by Andrew Grey
PIERRE DIDN’T want to get up the next morning. Once they knew Jeremiah was asleep, Pierre had tugged Jordan close and made love to him, whispering naughty things at about three in the morning, wearing him out again in the most amazing way. Thankfully Jeremiah was a heavy sleeper, because Jordan was not quiet. He loved talking during sex. Communication was key, and those high-pitched moans Jordan made when Pierre touched him just the right way went straight to his balls, spurring him to even greater heights of passion.
Jordan was still asleep, and Pierre hated getting out of bed without waking him. It made him feel like some thief stealing away.
“Sweetheart,” Pierre said softly. “I have to go into the station to try to get some things done. I’ll meet you and Jeremiah at the restaurant at noon. Billy already has a table for us in my name, as well as Judge Fortier’s.”
“Okay,” Jordan answered breathlessly, lifting his head off the pillow.
Pierre kissed him and backed away as Jordan made like he was getting up. “Sleep. It’s early, and Jeremiah will be up soon enough.” Pierre soothed Jordan back down, knowing he needed to rest, and quietly left the room. He went right to the station and changed into a fresh uniform, cleaning up in the changing area before striding to his desk. He checked his email and then looked in to see what was new.
“The damn voicemail system has been down all night,” Brown said. “I took a message for you.” He shuffled through papers on his desk, yawning. “Sorry. I have third shift.” He handed it to Pierre, who smiled.
“Awesome. Thank you.” These were the last people Pierre had wanted to speak to and had left a message with. He returned the call and arranged to be over in an hour.
“Ravelle,” Sheriff Hunter called, and he went to his office. “I got a call from Judge Crawford.” He smiled. “I’d say the guy is nervous as hell. He said he wanted to check that everything was all set as far as his letter writer was concerned, but I could tell he was fishing for information and wanted assurances that the whole matter had been put to rest. I assured him that the letter writer issue was closed and we had assigned our manpower elsewhere.” He shook his head. “It’s none of his business if we are investigating a related matter, and I reminded him that stepping into law enforcement was outside his jurisdiction.” Sheriff Hunter sat back in his chair, patting his belly. “I’ve wanted to see that asshole sweat for years. He’s always been such a smug piece of shit.” He leaned forward, the chair creaking. “So, you get me the stuff to nail his ass to the cross. If he’s dirty, I want him out of there.”
“I’ll do my best. I have the final interview of people who we identified earlier, and Jordan and I are having lunch with Judge Fortier. I used a friend as a contact, so this is more social than business.” Pierre explained what he and Jordan believed was going on.
Sheriff Hunter listened carefully. “If you think they’re in any danger, bring both of them in and we’ll take them somewhere safe.” He actually growled. “My wife could never have children.” Sheriff Hunter’s gaze flicked to a family picture that hung on his wall. It was of his wife, three boys, and three girls. “Carol and I adopted all six of our children over the course of fifteen years. Only one was a baby. All the others were kids who needed homes. Best decisions we ever made.”
Just like that, Sheriff Hunter went up in Pierre’s estimation—way up. He’d never pictured him as the type of man with that kind of heart.
“We’ll be careful,” Pierre promised and left the office to check out a patrol car and head to the south side of town.
He pulled up in front of a large brick house with white columns and a wraparound porch on one of the most desirable streets in town. He admired the pristine yard, bursting with color, as he climbed the steps to knock on the door. It was answered by a tall, thin man with graying blond hair. “I’m Deputy Ravelle. I called earlier.”
“Yes, please come in. You said you had some questions for us about our court case.”
Pierre stepped into a lovingly restored home with large rooms, gleaming hardwood floors in a rich, warm tone, and rich decoration. “Are you Mr. Dobbelstein?”
He nodded and motioned for Pierre to come into the living room, where they sat down.
“Tell me about your case,” Pierre said, pulling out a notebook.
“My wife and I ran a gift shop downtown. Well, my wife did. Our landlord was another businessman in town. We were casual friends. He sold the building, and that’s when the problems started. We had a lease, but he kept harassing her, trying to get her out so he could rent the space for more. We refused, and he sued us to try to force us out. It was stupid because it cost him more than he was ever going to get. Our case ended up in front of Judge Crawford, and I could see we weren’t going to get anywhere. The preferential treatment the landlord was receiving was obvious. It was almost blatant. I made a point of speaking to the press. I know how to get things done and make my voice heard. I gave an interview to the local paper, and then reporters began sitting in on the sessions. Suddenly the landlord decided to settle and we agreed to vacate the property after a year.
“By then, my wife had decided to close the business, and we wrapped it up in an orderly manner. The thing is, since then I’ve seen Judge Crawford out to dinner with the landlord and a number of prominent people in town. He’s the king of cronies, and I know he was either paid off or….” He shrugged. “I know, you can’t accuse a judge of anything without proof.” He stood and pulled open the top drawer of a built-in cabinet and took out a file. “I compiled all of the information I could on him. I was so angry that I decided I was going to do something. These are others here he’s hurt, along with a list of his friends and cronies. My plan was to use this during the next election to try to get him removed. It’s not proof that he’s taking bribes, but it might be enough, added to what you already have.” He handed the file to Pierre and sat back down. “Quite frankly, I’ve been hoping someone would figure out what he’s been up to.”
“Were there any repercussions from the judge after you brought in the press?” Pierre asked as he set the envelope on the table. It was thick, and there was too much for him to go through right there.
“At the very least, I expected he’d bar them from the courtroom, but I suppose he didn’t have a real reason and that would only make the reporters more curious about why they were being kept away. The case ended, and my wife and I went back to our lives.” Mr. Dobbelstein turned to a painting of a stunning woman hanging on the wall beside him. “Claudia passed away six months ago of cancer, and after that I lost interest in judges, court cases, and everything else. In a way, things worked out. The entire experience was traumatic, but closing the business was a relief. She was happier, and after she was diagnosed, we traveled a lot and I gave her the best life I could.”
Pierre was curious but didn’t want to press Mr. Dobbelstein about what happened to his wife. The wounds were still so fresh, and his eyes filled with raw pain right at the surface. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you.” He stared at the painting, and Pierre wondered how many times he’d sat there, looking at that work, missing her.
“I promise I’ll do my best to make sure justice is truly served.” Pierre waited as Mr. Dobbelstein turned to him.
“This is personal for you,” he said. It wasn’t a question, but a statement.
“Yes.” Pierre wasn’t going to deny it. “This is my job, but there is also a personal element.”
Mr. Dobbelstein nodded. “He’s a selfish, heartless bastard. Claudia loved her business. She and I never had children, so the store was her passion. That is, until all this happened. Little by little, they took it away from her.” He leaned forward and tapped the file. “My lawyer said that the case should have been dismissed on motions. The landlord had no case at all. Any other judge would have acted that way, but not him.” Fire built in his voice, dark and hot, the heat of simmering hatred coming forward.
“I agree.” Pierre tried to think of other que
stions he had, but none came to mind. He’d heard similar stories over the past few days, many of them. Lost businesses, lost freedoms, loss piled on loss, and all of it because Judge Crawford was too self-centered and entitled to do his job properly. “Thank you for all your help.” He stood up slowly.
“If you need anyone to testify, I’ll gladly do that. Whatever you need. I’m not going to shy away because he’s a judge. In the real world, someone like him would have been fired a long time ago. Instead, he has protections and the system is geared to keep him in office. He needs to be removed and someone installed in his place who will serve the people of the county rather than themselves.” Mr. Dobbelstein stood as well and walked toward the front door. “You said your boyfriend was his clerk.”
“Yes. He discovered the first clues that led us ultimately to you,” Pierre explained.
Mr. Dobbelstein nodded slowly, the grief still naked in his eyes. “Your boyfriend must have courage by the bucket. It would have been so easy for him to look the other way and not say anything. I bet the pressure was enormous.”
Pierre nodded. It truly was.
“You said he was adopting a little boy. Please give them both my best, and tell your boyfriend not to give up hope and to fight with everything he has if he needs to. Those we love are too precious to give up without a fight.” He opened the door, and Pierre said goodbye, taking the envelope out to his car with him.
Sitting in the driver’s seat, he debated going back to the station but ended up driving to the restaurant. He was very early, but Billy let him in and gave him a cup of coffee, seating him at an empty table. Then he went back to getting the dining room set for opening, while Pierre cracked the seal on the envelope and began going through what Mr. Dobbelstein had given him.
“Jesus,” he breathed after an hour of reading. The man had gathered information on Judge Crawford’s circle of friends—who he had lunch with, dinner with, where he attended parties. Pierre flipped the pages and continued reading. Now he just had to figure out how to use what he had.
TWO HOURS, several cups of coffee, and a trip the bathroom later, Pierre hung up the phone with the sheriff and stood as Judge Fortier entered the restaurant. He extended his hand. The judge had a firm grip.
“I honestly don’t know how much I can help you. I can’t discuss cases out of court, and we don’t render opinions on the merits of cases unless it’s given to us. That isn’t how being a judge works.”
“I understand that, Judge Fortier. But what we have is a special case. Because the problem is a judge who we believe is acting improperly and has been for quite a while.” Pierre watched his reaction carefully.
“I assume you have proof? Airtight proof? And for today, this is a social call, so please call me Robert. I am not here in any official capacity whatsoever, and anything I say is not to be construed as legal advice. I cannot give you any.” He sounded like one of the disclaimers on a television commercial.
“Mr. Pierre!” Jeremiah called as he and Jordan entered. He rushed over, and Pierre bent down just in time to catch him.
“Were you good this morning?” Pierre asked.
“Yes.” Jeremiah rolled his eyes. “I’m always good. Daddy says so.”
Pierre hugged him and then set Jeremiah down before hugging Jordan, whose lower lip was raw, probably from his nervous biting. “This is Mr. Robert,” he told Jeremiah.
“Your Honor,” Jordan said softly, extending his hand.
“Today I’m just Robert.” He accepted Jordan’s hand, and then they all sat down. Billy came over, hugged Robert, and took drink orders. “We’ll place food orders in a few minutes.”
“Cool.” Billy left, and Robert turned to Pierre.
“I think you better tell me everything you’ve found.”
Pierre held up the thick file of papers, placing it on the table as Jordan got Jeremiah set up with crayons and paper. “We’ve documented a large number of cases where Judge Crawford has made questionable calls in the courtroom. I know that’s hard to prove, but they were often overturned at a later time. We also have cases where evidence has gone missing at critical times. In some of those cases, people went to prison, only to be proven innocent later.” Pierre passed the documentation across the table, but Robert didn’t touch the files at all and shook his head.
“All of that is part of the job of being a judge. We make the best decisions we can. Part of the beauty of the system is the appeal process. Decisions are reviewed and incorrect ones overturned. Every judge has his or her decisions overturned at some point. It happens.”
Pierre had been expecting that, but he felt Jordan’s tension rising by the second.
“The evidence-handling bothers me a great deal. That should be done with care and that can be investigated,” Robert went on to say. “But it’s another charge that is hard to prove, because malice would have to be involved. It must be shown that he acted with intent, and that’s very hard to prove.”
“Maybe not.” Pierre slipped over the documentation he’d received that morning, the key to everything. “This is a diagram and listing of the people in Judge Crawford’s social circle. Those he went to lunch with, parties—all of it. The person who gathered this information is willing to testify as to how he compiled it. In almost every case we’ve identified, a party in the cases has a link to these people: cousins, brothers, nieces, close friends, in-laws. The judge should have been recusing himself, but instead, he rendered verdicts that were favorable to them in most cases, hurting people in the process.” He pushed the last pages over, and this time Robert opened the file and took a look. As soon as he turned to the second page, Pierre pointed to a name on the list. “This is where we need your help.”
Robert paled as he read over the information. “He and Judge Taylor have been friends… of a sort, for years, as far as I know.”
“Yes. And on Monday, Jordan has been called in by Judge Taylor regarding his adoption of Jeremiah. We aren’t sure why, but we believe it’s because his friend gave him a call.”
Robert nodded. “I see.” He lifted his gaze to Jordan. “And you’re Crawford’s clerk. I’ve seen you around the courthouse.”
“Yes.” Jordan turned to Pierre. “I found a file hidden away that contained different information than the official files, additional evidence. That file later disappeared, and, well, I was scared because of the adoption.” He put his arm around Jeremiah. “He’s my son, my family, and—”
“This whole situation is putting this in jeopardy,” Robert said, looking over the papers once again, and Jordan nodded. “I can see that.” He continued reviewing the papers. “This is very disturbing.”
“Next week, Judge Crawford is hearing a case regarding the borough, and he was having dinner with the mayor and borough president. We saw him, what… ten days ago?”
Robert closed the files. “I’ll register a complaint with the judicial review board first thing Monday morning.” He was still pale. “This is going to ripple through the county like a tidal wave. Every case he heard will need to be reviewed, and….”
“What about Judge Taylor?” Pierre asked.
“The board will investigate, but I will make sure they know of their connection.” Robert smiled. I expect that the board will act quickly in the face of this kind of evidence, especially if another judge is bringing the complaint.” He lifted his gaze, and Billy came over.
“Are you ready to order?” Billy asked rather formally.
“Thanks.”
“You were all so intense, I didn’t want to interrupt again.” Billy took their orders, chatting as he did, and then went into the kitchen.
“Can I keep this? Do you have copies?”
“No. These are what I have at the moment. I’ll make copies for you and deliver them.”
“Excellent.” Robert gave Pierre his address, and they settled in for a nice lunch. Jordan was still very nervous, and Pierre held his hand under the table, trying to reassure him. Things were going to be okay, and
they were going to have some ammunition when they went in to court.
Jordan ordered only a small salad and picked at it. Jeremiah ate more than he did. Even Robert noticed. “You need to keep your strength up.”
“I’m worried.” Jordan tugged Jeremiah a little closer.
“Yes, I can understand that, but I know that making yourself sick because you’re worried about losing Jeremiah is a surefire way to bring it about.” Robert patted Jordan’s shoulder. “Just tell the truth and everything will be fine.”
Jordan nodded and Pierre squeezed his hand again. “I’m here for you, and so is your mother. You aren’t doing this alone, but with the people who care for you.”
“I’m sorry for all of this,” Robert told him, setting down his knife and fork. “But we’ll do what we can to make it right.”
“I appreciate that, but I can’t expect you to put your neck or reputation on the line just because I asked you to,” Jordan said quietly. “I’ve seen you at the courthouse, but you don’t know me very well.”
“I’m not doing anything like that. What I’m going to do is let you inform Taylor that he’s being watched and that someone else has an interest in the case. Once he knows, I’ll impress upon him that his potential source of information is under possible investigation. That will cover you.” Robert smiled. He was nearing forty, with gray appearing at his temples, giving him a distinguished air. Pierre knew he was a fair and demanding jurist, from all sides. “Taylor is coming up for retention. He isn’t going to allow anything to tarnish his reputation, or otherwise he’ll be out.”
“Thank you.” Jordan leaned against Pierre, and Pierre wanted to take him home and spend the day trying to soothe away his jitters.
“Bring over the copies of what you have, and I’ll put together a complaint to the board. But whatever you do, Jordan, don’t accuse Judge Crawford or anyone else of anything in open court. It’s the same as making a public announcement, and the consequences could be dire. Answer Judge Taylor’s questions honestly and let the hearing take its course.” He was so stern, Pierre found himself nodding even though Robert was speaking to Jordan. “As for you, young man, you’ll have to stay outside.”