chest, and lines appeared between his brows as he frowned slightly.

  “Your Honor,” he said, speaking slowly and distinctly as if he were addressing someone whom he considered a trif
le thick. “Think about what you’re asking here. At this point, there is no evidence that anybody at Hebron High School or anywhere else has connected your daughter with our drug investigation. Any threats to her from that direction seem to be strictly a product of your possibly overly vivid imagination and a set of coincidental circumstances. If we surround her with police escorts, we will make her stand out in a way that you don’t want. That is what will target her as an informer, which, let me remind you, she has not been. If you want my advice, it would be to not draw attention to her in that way.”

  Grace was stymied. She had had similar thoughts herself, which had been overruled by her growing feeling that her daughter was in danger. Was she overreacting? she asked herself desperately. Should she just—and, oh, it was the hardest thing in the world to do—should she just wait and see what, if anything, happened next, in the hope that nothing would?

  He sighed. “If it will make you feel better, I’ll see that someone follows your daughter and her babysitter home from school. I’ll see that there’s a periodic drive-by of your house this afternoon and tonight. And I’ll see that the whole thing is done very unobtrusively. You have my number and the general police number, and you and Jessica can call either one if you feel threatened in any way. But I don’t think there’s anything for you to be worried about. If, and you notice I say if big if, our drug investigation at Hebron was in some way putting your daughter at risk, then you have nothing more to worry about, because it is over. Over. Got it?”