Читать книгу Cavanaugh Judgement - Marie Ferrarella, Marie Ferrarella - Страница 9

Confused, Blake looked from the chief of detectives to the animated narcotics detective at his side. It was now a foregone conclusion that the first set of paramedics who’d whisked Timothy Kelly away had been bogus. However, the rest of it didn’t make sense to him.

“But why would they kidnap the bailiff? If they were in on the escape, wouldn’t they have found a way to make off with Munro?” he asked.

Who said they didn’t? Greer thought as she shook her head. “They didn’t kidnap the bailiff, the bailiff was part of it.”

Blake refused to believe it. He could remember Tim’s first day on the job. So obviously wet behind the ears, the young bailiff had been so eager to please, so eager to do a good job, it had almost been painful to watch. “But they almost killed him,” he protested.

Brian was clearly struggling to keep his temper under control. “Almost being the operative word,” the chief pointed out.

“No, you’re wrong,” Kincannon insisted. “I know the man. He’s shown me photographs of his wife, of his baby daughter. A man like that doesn’t suddenly get up one morning and decide to help a career felon escape out of a courtroom.”

He was having trouble with this, Greer realized. Rather than instantly become indignant because he’d been duped, Kincannon was searching for some elusive reason that would explain what happened and absolve the bailiff of any wrongdoing beyond being in the wrong place at the wrong time. She had to grudgingly admit she found that admirable. At the very least, that made the judge more of a human being than most who sat on the bench.

Reviewing the situation, she realized that there was possibly a plausible explanation that could be acceptable to both sides. The more she thought about it, the more it seemed to fit. She sincerely doubted that Kincannon could be easily deceived.

“Maybe he didn’t just wake up one morning and decide to help a hardened felon escape,” she suggested, her conviction growing stronger with each word. “Maybe Tim Kelly had no choice.”

Janelle had been quiet this entire time, remaining out of her father’s way as he took charge of the situation. But now she seemed compelled to point out the obvious flaw in her new cousin’s theory. “They weren’t holding a gun to his head, Greer,” she said, her tone of voice barely masking the frustration she clearly felt over the drug dealer’s escape.

Greer knew that Janelle had spent a great deal of time preparing this case and was almost certain she would have won. Now, it looked as if all that time she’d put in had been wasted.

“Maybe they were holding one to his family,” she countered, standing her ground against her indignant cousin.

The moment she made the suggestion, Greer could see that the explanation was more than acceptable to Kincannon. But his opinion wasn’t the one that counted here.

Greer shifted her eyes toward the chief, holding her breath. Waiting.

“Maybe,” Brian allowed slowly. “Makes sense,” he decided. The chief turned toward two of the officers he’d summoned. “Mahoney, Wong, find out the bailiff’s address. See if there’s anything going on at his house that shouldn’t be.”

“His name’s Tim Kelly,” Kincannon informed them to facilitate the search. “Human Resources can give you the rest of the information. Their office is located on the third floor. Three-seventeen,” the judge added for good measure. He wanted to clear the young man, wanted it not to be Tim’s fault. Otherwise, it would make him begin to doubt his own judgment, and that was a dark place he never wanted to revisit.

They had their instructions so the two officers took off.

Belatedly, Blake felt a surge of adrenaline kick in. He needed to be doing something. Blake looked at Brian. “Is there anything I can do to help? To move things along?” he wanted to know.

“Unless you can pull a felon out of a hat, Judge, I’d say go home. You’re free for the afternoon,” Brian added. Kincannon looked at him in surprise, forcing Brian to state the obvious. “I’m afraid that court’s adjourned for the day, Judge. Everyone’s court,” he clarified in case there was any question. “There’re a lot of places Munro could hide and it’s going to take a while to conduct a completely thorough search. The bastard’s got to be here somewhere.”

“Not necessarily.” All eyes turned to Greer. “Think about it. The fake ambulance has clearance to be on the grounds—and to leave. What’s to have stopped them from backing the vehicle up in front of one of the side exits? With all this commotion, even with all the backup you called in, the officers can’t be everywhere at once.” She spread her hands. “Munro ducks out where they’re not.”

It seemed like a very simple explanation—and very doable. Greer continued. “The fake paramedics come back, pushing a gurney with a wounded victim. They load it and the bailiff into the back of the vehicle.” She snapped her fingers. “One, two, three, they’re gone and we’re still hunting for Munro.”

Brian frowned. It made sense. And he didn’t like it.

“Let’s hope they’re not as bright as you are.” But even as he said it, it was obvious to those around him that the chief of detectives knew there was a good chance that Greer was right. He offered his niece a quick smile. “Just glad you’re on our side,” he told her. Turning back to his men, he directed the new groups to fan out everywhere and double-check the locations, including the basement—just in case.

With everything being done that could be done, Blake decided that he might as well do as the chief advised and go home. But first, he needed to take care of a few things of his own.

Returning to the courtroom again, Blake went directly to his administrative assistant, an older woman who wore sensible shoes and nondescript suits that never called attention to her. To the casual observer, Edith Fields looked like the very prototype of what had once been referred to as a mere secretary. Edith was that and so much more.

The moment she saw him, the grandmother of six—two of whom she was raising herself—was on her feet. “Any news, Your Honor?” she wanted to know. Blake knew it had never pleased her that the wheels of justice ground slowly. She wanted every criminal to be thrown into jail quickly, and left there for the duration of a maximum sentence.

“We’re being sent home, Edith.”

The news was not received well. The woman looked down at the compact laptop that sat on her desk, opened and at the ready. She read one of the entries on the judge’s heavy schedule. “I could reschedule the Brown case, Your Honor.”

Left on his own, he would have said yes, but the day belonged to Chief Cavanaugh and the latter called the shots. Blake shook his head.

“No point. We need to clear out of the courthouse.” He saw that Edith was far from jubilant about the turn of events. “Think of this as an enforced holiday. I’m sure Joe could use a hand with Emily and Ross,” he said, mentioning the names of the two grandchildren who lived with Edith and her husband of forty-one years.

The woman had made it known more than once that she thought she was indispensable to his court. She sighed now, a child being sent to her room for no good reason. “If you say so, Your Honor.”

“The chief of detectives says so, Edith,” Blake corrected. He glanced over his shoulder. Just as he thought, the detective was still there, like a shadow he couldn’t cast off without taking drastic measures. “If you feel uneasy about leaving the courthouse, Edith,” he told the older woman, “I can have Detective O’Brien take you home.”

Greer blinked. Had he just volunteered her services without consulting her? She wasn’t part of his team, to be ordered about, she thought, irritated at his cavalier manner.

She was about to protest, but as it turned out, she didn’t have to. His administrative assistant dismissed the offer with a haughty wave of her hand.

“I’m a big girl, Judge. I stopped being afraid of thugs like Munro when I was in grammar school. He doesn’t scare me.” Her things packed, Edith nodded at her employer. “See you in the morning, Judge.”

Blake barely nodded. A moment earlier, he’d crossed to his desk and was about initiate the procedure that would power down his computer when the big, bold letters that were written across the monitor’s screen caught his attention.

And then raised his ire.

When he made no answer in response to his assistant, a woman he obviously held in warm regard, Greer looked at the judge. She saw the angry look that had darkened his features.

Kincannon was a formidable-looking man, she couldn’t help thinking. She definitely wouldn’t have wanted to find herself on the receiving end of that look. But right now, she was more curious as to what had caused it. It couldn’t be the ongoing situation because he seemed to have calmed down about that—unlike her.

Maybe, instead of throwing herself on top of Kincannon, the situation would have been better served if she’d had the wherewithal to tackle Munro and keep him from fleeing. Growing up with her brothers as playmates and partners in crime had taught her to be fearless, reckless and unafraid of pain if enduring pain resulted in achieving a desired outcome. In this case, it would have been preventing that poor excuse for a human being from making good his escape.

Greer took a second look at Kincannon’s expression. Something was off.

“What’s wrong?” she wanted to know. Not waiting for an answer, she rounded Kincannon’s desk and came up next to him. Since he was staring at the computer screen, Greer looked at it, as well. For a second, the words seemed too absurd to be real.

And then they were all too real.

Back off or you and your father are going to die. Slowly and painfully.

She thought Kincannon was going to hurl the laptop across the room, but he restrained himself. She heard him mutter angrily, “Brazen son of a bitch.”

There was no question that this had come from Munro. “Obviously, he believes in the family plan,” she commented. The next moment, she was hurrying out of the courtroom again.

Turning away from the courtroom in an attempt to create a pocket of privacy, Blake quickly took out his cell phone and turned it on. One of his pet peeves was cell phones that rang during court, but right now he was glad he had forgotten to leave his cell phone in the top desk drawer in his chambers. It saved him precious seconds he didn’t know if he could afford to waste. He was not about to continue underestimating Munro.

“C’mon, answer,” he ordered, addressing a man who wasn’t there. The message he’d left on the answering machine at home was just kicking in when he glanced toward the double doors in the rear and saw O’Brien coming back—and she had the chief with her. “Pick up, Dad,” Blake instructed through clenched teeth. “Pick up!”

And then he heard the receiver being lifted on the other end.

Thank God.

“Bad day in court?” he heard his father ask. “The story’s all over the TV,” Alexander Kincannon, retired marine sergeant and practicing malcontent, grumbled. “It preempted my show. What the hell kind of security have you got down there? Can’t even hang on to one skinny criminal?” he demanded.

Blake was not in the mood to get drawn into a lengthy discussion about how lax current law enforcement had gotten. He needed for his father to listen to him. “Dad, I don’t want you answering the door.”

He heard his father blow out an irritated breath. “What am I, twelve?”

For a second, Blake lost patience. “You’re a hundred and seven, but I want you to make it to a hundred and eight, Dad. Don’t answer the door, do I make myself clear?”

“Why?” the gravelly voice demanded, sounding significantly less combative than it had just a moment earlier.

Reaching the judge and able to make out what the person on the other end was asking, Brian raised his voice so that the judge could hear him over the loud voice on the cell phone. “Tell him I’m sending a patrol car over. It’ll be there in a few minutes.” He made eye contact with Kincannon. “We’ll keep him safe.”

Blake nodded his thanks toward the chief. “Dad, they’re sending a—”

“I heard, I heard.” Alexander cut him off. “I’m not deaf yet, you know.” And then a degree of excitement entered his voice. “This have anything to do with that pusher who took a powder?”

“Maybe. I don’t know yet.” Although, he added silently, he was pretty certain that it was. Blake heard his father sigh dramatically and then abruptly terminate the connection. Closing his own phone, Blake slipped it back into the pocket of his robe. He looked at Brian, his gratitude rising to the foreground. “Thank you.”

“Least I can do,” Brian acknowledged, then he nodded toward his niece. “Greer alerted me to the message you received on your laptop.” He lowered his eyes to the state-of-the-art computer on the judge’s desk. “I’m going to have to take it, Your Honor. Maybe one of our people can trace where the e-mail originated.” He knew for a fact that Brenda, his son Dax’s wife, would all but make a computer sit up and beg. Maybe she could pull this miracle off, as well.

Ordinarily, Blake might have protested about protecting the privacy of his court cases, but in this case, there was no need. Brian Cavanaugh was a veritable pillar of ethics. So he nodded, turning the laptop around and handing it over to the chief.

“Whatever you need,” he told the older man.

Brian closed the lid, securing it in place. “Right now, it’s what you need that’s important,” he corrected. “It looks as if this Munro character feels he has a specific beef with you that goes beyond his own case. As I heard it, you sent several of his people away with the maximum sentence when they were convicted a couple of years ago.”

Blake wanted no credit for serving justice. It was what it was. “Just doing my job, Chief.”

“And now I’m doing mine,” Brian countered. “You need protection, Judge.”

Blake did not savor relinquishing his privacy, but there was his father to think of, so he nodded.

“A patrol car making the rounds every hour or so should do it,” he speculated.

“What about the other fifty-nine minutes?” Brian asked mildly.

Blake’s eyes narrowed as he tried to follow the chief’s reasoning. “Excuse me?”

“The way I see it, Judge, until this drug dealer is caught, you’re going to need twenty-four-hour protection, not just a patrol car passing by every now and then.”

Blake didn’t want to argue, but he definitely didn’t want to acquiesce, either. “Isn’t that a little extreme, Chief?”

“Death is extreme, Judge, everything else is a distant second,” Greer pointed out, feeling that the chief could use a little verbal backup right about now. She could understand the desire to remain independent. In the judge’s place, she’d feel the same way. But Munro would think nothing of putting a bullet right between the judge’s eyes. It would seem like a crime to disfigure that noble profile with a bullet.

In return for her support, Greer saw the chief smile at her. She returned the smile, not recognizing the expression for what it was. Had she been part of the family longer, she might have known that the smile that was curving his mouth was the one Brian wore when he was about to deliver a very salient point, and triumphantly drive it home.

“I’m glad you feel that way, Greer.”

She might not have been able to pick up on the chief’s expressions, but there was something in his tone of voice that softly warned her she was in big trouble. Not the disciplinary kind, but the kind that meant she was on the verge of something she would regard as less than pleasant happening.

“Why, sir?” she asked her superior quietly, never taking her eyes off Brian’s face.

Even as Greer asked for clarification, she had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach that she knew why Brian had just expressed his satisfaction at her agreement.

“Because I’m assigning you to be Judge Kincannon’s bodyguard.”

It was hard to say which of them was more averse to the news they’d just received, she or Kincannon.

“I’m not going into hiding,” Blake protested with feeling.

“Nobody said anything about hiding,” Brian told him. With enough effort, they could keep the judge safe and still presiding over his courtroom. But it would be tricky. Which was why he felt that Greer was the person for the job. She was a self-starter who thought outside the box.

“Look, Chief Cavanaugh,” Blake began again, picking his words slowly, “I’m very grateful that you’re sending a car to watch over my father, but I’m not a helpless old man—”

He could just hear his father’s reaction to that description. At seventy-three, the former gunnery sergeant was still fit, still capable of pummeling someone to the ground with his fists as long as that someone didn’t tower more than six inches over him. There was nothing “ex” about this marine.

“A bullet is a great equalizer.”

Had that come out of her mouth? Greer thought suddenly. Even suppressing annoyance at the confining assignment she’d just been handed, she found herself still performing like a good little soldier. Pressing her lips together, she caught herself longing for the days that she’d been a rebel. A rebel wasn’t in danger of going comatose standing guard over someone. Being a bodyguard was only marginally better than being forced to sit in a car, maintaining surveillance on a suspect. She hated both assignments with a passion. Inactivity was not in her DNA.

But it looked like, judging by the chief’s expression, she was stuck.

Maybe so, she thought the next moment, but she wasn’t about to go down without a fight—or without going on record that she was less than thrilled with the assignment.

“That’s right, it is,” Brian agreed with Greer’s succinct assessment. He smiled at his niece, clearly appreciating the backup. “Now,” the chief continued, “until we finally catch this Munro character, you’re assigned to the judge.”

Finally. She didn’t know if she had as much faith in the wheels of justice as he apparently did. Finally could mean days, or, more likely, it could mean weeks. She didn’t want to spend weeks babysitting, even if the person she was watching over was an incredibly good-looking specimen of manhood.

She was a good detective. She belonged in the field, damn it, not hovering over the judge like some misguided shadow.

“Chief, could I have a word with you?” she requested as he began to walk away.

Rather than answer verbally, Brian beckoned her to follow him as he walked out of the courtroom. With the judge’s laptop tucked under his arm.