The Judge's List (The Whistler #2)(2)

She seemed fine, though a bit on edge. Perhaps it was the second latte. Her eyes darted right and left. They were pretty and surrounded by large purple frames. The lenses were probably not needed. The glasses were part of the outfit, a subtle disguise.

Lacy said, “I’m not sure what to say. Why don’t you start talking and maybe we’ll get somewhere?”

“I’ve read about you.” She reached down into a backpack and deftly pulled out a file. “The Indian casino case, not long ago. You caught a judge skimming and put her away. One reporter described it as the largest bribery scandal in the history of American jurisprudence.” The file was two inches thick and gave every impression of being immaculately organized.

Lacy noted the use of the word “jurisprudence.” Odd for a layperson.

“It was a big case,” she said, feigning modesty.

Margie smiled and said, “Big? You broke up a crime syndicate, nailed the judge, and sent a bunch of people to prison. All are still there, I believe.”

“True, but it was far from a one-girl takedown. The FBI was heavily involved. It was a complicated case and some people were killed.”

“Including your colleague, Mr. Hugo Hatch.”

“Yes, including Hugo. Curious. Why all of this research about me?”

Margie folded her hands and rested them on top of the file, which she had not opened. Her index fingers were shaking slightly. She looked at the entrance and glanced around again, though no one had entered, no one had left, no one had moved, not even the barista who was lost in the clouds. She took a sip from her straw. If it really was her second latte, it had barely been touched. She had used the word “trauma.” Admitted to being a “wreck.” Lacy realized the woman was frightened.

Margie said, “Oh, I’m not sure it’s research. Just some stuff off the Internet. Everything’s out there, you know.”

Lacy smiled and tried to be patient. “I’m not sure we’re getting anywhere.”

“Your job is to investigate judges who are accused of wrongdoing, right?”

“That’s correct.”

“And you’ve been doing it for how long?”

“I’m sorry. Why is this relevant?”

“Please.”

“Twelve years.” Giving that number was like admitting defeat. It sounded so long.

“How do you get involved in a case?” Margie asked, bouncing around.

Lacy took a deep breath and reminded herself to be patient. People with complaints who got this far were often rattled. She smiled and said, “Well, typically a person with a complaint against a judge will contact us and we’ll have a meeting. If the gripe appears to have some merit, then the person will file a formal complaint, which we keep locked up for forty-five days while we take a look. We call it an assessment. Nine times out of ten that’s as far as it gets and the complaint is dismissed. If we find possible wrongdoing, then we notify the judge and he or she has thirty days to respond. Usually, everybody lawyers up. We investigate, have hearings, bring in witnesses, the works.”

As she spoke, Darren strolled in alone, disturbed the barista by ordering decaf, waited on it while ignoring the two women, then took it to a table on the other side of the room where he opened a laptop and began what appeared to be some serious work. Without giving the slightest hint, he aimed the laptop’s camera at Lacy’s back and Margie’s face, zoomed in for a close shot, and began filming. He took a video and some still shots.

If Margie noticed him it was not apparent.

She listened intently to Lacy and asked, “How often is a judge removed from office?”

Again, why is this relevant? “Not very often, fortunately. We have jurisdiction over one thousand judges and the vast majority are honest, hardworking professionals. Most of the complaints we see are just not that serious. Disgruntled litigants who didn’t get what they wanted. A lot of divorce cases. A lot of lawyers mad because they lost. We stay busy, but for the most part the conflicts are resolved.”

She made the job sound boring, and, after twelve years, it rather felt that way.

Margie listened carefully, her fingertips tapping the file. She took a deep breath and asked, “The person who files the complaint, is he or she always identified?”

Lacy thought for a second and said, “Eventually, yes. It’s quite rare for the complaining party to remain anonymous.”

“Why?”

“Because the complainant usually knows the facts of the case and needs to testify against the judge. It’s hard to nail a judge when the people he ticked off are afraid to come forward. Are you afraid?”

The very word seemed to frighten her. “Yes, you could say that,” she admitted.

Lacy frowned and appeared bored. “Look, let’s cut to the chase here. How serious is the behavior that you’re talking about?”

Margie closed her eyes and managed to say, “Murder.”

She immediately opened them and glanced around to see if anyone had overheard. There was no one close enough to hear anything except Lacy, who absorbed this with the hard-boiled skepticism she had developed after so many years on the job. She reminded herself again to be patient. When she looked at Margie’s eyes again they were wet.

Lacy leaned in a bit closer and softly asked, “Are you suggesting that one of our sitting judges has committed a murder?”