Make one bad decision, and the whole thing gets flipped on appeal.
“Good afternoon, counsel,” she said. “I’ve read the papers. Mr. Madden, it’s your motion; I’ll hear you.”
Madden stood at the counsel table. “Judge, as you know, this is a sex-discrimination suit. We’ve propounded interrogatories to the plaintiff, but she has declined to answer questions regarding her romantic history, which are clearly relevant.” He looked at Glenda Craft. “Part of the plaintiff’s burden here, Your Honor, is to show that the work environment at Wheelz was hostile or offensive, to show it was unwelcome. We think if Ms. Meyers is required to answer these questions, the evidence will show whether the atmosphere at Wheelz was in fact unwelcome, which is the plaintiff’s burden of proof at trial. We believe that Ms. Meyers’s prior sexual history will show that the conduct she encountered at Wheelz was something she was accustomed to. We think this information is directly relevant.”
Juliana stifled a yawn, exhausted yet tense. “Thank you, Mr. Madden. Ms. Craft, what do you have to say to this?”
Glenda Craft stood. “Your Honor, the defense’s goal here is nothing less than to embarrass and humiliate the plaintiff. They’re just trying to defame her. They’re trying to imply that Ms. Meyers had a bad moral character — which has no bearing on the conduct within the company. Her sexual history has no relevance to what happened at Wheelz during her tenure there. This is just character assassination, plain and simple.”
Glenda Craft paused, and Juliana broke in, “Thank you, Ms. Craft. It was helpful to hear from both of you.” There was no point in letting them both go on at length. She already knew what they were going to say, they’d said it in writing, and she’d made up her mind anyway. She was tired and finding it hard to concentrate.
“As I said, I’ve read the papers, and I’m familiar with this area of the law. So I’m going to rule from the bench.” Both lawyers looked at her sharply, surprised. “I’m going to allow the motion in part and deny it in part. I’m going to deny the motion with respect to any sexual or romantic relationship not connected to the workplace. Anything that happened while she was employed at Wheelz, any sexual relationship with a fellow employee, is relevant and discoverable. It’s fair game.” Madden half rose to object, and Juliana — tired and stressed and needing to get the hell out of there — shut it down: “Thank you, all.”
31
How much longer is this going to go on?” Juliana said on the phone.
“I don’t know,” Duncan said. “We have a lot to talk about, but I’m not ready to talk.”
“Well, can I come home for a while tonight so we can all talk as a family?”
“I’d rather you didn’t.”
“We need to tell Jake what’s going on.”
“I already did. He asked where you were this morning, and I told him that we’d had an argument and you were temporarily staying with Judge Connolly.”
“That’s all you told him?”
“Just that. He asked for details, and I said we’d talk later. He wasn’t happy to be kept in the dark.”
“I’ll give him a call, if you don’t mind.” She thought, in pique: He’s my son too.
As soon as she hung up, she called Jake’s phone, but it went right to voice mail. She texted, Call me. A moment later, she typed Matías Sanchez’s name into Google to see if his death had been reported anywhere. Not so far as she could see. She was about to call Hersh when her office landline phone rang. She picked it up.
“Yeah, I’m looking for Judge Brody,” a man said. “This is Austin Bream from The Boston Globe.”
She recognized the name. Bream was a columnist with a reputation for breaking scoops, usually having to do with city government fraud or abuse. He was trouble. She hesitated a moment, thought about pretending to be someone else, a clerk or a secretary. “Speaking,” she finally said.
“I assume you’ve heard about Matías Sanchez.”
So it begins. It was out there. “I’m sorry, who?”
“A lawyer from Chicago named Sanchez. He was in town on a case before your court.”
“What about Mr. Sanchez?”
“He was found dead last night in his hotel in Allston. Police are calling it a suicide. I was wondering if you had any comment.”
She quickly weighed the pros and cons of talking to a reporter. And realized there were no pros. Speaking to Bream would just feed the beast, make a story where there didn’t need to be one. “I’m sorry, Mr. Bream, I really can’t comment. This is the first I’m hearing of it. I’m sorry to hear of this man’s death, but I can’t say anything further.” She disconnected the call.
So the death had probably appeared on the police log overnight. Maybe the hotel had identified Matías Sanchez. His only connection to her was that he had argued in her court. His appearance in court was a matter of public record. Apart from that, no one would connect him with her, she was sure. She was fairly certain she hadn’t left fingerprints.
But what if they found the sunglasses?
Her cell phone rang.
“Yes?”
“I’m outside the courthouse.” Hersh.
“I’ll be out in five minutes or so,” she said, standing to leave even before she’d hung up. She’d left him another message first thing in the morning and had been waiting all day for a call back.
She didn’t recognize him at first. He looked like an old pensioner, down at the heels, wearing a threadbare herringbone scally cap and smoking a cigarette in front of the courthouse. Maybe he changed looks for different jobs. She tapped him on one shoulder, and he turned slowly.
“I didn’t notice you smoked.”
“I don’t.” He exhaled, his grin wreathed in smoke. “Well, not often. What can I do for you, Judge Brody?”
“Didn’t you used to be a police detective in Boston?”
He nodded.
“You still know people?”
“A few. Why?”
“I have a feeling the Boston Police may be contacting me.”
“Why?”
She hesitated. “I’m pretty sure I left my sunglasses in his hotel room.”
She could see recognition dawn on his face.
“That would be unfortunate. Is your name on them?”
“No. Just my fingerprints. Can you get them back for me?”
“From a crime scene?” His eyebrows shot up. “I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do about it. I can’t stop them from doing their job. You know that. Anyway, by now I’m sure they’ve already been logged in as evidence.”
“Maybe I got lucky and they didn’t find them.”
He shrugged, took a drag on his cigarette. “Maybe. Are your prints in the system?”
“I used to work in the US Attorney’s office.”
“So they are. Well, we can hope that the death is treated as a suicide, in which case they’re not likely to run prints.” Twin plumes of smoke unspooled from his nostrils. “Did you happen to notice any CCTVs in the hotel, in the halls and lobby?”
“Cameras? A few. But I wore a hat and sunglasses.”
“Then you’re still on tape. Let’s hope you can’t be identified.”
“Let me ask you something. Candidly. Should I be afraid?”
“Because of what happened to Sanchez?”
“Right.”