All Rise

by Rosemarie Aquilina

  “It wasn’t the first time,” I said smugly. “It’s the boots that get them.”

  He ignored me. “One nose-full of the compound, Donnettelli was subdued. Pete, Keldon, and Wade wrestled the whale onto the floor; I warned him he should’ve listened to me, and then I shot him.”

  “He didn’t listen about—”

  “The moron had been skimming money using confidential information to move his profits in the stock market. He got very wealthy and very greedy.” An evil hoot filled the room. “He was going to leave the country with Judge Haddes.”

  “How’d you know it was her he was leaving with?” I wanted to keep him talking.

  “She had moon-eyes every time they were together. He called her his Courthouse-gal, thinking no one could figure that out.” A deeper, more evil, guffaw.

  “How’d you manage to be at the poker party and shoot Donnettelli in the Courthouse at the same time?”

  Noel shook his head. He’d obviously lost all respect for me. “I shot him at 8 p.m. We had garbage bags full of another new compound with powerful cooling capability. We cooled his body for almost three hours, knowing the ME would, at least initially, place the time of death around four in the morning.”

  “And you instigated the fight on the front lawn—”

  “And called the news teams to document our alibis.” Noel radiated self-congratulations and almost purred at the end of every sentenced. He was clearly aching to tell someone how cleverly he’d set all this up.

  “Well played.” The pieces were falling into place. “That cooling compound, it turns into a gas?”

  Noel looked offended. “How’d you know that?”

  “The exploding garbage behind Pete’s house,” I said. “You guys threw the garbage bags full of the coolant into the dumpster, right?”

  “Untraceable.” The surliness I’d seen that day at the café—it was back—and I suspected this was the real Noel.

  This nasty man had also tricked me into blaming Dinkie-Do for leaving makeup on my good towels. Damnnation. I owed him an apology. It was actors’ makeup.

  “What about Renee—”

  Fredericks and a uniformed officer burst in and clobbered me with the door. A minor apology, and then they were all over Noel, read him his rights, and handcuffed him. The officers escorted him out without any extra gentleness.

  “We got background checks on all your inmates,” Grayson said.

  Finally Grayson did something right.

  He added, “Noel Lemmon has a lengthy juvenile record, but no adult convictions since he worked for Donnettelli.”

  I heard another vehicle arrive in front, and I ran to the window and saw a dark sedan pull up. The real Hollywood suits had arrived with notepads and cameras.

  Grayson saw it, and I thought his face would explode. “No dice,” he yelled and bounded down the stairs and out the door. “No access.”

  Dinkie-Do and I followed at a much tamer pace. Only my bruises shouted. But we could hear Grayson on the front lawn before we reached the door.

  “Remain behind the yellow tape,” Grayson bellowed, “or we’ll arrest you for interfering with a police investigation.”

  Finally, Grayson had taken charge. It gave me hope.

  The suits stepped toward Mr. Ed and worked their way to the house. They made notes about how the evidence markers were placed and snapped a gazillion pictures. Dinkie-Do posed on the horse and aimed Jimmy Jack’s face toward the camera. News crews parked behind the Hollywood crew.

  “Behind the yellow tape,” Grayson repeated until everyone was several feet back. At times, the flashes seemed to paralyze him as he spoke.

  I put my hands over my face. “I’m outta here.”

  “I’ll secure the house,” Hunter said.

  “Hunter, I’m sorry about your man.” Without warning, my tears flowed.

  “Bullet-proof vest. Looks worse than it is. Goons’ll pay.”

  “If he smells like lemon, check for a new compound Noel made,” I said. “Dispersed like dust or mist.”

  Hunter thanked me and spoke to Dinkie-Do. “Trucks are everywhere fixing the electric. Got Nic’s street up fairly quickly. Neighborhood will be up soon. You staying here or—”

  Dinkie-Do said, “Pussy JJ and I will stay. I’ll return Mr. Ed after a few carrots and apples.”

  I was afraid Dinkie-Do had decided to keep Mr. Ed, since he’d named him and was rewarding him in treats. I was too stressed to highlight return meant to the neighbor, not to my garage.

  Hunter pointed to the empty security car. “I’ll double check security.”

  I tossed Grayson my phone. “Charge it. Listen to this evening’s recording.” Without waiting, I took shelter in Sebastian’s truck.

  We pulled out, Sebastian lent me his phone, and I dialed 4-1-1. The polite robot system found me the number of the Marriott near Metro Airport and connected me, and within minutes I was talking with my sons.

  Twenty minutes later—after I’d refused to go to the hospital—I swallowed pain medication, stretched out on Sebastian’s California King with extra pillows under my head and knees and ice packs under my back.

  Sebastian curled around me.

  I stroked his hair and cheek, and my hand dropped. “So tired.”

  Chapter Eighty-Seven

  I awoke to the smell of rich coffee, Sebastian’s musk, and a newspaper announcing my night’s adventure and imminent court hearing. He announced Dinkie-Do was in the kitchen and had brought me a pantsuit, matching bag, shoes, and his best makeup. He reassured me it wasn’t the exploding kind, and we all laughed. Sore, I needed Sebastian’s assistance to don his bathrobe. When I padded into the kitchen Dinkie-Do’s face brightened.

  “Honey, you’re a hot topic.”

  “We’re due in court soon as you can get dressed,” Sebastian said.

  Dressed and in pain, Sebastian promised to drive like he was on nitroglycerin transport. I squeezed his right hand while he drove with his left, thankful his muscles shielded him from feeling the shrieking pain I was sharing.

  Minutes later we arrived at the Courthouse, and Sebastian parked in the handicap slot leaving a note in the window. I hoped that worked because that was a monster-ticket and expensive towing. He said I was worth it and offered to carry me inside. I declined, and instead leaned against him with each step. When the case was called, I stood in solid form on the outside, but a gelatin-jiggle flowed throughout my insides. I was comforted with Sebastian nearly touching me as we stood in front of Judge Evans in a Courtroom filled with media. The Prosecutor rose and asked that the entire case against me be dismissed. After all we’d been through, it didn’t seem real.

  The Judge ordered immediate removal of my tether, and as a courtesy, the tether people were in the Courtroom to follow that order.

  Ever since I’d traded my gavel for clippers, I’d struggled to be free of Donnettelli. Now, I was so overwhelmed, I’d hardly noticed my staff in the filled courtroom. I wondered if they’d tucked Jimmy Jack, Shazam, and Mr. Ed somewhere amid the onlookers. I secretly scoured the room for backpacks.

  When we finally escaped the Courthouse, a flurry of reporters flanked, filmed, and flashed. Hunter and Sebastian tried to shield me, but I stopped to address the media.

  “I’ve always maintained my innocence. I’m not the story.” I decided to make the most of it. “I have one meeting with Federal Agents and Local Law Enforcement, and then I’m returning normalcy to my life and my business. Ratification Hair Salon, Spa & Café.” I strode forward. “I’m in need of a triple espresso.” The media chuckled. We promenaded through them blinded by Fourth-of-July-worthy flashing bulbs.

  Chapter Eighty-Eight

  We zipped across town and straight into an interrogation room, where Grayson and Fredericks sat at the long table. Two strangers stood facing me and Hunter, and Sebastian cam
e around and stood next to me. The strangers trained just-the-facts-ma’am eyes on me.

  I big-eyed the Detectives. “Guests?”

  “Feds,” Grayson said. “Agents McClure and Diamond.” He looked as if he was already dreaming about the promotion he was about to get.

  Sebastian spoke quietly. “Reaction to your one-woman media act—Federal blokes have questions.”

  I wanted a reaction—not necessarily from the Feds.

  As if they’d practiced their timing, Hunter and Sebastian looked at me, tilted their heads, crossed their arms, and zapped me their macho-man I-told-you-so looks. Not my favorite.

  But I had asked for it, so I stepped up, introduced myself, and shook hands with the Feds. “I am so glad you’re here.” A muscle in Sebastian’s jaw tensed, but otherwise, he managed to look as if this were his plan, too.

  Grayson’s phone rang.

  Right on time.

  Grayson looked pissed. He mumbled something and banged the phone down. “Your Highness, I’m told your sons have arrived, and they’re toting information you’ve ordered them to deliver to my Interrogation Room. You don’t mind if law enforcement sits in on whatever wack-a-doo thing you’ve planned this time.”

  I spoke unblinking and without missing a beat, “Your ineptness.” I bowed. Two could play the name-calling game. Sebastian touched my arm, but that didn’t stop me. “Let’s be clear from the beginning. Agent McClure and Agent Diamond, is it your intention to cover up this mess here and be back in DC in time for last hot-donut-call, or do you want to find the truth?”

  They assured me they wanted nothing but the truth.

  We took a short intermission because just then two of my handsome sons carried in boxes of case files, transcriptions, notes, and a pretty tin box made in Germany. The boys emptied the boxes on the table as previously instructed and left without a word.

  Hunter and Sebastian, not only relaxed but were grinning.

  “What is all this?” Grayson barked. On that side of the table, he had his own personal black cloud.

  Fredericks gave the slightest listen-and-learn gesture, and Grayson leaned back, making it obvious he was only tolerating me and ‘all this.’

  Good.

  McClure and Diamond pulled up chairs and looked entirely interested.

  “Detective Grayson,” I said respectfully, “this is going to take a while and some careers could be lost here this morning. Maybe you want to have some coffee and water brought in.”

  Grayson didn’t budge.

  McClure said, “Donuts would be good.” And I swear I saw a glint of smile in his eyes.

  Grayson jerked himself out of his chair and left the room, and while he was gone, I filled the Feds in on the background Grayson had already heard multiple times, detailing the Chief Judge bullying some, favoring others and up to the day he threatened me in the elevator.

  When I got to the part about Donnettelli accusing Laurel of insider trading, it was clear I’d pushed the investigators’ buttons—they both whipped out notebooks and started scribbling.

  Detective Grayson entered balancing a loaded tray, but the Feds were no longer interested in deep-fat-fried carbs. McClure gave me the go-on nod.

  “Twelve Michigan Judges were leeching money from big corporations. Big-money court cases that should have been randomly assigned—these Donnettelli manipulated. He did whatever it took to get the decision the big corporation wanted, and he pushed all the asbestos cases onto my docket, so at least one of them would look as if it were my bad decision.”

  Without a word, Sebastian went to the table, found the chart that showed how cases were transferred over and over again.

  He had eight copies, just in case. He passed out a copy to everyone in the room and put the others back on the table. Hunter was already there locating the next exhibit.

  “You say cases are assigned to Judges randomly by computer?” said McClure.

  “Correct,” I said. “The Chief Judge has authority to transfer a case when there’s a real need.”

  “But this kind of manipulation is outrageous,” Diamond said. “Why would they do that?”

  “At least two reasons,” I said. “First, Judge Donnettelli was getting payoffs from the asbestos corporations or their insurance companies.”

  “Both,” said Sebastian.

  “Secondly, they moved the cases so judges who were part of their group would hear the big-money cases and decide the way the ringleader needed them to decide.”

  “They’d never get away with it,” Diamond said. “The scam would become apparent immediately.”

  “Not exactly immediately. In their ‘scam,’ we have three levels of judges: Circuit Court, where I worked, Court of Appeals, and Supreme Court. We have wealthy corporate defendants versus traumatized victims. If a side loses at trial, they can appeal the decision.”

  “It’s a long process without enough checks and balances on the Chief Judge and case transfers. Attorneys wouldn’t catch on for a long time, if at all,” Sebastian chimed in.

  “The scammers could control the outcomes in lots of ways, and that made it very hard to track,” I said.

  “Until they pissed off our girl,” Hunter said.

  Agent McClure asked if I could prove it, and I nodded toward Hunter.

  He handed a packet to each participant. “This shows the decisions of those transferred cases, where they were appealed, and those outcomes,” Hunter said. “Note that in every case, no matter what happened in Nic’s court, by the time all the appeals were done, Defendant Big Bucks Inc. prevailed.”

  “Thank you, Hunter.” I asked the investigators to look at the chart on the last page. “Here you see the date the decision of the final appeal was made public. It matches the date of a deposit in Judge Donnettelli’s bank account. No single deposit is less than $400,000.” I sipped some water and gave them time to read the chart.

  One of them muttered, “Buy-a-verdict.”

  When they looked up again, I pointed to a stack of similar packets on the table. “We’ve identified eleven other Judges with big-money cases that were transferred to begin with, always decided in favor of defendant corporation, and always correspond to large deposits in Donnettelli’s bank accounts.”

  Grayson and Fredericks had drifted from red-face into the pale-zone, and Fredericks was mangling a donut and downing coffee faster than any caffeine moment I’ve ever had. The Federal investigators had lots of questions, including how the participating judges knew their verdicts wouldn’t get overturned in appeal.

  “Here’s where they got creative,” I said. “Judge Donnettelli was working with four Judges from the Court of Appeals and seven out of nine from the Michigan Supreme Court. That’s how he made sure he’d keep the decision he wanted.”

  Grayson blurted, “This is so far-fetched—” but McClure sliced off his sentence with a look.

  “In the Court of Appeals, two out of three votes are needed, so there’s no worry if one judge decides differently. And if one of the judges disagreed, you’ll find it was appealed to the Supreme Court.”

  “The dunny rats formed a court-cartel to profit at the expense of litigants,” Sebastian said.

  “Right,” I said. “They rationalized big business would see it as the cost of doing business, and the little guy was too broke or intimidated or uninformed about the legal process to figure it out.”

  “Enough motive for multiple murders and blackmail,” Sebastian said. “A truly under-the-radar scheme.”

  “We checked into this when you first started whining about it.” Grayson sounded disgusted.

  McClure turned pointedly to Grayson. “Exactly when did Judge Kikkra notify you of illegal activity in the Courthouse?”

  Grayson blustered and tried to form a cogent sentence, but Fredericks took over. “We’ll leave all of that to Judge Kikkra. This is
her showtime to present what she’s uncovered.”

  I wanted to hurl at the Hollywood Detectives, but then I felt an unusual calm pour through me when the Agent sat back and refocused on me. The Agent’s demeanor told me he’d be pressing Detectives for an answer soon enough.

  Sebastian explained what everyone knew: “People aren’t allowed to trade stock based on information that’s not public.”

  “If they did, they’d make a killing on the stock market using that information. It’s not fair,” Agent McClure said. “Insider trading.”

  Sebastian added, “And so damned illegal, they set Nic up to take the fall if anything was ever discovered.”

  I nodded.

  The corners of Hunter’s eyes crinkled. “Sometimes judges don’t enter the Orders until weeks after they know how they’ll rule. The judges traded based on their decisions still private, and just kept re-investing, with all the proceeds going into their retirement accounts.”

  “You have proof,” Agent Diamond asked, “that sitting judges profited from stock-market changes directly impacted by their decisions?”

  “We do,” I whispered.

  Sebastian had a tall stack of portfolios sorted by judge, and he passed one to each of the four investigators.

  “Open Folder One to page one, please,” I said. And page by page, we worked through six years of trades and twelve Judges, who collectively benefited in excess of sixty-five-million tax-free dollars as best as we can figure. Every time they won a decision and invested, their stock went up; they re-invested, so their retirement portfolios are on the fast-track to the billion-dollar mark.”

  It took two hours and twenty-seven minutes to walk-through the dirty dealings of all twelve Judges.

  “I’m sure the Feds here appreciate you doing their homework for them,” Grayson said.

  I opened my mouth (to keep cartoon steam from escaping through my ears), but Sebastian dropped his hand on my shoulder.

  Grayson yawned loudly.

  The Federal investigators were not amused. They wanted to know where and how I got my information, and I showed them the football triangles and listed the avenues of research we’d pursued. They did acknowledge that certain bank deposits and transfers matched with stock trades and cases on Donnettelli’s docket. “Matching it up was the hard part,” I said. “All the information was there, though some of it had been heavily encoded.”