All Rise

by Rosemarie Aquilina

  “The docket shows the result of cases,” I said. “The writing in blue ink notes what happened in court. It’s used to update the Register of Actions.”

  “The official record,” Hunter said, as if maybe Attorney Sebastian didn’t know what the Register of Actions was. Ass.

  Hunter pulled out the bank deposit slip we’d reviewed earlier. “I’m curious why these deposits were made on the same day a few of these cases were dismissed.”

  I studied the docket and the bank slip. “Coincidence?” I hoped so.

  But Hunter frowned. “In the clerk’s office, Nic and I looked up these files. Plaintiff in each case seemed to have a viable case. But the cases were dismissed by the Judge.”

  “Judges don’t always get it right. That’s why we have a Court of Appeals.” I wanted to state that for the record, but my voice was half-hearted because the dismissing Judge was Judge Jurisa Haddes. And I was biased.

  Hunter handed the papers to Sebastian, who turned toward me and had the nerve to ask me, “Payoff?”

  “How could it be a payoff to me when I was already gone, couldn’t make any judgment for or against them? I’ve never willingly associated with him. Besides, Jurisa dismissed the case, not me.” I pushed the papers away. “Trust me or leave me. Both of you.”

  Sebastian reached an arm around my waist and squeezed me closer to him. “We’re on your side, but the tough questions need to be asked by us, not those fool detectives.”

  “Think about it,” Hunter said. “Your case. Your decision. Someone was made very happy—winner pays you off—even if it takes him six months to do so. That’s what those detectives are thinking.”

  I covered my face like a small child in hiding. I wanted my protective hairspray, and for a few silent seconds, I imagined spraying it all over me.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Sebastian studied the paper and bank deposit slip we’d found at the salon, and Hunter reviewed the documents Sebastian brought.

  “Obvious pattern.” Hunter flipped pages. “This Prosecutor’s gift feels more like a noose.”

  “Blimey, at least we didn’t have to wait for it.”

  “Twelve accounts with one-hundred-thousand dollars in each. One account opened every other week for six months. And, this took a lot of planning and coordination because each account was filled over eleven weeks to avoid the IRS rule about reporting cash deposits over ten-thousand dollars.” Hunter finger-pounded the pages. “Toots, you haven’t missed a bank within a mile.” There was admiration in my keeper’s voice.

  “Prosecutor could make the argument that this money came from Donnettelli in some kind of scheme, and when he wouldn’t pay you more, you shot him,” Sebastian said.

  I grimaced. “Not mine.” I tried not to wail. “Banks have cameras. Check them.”

  “Wire transfers,” Hunter said. “And eleven of these accounts were opened before Donnettelli’s murder, the final one the day he was murdered.”

  “Then check all my phone lines, computer lines, whatever you want. Not mine,” I said with less force than I’d hoped to exude.

  “No need to sound deflated.” Hunter whistled. “This date, four weeks before his death, does match Donnettelli’s deposit of one-hundred-thousand dollars.”

  Okay, inflated again. “One-hundred-thousand dollars? But it was just one deposit, not eleven, like my fake accounts?”

  “Right, likely because he deposited a check or some other instrument, not cash.” Hunter lifted the bank papers, nodded and set them back down.

  “Still the amount, one-hundred-thousand dollars is just like the fake account in my name.” To frame me? For what? By whom and why? Donnettelli wasn’t about to give me a thousand large. He was too cheap, unless maybe he had a million reasons to give it to me, or maybe needed me out of the way? I shivered to the core. “Donnettelli wouldn’t tie me to him, and that’s what this money does.”

  Hunter cleared his throat. “Makes Sebastian’s theory more than likely. I bet that’s their game plan; the deposit slip in your name and this deposit in Donnettelli’s name gives the appearance you two were in cahoots.”

  “Look again. No cahoots. Not a single cahoot. No proof our bank accounts are tied.” I folded my arms and waited. I said what the men were thinking. “Except the like deposit amount.” And there it was: a cahoot, that led to me.

  “Setup. Smells like a deal between accomplices, and that would leave a trail.” Sebastian sounded lawyerly. “We need to find that trail.”

  I choked, and Hunter offered me his water.

  “Bank accounts are opened, cases are shuffled, and somehow, money is made—lots of money.” Sebastian looked at me. “If the scheme falls apart, you’re set up to take the fall. Doesn’t matter how many crimes. They’ve stacked it all on you.”

  “Murder, too.” I lowered my voice. “Makes ‘follow the money’ more meaningful.”

  “Right. The setup is for every crime associated with the scoundrels.” Hunter looked satisfied with his summation.

  “Hey.” I used my own attorney voice. It was nice to have a variety of tools to pull from. “We need to get bank video, analyze signature cards, talk to every damn bank employee, and now, or I’m dead behind bars.”

  “Too right,” Sebastian said.

  Hunter rubbed his jaw as if I’d punched it. “But how do they profit from a dead Donnettelli?”

  My turn to point silverware. “Donnettelli wanted me to change an Order. If I didn’t, it would cost a large corporation millions of dollars.” I spoke quietly.

  “They’d already let people die, so I refused to change the Order.” I paused.

  “Donnettelli changed it anyway,” I said, “but left my signature page attached to the Order.”

  “Both the corporation and their insurance company saved millions,” Sebastian said.

  Hunter jumped in. “And I bet Donnettelli scored a bonus under the table and branded you as the one who signed the offensive Order.”

  I agreed. “That’s the name the media prints. The rest isn’t seen. He gets the payoff and the goodwill in an election year.”

  “But if Manville was paying off Donnettelli,” Sebastian said, “I’m betting this wasn’t the bloke’s first buy-a-verdict rodeo.”

  Hunter winked at me. “Maybe some victim figured it out and got mad.”

  “A victim couldn’t get into Donnettelli’s Chambers without being captured on the video,” I said. “A victim wouldn’t have a way to save that video of me shooting Donnettelli with my finger gun.”

  “It had to be someone who works in the Courthouse, who could get into the judicial wing and knew how to avoid the cameras,” Sebastian said.

  “But according to the papers, everyone with access was accounted for—at the poker party-turned brawl, was with a spouse, or was sunning on a beach.” Hunter leaned over the table at me. “I mean except you.”

  Ass. “That’s the reality. Nobody could have killed Donnettelli,” I said.

  “It was right rude to bury the bludger, then,” Sebastian said.

  These guys were going to sit here and crack wise until I shuffle off to the big house. Time to step up the pace. “We need to do a few things: police can get video of anyone who entered the building that day. If we can get a copy, Hunter can interview half, and I can interview half. One of us needs to contact the ME and find out how he placed the time of death.”

  “You can’t flit around Lansing like you’re Wonder Woman,” Sebastian said.

  I figure he chose Wonder Woman because we both have hair that doesn’t move. “I don’t flit.” I gave him my serious face. “I stroll elegantly. And I intend to get answers before I get locked up.”

  Hunter said he should be the one to talk to the witness since he was “a man of the people,” but he allowed that Sebastian and I could come, too, if we wanted.

  Not
a trace of humor remained in Hunter’s handsome face. “If Donnettelli was killed by a corporation covering its greedy tracks—maybe you’re next.”

  We sat in silence for a minute and reconsidered possibilities. Then from inside his jacket, Hunter pulled out the evidence bags from my workstation-drawer explosion, and I told Sebastian all about it.

  Hunter crunched down more salad. “Some people like to believe the worst about others.” He waggled his be-spinached fork at me. “And someone wants judges out of the way.”

  On overload, I didn’t want to digest that conclusion. “But I’d already left the Courthouse on my own.”

  Then I saw it. “If I report the Orders were changed and someone in power believes me, then whatever Donnettelli’s scheme is could be exposed. And even if I was right, these twelve bank accounts discredit me as a Judge, who was bought and looks like I got paid off to kill Donnettelli. Either way—I get a lifetime of lockup.” Refusing to blubber, I picked up the smaller sealed envelope, ripped it open, and spilled folded pages from AOL.

  A subpoena fulfilled by AOL. Kikkra@aol.com with a list of corresponding emails from the twelve bank accounts. “I use Yahoo. I don’t know anything about AOL. I have no password to this account.” I flung the pages at Hunter. More lies.

  He compared the twelve bank statements with the emails. “These begin January through July—” He tapped a note into his phone as he spoke. “My IT man will link these to a computer.”

  “Forensic study will take time and cost a fortune,” I said. “I walked out mid-January.”

  “They wouldn’t have opened accounts earlier because of tax filings and year-end statements,” Hunter said.

  “The accounts and AOL are too obvious, too coincidental. Planted,” Sebastian said. “Leave that task to law enforcement and their warrants.”

  “Unless we can prove they’re planted, they’re hair-frizzing, media-frenzy, put-me-behind-bars-for-life evidence.” Those people who liked to believe the worst about others were going to be ecstatic.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  It was well after five o’clock when I sneaked back into my office, back into my chair, and Trisha was already plodding toward me. I swiveled, crossed my legs, pasted on a grin. Seeing her open smile made me feel good all over.

  “Was your disappearance okay?” she asked.

  “Like removing nail polish by taking the whole nail, without anesthesia.”

  She placed her hand on her heart and fluttered her long fingers. “Oh Judge, I know just how witnesses feel. Attorney Pearce is a holy show. Why don’t you just run off with him and forget all this business?”

  I controlled my face. “Charms the words right out of you, doesn’t he? I’ve seen you with Sebastian.” I tried not to laugh.

  She pressed an age-spotted hand to her cheek. “He gives me a bit of a reddener—I mean to feel that raw sexual ride. ‘Tis lost on you young ones.” Her shoulders rose, and she wriggled. She was about to liquefy.

  Okay, now parts of my brain needed to be poked out. I grabbed a comb and mirror to realign my natural thought process. I backcombed my bangs, held the red-and-black can, hit the nozzle and sprayed. Ahhh, back to reality.

  “I didn’t tell anyone else where’d you’d gone,” Trisha said. “Judge Haddes and her Law Clerk Keldon McKean stopped in ‘to pay their respects’ and say they ‘know you didn’t kill Judge Donnettelli.’ Reception still smells like her Chloe perfume. Why can’t she spray just a smidge? But still, I refused to say where you’d gone.” She looked quite proud of herself.

  I wondered what kind of omen that was. Jurisa had never bothered to cross the hall to see me before, and I didn’t have time to think about her now. “Trisha, we need to figure out how and why I’ve ended up with twelve new bank accounts times one-hundred-thousand dollars—”

  She did a no-brainer shrug. “Himself—your benefactor.”

  “Ex-benefactor. Take Dex off the table. Think murder setup. Tomorrow, we research the accounts.” Who better to save me than me, I wanted to add, but decided I needed to spare Trisha any more worry. She accepted the account list, tucked it inside her sweater, and returned to the reception desk.

  Before I could start on the next task, Sebastian phoned. He and Hunter had met with the Medical Examiner to garner the details I’d wanted. Sebastian said, “ME began with the room temperature—then added 1.5 degrees per hour until 98.6 degrees was reached.”

  “So he determined time of death with certainty?” I was trying to head calculate, but my brain was rejecting the numbers; I needed a calculator, graph paper, and caffeine.

  “Yes and no,” Sebastian said.

  “Excuse me?” My brain screamed: Hairspray please.

  “Some factors can speed up rigor mortis, like extremely violent exertion prior to death, and alkaloid poisoning.”

  “Unlikely, unless lifting extra cream cheese on his bagel counts as exertion.”

  Sebastian cleared his throat by way of objecting to my interrupting him. Then he said, “Heat speeds up rigor mortis and cold slows it down.”

  “I always complained the damn Courthouse was either too hot or too cold.” I’d try again. “Was the ME able to determine time of death?”

  “Given those and other variables, he placed death between two and five in the morning. Gunshot was heard at approximately four.”

  “Bring your math skills and show me all this on paper.” I beat my nails on my lips to stop my mouth from spewing vulgarities at the dead bully, the legal system, and the medical community. The night Donnettelli was killed, like most every night, I’d been in bed and sleeping long before two and long past five. Damnation, my boyfriend was out of the country and my only alibi was Jimmy Jack.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The next morning, I’d barely gotten myself in and shut the door to the parking lot when Carlye appeared wearing an expression that said: Threat-level Orange-and-rising.

  “There’s an unmarked car parked out front, and I started thinking dirty words like search warrant—”

  My hand shot up, palm forward, and I knew Carlye was familiar with that silent command. But she had a nose for police. In her former work, she’d had to be careful.

  “I’ll shear those detectives.” I grabbed my phone from my back pocket but wished I could use it to ask Scotty to beam me up.

  “I ain’t fond of most cops,” Carlye said. “But the salon is already full of paying customers, and my nose hairs are activating.” She scrunched her nose as if to prove it. “My nose don’t flare like—”

  I texted Sebastian and instructed Carlye. “Keep the search-warrant rumor tucked inside that tingling nose. If you can’t hold back, stay in my office.” I unlocked it for her.

  Sebastian returned my text. Anything you say or do can and will be used against you. Behave.

  Damn lawyer.

  Don’t cause bond revocation.

  Mmmm. Good point.

  I texted Rosa in the café to see what was happening over there and didn’t receive a response. Damn.

  Carlye pointed at her chest. “Look at me. I’m breaking into one big hive.” She twisted outstretched arms. “I don’t own any clothes that match hives.”

  Stomping back toward her station, she called over her shoulder, “Dinkie-Do’s in here offering ever’body a Dinkie-Do Special. And I ain’t never seen so much white around customer eyeballs.”

  I refused to worry until those eyeballs fell out, and the inmates used them to shoot marbles. After asking Trisha to organize the mob, I sneaked out the back door and aimed my boots toward Hunter’s Escalade.

  I tapped on his passenger window. By the time Hunter opened up, my insides were marshmallow goop. I climbed in and shut the door. “Not a social visit.”

  Hunter locked the doors. “Some serious suits have stormed your place of business. Shall I hit the gas, Mugsy?”

&nb
sp; “Why didn’t you swoop inside to protect me? I escaped before they were able to serve me, but I have no doubt they are searching every crevice. They could be in there for hours. You had time to intervene and stop this nonsense.” I folded my arms and leaned against the door to face him.

  He thrust his chest out and imitated my voice. “You’re in total control of this investigation.”

  “Got it.” My pride scratched like a prickly pear going down. “You officially have my permission to assist when needed. I’m not sure who to trust. If it’s a question of money—”

  He wide grinned. “Acknowledging trust. That’s a start.”

  I decided to invent an all-purpose attention getter, the new hit-slap. Not to be confused with the old standby bitch-slap. It would go on the books as a new kind of assault, and by the time anyone did anything about it, the hit-slaps would be delivered to the obnoxious males who needed them. “Let’s just say—no reason not to trust you.”

  “Your ex pays me plenty, Toots.” Hunter intentionally drew out his voice, so every syllable resounded in me.

  In his soft manly gaze, I saw the teenager I’d loved. His casual seated position was one that, in my youth, I would have climbed upon and begun a welcome make-out session. I was happy with Sebastian, my adult choice, despite Hunter’s constant reminders of how good we’d been together. And I couldn’t get out of my mind that I wouldn’t have bolted to Dex if Hunter and I had been right.

  Hunter squeezed my hand.

  But I freed it, pulled back, and stuck it underneath my knee, between my crossed legs. Damn. Chemistry as good as I remembered. We had a good history to remember together.

  But I was too comfortable, and the longer I sat, more old memories flooded in. Hunter and I ended up talking an hour and a half, and I felt drained, but in a good way. Way more peaceful. After another minute, Hunter squeezed my knee and reached for his door.

  “Let’s find out what the detectives want.” He opened his door, rounded the truck, and opened mine.