TWENTY-SEVEN
The door to her chambers was opened by Judge Marielle Lemieux’s bailiff, who held her finger to her lips and pointed to the judge who was at her desk, engaged in what appeared to be a lively conversation with Craig Leonard.
When she spotted me, Judge Lemieux excused herself to Leonard, then stood and approached me. After a warm hug, she led me to a small sitting area. “I’m sorry about this, Buddy. He asked to see me and now I’m stuck with him.”
“Not to worry. You do look a bit frazzled. Are you okay?”
“Oh, yes. It’s nothing. But I didn’t want to let the chance to give you a hug pass without its fulfillment.”
“How’s Analiese?”
“And her three children.”
“Three?”
“Two girls and one lunatic.”
“Do I detect a sexist attitude here?”
“Wait until you meet him before you head down that road. He’s three, he never stops talking, his sisters are terrified of him, and I’m embarrassed to add that so is his mother. Have you ever heard the expression Holy Terror?”
“And he’s the one you love best?”
“How did you know?”
“Because in some circles, you’re referred to as a Holy Terror yourself.”
“Moi?”
From her desk, Craig Leonard emitted a loud, theatrical cough.
“Duty calls,” the judge said.
“It’s always a treat to see you.”
“You realize that were it not for your own lunacy, I’d now be your mother-in-law.”
“Lunacy?”
“You’re still unmarried, am I right?”
“Yes.”
“Determinedly so, right?”
“I guess you could say that.”
“I rest my case.”
“You know what the only thing was that frightened me more than marriage to Analiese?”
“No. What?”
“Having you as a mother-in-law.”
She swatted at me, a big grin breaking out on her face. “You should only be so lucky. Now get out of here. Can’t you see how busy I am?”
No sooner had I gotten into the Wrangler than my cell phone started ringing.
“Buddy Steel,” I answered.
“Sheriff Steel?” a woman’s voice asked.
“Who wants to know?”
“Wendy Kassel. You may not remember me, but I work for James Morrison. The Coastal Commissioner. Or should I say ‘worked for him.’ We met once when you were in the building.”
“What can I do for you, Ms. Kassel?”
“I suppose you know about James.”
“I know he’s no longer a Coastal Commissioner.”
“Do you know why?”
“Only the rumors.”
“I’m not supposed to be talking to you.”
“Because?”
“I’ve been warned not to.”
“Warned?”
“You have no idea as to what happened, do you?”
“I’m guessing I don’t.”
“Things aren’t as they appear. James has gone into hiding. I’m about to follow.”
“What is it you’re saying?”
“Commissioner Morrison’s resignation was influenced.”
“By money, I heard.”
“You seriously believe James Morrison accepted a bribe?”
“That’s the rumor.”
“It wasn’t money that influenced him.”
“What, then?”
“They broke both of his thumbs.”
“Excuse me?”
“Two Russian men went to his home. They gave him a choice.”
“Choice being?”
“Disappear or suffer the consequences.”
“Which were?”
“I’ll leave that to your imagination. Breaking his thumbs was for openers.”
“You’re suggesting that Boris Petrov’s men scared him off.”
“So much so that he was gone in a day and no one knows where he went.”
“How do you know this?”
“Because he phoned me from the road and suggested I do the same.”
“Leave town?”
“And go into hiding.”
“And he suggested this because?”
“Maybe you’re not as smart as he gave you credit for. I worked with Jimmy for years. I know what really went down. And that knowledge has put me in danger. So I’m forced to leave. Please don’t try to find me.”
She ended the call.
I pulled onto the shoulder of the road and sat quietly for a while, contemplating what I’d just learned.
James Morrison had been scared off. Because he wouldn’t accept a bribe. And as a result of his refusal, he suffered a brutal consequence. KGB tactics. As administered by Petrov’s tortuous thugs.
Clearly, the stakes were higher than I had imagined.
Greater than just restricting access. What, though? What could be so important that Petrov is willing to resort to violence to keep it under wraps?
What’s really going on with him?