Читать книгу Fatal Judgment - Andrew Welsh-Huggins - Страница 15

8

I LEANED OVER AND retrieved the sheet. On it were two words, in Laura’s handwriting. Mendon Woods.

I sat on her bed and pulled out my phone again. This turned out to be an easier internet search than a definition of estoppel understandable by a mere mortal. According to the very first article I read, Mendon Woods was an undeveloped plot of land on the north side of town, on the far side of the outer belt from Columbus but still in the county. A mix of ordinary Ohio hardwoods, some prairie—probably not original—and at its center, a small wetland about nineteen acres in circumference. There were probably bigger Walmart parking lots than that particular swamp. Nearly all of the few hundred acres surrounded by development. And possibly not long for this world. Mendon Woods’ future was up in the air because of a lawsuit brought by a developer against the state, which had jurisdiction over the property. A lawsuit on the docket of one Franklin County Common Pleas Judge Laura Porter.

THE FACTS WERE SIMPLE enough. A company called Rumford Realty wanted Mendon Woods for an unspecified commercial development. A few months back, a deal was brokered whereby the company would receive the property in exchange for mitigating the wetlands loss by creating a bigger artificial wetlands area adjacent to the Scioto River north of Columbus. The wetlands was self-contained, not reliant on a creek or river, so the state, not the feds, had jurisdiction, simplifying things. The arrangement was finished and on the way to the printer’s when environmental groups blew the whistle and criticized the state for kowtowing to a businessman and destroying one of the last natural wetlands inside the county. The swamp in Mendon Woods, though tiny, was classified as category III—the richest and most diverse type. It was home to numerous animals and an important stopover for migratory birds, some of them rare, including something called a coastal tanager. A mitigated wetland, no matter how big, wasn’t the same and often didn’t function properly, the argument went. The state bowed under public pressure and reneged on the deal. Rumford Realty sued. The case landed in Laura’s courtroom. A three-day trial ended a couple of weeks ago, with parties on both sides instructed to file final briefing documents. The judge was supposed to rule soon.

Was this the trouble Laura was in? Something to do with this swamp? All types of possibilities crossed my mind. A bribe on the table from Rumford? A threat from the environmentalists? Vice versa? Or maybe a mistake Laura made that could blow up in her face? Affect her Supreme Court campaign somehow?

I thought about texting her, asking her about the case. In the end I decided not to. There was no question in my mind now that when I spoke to her in the sheriff’s office something wasn’t right. The clues she dropped in the conversation led me to the book of legal definitions and this lawsuit. True, she didn’t use her safe phrase with Pinney. But maybe that was an act of self-preservation forced on her by someone. I thought again about calling Pinney back, and again decided against it. I was as sure as I’ve been of anything that Laura was in trouble, and that the mysteriously telegraphed messages leading to the words Mendon Woods on a scrap of paper in a legal definition book were prime evidence of the fact. But it was also true that Laura’s involvement in the case was hardly a secret, and it was semi-plausible that that scrap of paper with those words could have been a handy bookmark.

The cat appeared, jumping on my lap. I pushed it aside, stood up, pocketed the paper, and made my third big decision of the day. According to the clue—if indeed it was such a thing—answers about Laura’s troubles led from here to a swamp on the north side of town. That would be my next stop. But first I needed to know more about Rumford Realty and the case before Laura. I instructed Siri to call Bonnie Deckard. She answered after one ring.

“Hey, Andy.”

“Am I catching you at a bad time?”

“Just on the way to the gym. What’s up?”

“You must be feeling better.”

“I’m not barfing as much, if that’s what you mean.”

“That’s not exactly how I would have put it. But that’s good to hear. How’s your schedule looking? I need a little research.”

“Am I breaking any laws this time?”

“Not that I’m aware of—for the time being, anyway.”

“Probably for the best, given everything, you know?”

Bonnie was a freelance Web designer and IT consultant. She also took on occasional jobs for me, either when a technological puzzle surpassed my abilities—meaning most of the time—or when I was in a hurry like now. Bonnie possessed three things I’d come to prize in a case consultant: efficiency, speed, and powerful enough encryption software that she could occasionally cross certain lines safely and clandestinely. When she wasn’t inhabiting the world of ones and zeroes, she was a blocker on Columbus’s Roller Derby team, the Arch City Roller Girls. Not long ago, that would have explained her midday jaunt to the gym. But she’d recently learned she was expecting, with twins at that, and so was spending less time on burpees, leg presses, and the elliptical machine and more on yoga and swimming. And not crossing certain lines, apparently.

I explained what I needed her to do with Rumford Realty and the case before Laura.

“I’ll poke around when I get back. By the way, any chance you could take Troy out for a beer this week?”

“I’m always up for beer. Why?”

“He’s still struggling a bit with the whole baby thing. Babies, I mean. I figured talking to another dad might help.”

“You mean any other dad but me?”

“He looks up to you, Andy. You know that.”

Bonnie’s boyfriend and I had a complicated history, but I was happy to do a favor for Bonnie given how much she helped me out, and told her so.

Disconnecting, I left Laura’s bedroom and walked down the hall. I was about to exit the apartment when the cat appeared and brushed against my legs. I recalled the empty food bowl. It wouldn’t be like Laura to leave the cat alone without making arrangements. Was this another indication the judge was incapacitated?

Either way, I knew I couldn’t leave the cat there. By taking it, the worst that could happen was Laura would reappear later that day and demand to know where her pet was. Leaving it, the worst that could happen didn’t bear thinking about. I just hoped Hopalong was up for the company.

With the cat watching me from the counter, I shuttled its food dishes and litter box out to my van. Back inside, I borrowed a towel from Laura’s bathroom, snared the protesting cat, wrapped the towel around it and walked outside. I went back in for a final look around. By the door to the garage I spied an extra set of Laura’s keys hanging on a hook. House and Lexus, including a spare fob. What the heck, I thought. In for an inch. I pocketed the keys, locked up the condo and headed home. Once again I pushed the speed limit. I couldn’t get over the feeling that time was running out.