All Rise

by Rosemarie Aquilina

  But too soon, I was forced to release her hand and let the professionals take her away from me. They whisked her down the hallway to the surgery floor. When the doors opened and released me toward the waiting room, I clicked in Michael’s number. When he answered, I spoke as quietly and calmly as I could and headed toward the check-in desk. I annunciated each word. Laurel has been shot. Words I’d never imagined uttering. Words I’d never wanted to say to her adoring husband. Words I couldn’t rationally explain.

  Somewhere among tears, apologies, and reassurances—I made promises and mentioned God repeatedly—I convinced Michael to ask a coworker to drive him to Sparrow Hospital. My thinking and breathing signals were all confused. I thought about Laurel’s laughter. I had to stay positive, or I’d cry and never stop. Laurel would never forgive me for not being strong for Michael.

  Once she was checked in, I received a patient number and chose a corner seat with visibility to the surgery screen. Laurel was definitely in surgery. That meant she was alive. I gulped my fears down and then heard a familiar voice.

  “My man radioed me. He lost the shooter truck, but gave it a good chase,” Hunter said.

  I was grateful it was Hunter, who’d found me first. I wasn’t ready to console Michael; I needed consoling. “That damn truck; it’s like an evil elephant hiding in a rose bush.”

  “That elephant keeps reemerging without any thorns. Not just anyone can disappear in this town. We’re on it, Toots.”

  “Like rain on bare hair, you’re on it,” I muttered.

  “You’re in shock.” Hunter lifted my hands and pulled me up. He confiscated my phone. My hands were still covered in Laurel’s blood.

  “Let’s clean you up.” Hunter’s voice was tender, and he heaved my bag and slung it over his shoulder.

  It was like old times. Okay, I’d take a hit-slap back. He walked me into the family restroom and locked the door. He pulled up my sleeves, pumped the soap, and lathered my hands and wrists.

  I looked in the mirror. Bright red streaked across one cheek. The warm sudsy water oozed pink bubbles down the drain, and I was thankful I wasn’t alone. I was even more thankful Michael hadn’t seen me covered in his wife’s blood. Good move, Hunter.

  Fifteen minutes later we stepped out into the hallway, and I almost slammed into Sebastian.

  “Jingoes. Double mates in the john.” Sebastian tipped his hat at Hunter. “Fetching purse.”

  Hunter gave Sebastian the meekest smile and patted my bag like it was his own.

  I marveled at their male bonding. They were good men. “I’m glad you guys are here,” I whispered. Skunk-juice perfume was sounding like a step up, now. Damn it, how long could it take Michael to travel thirty miles?

  Hunter twirled into the waiting room modeling my purse until I snatched it and sat in an empty corner cluster of chairs near the information station.

  “Team Hollywood will arrive soon.” Sebastian handed me a cup of cold water from the cooler. “Someone—who’s not you—will be in the shit for this. It’s time they used their cakeholes for a serious chinwag.”

  I crushed the emptied paper cup. “Not now.” Besides, I’d heard that before.

  Four scolding eyes morphed me into a child. I wished age-repair cream worked that quickly.

  He’s here.

  I stood, tossed the cup into the basket next to the water cooler, and opened my arms toward Michael, who was running toward me.

  “News?”

  We hugged. My face was wet with tears. His was, too. I opened my mouth to speak and then closed it because I was about to wail as loudly as my free-flowing tears. I pictured Laurel. I held my breath and collected myself. Laurel would want me—no Laurel needed me—to help Michael through this.

  Minutes later, I looped my arm through his, and in silence we headed toward the information desk, where Michael pumped the receptionist—unsuccessfully.

  We sat and watched the electronic patient board flicker numbers, but not Laurel’s.

  Sebastian tapped my shoulder, and I backed up. Pastel and Leather stood on either side of him. I pointed, Michael remained planted in his chair, and I played follow-the-leader.

  Sebastian dropped back. He stepped into me and wrapped his arm around my shoulder. “Those blokes double-timed it.”

  He was warm and comfortable, and I wanted to melt into him, but kept in step with him toward the detective huddle, where Hunter joined us in an empty family-meeting room. We filed in and sat in unmatched chairs. The only thing I wanted to hear was Laurel’s laughter in recovery with Michael.

  Fredericks opened the notepad. Grayson wanted everything I’d seen or heard. And the questioning went on a long time. After three rounds of questions, I was frustrated.

  “After the excised bullets are compared with the death shot of Donnettelli, the facade may change.” Grayson’s voice was stern.

  I stood. “Add this to what I gave you at our last meeting: Appealed decisions, asbestos Orders modified, and lots of money. Are you interested in being real Detectives and making worldwide headlines?”

  Fredericks stopped writing. Grayson finally spoke in a bland voice with his palms turned up. “You know the ropes.” They stared at me like I’d remained silent. “Did your co-conspirators shoot your friend?” Grayson very pointedly, very slowly, leaned toward me.

  I backed up against the wall. I wished I could’ve flattened myself into it and morphed invisible, like I was being treated. “Are you effing kidding me, you bastard? That’s my best friend in there, and I’m not only worried sick, I’m heartbroken! Something you two obviously know nothing about. What have Laurel and I ever done to you that causes you to treat us like this?” Ugh, I’ve turned into that defendant who lashes out at everyone. I needed hairspray mist to glue my emotions together and seal my mouth.

  Hollywood stared at me and my emotional tantrum. A detective tactic I loathed being on the receiving end of.

  “Would you just get your head out of your pompous ass for once and do some actual work instead of leaving it all to me?”

  I couldn’t stop myself. I ignored Sebastian’s remember your right to be silent frown.

  “Someone needed Donnettelli dead because he had been playing with them and then—maybe he wanted to quit. Laurel helped me piece this part together. And, yes there’s likely more. Whoever is behind this just slowed Laurel down.” I wouldn’t entertain the notion of her dying or even losing a leg.

  “We’re working various angles,” Fredericks said. “Like why not shoot you and Judge Briggs?” He pointed his pencil at me. “You keep ending up alive. Did you order the hit on her?”

  “You don’t deserve an adult pencil. Grab a fat kindergarten pencil and trade your pen for large Crayolas next time you play with the supplies.”

  I wanted to be crass but thought better of it since my life depended on being rational, and at this point I felt on the verge of irrational. A deep calming breath held me together before I continued. “Someone wants me in jail, and they want Laurel quiet about something. You’re so focused on me, you’re not seriously looking for anyone else.”

  “Only people close to you or in your way are dying,” Grayson said. “Revolves the evidence pointer back to you.”

  “I think the killers wanted to frighten Laurel into playing their game like Donnettelli did.” Okay, good lead—play our Courthouse-switch-Orders-and-case-file-game or be the next body? Had someone approached Laurel, and she didn’t tell me?

  Silence.

  “Was someone trying to beat Noel Lemmon into submission?” Fredericks asked.

  Grayson studied me.

  Hunter interrupted. “Let’s check on Noel while we’re here.”

  I looked cross-eyed at Grayson and Fredericks. “Detectives, your investigation leaves a trail of unanswered questions.” I tapped my watch.

  Neither detective flinched. />
  Sebastian tipped his hat at the Detectives. “We’re finished here, Detectives. We have friends to check on.”

  I felt like punching a city employee, but these guys had guns. I hid my hands in my back pockets to stop myself. I found Laurel’s white handkerchief, pulled it out, opened it. Damn. “Yes,” I said. “We have work to do and much to check on. I’m thinking you Detectives have some real work to do. I can’t imagine you enjoy our time together.” I took a step toward the door.

  “We’re not finished here,” Grayson said.

  “Call me when you brush up on your training and get your uninformed lazy asses in gear.” I turned toward the door, and my men followed me.

  This was not how I wanted to spend a beautiful August night or any other night of my life. I was beyond relieved when Michael texted me.

  By midnight, Laurel was in stable condition, but not awake. Once she was transferred to her patient room, Hunter stationed a security woman inside her room. The Detectives placed an officer outside her door. Sebastian had disappeared and used his lawyer magic to expand my tether hours and locations for safety that included the hospital.

  Hunter squeezed my elbow and turned me out of the waiting room into a secluded area of the hallway. He fished a set of keys from the inside of his jacket. “New car.” He pressed keys into my palm that evoked an avalanche of chills into my toes. He’d found my inner crushed-ice button.

  Without consulting me, Dex left me a key to a slate-gray Audi and directions to expect a surprise at breakfast.

  Chapter Sixty-Six

  The next morning after twenty sit-ups, a long shower, and getting dressed, hair sprayed, and caffeinated, I enjoyed a brief reassuring conversation with Laurel. When I finally raced down the backstairs I couldn’t imagine what package, prize, or punchline he’d surprise me with. I hoped it was evidence in the exculpatory category. And I rounded into the kitchen.

  “Good morning.” In choir there they were. My boys with my—Dex.

  Warm goosebumps and the memory of happy years engulfed me. Then a flood of relief encapsulated mother-bear-fear, and I cherished the feeling of the warm bodies of my trio rushing into me, hugging me tightly.

  My guys were 19, 20, and 21, born so close together, I felt like I’d delivered triplets. Eventually I got my hormones and my birth control right. After almost three years of continuous pregnancy, I felt a kinship with female elephants.

  Now I never wanted them to let go. “What are you three doing here?”

  Dex made jazz hands and whispered, “Surprise!”

  Jake knuckle-rubbed the top of my head. “Told dad we were coming with or without him.”

  Josh squeezed my shoulder. “We’re in this together.”

  Judd squeezed his hug on me tighter. “Missed ya, Mom.”

  I kissed my sons.

  Dex made a fabulous breakfast, and I enjoyed every minute with my men. He explained that he and Dinkie-Do were rearranging room assignments, so the boys could have their rooms here at Nicoletta’s B&B. And he filled me in on the new security measures at work. I would’ve liked to stay to discuss security and tactics. Instead, I hopped into my car and called him from my cell so we could continue our discussion on my drive to the Salon.

  I barely recalled driving. I could hear Dex loading the dishwasher dishes in the background while we spoke. Too bad he hadn’t been this attentive when we were married. It was well after nine by the time I entered the salon. But once there, I reassured my staff that Laurel was on the mend, and we had new safety gizmos and additional security men from front to back to protect us at work.

  Shazam squawked. In honor of Judge Laurel, Dinkie-Do’s station was at ‘half heel’—half bare, single shoes with heels faced west. I delivered my best military salute toward the shoe-shrine. Dinkie-Do grabbed a heel and returned the salute. I turned toward my station and watched Trisha seat a client in my stylist hair.

  I recognized my first client. Jillian Wiek a retired Court of Appeals Clerk, who I knew remained in close contact with her former co-workers. I remembered her and her Texan accent from practice, but we’d had no contact since I’d donned the robe. She was about to be mother-of-the-bride.

  “When I heard Judge Briggs got shot,” Jillian said, “I had to come say how sorry I was. I knew you wouldn’t shoot her or anyone else.”

  I pulled my fingers through her hair to avoid answering, and then clipped the protective gown around her. “You’ll be stunning, second to the bride.”

  Jillian watched me in the mirror, while I combed her out. “How’s Judge Briggs doing?”

  I hadn’t heard one breath in the media, and Grayson and Fredericks promised nothing would be released, pending investigation. We were all sworn to secrecy. “What’ve you heard?”

  “She’s not, I mean she’ll be good as new?”

  “Of course.” I made myself sound so nonchalant, she’d think I was asleep. “How did you hear about Laurel?”

  “When I dropped off cookies this morning to the Court of Appeals clerks, they were abuzz about the shooting.”

  I combed her hair. “Wonder how they heard.”

  “The Chief Judge’s clerk was saying Judge Briggs got shot giving you confidential court information.”

  I handed her hair-color swatches. My look prodded her without giving away my anxiety.

  “That Wade Mazour talks more than any woman I know.” Jillian did a giggle-snort thing.

  She chose chestnut brown and returned the color-swatch ring to me, and I headed off to mix the colors.

  Inside the color room, I phoned Sebastian and let him know that Laurel being shot is the morning gossip in the Court of Appeals Clerk’s office. Somebody there knew firsthand. He said he’d advise Team Hollywood to interview everyone in the Hall of Justice to determine who knows what and from whom. For the first time in days Sebastian sounded excited.

  Phone returned to my pocket, I had an instant vision of how the black truck had so easily disappeared: underground parking at the Hall of Justice where Court of Appeals and the Supreme Court Justices parked. I phoned Hunter and asked him to put a man on the justices’ underground parking structure.

  I was almost back to my station when Trisha handed me a manila envelope the size of half a file.

  I accepted it and flipped it over. No markings, but it felt hard.

  “Culver DeClerk’s exact quote: here’s a tip for you and one for your boss,” Trisha said.

  A present from my favorite Courthouse security guard—at least I knew it was safe to open. Culver was a longtime friend. I broke the seal and looked inside. A folded note: With the shooting of Judge Briggs, I thought it prudent to share what I know. Culver. And a DVD.

  Perfect bedtime movie with microwave popcorn and a caffeine chaser.

  Chapter Sixty-Seven

  After dinner, in a small interrogation room, I again sat facing the not-so-dynamic duo. Hunter and Sebastian were with me. Thankfully, Dex had taken our sons out for the evening.

  First, Detectives passed out papers. “These are lists of people who hold Supreme Court, Court of Appeals, and the Trial Court parking passes. No vehicle you described has a parking pass under any court building, and there’s no security-camera footage of such a vehicle,” Grayson said.

  At least they were finally interested. “As in no footage exists, or there’s none with matching trucks inside or outside the Courthouse?”

  Fredericks answered, “No to all.” But he had his eyes on his notepad.

  If there’s no footage, somebody’s gone and tampered with the cameras. “What did the security officers say?” I asked.

  “They didn’t say they’d seen a truck like the one you described,” Grayson said.

  Fredericks kept writing and didn’t look up.

  “And what he did say was—” Come on, you can tell me.

  Grayson kicked one cha
ir then slumped into another. “They all agreed that it’s very easy to slip in and out of the underground garages without an official access card, and, once you’re in, there are known blind spots the camera doesn’t cover. That being said, it’s notable that these blind spots are comprehended by the younger generation, who have a strong grasp on how to access data and use technology. Deputies have rousted nappers there twice that I know of. There’s also evidence that in the recent past someone has accessed the video and messed with it.”

  I couldn’t find words. Hunter guffawed. Sebastian suggested we change the subject now, and let the Detectives fill us in later on their plan to trap the malicious vehicle. A shootout down the middle of Cedar Street is a serious problem.

  “This is known, how?” Hunter finally asked. “It writes over, so you’re talking within the past weeks? Right?”

  Grayson shook his head in thought. “Over the years when we have needed to check the footage, there were blank spots. The Court Administrator chalked it up to needing better equipment and simple electronic error.”

  “In other words, the Chief Judge—as in the departed Donnettelli—stopped any inquiry.” I paused. Hearing no acknowledgment of my comment, I pressed forward. “Alrighty, then,” I said. “Next order of business.” I handed Grayson the DVD. “I only ripped it open. I didn’t touch it.”

  “Not a likely surface for prints.” Donning latex gloves, Grayson set up the DVD player and pressed play. “I have a trade for you when we finish.”

  I hoped his trade wasn’t my tether for handcuffs.

  Fredericks was always ready—open notepad, pen in hand.

  Dates appeared on the screen beginning just over one year ago. It was Courthouse video—preserved, not written over. Somebody techy had captured and saved it. Images of Judge Donnettelli and Judge Jurisa Haddes—repeatedly. Holding hands discreetly. Reaching for each other, fondling, kissing, touching. Unmistakably they believed they were in private, outside of camera focus.