the curly black hair. The head was turned so that the dead eyes stared at Tracy.
Tracy choked back a sob and lurched to her feet. She knew she should feel for a pulse, but she could not bring herself to touch Laura Rizzatti's slender wrist. She also knew instinctively that it would make no difference.
The first officers on the scene told Tracy to wait in her office. It was so narrow she could almost touch both walls if she stood sideways.
Above her desk was a bulletin board with a chart of her cases. Next to the desk, on the window side, an old fan perched on top of a metal filing cabinet. Several briefs and some transcripts were stacked neatly on the desk next to a computer.
A slim woman in a powder-blue shirt, tan slacks and a light blue windbreaker walked into the office and held up a badge. She looked like she had been awakened from a deep sleep. Her blue eyes were bloodshot and her shaggy blond hair had an uncombed look.
'I'm Heidi Bricker, a detective with Salem PD.'
In Bricker's other hand was a container of hot coffee with a McDonald's logo. She offered it to Tracy. 'Can you use this?'
'Thanks,' Tracy answered wearily.
Bricker sat down beside Tracy. 'Was she a friend.'
Tracy nodded.
'It must have been some shock finding the body.'
Tracy sipped from the cardboard cup. The coffee was hot and burned the roof of her mouth, but she didn't care. The physical pain was a welcome distraction.
'What were you doing here so late?'
'I clerk for Justice Sherzer. She's working on a case with a complex probate issue and she needed a memo from me on a point of law, first thing in the morning.'
'What time did you start working?'
'Around seven-thirty.'
'Where were you working?'
'Upstairs in the library.'
'Did you hear or see anything out of the ordinary?'
'No. You can't hear anything that's said in the clerks' offices when you're upstairs in the library.'
Detective Bricker made some notes in a small spiral notebook, then asked, 'Was Laura a clerk?'
Tracy nodded. 'For Justice Griffen.'
'What did Laura do for Justice Griffen?'
'She researched legal issues being argued before the court, drafted opinions and read Petitions for Review filed by parties who've lost in the Court of Appeals.'
'Could she have been murdered because of something she was working on?'
'I can't imagine what. There isn't anything we know that isn't public record.'
'Why don't you explain that to me.'
'Okay. Let's say you were convicted of a crime or you lost a lawsuit and you didn't think you received a fair trial. Maybe you thought the judge let in evidence she shouldn't have or gave a jury instruction that didn't accurately explain the law. You can appeal. In an appeal, you ask the appellate court to decide if the trial judge screwed up. If the trial judge did make a mistake and it was serious enough to affect the verdict, the appellate court sends the case back for a new trial.
'A court reporter takes down everything that's said in the trial. If you appeal, the court reporter prepares a transcript of the trial that is a word-for-word record of everything that was said. An appeal must be from the record. If someone confesses to a crime after the trial, the confession can't be considered on appeal, because it's not in the record.'
'So there's nothing an appellate judge considers that's secret?' Bricker said., 'Well, sometimes there are sealed portions of the record, but that's rare. And no one is allowed to tell the public which justice is assigned to write the opinion in a case or what views the justices express in conference. But that wouldn't have anything to do with Laura.'
'Then why would someone ransack Laura's office?'
'I don't know. A burglar wouldn't be interested in legal briefs and transcripts. No one except the lawyers and judges involved in a particular case would be interested in them.'
'What about jewelry, cash?'
'Laura didn't have much money and I never saw her with any jewelry worth killing for.'
'Can you think of anyone who would want to hurt her? Did she have a boyfriend, an ex-husband with a grudge?'
'Laura was single. As far as I know, she didn't have a boyfriend. She kept to herself, so there might have been someone I didn't know about, but . . .' Tracy paused.
'Yes?' Bricker asked.
'I feel odd about this.'
'About what?'
'Is what I tell you confidential?'
'Our reports have to be revealed to the defense in certain cases, if there's an arrest, but we try to keep confidences.'
'I don't know if I . . .'
'Tracy, your friend was murdered. If you know something that could help us catch the killer . . .'
Tracy told Detective Bricker how Laura had been acting and about the incident between Justice Pope and Laura in the library.
'It may have been nothing,' Tracy concluded. 'Laura never said Pope tried anything, but it was obvious to me he'd made a pass at her.'
'Okay. Thanks. If I talk to Justice Pope about this, I won't tell him my source. Can you think of anything else that might help?'
Tracy shook her head wearily.
'Okay. You've been a big help, but you look like you're at the end of your rope. I'm going to have someone drive you home. I may want to speak to you again,' Bricker said, handing Tracy her business card, 'and if anything else comes to you . . .'
'I'll definitely call, only I don't think I know anything I haven't told you. I can't imagine why anyone would want to kill Laura.'
Tracy waited on the landing while an officer checked her apartment. She was exhausted and had to lean against the railing to keep herself erect.
It was hard to believe that Laura, to whom she'd spoken only hours before, was no longer alive.
'Everything's okay, miss,' the policeman said. Tracy hadn't heard him step out of the apartment and she jumped slightly. 'I checked the rooms, but you make certain you lock up tight. I'll cruise by every hour, just in case.'
Tracy thanked the policeman. She locked up, as he'd advised.
Tracy wanted nothing more than to sleep, but she wondered if she could.
The first thing she noticed when she entered her bedroom was the flashing light on her answering machine. Tracy collapsed on her bed and played back her only message. Laura's voice made her gasp.
'Tracy, I'm in trouble. I have to talk to you. It's nine-oh-five.
Please call me as soon as you get in, no matter how late it is. I have to . . .'
Tracy heard a doorbell ringing in the background just before Laura stopped speaking. There was a pause, then Laura finished the message.
'Please call me. I don't know what to do. Please.'
Chapter FIVE in the days following Laura's death, everyone at the court tiptoed around Tracy as if she had some rare disease, except for Justice Sherzer, who invited Tracy to move in with her. She declined, insisting on staying alone in her apartment and facing her fears.
Friday was oppressively humid. The portable fan barely stirred the air in Tracy's tiny office. The workmen's
