Dirty Blonde

“Beecker amp; Hartigan,” said the quavering voice, when the call connected. Mrs. Pershing.

“Matt Sorian, please.”

“Judge Fante? Is that you?”

“No.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, please hold,” Mrs. Pershing said, and the next voice was Matt’s.

“Matt, it’s Cate.”

“My God, Cate! I saw the papers-”

“We both did. Listen I have some hard questions. Law-review type issues. One, is it within the power of a chief judge to suspend a district court judge for off-the-bench sexual conduct? Obviously, the issue is what you read about in the paper.”

“Well, Cate-”

“Wait, hold on, there’s more. Two, does sexual misconduct rise to the level of judicial misconduct within the meaning of the statute? And third, what is meant by ‘good behavior’ in Article III of the Constitution?”

“Cate, I can’t undertake that research for you. Chief Judge Sherman just called.”

“He called you?”

“We just hung up. He’s angry with me, and with Beecker, for advising you not to sue.”

“What? What are you talking about? He has no right to do or say that.”

“I’ll tell you what I told him-that I did not so advise you. I merely suggested that your chance of prevailing would be low, and that the decision to sue or not to sue was a personal decision, which you should make.”

“What?” Cate thought she’d entered a parallel universe, where your boss taped your conversation and your partners betrayed you. “That’s not what you advised me at all, Matt. You advised me not to sue.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“And where do you get off talking with Sherman or anyone else about my legal business? What about client confidentiality?”

“You waived it, Cate. You spoke to him about my advice, and I thought it only fair to clarify what I told you.”

“Clarify? You lied! My speaking to him waives nothing, and you know it.”

“I can’t afford to have my legal advice misconstrued to the chief judge of our district court. Beecker can’t afford that, either, Cate. You, of all people, should understand.”

“Screw you, too, Matt.” Cate slammed down the phone, just as there was a knock on the door. “Come in,” she called out, flustered, and the door opened onto two federal marshals, a bodyguard, and an FBI agent. Cate tried to recover. “Yes, gentlemen?”

“Judge Fante?” The marshals entered her office in their dark blue jackets, looking so somber that Cate felt a bolt of alarm.

“What is it? Is Russo back?”

“Judge, we’ve been asked to escort you out of the building.”

“But I’m not going anywhere,” Cate said, then came up to speed, incredulous. “Am I being thrown out of the courthouse?”

“The clerk’s office asked us to take care of it, Judge. We don’t know any more about it. We’re just doing what we’re told.”

“I’m with you, wherever you go,” Justin said, his lips pursed.

“So am I,” Brady added, and Cate wondered fleetingly whether Justin and Brady could take the marshals.

“Okay, I’m going.” Cate rose and looked around her desk, trying to think clearly. She hadn’t seen this coming. She didn’t think any of this could happen. What should she take? What should she leave? Would she ever come back? She hadn’t even got the chance to unpack. She picked up her purse and went to the door, smiling at the marshal. It was one she recognized. “Please don’t cuff me, Mel. I’d like to avoid the obvious handcuff joke.”

“No cuffs, Judge.” He smiled sadly, and Cate led her entourage out and into the reception area, where Val and the clerks were standing, stricken. The clerks looked at her, blinking like baby chicks, and even Val looked worried as a mother hen.

Cate said, “Nobody freak. I’ll get us out of this. Here’s what matters-Val, they’re going to reassign you.”

“To who?”

“I don’t know yet. I’ll assume they’ll give you some time to organize my files.”

“I’ll need time. I mean, I just won’t leave you. I can’t just walk out of here. I don’t want to.”

Cate raised a hand. “Do what they say, so you don’t get in trouble. And remember, you’re Invaluable.” Val threw her arms open and gave her a big hug, which still smelled like powder. Cate willed herself not to get choked up and turned to the law clerks. “Guys, listen. Did either of you get job offers?”

“Not yet,” Emily answered, and Sam shook his head.

“Morgan just rejected me, yesterday.”

Cate patted his tiny shoulder. “Okay, don’t worry. Take the weekend to put your life in order. Sleep in. Enjoy yourselves.”

“Are we out of a job?” Emily asked, upset.

“No, you work for me now, and I’m giving you both a vacation. Take some time off. I’ll match your pay. In fact, I’ll give you a raise, okay?”

“You don’t have to do that, Judge.” Emily’s eyes glistened, but Sam nodded.

“Yes, she does.”

“I’ll be in touch with you next week. Just don’t worry.” Cate gave them each a quick hug, went to the coat rack, and slid into her coat. “See you later. Say good-bye to the courtroom deputy for me,” she said, as she left her chambers. She held her chin up as they crowded silently into the tiny judges’ elevator and rode it down to the judges’ lobby, where Cate turned to Brady. “You must be exhausted. Don’t you have a shift change or something?”

“At two, we’ll switch.”

“Good.” Cate turned to Justin. “I’d like you to go over to a house on Meadowbrook Road and stay there until the end of the day.” She gave him Gina’s address. “Then go back next week and the one after that. Stay there, just in case Russo gets in somehow.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, thanks for everything.” Cate shook his hand and nodded to Brady. “We outta here?” she asked, and she went through the door to the parking lot, got into her car, and drove it out, picking up Brady’s black Crown Vic on her tail by the time she reached the security kiosk. She took a right onto Seventh Street, then another onto Race, around the back entrance of the courthouse.

Traffic was light but the rain was heavy, and she cruised down the street, the windshield wipers thumping back and forth, and she stopped at the red light, numbly watching them beat, trying not to think about the fact that she’d lost everything she had in one stormy afternoon. She reached her street and took a left, stopped by the traffic and commotion she’d never seen before on her quiet street. A mob of reporters carrying umbrellas crowded the sidewalk in front of her house, and at least eight boxy white newsvans, each with its cheery multicolored logo, clogged traffic by parking on the curb, their microwave poles soaring into the storm like modern-day church spires.

Oh no. Cate kicked herself. She should have realized that at least some media would be staked out in case she came home. She’d been too preoccupied to think ahead. She hit the gas, then braked. A WCAU-TV newsvan stuck out into the street, preventing her from going forward. Cate threw the car into reverse just as one of the reporters spotted her, pointing with a surprised shout that was muffled by her car windows. Suddenly photographers aimed still cameras at the car, their automatic flashes firing like tiny explosions. TV cameramen raised their videocameras to their shoulders, pointing long lenses at her. Reporters started running toward her.

Cate had to get out of there. She checked the rear view. The Crown Vic idled behind her. “Brady! Move!” Cate yelled, signaling frantically for him to back up, but it was too late. Reporters banged on the window, shouting questions.

“Judge, are you fit to serve on the bench?” “What do you have to say about reports on your personal life?” Klieg lights sprang to life, aimed at Cate in the car. “Judge Fante, give us a comment! Come on, any comment,