the bedroom door. However, the line between persuasion and coercion could be very thin when the person who wants a result is a police officer.
'Our next witness will take a while, Your Honor,' Cedric Riker said. 'This might be a good time to break.'
'Who is the witness?'
'Officer Yoshida. He'll be explaining the basis for probable cause and talking about the exigent circumstances.'
'All right. Let's break for the day. I'll see everyone at nine in the morning.'
[2]
Quinn did not want to go back to his barren apartment, so he stayed in his chambers to work on cases that he had not been able to get to because of State v. Crease. The corridors of the courthouse were deserted when Quinn turned out the lights in his chambers and locked the door shortly before seven. The courthouse floors were marble and the ceilings were high. The slightest noise was magnified. At night, the silence in the darkened halls was eerie. Quinn walked down the corridor. The elevators were around the corner. When he was almost at the end of the hall, Quinn paused. He thought he heard a footfall. He stopped to listen, but the hall was silent. Maybe a security guard was walking rounds on the floor below. Sound carried in odd ways in an empty building at night.
Quinn turned the corner. There was a bank of two elevators on either side of the wide marble stairs. Just as the judge pressed the Down button to summon one a scraping sound made Quinn's breath catch in his chest. He stepped away from the elevators and peered down the deserted hallway in both directions. Quinn jumped, then sagged, startled by the bell that signaled the arrival of the elevator.
Quinn took the car to the lobby. The empty courthouse had spooked him and the dark, deserted streets looked threatening. The rain had stopped, but a stiff wind forced Quinn to turn up the collar of his raincoat. He hurried along the three blocks between the courthouse and the garage where the county rented parking spaces for the judges.
During the ride home, Quinn tried to think about the evidence he had heard, but he found himself thinking about Laura and how lonely he would be all evening. Quinn decided to call Laura as soon as he got home. Maybe she was ready to talk about their future.
Quinn opened his door and turned on the light. He shut and locked the door. A man in a black ski mask, turtleneck and jeans stepped out of the judge's bedroom and pointed a gun at Quinn.
'Stay calm,'' the man said. 'I'm not here to hurt you or rob you, but I will hurt you if you don't do as you're told. If you're smart, I'll be gone in a few minutes and you'll be just fine. Do you understand me?'
'Yes,' Quinn answered, trying to keep his tone neutral so the gunman would not hear how frightened he was.
The intruder gestured toward a chair that stood in front of a low coffee table.
'Sit down.'
Quinn did as he was told.
'How did Andrea Chapman die?' the man asked.
'I told the police that I don't know anything about that.'
The man reached behind his back and pulled a manila envelope out of his waistband. He tossed it onto the coffee table.
'Open it,' he commanded.
Quinn raised the flap.
'Now, take out the photographs.'
Quinn removed three 8V2 by 11 black-and-white photographs. All three shots showed Quinn and Andrea Chapman in the Cove of Lost Souls. Quinn's stomach rolled. The man pulled back the hammer of the gun and pointed the barrel at Quinn's head. Quinn blanched.
'I repeat, how did Andrea Chapman die?'
'She was murdered,' Quinn stammered.
'Yes, but how was she murdered?'
'Drowning. She was drowned.'
There was a slit for the mouth in the ski mask and Quinn saw the man's lips curl into a cruel grin.
'I hear that drowning is a peaceful way to die once you give in to it. Andrea didn't have it that easy.'
The man paused as if recalling a fond memory. When he spoke again, it was in the tone that confidants use with one another.
'Andrea's skin was smooth and her body was very firm. You would have enjoyed playing with her. I did. Oh, she cried and begged at first, but I soon put an end to that. Do you want to know how?'
This time the man's smile was wide and self-satisfied. Quinn's stomach clenched and bile rose in his throat. The man chuckled.
'Don't go in much for rough foreplay, do you? It's one of my favorite things. After a while Andrea was willing to do anything I asked, even to the point of inventing her own little sex games, to avoid the pain.'
The man paused. He eyed Quinn curiously, holding the judge's gaze the way a hypnotist traps his subject. The smile faded suddenly.
'Unfortunately, I had business to attend to, so I was forced to rape Andrea brutally, several times. Then I selected a very sharp hunting knife and engaged in some creative dismemberment.'
Quinn gagged and fought with all his might to keep from throwing up.
'Don't worry, Judge. You won't have to see any pictures. In fact, if you do as you're told, neither you nor anyone else will ever view my handiwork. But if you disobey me there will be terrible consequences for you.
'Tell me, Judge, what do you think would happen if the St. Jerome Police received an anonymous call telling them where to find the body of Andrea Chapman? What do you think would happen if the St. Jerome Police received copies of these photographs? Did you know that there is an extradition treaty between the United States and St. Jerome? Did you know that hanging is the punishment for murder on St. Jerome?'
Quinn had trouble breathing. He felt as if his body had turned to water.
'What do you want from me?' Quinn managed.
'One thing. If you do that one thing, you'll be safe. If you don't, Andrea Chapman's body will be found, the police will get these pictures and you will rot in a rat-infested prison on St. Jerome until the day you are hanged by the neck in the prison courtyard. Now, ask me what the one thing is.'
Quinn hesitated.
'Come on. You can do it. Ask me how you can save your life.'
'What do you want me to do?'
'Everything in your power to see that Ellen Crease is convicted of the murder of her husband. Once the jury returns a verdict of guilty, Andrea Chapman'6 body will disappear forever and all copies of the photographs you are holding will be destroyed.'
'I . . . I can t rig the trial. She could be sentenced to death.'
'So could you. Do you have an alibi for the day Andrea died? Can you explain where you went in your rented car?' The man walked over to Quinn and held out his hand. 'Please hand me the photographs, Judge.'
Quinn's hand shook as he picked up the pictures. The man took them and walked to the front door.
''You know what you have to do to save your life. Keep your mouth shut, do it, and you'll survive.'
The door closed and the man was gone. Quinn concentrated on fighting the nausea, but it was no good. He raced into the bathroom and threw up several times. Then he collapsed on the bathroom floor. Quinn remembered Andrea's smile, her laugh. An image of her running toward the sea came to him unbidden. Then, superimposed on that vision was an image of her body beaten and mutilated. Quinn squeezed his eyes shut and willed the vision away. He leaned against the bathroom wall and breathed deeply.
After a while Quinn struggled to his feet, cupped his hands and gulped cold water from the tap, then splashed it on his face. He had almost regained his composure when he remembered the call from the detective. Quinn had told him that he had not seen Andrea after he left the airport. The photographs would destroy him.
Quinn went into his kitchen and poured a glass of Scotch, which he drank quickly. The Scotch burned away some of his fear. Quinn took the liquor bottle into the living room, refilled his glass and collapsed on the couch. He reviewed everything that had happened to him since Andrea sat next to him on the plane trip to St. Jerome.
The first thought that occurred to Quinn was chilling. Until this evening, Quinn believed that Andrea Chapman's murder was not connected to him in any way.
