Читать книгу Fatal Judgment - Andrew Welsh-Huggins - Страница 12

5

I BEGAN WITH HEARING from her the previous day, proceeded to my conversation with the judge in her car, the call that interrupted our moment together—as with Burke, I left out the details of what we were doing just then—the fear on her face and my concerns someone in a van was keeping an eye on her, the discovery of the missed call hours later, and then, most precariously, my walk through her condo and the strange detail that her car was gone.

“First things first,” Pinney said. “How is it you were inside the judge’s house?”

“I have a key.”

“I gathered that. But why?”

My mind raced, trying to decide if Laura would be more upset at the disclosure of an unorthodox romantic relationship or an end-run around the powers that be at the courthouse. With no receivers to pass to on my left or my right, I decided to cradle the ball and run straight up the middle.

“I do some security consulting on the side. A while back the judge asked me to take a look at her condo, do some measuring and some surveillance. She couldn’t always be there. So—”

“So she gave you a key?”

“She said it was easier that way.”

“Easier than what?”

“Than her always having to be there, when I was working.”

“And you still have it? The key?”

Carefully, I said, “She wanted me to have it. In case my services were ever needed again.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“I’m sorry about that.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“This is not about the key, all right? I’m worried that something’s happened to the judge. It’s not like I’m hiding anything.”

“That’s up to me to decide. Especially given your record.”

“What’s that got to do with anything? I’m a licensed private investigator in good standing—”

“You’re a convicted criminal. I could care less what you do now. So let’s just get something straight here. You don’t really have any evidence that she’s in danger.”

I fumed, hoping the blood from biting my tongue wouldn’t splash both of us. Considered reminding him—as I was often forced to in this town—that I’d served my time and was considered a rehabilitated individual in the eyes of the law. I watched Pinney watching me. Hoping I’d lose it?

I decided not to take the bait. I calmed myself down, took a breath, and explained about the cat’s food bowl. He looked at me skeptically.

“I’m supposed to bother the judge on her sick day because you broke into her condo, saw that her cat’s bowl was empty, and now have this feeling something’s wrong?”

“I didn’t break in. I told you, I have a key.”

“Just answer the question.”

“All that, plus our conversation last night. And the van.”

“She said she was in trouble, according to you. Not danger—trouble. That could mean anything, right? Money trouble, car trouble, husband trouble. Though why she’d stoop to calling you for help with any of that is beyond—”

“She’s divorced, for starters. And that kind of trouble—it’s not the impression I got. And then the call she got while we were—”

“While you were what?”

“While we were talking. Everything changed. And then there’s the missed call last night. How do you explain that?”

“How about a pocket dial? Ever consider that? I get two a week from my mom, easy.” Pinney was heavyset, five ten or eleven, with short black hair that matched his black goatee, wearing jeans, a Franklin County Dive Team T-shirt, and an increasingly annoyed expression.

“The judge doesn’t seem the pocket dial kind of person.”

“So now you’re a psychologist on top of a security consultant?”

“Sticks and stones, detective. All I’m suggesting is that she could be in trouble. She’s had threats in her courtroom. Just a few weeks ago—”

“Trouble, according to you, and no one else.”

“Yes, but—”

He interrupted before I could finish. “Listen up. I’m going to make a couple of calls, mainly to cover my ass with my supervisor, not because of anything you’ve told me. You’re going to sit here and not go anywhere. Sound good?”

I nodded, though it didn’t sound good at all. The detective walked out, closing the door behind him. Still annoyed at his crack about my past, I looked around the room for some kind of consolation. I was rewarded with gray walls the color of dryer lint and an off-kilter photograph of the county commissioners. I checked the time. Just over an hour before I had to meet Mike. I’d promised him a session of football throwing so he could show off his arm to me. Against both my better wishes and those of his mom, my other ex-wife, Kym, he’d gone out for his high school team. Now, as a rising sophomore, he was the second-best quarterback on the squad and hoping to challenge for the starting position. The media was having a field day with the concept: Son of disgraced Ohio State star hopes to forge own gridiron glory. I’d turned down five requests for interviews this month alone. Like Mike needed the aggravation of his old man publicly weighing in on his prospects.

Like I needed that either.

“Well you’re either really lucky or really dumb.”

Pinney reentered the room, phone in one hand, cup of coffee in the other. No java for me, I noticed.

“I’ve been called both, sometimes in the same sentence.”

“I bet you have. We’ll go with lucky, since the judge says she’s not pressing charges.”

“What?”

“You heard me. She’s upset, to put it mildly. First, that you were in her condo without her permission. And second, that you made me bug her. She wants the key back pronto. But she’s leaving it at that.”

“And you know this how?”

“Because I talked to her five minutes ago.”

“You did?”

“It’s called detecting. I could send you some books about it.”

“That won’t be necessary—”

“Here.” He handed me his phone.

“What’s this?”

“She wants to talk to you—against my recommendation, for the record. Take it—it’s dialing.”

I took the phone. I held it to my ear.

“Andy?”

“Laura? Where are you?”

I ignored Pinney’s frown at my use of the judge’s first name.

“That’s none of your business,” Laura said. “I’m very upset. What were you doing in my condo? The detective said you have a key? Where did you—”

I realized from the echo on the line she was on speaker mode. I wondered the obvious: Was she alone? Or was someone paying close attention to her conversation?

“I was worried. You never came back. And then I had a missed call from you last night.”

“You must be mistaken.”

“I don’t think so.” I explained about the empty food bowl, how it had me concerned.

“You didn’t answer my question about the key.”

“And you didn’t explain about the cat.”

“Don’t be absurd, Andy. You’re way out of line here.”

“You don’t really expect me to—”

“Listen up, Andy. Listen carefully, for a change. There’s nothing going on.”

“But last night. You said—”

“I was just jabbering. Forget anything I said. It’s been a long month already.”

Her tone was oddly strained, like someone trying to make small talk at the funeral of a younger colleague.

“Let me come see you, then. We’ll have coffee.”

“No. In fact, you have to promise me—”

“Promise you what?”

“Promise that you’ll leave me alone.”

“How can I leave you alone when I don’t know where you are or what’s going on?”

A heavy sigh. “You know what your problem is?”

Her voice loud enough through the phone that Pinney perked up.

“What’s that?” I said.

“You ask too many questions. You always have. You milk every conversation until it’s dry, until you have every last bit of information about somebody. You always have to be the big bad detective, no matter who you’re with or what you’re doing. Frankly, it gets old. It’s exhausting.”

“Laura, what are you talking—”

“Stop calling me Laura. It’s Judge Porter, in case you’ve forgotten. I’m talking about you butting into my personal business.”

“Butting? You were the one who—”

“Just leave it. Stop sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

“Laura . . . Judge, I—”

“Listen carefully for once, all right? You have practically zero percent feelings for anybody but yourself. You know that? So just stop interfering. I’m fine. Do you understand?”

“No.”

“Practically zero, Andy.”

“I—”

“Goodbye.”

THE PHONE DISCONNECTED. THE room was quiet. The smell of Pinney’s coffee drifted in my direction. Suddenly exhausted, I could have used a cup or three myself.

The detective reached for his phone. “Satisfied?”

“No.”

“Oh really? Why not?”

“She said ‘jabbering.’”

“What?”

“She used the word jabbering. It’s not something she would say.”

He looked at me in disbelief. “And you would know this how? Same reason you know she wouldn’t leave her cat’s bowl empty?”

“It doesn’t matter. You have to believe me. Something wasn’t right. What if she wasn’t able to speak freely? Have you considered that?”

“Of course I did.”

“And?”

“And I eliminated that as a possibility.”

“How?”

“Every judge is assigned a safe phrase,” Pinney said. “Something they could bring into conversation if there’s a problem. Normal sounding, but specific to them.”

“And she didn’t use it?”

He shook his head.

“What’s the phrase?”

“Like I’m going to tell you that.”

I thought about protesting. But what was the point? I was as sure as I could be that not only was Laura in trouble, she was in danger. Yet what was I supposed to do? Pinney might have been a pain in the ass, but clearly he was good at his job. He had batted down every argument with cold, hard evidence. Whatever was going on with Laura, fixing it wasn’t going to happen here, in this room, with the detective doubting my every word.

“All right,” I said, standing. “I appreciate you listening. I’ve still got my concerns. But I suppose there’s nothing left to do.”

“You suppose right. But just for yuks, where are you going now?”

“I’m going to toss a football around for a while, I guess.”

“Perfect. You do that, and leave the detecting to the real investigators.”

“If I see any, I’ll be sure to do so,” I said, walking out of the room before he had a chance to reply.