“Robin Norris is dead.”
He rocked back in his chair, arms folded across his belly.
“So I heard. Damn shame.”
Alex balled her fists, arms at her sides. “Is that all you can say?”
He spread his hands. “What would you have me say? I didn’t know her well, but from what I knew, she did a good job and I assume she had a family. But accidents happen and some days life is a shit sandwich. Seems to me that damn shame covers that and a lot more.”
“The police think it wasn’t an accident.”
West leaned forward, shuffling papers on his desk, not looking at her. “What makes you say that?”
Alex watched him for a moment, his nonchalance not what she expected, wondering if it was too practiced, his way of keeping his emotions in check.
“Because two detectives came to my office to talk to me about it.”
“Why would they do that?” he asked, leaning back in his chair again.
“You think they’d tell me? One of the detectives, a guy named Wheeler, is in the accident investigation unit, but the other detective was Hank Rossi, and he’s strictly homicide. If he didn’t think Robin might have been murdered, he wouldn’t be involved in the investigation.”
Judge West laced his fingers together across his belly. “Why are you telling me this?”
She looked at him, hesitating for a moment, then plunged in. “A woman from the St. Louis PD’s office, Meg Adler, is filling in for Robin. She brought me Jared Bell’s file first thing this morning. She said she found it on Robin’s desk with a Post-it note with my name on it, but the file was never logged in. It just showed up out of nowhere.”
West narrowed his eyes. “Get to the point, Counselor.”
Alex took another deep breath. “You told me I was going to be assigned to Jared Bell’s case. The next thing I know is that Robin is dead, Bell’s file is on her desk with my name on it, and no one knows how it got there.”
The judge pulled his chair tight against his desk, color flooding his cheeks. “If I were you, I’d be very careful with the next thing that comes out of your mouth because I don’t like your tone or your implication.”
Alex planted her palms on his desk, boring in on him. “Did you talk to Robin about Jared Bell’s case? Did you tell her how I was supposed to do my job?”
Judge West eased back, a thin-lipped smile cutting across his face. “No. Anything further, Counsel?”
Alex didn’t blink. “Yes. Where were you last night at ten fifteen?”
He gave her a weary grin like a parent whose patience has been strained to the limit. “In bed listening to my wife snore.”
“Did you have anything to do with Robin Norris’s death?”
The judge remained impassive. “No.”
Alex hung her head for a moment, then straightened and turned away.
“Anything further, Counsel?”
She shook her head, her back to him.
“Then let me give you some advice. The next time you accuse me of murder, try digging up some evidence first, like a photograph maybe. In my experience, that’s much more persuasive to a jury.”
Alex stiffened at his mention of the photograph, unwilling to let him turn the tables on her. She faced him, her jaw set.
“Photograph or no photograph, if I find out you’re responsible for Robin’s death in any way, so help me God, I will burn you down!”
“Really?” West said, his face as calm as that of a card player holding a winning hand. “When did you take up arson? I thought you favored shooting the unarmed and defenseless.”
She cocked her head to the side, showing him a steely smile. “I’ll make an exception for you.”
Chapter Seventeen
Alex pounded down five flights of stairs to the street, taking her anger and frustration out on each step. She couldn’t decide what was worse: that she’d let Judge West goad her into threatening to kill him or that she’d accused him of murder.
By the time she reached the first floor, she’d burned enough energy to think clearly. What mattered was whether she believed his denial and his alibi. She couldn’t picture him rear-ending Robin’s car, forcing her off the road. It was easier to imagine him whispering in someone’s ear about a problem that had to be solved in a hurry, never mind the details.
If the judge was responsible for Robin’s death, she was culpable as well, even if the law wouldn’t draw that link. She’d given in to her weakest self by joining hands with West, making it easy to draw a straight line from that moment to this. She had to find out the truth about Robin’s death, no matter the consequences. She couldn’t leave it up to Rossi, because he wouldn’t hesitate to use the investigation as another way to bring her down. And she couldn’t ask anyone for help without putting them at risk by dragging them into the deal she’d made with the devil.
When she left the courthouse, she saw the man who’d walked into Judge West’s chambers staring up at Andrew Jackson and his horse. She was about to pass him when he turned, head still raised, and ran into her.
“Oh,” he said.
“That’s two ohs in one day,” Alex said.
“Yes, it is,” he said with a smile. “That’s my limit, I’m afraid.”
He was an inch shorter than her, his gray complexion waxy in the sunlight. She was close enough to make out the detail on his gold pin. There was a navy blue inner circle inscribed with Service-Valor-Sacrifice. A map occupied the center of the pin with 50th superimposed over it. The words Vietnam War appeared beneath that. A small rectangular ribbon in green, gold, and red was attached to the bottom of the pin.
Alex pointed to the pin. “You served in Vietnam?”
“Eighty-Second Airborne, 1968 to 1970.”
“Long time ago.”
“But not forgotten.”
“Nor should it be,” Alex said, hesitating for a moment. “Did you find the probate department?
“I did, but everyone was at lunch. I’ll have to try again, but next time I’ll know where I’m going.”
“Since you didn’t know your way around the courthouse, I take it you’re not a lawyer.”
He laughed. “Oh, no. I was looking into a matter for a friend, another vet, that’s all. I’m retired, so I don’t have much else to do.”
The man was so courteous and disarming that Alex warmed to him immediately, their pleasant conversation a welcome antidote to her confrontation with Judge West.
“What did you do before you retired?”
“Pretty much the same thing, helping vets, so I guess you could say I didn’t work very hard or I never retired.”
“I know a few lawyers who do probate work. I’d be happy to give you their names.”
“Then you must be a lawyer.”
“Guilty,” Alex said.
“And a good one, if I’m any judge of people.” He stuck out his hand. “Mathew Woodrell.”
“Alex Stone,” she said, shaking his hand.
“A pleasure,” he said. “Nice to know a lawyer if I ever need one.”
“Well, you won’t want it to be me.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because I only represent poor people accused of crimes.”
“Then I hope you’re right.”
She watched him walk away, then look back at her and give her a little wave. A westbound bus was stopped on the other side of Twelfth Street. When it left, she saw Rossi standing on the sidewalk. They stared at each other, neither of them moving, waving, or nodding, until Rossi turned his back and walked away.
Chapter Eighteen
Alex stopped at a phone store on her way home and bought a new phone, keeping her old number. The salesperson confirmed Rossi’s explanation that her voice mail was stored on the carrier’s server and not on the phone. She’d sync the new phone with her laptop to restore everything else that was on her old phone.
Bonnie was on her hands and knees, wrist deep in dirt, working along the edge of a flower bed that bordered their patio when Alex got home. Alex watched her from the den window that looked out on the backyard. Soil littered the patio’s redbrick pavers behind her. Alex couldn’t tell whether she was digging a trench or digging to China.