I hate Graham Liss. Unless he e-mailed me, which counts.
Cate brightened. She hadn’t thought of e-mail. It was late, and maybe he didn’t want to call and wake her. She moved the mouse to minimize the draft opinion and clicked onto Outlook Express for her e-mail, skimming the list of senders: The New York Times Direct, the Ritz-Carlton Reservations, Astrologers, USAToday.com, and the Benjamin Franklin Society. No e-mail from Graham.
Cate didn’t get it. He was the one with the full-court press. He was the one who called all day and sent the stupid flowers. He’d better have a good excuse for not calling, like a car accident. If he didn’t have an accident, she could run him over. She clicked to minimize Outlook, then thought better of it. She didn’t want to keep checking the little white envelope like an obsessive-compulsive, so she went into Options and checked the box that said, “Play sound when new messages arrive.” Then she minimized Outlook and got back to work.
It is axiomatic in Pennsylvania law that contracts must be
Cate kept going, finally producing a reasonably respectable discussion of contract law, writing and rewriting as she went, fueled by M amp;M’s and her drive to perfect the opinion. At some point, she realized that the process of writing was proving cathartic, and as it got later and later, and the world grew ever more still, she forgot about Graham, Simone, and even Russo, and worked efficiently and well, realizing that her truest reader wasn’t the press or even her colleagues on the court. She was writing for Marz, wherever he was, in order to explain to him, somehow, some way, as best as she could, that there was a good reason that he lost his dream in her courtroom. That there was a principle, which applied to him and all of us, and abided for all time. The principle embodied the law.
Cate typed the last line. For all of the foregoing reasons, the Court grants defendant’s motion for Judgment as a Matter of Law Under Rule 50 and Judgment in favor of defendant and defendant company is hereby entered. SO ORDERED.
Ping! Cate jumped, startled. It took her a minute to identify the sound. Outlook Express. She had gotten an e-mail. Graham! She checked the clock. 3:12 a.m. About time he got home. She minimized the final opinion and opened Outlook, where a single name sat at the bottom of the sender list, in boldface.
Not Graham Liss. PhillyNewsDirect. Another news service. She was about to click away when the subject line of the e-mail caught her eye.
TODAY’S HEADLINES:
LAWYER FOUND DEAD, A SUICIDE
Cate clicked on the e-mail. It opened instantly, and she read with horror:
Former Assistant District Attorney Richard Marz, of Philadelphia, was found dead in a car at approximately 2:01 a.m. this morning, the victim of an apparent suicide, by gunshot. The car, a blue Subaru sedan, was found in a remote section of Fairmount Park by students from Temple University, during a late-night hazing ceremony. Police had been seeking Marz in connection with the shooting death on Tuesday night of Hollywood television producer Arthur Simone, creator of the hit show Attorneys@Law. Marz had unsuccessfully sued Simone for breach of contract in connection with the show, and lost his claim for damages in federal court.
At the time of his death, Marz was found in possession of a.22-caliber pistol, also reportedly the type of weapon used in Simone’s murder. Police had no comment, though a press conference will be held today at 10:00 a.m.
Cate’s mouth went dry. She leaned back in her chair, stunned. She read the story over and over, until she could finally make herself believe it was true.
Then she put her head down on her keyboard and cried.
CHAPTER 16
“Sorry, Judge,” Val said, rising at her desk as Cate entered chambers.
“Me, too, thanks.” Cate came in, set down her briefcase and purse, and shed her coat. It was a bright winter morning, and the rising sun beamed through the window opposite the reception area, belying her mood. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a good night’s sleep. After she’d gotten the e-mail alert, she’d taken calls from Chief Judge Sherman and Val, both telling her what she already knew. She hung her coat on the rack by the door while the law clerks filtered in and collected around Val’s desk.
Cate turned to the clerks, their faces unusually somber. “Hey, guys. Guess you heard the news.”
“This is so awful, Judge.” Emily’s black top and long black skirt seemed appropriate. Beside her, Sam had dressed in his casual sweater and khakis, which somehow bugged Cate.
“Not cool,” Sam said, and Cate turned on him.
“Sam, honestly. A man killed himself. Another man is murdered. That’s more than ‘not cool.’ ‘Not cool’ doesn’t even begin to cover what that is.” Cate felt her nerves unraveling like a suspension cable. “Horrible works. Tragic will do just fine. But ‘not cool’? ‘Not cool’ ain’t even close!”
Sam flushed with embarrassment, plain on his pale skin. “Sorry.”
“I am, too.” Cate felt blood pounding in her temples. “I’m sorry you have so little empathy for another human being. He had a wife, whom you saw in court. He had a mother, too. Can’t you feel that loss, Sam? Don’t you have any respect?”
Sam looked down.
“Damn it!” Cate added for emphasis, which was when she realized the only way she could get control was to leave. She turned to go back into her office just as the intercom buzzer sounded, and they all looked at the security monitor, on the file cabinets next to Val’s desk. Its gray screen showed a man in a dark suit standing at the intercom in the common hallway, and Cate recognized him, surprised.
“Detective Nesbitt, here to see Judge Fante,” he said over the intercom, and Val looked over.
“Judge, okay to buzz him in?”
“Of course,” Cate answered, ignoring the silent law clerks.
“Come in, Detective,” Val said into the intercom, hitting the button to open the door to the secured half of the floor. She turned to hand Cate her messages. “All the usual suspects, the Inquirer again and a bunch of other reporters.”
“No comment,” Cate said, and took the messages.
Five minutes later, she was sitting catty-corner to Nesbitt at her worktable, both of them behind hot coffee in Styrofoam cups. “Where’s your partner, Roots?” she asked.
“He’s back at base, getting ready for the press conference.” Nesbitt sipped his coffee, one hand against his tie, so as not to spill coffee on his camera-ready blue print tie and dark navy wool suit. His thick hair stood up at attention, and he smelled pleasantly of spicy after-shave. “This is an unofficial visit, Judge.”
“Oh, really?” Cate tried not to think of the last time she’d heard words like that, only last night, from a different detective. My coming here sure isn’t procedure. She shooed the words away. She wasn’t going to tell Nesbitt about Russo unless he already knew about it. It was a dicey game, and she sipped her coffee, hot and sweet, gathering the strength to play.
“I spoke with Chief Judge Sherman about the Marz suicide. I presumed he called you at home.”
“Yes.”
“Obviously, you won’t have to worry about Marz anymore.”
“I guess not.” Cate thought of the opinion she’d finished last night, too late. Would it have changed Marz’s mind? If only she’d gotten to it sooner. “It’s a terrible shame.”
“Sure is. Anyway, we’ll be clearing the Simone case. We’re going to announce it at the press conference. Marz shot himself with the same gun he used on Simone. The ballistics tests verified it. So, bottom line, he killed Simone and then killed himself. It fits with some information we got from his wife, too. Depression and all.”