up, checking the number on the lighted display.
“Fine, sorry I didn’t get back to you. I just got in, actually. I was in Minneapolis visiting a client and my plane got rerouted. I spent the night in Denver.”
“Sounds cold.” Cate cruised forward when the light changed, approaching the glitzy new Constitution Center, shining metallic in the bright sunlight. Tourists in blaze-orange jackets thronged on the sidewalk, collecting like a mob of hunters. Businesspeople hurried to and from lunch.
Graham was saying, “I see from the newspapers that all hell’s broken loose with you. Murders? Suicides? What’s going on?”
“You don’t know the half of it.” Cate considered telling him about the break-in, then decided against it. “Thanks again for the flowers.”
“Glad you liked them. Have dinner with me tonight, so we can stop with the phone tag.”
“I can’t.”
“Not another date, I hope?”
“A younger man, like three years old. I babysit tonight.” Cate drove forward, finally passing the courthouse, noting that there were only a few reporters.
“Funny way to earn a few bucks. Aren’t the taxpayers paying you enough?”
“It’s my godchild.”
“Oh. Can you do it another night? I’m not free Friday. Got a late meeting.”
“It’s a long-standing gig. How about Saturday?” Cate asked, her heart curiously leaping into her throat. She had taken strangers to bed with less trepidation. “I think I’m asking you on a date.”
“Prime time? You’ve never given me a Saturday night before.”
“You’ve arrived, pal.” Cate laughed, and so did Graham.
“What did I do right? Was it the bling? Tell me, so I’ll do it again.”
“Calm yourself.” Cate approached the security kiosk outside the parking garage and waved at the guard in the booth.
“Saturday at eight, then,” Graham said, a new warmth in his voice. “I have a party to go to that night, given by one of my best clients. Would you mind going as my date?”
“I’d love it.”
“I’ll show you off. How about I pick you up, at your house?”
“Okay.” Cate felt a twinge. She’d feel funny, going home tonight. She gave him the address, hoping Nesbitt would call back soon. “Got that?”
“See you then. And wear that bracelet I gave you.”
“I will.” Cate drove down the ramp to the parking garage underneath the courthouse, then aimed her remote at the sensor and waited while the brown corrugated door lifted.
“You’re not wearing it, I know.”
“I am, too.” Cate smiled to herself. The gold bracelet was peeking out from under the thick sleeve of her coat, but he didn’t have to know that.
“See you Saturday,” she said, and hung up. She pulled into the garage, checking the car’s clock. 1:15. She was late. The parking lot was quiet and still, and she found her space and parked. She grabbed her phone and purse, and juggled both to lock the car and call Matt on the cell. She couldn’t remember his direct dial offhand, so she pressed in the main office number, hustling toward the locked door that led to the secured half of the courthouse.
“Beecker amp; Hartigan,” said a woman’s dignified voice, when the call picked up, and Cate felt herself stiffen. It was Mrs. Pershing, the prim switchboard diva who’d been with Beecker since the Jurassic. Cate didn’t even want to think about Mrs. Pershing knowing her business.
“Mrs. Pershing? It’s Cate Fante.”
“Judge! My goodness, how have you been? I keep hearing so much about that case before you, with all those movie stars. And that poor man, who killed himself. And so young.”
“Yes, it’s very sad.” Cate fished for her keys in her purse, resting her hot cell phone in the crook of her neck. “I hate to cut you off, but I’m kind of in a hurry, so could you-”
“Judge, we’re so proud of you, here at Beecker. Tell me, did you meet Clint Eastwood, at your trial? He’s a favorite of mine.”
“Clint Eastwood didn’t have anything to do with this case, Mrs. Pershing.” Cate finally found her key, shoved it into the lock, and twisted until she heard the telltale click. “Would you connect me to Matt Sorian’s office?” she asked, just as she burst into the small lobby for the judge’s elevator.
Where Jonathan Meriden was waiting for an elevator. In a dark topcoat over his suit and rep tie, carrying a boxy briefcase.
Mrs. Pershing was saying, “Mr. Sorian is at lunch, Judge. He should be back soon.”
“Please mention that I called. Thanks.”
“What is this in reference to?” Mrs. Pershing asked.
“Bye now,” Cate answered, and hung up rather than go with
“Hello.” Meriden nodded as he hit the button for their floor. They both watched the orange elevator numbers change, with Cate thinking that lifetime tenure might be a long time not to speak to a person.
“Can this marriage be saved?” she asked, managing a smile, but Meriden’s mouth remained a flat line.
“What do you mean, Cate?”
“It was a joke.”
“Oh.” They watched the elevator number turn to seven, their eyes heavenward. “How’s Sorian doing?” Meriden asked, after a minute.
“Matt? I don’t know.”
“He and I go way back. He’s before me next week.” Meriden paused. “Do you see a lot of Matt?”
“No,” Cate answered, just as the elevator reached their floor and the stainless steel doors slid apart. She stepped off the elevator to the ringing of her cell phone.
“Aren’t you going to get that?”
“Not just yet.” Cate opened the door to chambers. Inside, an alarmed Val was standing up at her desk, on the phone.
“Oh my God, I was just calling you, Judge!” Val’s forehead was knitted with worry. Sam stood beside her, even paler than usual.
“What’s the matter?” Cate asked, entering, and before she could stop him, Meriden slipped in behind her.
CHAPTER 22
Cate walked into her office, stunned at the sight. Debris lay everywhere. Case files had been opened and scattered over her conference table. Papers and bound briefs littered her floor. Casebooks had been pulled from the bookshelves, and cardboard boxes she had yet to unpack had been upended, their contents strewn onto the blue rug. Cate thanked God she had kept the chronology with her, in her purse.
“What happened here?” Meriden asked, aghast. He hovered over Cate’s shoulder, but she ignored him. She walked numbly to her desk and found all her drawers hanging open, as if they’d been searched. Even her blue mug had been knocked over, spilling coffee onto her papers. Cate stood by her desk, still in her coat.
“It’s my fault, Judge Fante.” Val stepped forward, her brown-patterned dress flowing around her. “I shouldn’t have gone to lunch.”
