All Rise

by Rosemarie Aquilina

  I studied my work. Everything that had affected me since my last encounter with the Chief Judge now had its spot on the board.

  How could I make it work for me?

  When the doorbell chimed, I cursed Hunter or Sebastian or whoever thought ten o’clock was a fine time to visit. Where had Dinkie-Do and Dex scurried off to? I recalled Dinkie-Do saying something about taking a bubble bath. Regardless, I’d have to answer the door. When it chimed a second time, I went down and discovered it was a very pale Renee Reed, Donnettelli’s JA.

  “Renee?”

  Shaking, she stepped inside, watched me close the door, pulled out two red legal-sized schedule books, and handed them to me.

  “It could have waited,” I said. “Why are you quivering like that? Are you cold, maybe getting sick?” I held the heavy books next to my chest.

  She hugged herself.

  Something was very wrong.

  “Did someone follow you?” I asked. My brain went right to Hollywood and their antics.

  She shook her head no, and I led her to my family-room loveseat. I set the books on the coffee table and sat as close as I could. And I waited.

  “I adore my make-over.” She sounded like a terrified six-year-old. “Everyone treated me so kindly I was so eager to thank you. So, I drove right to the Courthouse to grab the schedule books for you—but I found—” She shook uncontrollably, and one shoulder jerked.

  “Take off that long purse strap before you strangle yourself.” She removed her bag and set it near her feet.

  With two fingers, I stroked her forearm and waited.

  “He’s dead.” The words seem to erupt. “I just saw him before I left for my hair appointment. And now he’s dead.”

  “You’re going to miss Judge Donnettelli,” I tried.

  Headshake. “Peter Dune, our law clerk.” She had to push these words out. “He’s dead.”

  Frost iced over me from the inside out. I remembered the confusion on his face when I accused him in the café.

  “Why would someone want to hurt him? Who would want to hurt him?” I felt my innards panicking. “I’m so sorry.” I had to get into his office. I’m a bad person. Entirely selfish. I should be concentrating on Renee. Another death churned my stomach into a whirlpool of fear. Many years on the bench had taught me to hide my emotions, so I squeezed Renee’s hand.

  I’d been locked in my room all evening. And Dinkie-Do, well it had been hours since I’d seen him. No alibi for me. Again. Hollywood would remind me I knew my way around the video, ugh.

  When did Peter die? There was a murderer in the Courthouse, and Peter’s death only helped me if I could prove it wasn’t me. Nic, don’t be a beast. Renee needs you.

  She sobbed. I grabbed a box of tissue and a quilt from the back of a couch and murmured something about deep breaths.

  “Half our office is dead.” She full-out bawled. “Our court reporter Noel Lemmon and I are the only two left. Some crazy defendant out there—”

  “Sh. Sh. You’ll stay here,” I whispered in a firm-Judge tone. But I was struck by what she’d said. Was there somebody mad at Donnettelli and me and Peter? “You won’t go back to work or to your apartment until we find the killer.”

  The panic drained right out of her. I expected to see a puddle at her feet. When she began to breathe easier, I gently asked for details—from the beginning.

  “In my office,” Renee said, “I opened the closet across from my desk, pulled the schedule books from the shelf, and set them on my desk. As I was closing the door, I glanced inside Judge’s office and noticed the light coming from the door they shared.”

  “Pete’s office?”

  Nod. “He’s been closing files and drafting proposed Orders.” Renee sniffled. “Pete wanted the new Judge to have a clean docket.”

  I sent the silent go-on vibe slowly nodding that I understood.

  Renee rocked forward and back. “I yelled into Peter’s office and asked if I could help, so he could get home.” Her tone sounded as if she were accusing herself of stupidity.

  “But he didn’t answer,” I whispered.

  “I figured he didn’t hear me, so I went in. It smelled like he’d spilled a bottle of Chloe and didn’t get it cleaned up. He was hunched over his desk. Then I thought he was sleeping.” She struggled to stay in control. “I started to tease him.” Tease drew out like another accusing wail.

  “I—walked—saw a line of blood on his desk. I peered under him. His shirt was red, and the blood was from his chest—more on the floor. A big pool.” She breathed funny. “He looked white. I touched his forehead. So cold.”

  She shook her hands hard as if to rid herself of the touch memory. “I knew he was dead. I grabbed the books. Ran here.”

  “Did you call police? Security? 9-1-1?”

  Renee focused her attention on at me as if I’d thought up some brilliant new idea she’d missed. “No.”

  Shit.

  “I totally freaked out. I thought of what had happened to you and wondered if I’d be arrested too for something I didn’t do. Actually, I’m not really sure what I was thinking, but I was terrified and ran out, and once I was in my car, all I could think of was coming to you for help.”

  “Anything else you want me to know?” I waited.

  A few seconds later her eyes glazed like she couldn’t see right. “I think there was a gun in his hand.” She closed her eyes and whispered, “Suicide?”

  Only an autopsy could determine, murder, suicide, or accident. I wasn’t about to discuss anything more about that in her current shape. I forced my voice to remain even. “You understand Peter will be found.” My insides trembled for both of us. “You, running down the hall—you’re likely the last person who’ll be seen on the Courthouse video—that may make you a suspect.”

  My brain raced. I avoided saying: aside from me. I wanted to finish the sentence shouting: and if we’re found together, the damn Detectives won’t wait for your explanation or mine.

  I reassured myself she wasn’t the killer by taking a moment to inspect her. I hoped it was suicide, but the tangle in my gut hinted otherwise. My quick inspection revealed no visible sign of blood on her. She didn’t smell freshly showered, and I’d never thought of her as the actress-type. I elected a different tactic. “You need to explain to police what happened before they make assumptions.” I was living the nightmare. “Wait here.”

  I darted through the house—to the kitchen for the teakettle and a notepad. I ran upstairs and rapped on all the closed doors and called out for Dinkie-Do and Dexter. After a few minutes it was clear that Dexter wasn’t home. Dinkie-Do opened his bedroom door. His face was covered by a green mask, and he was wrapped in his fluffy pink robe. I pointed him downstairs and told him to peel his face and get dressed. Texts to Hunter and Sebastian—to find Dexter and get here now.

  This was about to get ugly. Okay, uglier.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  It took me several minutes to change into jeans and tee shirt. When I reappeared downstairs, color had returned to Renee’s face. De-masked Dinkie-Do had set the table, and a pot of tea, another of coffee, and a carafe of water stood in the center.

  “I’m afraid of jail.” Renee sipped her tea, and when she raised her hand, I noticed the edge of her sleeve was bloodied.

  I didn’t blame her.

  Dexter, Sebastian, and Hunter walked in through the garage door, and I whispered to Dinkie-Do to bring a large plastic bag and grab anything he could find for Renee to slip on. I pointed to her sleeve. I figured she’d freak out the minute she saw the blood.

  When Dinkie-Do returned with his fluffiest pink robe, I thanked him and restrained myself from commenting.

  With help, Renee changed and washed a blood smear from the back of her wrist, while I grabbed her blouse and zippered it into a gallon-size plastic bag. I directed her to
the kitchen table and introduced her to the guys already seated there.

  Dexter was scooping ice cream from one of three containers in front of him. “I had a craving. Didn’t think you’d miss me.” He handed out dishes of ice cream.

  When the doorbell rang, Hunter escorted Detectives Grayson and Fredericks to the table as he’d done fourteen hours earlier.

  “Confession time?” Detective Grayson looked bored.

  They sat. “What’s so urgent you demanded to see us a second time in one day?” Fredericks said.

  “You invited yourself earlier.” I was out of patience with them.

  Swiftly Dinkie-Do reached around Grayson and Fredericks and filled their coffee mugs and quietly retreated with Jimmy Jack.

  The Detectives shifted their focus to Renee.

  I scooted my chair, so it almost touched Renee’s and patted her hand. After re-introductions, reminding the Detectives they’d interviewed her after Donnettelli’s body was found, I said, “Renee, tell the Detectives what you told me.”

  “I thought I forgot my checkbook at the office,” she said. “Peter Dune is—I found him dead, lying there.”

  Detective Fredericks immediately pulled out a notepad. Grayson folded his hands, scrutinizing her with his super-cop vision. Her blood couldn’t travel through a vein without his permission; neither could mine. Except for the occasional blink, the Detectives’ expressions were closed for business.

  I wondered if the Courthouse footage would catch her in her lie. She was carrying the oversized schedule books. Surely they’d write checkbook. Ugh. I’d have to think about that tomorrow.

  “Last to leave your office?” Grayson finally twitched his upper lip. “Besides you.”

  “I was the first to leave, so I don’t know who left when. I worked a few morning hours.” Renee hesitated. “Afternoon hair appointment.”

  Grayson looked at me. “You can verify that appointment?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Keeping it all in the family,” Grayson said. “Your salon? What’s it officially called?”

  I knew both Detectives had the answer memorized, but I told him anyway. “Ratification Hair Salon and Café.”

  Fredericks scratched it down as if he’d never heard it before.

  “Dinkie-Do styled her hair,” I said.

  “You found a dead man and didn’t think to call anyone? But you were calm enough to drive over here—to the woman accused of murdering your boss?” Grayson reached for his phone.

  “Check out Courthouse videos,” Renee said, but her tone lowered as she added, “There are no cameras inside Judges’ offices—just the hallways and the courtrooms. But I didn’t do anything wrong. Time it out; I didn’t kill anyone.”

  “Could be a simple case of suicide,” I said. I added nothing about the gun Renee said she saw. If she wasn’t mentioning it, neither was I.

  “I didn’t kill anyone,” Renee repeated.

  I felt her mantra, as it was my own.

  Sebastian jumped in. “Don’t be a bounce. She doesn’t have to say word one to you blokes.”

  Bounce was jerk in Aussie. I liked the sound of it. I agreed and snapped my scone in half. Okay, it didn’t make a loud crack, but the visual helped; it was the best I could do with what I had. “No need to bully her. Seeing a dead body, especially a friend, is difficult.”

  Sebastian looked from Renee to Detectives, and then centered on them. “She’ll be apples because in a few minutes you two fine Detectives will be returned to the street.”

  Grayson hit a speed dial, spewed in a few numbers, acronyms, and orders, clicked off, and slid the phone back into his pocket. “The whole damn force is on its way to the scene.” He scooted back his chair and stood. “Let’s join them.”

  Renee frowned. “Judge Kikkra and Judge Donnettelli barely spoke—”

  Grayson interrupted Renee who winced hearing his sniping tone. “And you’re about to tell us she didn’t commit either murder? Did you? Murder all in the family; you two did it together, maybe?” Grayson looked at Fredericks, then me and Renee. He swayed his pointer finger back and forth at her. “You and your boss had a fight? Right? About what?”

  Renee stiffened. “I followed orders. We never fought.”

  Sebastian pushed his chair away from the table and stood. “Holy dooley. Your accusations just struck time-to-leave.”

  Grayson softened his tone. “Anyone having problems with Peter Dune?”

  Sebastian signaled Renee to proceed.

  Renee started to look at me but stopped herself. “Not aware of any.”

  Grayson wagged his finger at her. “You two friends?”

  Renee remained still, eyes focused on his finger. “Peter was a bit of a loner but liked by everyone. Close to Judge Donnettelli.”

  Grayson swigged his coffee and stood. Probably some attempt to assert control of the situation. “Did you touch anything in the office when you found Pete?” His voice was deep, but not hostile.

  Renee looked at the ceiling. “Light switches, closet door, my desk, the body.” She released some air.

  I guiltily handed the bagged blouse with the bloodied sleeve edge to Grayson. I didn’t want to be charged with interfering with an investigation for not turning it over. “For you. A bit of blood got on her.”

  “How?” Grayson asked. He sat. The one-word question sounded like a dare: try to explain that.

  Renee began shaking again. I wrapped comforting arms around her.

  “I used my keycard to get in and out.” Renee sounded deflated.

  “Whoa. Let’s start from where you touched the body, and you bloodied your shirt.” Grayson set the bag beside him.

  “I wanted to check—to help him—but he was cold.”

  Grayson dipped his head toward Fredericks. “If that’s true, the coroner might place time of death early to mid-afternoon.”

  Grayson dagger-eyed me.

  “I was at my salon, and here, video surveillance and GPS tether. Check out all my alibis,” I said. “Don’t go there unless it’s dismissal dialog.”

  “I forwarded the phones to Peter just before I left at eleven,” Renee interjected.

  “So it’s safe to say Peter Dune was murdered when he was left alone in the office.” Fredericks rested his pen under his chin.

  “That means someone was there watching—waiting for an opportunity. Check out the security cameras,” I said.

  “Why do you suppose the cleaning crew didn’t find Mr. Dune?” Fredericks asked.

  “It’s Friday. They clean inner offices twice a week: Tuesdays and Fridays,” Renee said. “Either they were already done, or they hadn’t reached our suite, yet.”

  Grayson read a text on his phone before he addressed Renee. “I want you downtown in the morning to make a formal statement, or a squad car will escort you in pretty silver bracelets.”

  Fredericks jotted a final note and closed his pad.

  Renee and Sebastian went silent. Hunter stood and directed the Detectives to the front door.

  “No one here has a problem due to this Peter’s demise,” Sebastian said. “I’ll be at Police Headquarters, and by mid-afternoon I’ll have something.”

  Renee leaned toward Sebastian. “You’re not going to leave me alone with those Detectives, are you?”

  “I’ll have you packed up and at home long before I meet with them.” Sebastian stood and with two fingers snatched his keys from his front jeans pocket. “Uh, but it may be a conflict for me to actually represent you.”

  “Please represent me. Conflicts can be waived right?”

  “Let’s see how this goes and not get ahead of ourselves,” Sebastian said.

  “Not home—here, please.” Renee was near tears again. She turned to me. “Judge Kikkra said.”

  I confirmed. Renee conveyed her appreciat
ion, and we went up to her new digs and left the men behind with Dinkie-Do.

  About fifteen minutes later, I returned to a clean kitchen with the guys and Jimmy Jack seated at the kitchen table. Dinkie-Do transferred Jimmy Jack to me.

  When I turned toward Sebastian my face flushed, and I tried to simmer it down. “When do you plan on sharing the information we’ve gathered? Obviously, the Detectives have no apparent interest in clearing me. I need to report what we’ve found to the SEC in the morning. We need all the help we can get.”

  “Peter’s demise has got some spunk into you. You wear it well.” Sebastian’s eyes traveled around my face, and he grinned. “Now’s a perfect time to trade information. If these Detectives don’t see their case against you falling apart, they’re dim.”

  Hunter frowned. “The Courthouse investigation has landed on Nic.”

  “I’m not in the Courthouse.”

  “Exactly,” Hunter said. “Peter’s murder is an eye-opener.”

  A bit of the fog cleared. “All those warning notes—I’d thought they were from Peter. Someone is willing to blow up my car and kill people to get me to abandon the asbestos victims and go to jail.”

  “My men will be on you and Renee like your best mascara,” Hunter said, “but that court reporter—Noel Somebody?—he’s an open target.”

  “Is Renee—trustworthy?” Dinkie-Do asked the question, but eight eyes put me under glass.

  I didn’t blink, breathe, or speak. She could be a spy; she could be the murderer; she had blood on her; she could know the killer; she could be afraid to admit it. Renee could help to clear me. I’d have to ponder all that and who to trust later. “I think so.”

  Dexter rubbed his hands over his face. “My money stops on you.” He held both hands up as if to say he couldn’t help it. I didn’t like to see him so uncomfortable.

  “If she needs it, Renee can be appointed an attorney,” I said. Dex and his money had spoken.