Dirty Blonde

glad you’re here. What do we do next?”

“You do your job, and I make sure you’re safe. I called the Philly cops and they sent me a photo of Detective Russo.”

“When did they do that?” Cate asked, surprised.

“Early this morning. They turned me down at first, but Detective Nesbitt gave the okay and faxed it over.”

“Good. Are you armed?” Cate asked, and Justin nodded. That makes up for your smile. She turned to Brady. “Okay, what happens now?”

“The courtroom is clear. We have agents in plainclothes in the gallery, and Special Agent Donnelly and I will be in the room. We’ll visually inspect the members of the general public. They won’t be admitted until they go through the metal detector, outside your courtroom.”

“You got me an extra one, like in the gang trials?”

Brady nodded. “In addition, two marshals will be stationed at the metal detector and one of our agents, as well.”

“Yikes.” Cate felt overwhelmed. “I doubt Russo will get anywhere near the courtroom, but maybe we’ll keep out a reporter or two.” Everybody laughed on cue, and Cate smiled, beginning to sweat under her robes. She moved her long sleeves aside and checked her watch: 10:55. Time to go. She called out, “Bye, Val!”

“See you, Judge!” Val called back as Sam wended his way through the crowd, and they all left chambers and traveled down the hallway as a well-armed moblet. When they reached the anteroom, the FBI agents piled in first, leaving Cate and the others to be waved ahead on a silent hand signal, which was when she understood that “making a federal case” was more than a cliche. She walked through the anteroom, braced herself, and entered the courtroom when she heard the courtroom deputy sound off.

“All rise for the Honorable Catherine Marie Fante!”

Cate strode through the door into the courtroom, instantly concealing her shock at the size of the gallery. Sketch artists, reporters, TV anchor people, Court-TV personalities, and reporters packed the pews, shoulder to shoulder, wall-to-wall. They buzzed among themselves, more than usual because so many were civilians, and Cate didn’t see if Russo had made it in; she didn’t want to make eye contact. With her peripheral vision, she could see heads craning for a better view, mascaraed eyes widening, and moussed heads leaning together in whispered jokes, then parting with sly smiles. The crowd was even bigger than it had been for Simone’s trial, but this time they were there for her. Wanting to see the judge who slept around.

Inside, outside. Cate barreled up the stairs and onto the dais, feeling three hundred pairs of eyes travel her body, even in her loose robes, taking in every detail of her hair, face, breasts, and legs. And breasts. Maybe they’re looking for the scarlet A.

Cate took her seat at the dais, as if it were perfectly normal to host the entire population of Luxembourg at a routine guilty plea hearing. The AUSA straightened his tie, the female public defender sat a little taller in her chair, and even the defendant patted his hair into place, despite his handcuffs. The courtroom deputy shot her their wink.

“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen.” Cate turned to the AUSA. “Mr. Crystal, we have a plea agreement in this case, correct?”

“Correct, Your Honor. The government has a deal with Mr. Dow, and I believe Your Honor has a copy of the agreement.”

“I do.” Cate glanced at the papers, though she had memorized them. It was easier than looking at the crowd, and they were still buzzing. “Let’s begin.” Cate turned to the pretty blond defender at defense table, whose name she’d recalled from the pleadings, Abby Linderman. “Good morning, Ms. Linderman.”

“Good morning, Your Honor. This is Mr. Dow.” Linderman reached down and helped her client to his feet, and Dow rose with difficulty, in his ankle shackles. He was tall and thin, with a short brown cut and prison pallor, and Cate addressed him directly.

“Good morning, Mr. Dow.”

“Good morning, Judge,” he said softly, but Cate could barely hear him over the buzzing. She eyed the gallery with evident displeasure, but they didn’t know her glare was judgespeak for “shut up.” The courtroom deputy scowled, too, turning watchfully to them.

“Order in the court, please. Order,” Cate called out, trying to keep a lid on the proceedings. She reflected that in six months on the bench, she had yet to say that, but she couldn’t let this be about her. A man’s rights were at stake, and she’d had her focus clarified by yesterday’s debacle.

Cate looked down at the defendant. “Mr. Dow, I understand that you have pled guilty to nineteen counts of making false statements to a firearms dealer, in violation of Title 18, United States Code, Section 924(a)(1)(A). This is a hearing to ascertain that you understand the nature and consequences of your decision, because by entering a guilty plea, you are waiving a number of very important constitutional rights. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

“Even though you have come here today to plead guilty, you can change your mind.” Cate heard some leftover buzzing coming from the back, but let it go rather than make a big deal. She didn’t relish courtroom sketches of her screaming at the gallery. “If at any time during this hearing, you decide you don’t want to plead guilty, just tell me, and I will adjourn the hearing and schedule your case for trial. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“I now have to ask you some personal questions, to make sure you don’t have any mental or physical problems that would make it hard for you to understand what we’re going to talk about today. Would you state your full name?”

“William Peter Dow.”

Buzz, buzz, buzz, went the back, like a wasp.

“Mr. Dow, how old are you?” Cate heard the buzzing again and looked up in annoyance, pointedly scanning the back of the gallery, but she couldn’t see the source. Every face looked back at her. The courtroom deputy left his desk, on the trail of the noise. She glanced over at Sam, and sitting next to him was Todhunter Preppington, taking notes this time. Cate put it out of her mind.

“I’m twenty-eight.”

Buzz, buzz, buzz.

“Are you a U.S. citizen?”

“Yes.”

“How far did you go in school?”

“HOW FAR DID YOU GO IN HIGH SCHOOL, JUDGE?” yelled a man’s voice, in the back, and the gallery broke into laughter, hiding their smiles behind their hands and looking down.

Oh my God. “Order!” Cate stiffened, horrified, scanning the crowd. She had no idea who said it but it didn’t sound like Russo. It had to be the buzzing from the back. The courtroom deputy was already in motion. Brady, standing near there, walked toward the pews, and Justin Case edged protectively close to the dais. Heads in the pews turned and craned, giggling and laughing, wheeling to face the back of the courtroom. Amused reporters scribbled in their steno pads, and delighted sketch artists changed pastels at speed, focusing on the bench.

“I KNOW ALL ABOUT YOU, JUDGE! I GOT YOUR NUMBER! WE ALL DO!”

The gallery burst into its naughty laughter again, and talking and whispering erupted. The courtroom deputy and Brady were pointing at the middle of the back row, and three federal marshals closed in on a tall, wild-haired man in a shabby green parka and stained gray sweatpants. He looked crazy to Cate, but he had obviously read the newspaper.

Crak! “I’ll have order! Order in this court!” she called out, shaken, her face flushing red.

“SHE’S A GODDAMN WHORE!” the man screamed at the top of his lungs. The gallery gasped almost collectively. A commotion erupted in the back row. The courtroom deputy and the marshals yanked the man from his seat and dragged him struggling out of the pew. On the way out, his arms and elbows flailed, hitting spectators in the row. “A WHORE! THEY’RE ALL WHORES AND BITCHES!”

“I graduated high school,” Dow answered, oblivious, and the gallery broke into new laughter.

“Order! Order!” Mortified, Cate banged the gavel.

The marshal grabbed the wild-haired man, but suddenly he wrenched himself free and all hell broke