All Rise

by Rosemarie Aquilina

  I averted my eyes until he swallowed.

  Hunter matched Noel’s glare but kept his tone level. “Look, drop this hard-ass act of yours. This tiny inconvenience might just save your inconsequential ass. Nicoletta didn’t kill anybody, but someone interested in seeing her convicted might see you and Renee as interesting targets.”

  “Peter was my friend.” Noel refilled his mouth, but then it seemed he just gave up. I don’t know what his inside struggle was, but he’d just resigned, and now he knocked his knuckles impatiently on the table. “Let’s get this over with. I have a life.”

  “For the moment.” Hunter picked up his keys as if it were time to leave. “It’s Renee’s worry, not mine.”

  “Wa-a-ai-t,” Noel said in an elongated contemplative tone.

  Hunter made I’m-listening and I’m-willing-to-stay moves, with a don’t-tempt-me-to-leave look. “Do you know why Renee is terrified? Somebody made good on a threat to your Judge?”

  “No.” He chewed with his mouth closed.

  “You’re not being disloyal,” I said. “You could save lives—yours included.” To punctuate, I finger-tapped the table in front of him. Like a hand-pat, but with distance.

  “You can take your chances with some crazy defendant out there and an overwhelmed, law enforcement department.” Hunter held his hands out, palms up. “Or you can play nice, help us, and help yourself.”

  Noel scratched his stubble and stopped his neurotic foot jiggle. His eyes clipped to mine. “Prosecutors have their prime suspect.”

  Did he really think I’d shot his boss?

  He cocked his head to the side the way a gangsta holds his gun. “All I know is—you won the feud.” He aimed his pointer finger at me.

  The rat learned that move from me. That’s what I used when I sentenced killers to life.

  “Then why kill Peter?” Hunter said. “This Judge has an alibi as solid as your court-reporting fingers are attached to your hands—no matter how temporary that may be.”

  Noel didn’t respond at first, but then he seemed to erupt. “If you killed Peter, too—”

  “Whoa. You are out of line. This is what’s going to happen,” Hunter said. “I ask a question, and you answer it.”

  Noel did a shrug-nod thing. Wouldn’t want us to get the crazy idea he cared.

  Silence was my friend here.

  Hunter got ready to write. “Comprehend this. Just like those words you take down in court, the truth saves your life, but a lie rolls the dice. Understood?”

  Noel grunted. “Snake eyes.”

  “Look, no one’s paying me to protect you. But you tell me the truth and keep me updated, I keep watch. You disappoint me, I turn my back.” Hunter flipped Noel his card. “One thing pisses me off. Liars, which includes anyone calling my Judge a murderer.”

  Noel scooted his chair up to the table. “Let’s get this done.” His voice was louder, but not entirely as surly.

  “You review the docket. Begin with asbestos cases, especially ones that include banks. Think specifically about those and any other cases with big-money judgments. List any Donnettelli transferred from Judge Kikkra’s docket to his docket.”

  “Donnettelli had authority to do that.” He sounded as if he were answering an accusation.

  “I need those transcripts faster than expedited and at no charge.” I watched Noel. Transcripts were his livelihood. But protection wasn’t free either.

  Hunter held up two fingers. “Work backward, two years.”

  Noel’s body stiffened. On his face, surprise collided with realization and morphed into fear, but it seemed to happen in slow motion, like his personality batteries were running down. He knew something. And I needed to find the lever that would cause him to spill. Noel kept watch on the café entrance but spoke to us. “You need the rulings or the whole transcripts?”

  “Rulings are the quickest, right?” I said.

  Noel agreed.

  “Four pages on one. With the word index in the back so I can review quickly. Then the whole transcript must follow.” My jaw stiffened.

  “Most of those cases have been appealed. I’ll run a list and change the format to the four-up and hit print,” Noel said quickly but in his professional voice, like he was answering a request from a paying lawyer.

  This high-tension question-answering continued for two hours. When Hunter and I were satisfied we’d gotten all we could expect, and Noel was clear on our meaning of transferred cases, we thanked him. He stood and even shook our hands, promising to keep us informed. Noel left the café with the gait of defeat.

  I groaned at Hunter. “Sometimes Noel is as bizarre as his former owner.”

  Hunter chuckled. “He looked too scared not to give you the transcripts. Still, he held back. Hopefully he trusts us more than he trusts Hollywood and Company.” Hunter winked.

  “Please do something about that annoying wink.”

  He grinned. “If I winked at someone else, you’d be pissed.”

  Arrogant as always. Hit-slap coming your way. I stood. “I’ve got to get to work.” I grabbed my bag from the back of the chair, slung it over my shoulder, and walked away.

  I intentionally swaggered in that effortless take-me-now way. Two can tease. I disappeared into the secret salon hallway and didn’t turn around, but I felt Hunter burn my backside until the door slammed. Damn.

  For the rest of the afternoon, I holed up in my office. The business of saving my backside meant I needed to organize my growing list of questions according to priority. Danger increasing around me was complicating my usually methodic process. I noted Donnettelli’s surviving staff in the suspect category. Money makes people funny.

  Funny, yes, but insane? It had to be more than money. Then it struck me like a bolt of peroxide. Jurisa Haddes.

  Not only did she loathe me, but she also adored Donnettelli. Framing me for murder fit within the evil fabric of her soul. Did murder fit?

  If Donnettelli and Haddes had a falling out, could it have escalated to murder? Was I taking the fall for killing my enemy—at the hands of my enemy? But why would Jurisa murder Peter?

  Because he’d heard her on the phone when Donnettelli had called during the poker party.

  That fit. And there was something else that had made me think of Jurisa the night Peter died, something Renee had said. I hadn’t wanted to interrupt her at the time to ask about it, but I meant to remember to ask later.

  I kept at it—creating and answering questions, cross-examining myself until Sebastian came to pick me up.

  When he and I got back to my house, it was almost eight. Right away, Hunter took me aside and slipped me a thick yellow envelope, which I dropped into my shoulder bag.

  My kitchen table was piled high with oven-barbequed ribs and a giant colorful salad. The whole crew was waiting with smiles. I so needed a bath and a bed and aloneness. But I resolved myself to basics of decent society. Must eat supper. Must be polite. Must say words to people.

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Early the next morning, I woke with specters of Hunter’s big yellow envelope haunting me.

  He’d gathered reports showing major purchases made by any Michigan law clerk, court reporter, court administrator, or judge. As soon as I was ready for work, I sat on the bed, and I plowed into the envelope’s contents, coffee in one hand, yellow highlighter in the other. I might be able to see who’d been spending on a level with Donnettelli.

  Judicial salary was no secret. Every judge had income and investments. Every judge on our bench, except me, was currently married, a few more than once. No judge had been divorced and married more than Donnettelli.

  The financial check the Detectives had pulled on me wasn’t enough to prove I’d opened the twelve bank accounts. It wasn’t enough to show motive. Not by itself.

  But it wasn’t enough to clear me of murder. I
had traced and explained my holdings, but Detectives weren’t satisfied. If there was a clue on my evidence boards, I didn’t see it.

  I needed a boot of coffee, a boat of chocolate-covered coffee beans, and a bottle of 19 Crimes wine. Maybe one of the old criminals on the label had advice about whether or not I should trust Laurel or Renee.

  Renee had said Donnettelli showed a clear change-of-lifestyle beginning with the loss of his parents and his most recent marriage. And Shayla was sure the money hadn’t come from Ma and Pa Donnettelli.

  Most men can’t survive five wives, yet Donnettelli was able to support them and flourish—despite alimony and child-support payments, college bills, and repeated property division. He’d been frugal until his last wife. And he’d been a successful criminal-defense lawyer before he was appointed to the bench.

  And then there was the bully-side of Donnettelli. And one of the wives could be deadly mad at him; ex-wives added onto my suspect list. Would he let an ex-wife into his Chambers? Hmm.

  Jurisa’s purchases were few and modest, and she’d sold property up north and a boat this year. Was she stockpiling cash?

  The breakdown of Donnettelli’s stock portfolio wasn’t here, nor did I have any judicial retirement-investment account for him. Stock portfolios were much trickier to obtain, but not impossible. Stocks could be clearly and quickly identified.

  There was my own stock portfolio; I’ve always held several thousand shares in four banks: one local, two national, one international, and no asbestos or insurance companies that I recalled. I’d held the same bank stocks consistently for fifteen years.

  I thought back. I’d held my bank stocks since before my divorce, and I invested some settlement monies into the same stocks I’d held—ones that had produced well. That was before I was a judge these past eight years, through high-and-low-investment periods.

  I rubbed my temples. I needed information to save my freedom, and I counted on the truth to revive my integrity.

  I forced myself to dig deeper; my wall chart needed to compare the growth of judges’ retirement accounts: which stocks, how much, and when. In the bank papers Purple Girl had brought me, I found Donnettelli’s Social Security number.

  I needed to review my own investment portfolio, too. So, I got into the storage closet behind the bookshelf there, picked my way over boxes and bags to the aging filing cabinet, did some concerted looking, and yanked out my investment portfolio. I was glad the judicial retirement system used only one investment company.

  Back in my room, I phoned the number shown on my papers. But when the recording began asking questions, I punched in Donnettelli’s Social Security number and zip code.

  Hmm. I needed a four-digit code. Donnettelli wasn’t that savvy. I’d read his schedule book and seen the initials he’d used over and over. One set of them were his: JWED. I checked my telephone for the corresponding numbers: 5932.

  Donnettelli was both consistent and predictable in his actions, which gave me the intuition he would use something easy to recall. After having raised three boys, numbers corresponding to letters on the phone like a child’s first secret-decoder ring made sense to me. Not exactly obvious to all, but easy to remember, fit into Donnettelli’s-world-order. I punched it in. Hot damn, I was good. Out came a series of choices. I hit the automated response for copies of 401(k) and 457 retirement account statements and clicked off.

  They’d been frozen, but thankfully his wife kept the same information. I’d guessed probate was still open since he was murdered, so access hadn’t changed. It struck me—maybe they were considering his wife or an ex-wife as a suspect? Wishful thinking.

  Hunter would have to intercept the mail from Donnettelli’s house. A little federal offense to free me wasn’t going to cause my hair to fall out. I blew out apprehensive steam and texted Hunter and Sebastian: Meet in café. 10 a.m.

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  At ten, armed with notes about Michigan court employees’ financials, I returned to Rap-and-Squawk Central, where the men were already seated at the private corner booth, the table heaped with carafes of coffee and plenty of pastry. Sebastian stood, which strategically placed me in the center of the men. I wasn’t sure who was in more danger.

  “Need legal advice on your bird sanctuary?” Sebastian sat and stretched his arm around the back of the round leather booth and me.

  “Hey, Kangaroo, let’s hop to important issues like freeing our girl.” Hunter winked at me and rested an arm in front of me.

  Squawk. Squawk.

  Damnation. “Another word from either of you, and I trade baked goodies for bird food.” I hiked the large yellow envelopes from my lap onto the table and thumped my fingers on them. “Judges have similar retirement accounts, which is not illegal. I need to have the exact stocks to figure out if there has been any colluding or conspiring with any specific stocks in their retirement or personal accounts.”

  “Having a retirement account is part of the job benefit,” Sebastian said. “Don’t judges receive matching funds?”

  “Yes, but not the point. What I’m thinking goes well beyond the legal retirement account. Judges are not allowed to be in business together or with other judges at different levels or with attorneys, who appear in front of them.”

  “Unethical may not be illegal.” Hunter unwrapped a muffin. “No such thing as a morality court.”

  “Are the judges accepting gifts or taking bribes?” Sebastian rapped his fingers on the stack of files in front of me.

  “That’s what we need to figure out,” I said. “We know Donnettelli was taking bribes and making threats. I wouldn’t put that behavior past Jurisa Haddes; she fits the same mold.”

  I spoke low. “Hunter, I need you or your trusted ghost staff, the guys I’m not allowed to meet, to pluck the mail from Donnettelli’s house and pilfer the duplicate retirement papers I just ordered from his retirement account.”

  Hunter’s grin slid clear off his face. “How did you—?”

  Sebastian began. “Ah, federal crimes—”

  I cut them off. “We needed access to Donnettelli’s retirement accounts. And there has to be a critical examination of any big-money cases Donnettelli transferred to himself.”

  Hunter whistled at the chart I’d made. “Parties, attorney’s, witnesses?” Visible excitement rose from his neck to his cheeks. “Are these related to your twelve overfed accounts?”

  “Can’t tell, yet.” I held my coffee in front of my uncontrollable, inconsolable nose. Maybe I could freeze-spray my nostrils into place. “Follow the money.” Finally, the men were finally more interested in my paperwork than their appetites. Good.

  “It’d be quicker if I asked Detectives to subpoena material,” Sebastian said. He kept studying the information across the table. “And it will be valuable at trial.”

  “There’s not going to be a trial.” I folded my arms. “I want the paper trail that gets charges dismissed.”

  Sebastian put on his lawyer face. “Trial is set two weeks after September’s pretrial. Huge gamble obtaining information by means other than lawful—”

  “My life. My choice. Until these Detectives shift a gear up a different road, you two need to pop a wheelie and help me investigate.” My head revolved between Sebastian and Hunter. “Dexter’s paying big Colorado-resort bucks. Let’s use them.” I did not wear orange well.

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Two hours later, sitting on my bed, Renee at my desk, I questioned her. “Renee, I’m curious about the relationship between Donnettelli and Jurisa Haddes.”

  Instant recognition flamed in her eyes. “We didn’t talk much about them. I mean if—”

  I interrupted with a stern voice. “You’re being loyal to Judge Donnettelli by helping to find his killer.”

  Renee focused on the ceiling. “They spent time together, sometimes behind locked doors for hours.” Her neck muscl
es stiffened in the vein of a jilted woman. I tossed that thought like expired hair color because staff loyalty was inbred, and I couldn’t knock her for it.

  “Did you ever hear anything behind those doors?”

  “We tried,” Renee said. “Speculated, about something intimate.” Her voice was almost inaudible.

  Renee clamped her body, and I wondered if she was in pain. “Judge Haddes is like starched laundry. A whole box of fabric softener sheets wouldn’t soften her.” She pronounced Jurisa’s name as if it left a bitter taste in her mouth. “She acted as if the Judge was her personal property.” She was quiet for a few seconds.

  “And her law clerk talks too loud.” Renee sounded full of resentment. “And he skulks around the security monitors.”

  “But to his credit, over the years, Keldon has discovered a few deviants who’ve snuck in behind someone who was buzzed back and jurors who didn’t stay in the jury room.”

  “Yeah, but he really seems to care about what women wear.” Renee giggled but not like it was funny. I think she was embarrassed.

  I wanted to keep her talking. “He does constantly praise the women about their fashion sense. But he also filled in for my law clerk lots of times and did a great job every time.”

  Renee half smirked. “Judge Haddes despises other females. And around men, her eyes glaze over. Especially Judge Donnettelli.”

  “Did his wife ever visit the office?” I asked gently.

  “No. Judge Donnettelli gave me a special credit card to use at his direction. I’d make regular dinner reservations for them.” Renee half smiled again. “I arranged delivery of jewelry, flowers, a tableside violinist.”

  I’d never considered Donnettelli a romantic. “Like for anniversaries?”

  “Like make-up sex,” Renee said. “It was make-up jewelry.”

  I asked her if he had other women, and she said he was trying to be faithful, but his wife was happy to wear expensive-jewelry blinders. He said their marriage was basically over.