Rough Justice

Judge Rudolph watched himself leaping the last hurdle. Sprinting for the finish line. Leaning into the tape. Splitting it like a spiderweb. The crowd roared. The banner flapped. He had won. It was over. Somebody handed him a flute of champagne.

And a brand-new robe.

61

Marta and Judy churned down the street, racing toward the Criminal Justice Center. Snow whisked from the sky and lay in a thick layer over sidewalks, buildings, and cars, as if someone had tossed a white comforter over Philadelphia. Stores and businesses were shut down. No one was outside. The stillness and silence were complete except for the whistle of the wind, a fluted note blown from the chill gray ether.

Marta panted as she ran in the heavy clothes, struggling to keep up with the younger and fitter associate; she was almost hyperventilating by the time they reached Broad Street. 'Judy,' she called weakly, and the associate ran back through the snow. Marta doubled over and braced her hands on her knees, trying to suppress the soreness in her torso. 'I have to stop,' she said, gasping. 'I can't keep this up.'

'You have to. We have to keep going.'

Marta felt dizzy. Blood rushed to her head and it throbbed. She couldn't find the strength to straighten up. 'Aren't there any cabs?'

'No. No cabs, no buses, nothing,' Judy said, scanning the deserted street. She was panting, too, and her breath made large clouds of steam in the frigid air. 'We gotta run for it.'

'How much farther?'

'Five blocks.' Judy squinted through the snow at the old-fashioned yellow clock atop City Hall, with its ornate Victorian hands. Her heartbeat quickened. 'It's one-fifteen, Marta. We gotta go. Come on.'

'I'm too old for this.' Marta panted heavily as she stood up. Her chest felt like it would explode. 'You go ahead. Take my purse. The evidence is in it.'

'No. They won't believe me without you, you're lead counsel. Come on. Straighten up. Move your ass.'

'You just like bossing me around,' Marta said, panting too hard to smile.

'That too,' Judy said, and ran off toward the courthouse.

62

Bennie climbed the snowdrift to Carrier's stoop, brushed snow off the brass buzzer, and leaned hard on the black button to ring the associate's apartment. She buzzed and buzzed, but there was no answer. Damn. Bennie hit the buzzer for the ground-floor apartment. It was marked by a card that said HILL-SILVERBLANK, but the Hill- Silverblanks weren't in either.

Bennie banged on the front door in frustration. Snow shook from the door panels as she pounded. She had trudged all the way here to stop this kid. She wouldn't be turned away now. She banged harder, hoping Judy hadn't already done something stupid. She could land all of them in front of the disciplinary board and put Rosato & Associates in the toilet.

She stepped away from the door and looked up at Carrier's windows. They were empty and dark. Where could she be? Bennie climbed down the stoop and into the snow at the sidewalk. Then she saw them. Tracks in the deep snow, messy footprints that led from Carrier's stoop and down the sidewalk, then traveled beside a row of buried cars and disappeared around the corner.

Bennie peered through the blowing snow at the tracks. She could follow where they led. The footprints were easy to see in the deep snow. In some places it looked more like legprints than footprints. Bennie smiled. Lawyer tracks. Cloven pumps. They wouldn't get far on foot.

She clambered down the stoop, careful not to kick snow on the fresh footprints, when it hit her. There were four footprints, not two. Two people had left Judy's apartment— Judy and Marta. Either that or the Hill-Silverblanks, out for a stroll in a blizzard. Bennie knew in her bones which was more likely. She had a hunch Judy and Marta were heading for the Criminal Justice Center. She bounded after them.

The lawyer tracks ran down Twenty-fourth Street through the residential neighborhoods. Bennie picked up the pace, running directly through them. She hadn't slept all night, but she always enjoyed a run in cold weather. Her legs felt strong. Her wind came easily. Bennie hadn't rowed since the storm and she needed to stretch. It was the golden retriever in her. She got rammy when she didn't get to fetch the ball.

She followed the tracks down the snow-laden sidewalk and fell into an easy stride. Bennie had always been the fastest on her crew, and running the benches at Franklin Field every week since then had kept her in shape. She still regretted not trying out for the Olympics, but there'd been a mother to support.

Bennie checked the tracks as she ran into the snow. Deep trails marked the snowy sidewalk, like slugs. She would overtake them in no time. She had to, before they ruined all of them. Bennie picked up the pace in the next few strides and sprinted down the street.

63

'It's D day, troops,' Ralph called to the other jurors. 'Time to vote.' Ralph was officially the foreman of the jury, but he felt more like an undertaker at a funeral parlor. He strode around the conference table, handing a sheet of legal paper to each downcast juror. They were in a funk since the scene with Christopher. It'd been like a soap opera, with Megan hugging Christopher while he flopped around on the floor like a hooked trout. Christopher kept trying to talk, but Megan had kept him quiet until the ambulance arrived.

Ralph had started pushing for a final vote as soon as the judge ordered them to resume deliberations. If Kenny wouldn't go with the flow this round, Ralph would get him next round. It was just a matter of time. Ralph handed a piece of legal paper to Megan. 'Time to vote now, young lady. The sooner this is over, the sooner you can get to the hospital.'

'Thanks,' Megan said, accepting the paper shakily. She stared at the blank paper. She didn't want to convict Steere even if it meant disagreeing with Christopher. Poor Christopher. She did want to visit him, at least to make sure he was okay. Megan hurriedly wrote innocent on her paper and folded it up.

Mrs. Wahlbaum bent over her paper, with one last glance at Mr. Fogel, who was writing with a speed that didn't surprise her. He'd vote not guilty, and Wanthida, who sat beside him, would vote not guilty, too. Mrs. Wahlbaum tried to recall what Christopher had said after he changed his mind, but all she could remember was him writhing in agony on the stretcher. It must have been appendicitis. She wrote not guilty and turned her paper over.

Nick trembled at the lined sheet in front of him. His nerves were shot. Christopher's stomach attack was the