courtroom.
“You wanted to ask if I know Judge Fitzhume?”
“Actually, sir, it was does he know you?”
“He does. Not in a social way. Our districts are widely separated, but we’ve served on a couple of committees together and have worked together for six or seven years.”
“Did you speak to him Saturday night?”
“Briefly. He passed by me on the way to the restroom. At least I assume that’s where he was headed. I stood up, we shook hands, said it was good to see each other. The usual. Then he went on and I sat back down. I didn’t notice when he returned.”
“What about Judge Jeffreys?”
Feinstein shook his head. “As I told you Sunday, I barely knew the man and I didn’t pay any attention to him. Now if you’ll excuse me?”
While they talked, the crowd had thinned and the judges ambled through the double doors and back into the meeting room.
Edwards looked around for Judge Knott and saw her at the front of the room in animated conversation with Judge Chelsea Ann Pierce. It was still a few minutes before two—not enough time to say anything meaningful to Judge Pierce even if he could think of anything meaningful to say.
Several stragglers hurried into the room and the last one in closed the door behind him, effectively putting an end to that problem for the moment.
As he rounded the corner into the main lobby, he called to check in with Andy Wall, who answered on the first ring.
“Where are you?” Edwards asked. “Get anything from Armstrong’s aunt?”
“I’m just leaving Castle Hayne,” Wall replied. “And yeah, I got every clever thing our boy’s said since he started talking. I’ve looked at scrapbooks of the school plays he was in. I’ve had to listen how Andy Griffith told her what a fine nephew she had and how he all but said that Ron Howard wouldn’t have had a chance to play Opie if little Kyle had been old enough to try out for the role. I’ve heard how sensitive he is and how upset he was when he didn’t get a part on—
There was a stream of steady swearing before Wall calmed down. “Sorry, pal. Some senior citizen, going about twenty miles an hour in this rain. She decided at the last minute that she really did want to get on the on-ramp here and almost rammed me.”
“So did you get anything useful out of the Rudd woman or not?” Edwards asked impatiently.
“ ’Fraid not. He calls her every Sunday, but he didn’t mention the murder and she was surprised to hear the judge had eaten at Jonah’s Saturday night. She’s also surprised that he’s moved without telling her. I thought for a minute we were gonna get lucky when she gave me his cell phone number. That we could locate him through it.”
“No?”
“Disconnected. But I’ve relayed the number to the office and Chip’s gonna get the guy’s records. And Mrs. Rudd did give me several good pictures of him. I asked her if she could think of who he might go to if he was in trouble. First she swears he’d come to her if he didn’t go home to Myrtle Beach. But then she said that he might go to her place down near Southport. She’s got a trailer down on the Intracoastal Waterway and her daughter lives there. She and Armstrong used to be good buddies before the daughter got sick.”
Edwards heard the sarcasm in Wall’s voice. “Sick?”
“She’s an alkie. Can’t hold a job and won’t go into rehab, so Mrs. Rudd lets her stay in the trailer. She’s grateful her daughter’s not into crack or meth, but she can’t stand to see her falling-down drunk, so she sends our boy down every week or so to take her a bag of groceries and some clean clothes. He was there Sunday evening, so what do you think? Should I run down and check it out? See if he’s there or if he’s told his cousin anything useful about the murder?”
“Might as well,” Edwards said. Southport was less than forty minutes away. “I’ll check out Jonah’s again. See if I can pick up anything new there. And maybe Judge Knott will find the connection between him and Jeffreys. Somebody, somewhere’s bound to have noticed something they haven’t told us yet.”
“Don’t hold your breath,” his partner said pessimistically.
CHAPTER
22
DETECTIVE GARY EDWARDS (TUESDAY AFTERNOON,
JUNE 17)
Driving back into Wilmington, Edwards thought that the sky might be brightening up to the west even though the rain was as heavy as it had been when he crossed the causeway earlier in the day.
Despite the rain, determined tourists were thick along the Riverwalk. A long line of umbrellas waited in front of the information booth at Market and Water Streets and another line had formed at the trolley car stop. The shops down at Chandler’s Wharf were busy, too, as people darted from one storefront to another as if trying to run between the raindrops. The parking lot at Jonah’s was full and he had to drive well past the row of waterfront restaurants before he found an empty space.
His black umbrella had a broken rib, but it kept the worst of the rain off as he splashed across the cobblestones to Jonah’s. He stood it in a corner of the porch, not much caring if it got stolen or not, and went inside, where the smell of deep-fried shrimp and hushpuppies almost made him forget the big breakfast he’d eaten earlier.
