CHAPTER TWELVE

 

 

FROM TWO BLOCKS away, Judge Lela Rowain saw the crowd gathered outside St. Christopher’s police station. She’d already passed two parked news trucks and a lot of cars with out-of-state licence plates. She’d expected this from the moment they’d learned that CJ had been killed.

One of the reporters spotted her coming and darted out into the street, brandishing his microphone. The man skidded on a patch of ice and landed on his side.

Rowain carefully steered around him as the other reporters made their way towards her. She stopped the Lawranger at the side of the road and climbed off.

Another male reporter shoved a minicam in her face. “Portman Fullerton, BiggestEverNews dot com. Judge, what can you tell us about the brutal murder of your colleague, local girl Charlotte-Jane Leandros?” He was walking backwards, awkwardly, so as not to get too close to her as she made her way towards the station.

A female reporter nudged Fullerton aside, “Judge Rowain, isn’t it? We’ve just heard that you shot and killed a suspect in Sorrell’s Entertainment—the home of entertainment at super low, low prices—over in the Omaha Mall. Can you comment on that?”

A third reporter, a man walking alongside Rowain said, “Look this way for the camera, please. Nice big smile. Let the viewers at home see the pretty side of the Law, right?”

Rowain couldn’t help but be impressed that the reporters weren’t actually slowing her down. They were keeping pace with her and jostling each other, but not actually coming within a metre of any part of her body.

At the entrance to the station’s parking lot, the huddle of reporters in front of Rowain dissolved as they darted to the sides. Clearly, they’d been ordered not to set foot on the property.

They continued to shout questions at her, until the station’s doors opened and a man she didn’t recognise strode out to meet her, followed by two burly men in suits with telltale bulges under their jackets: personal security guards. The reporters started addressing him instead: “Lieutenant Governor Schubert! Does the murder of Judge Leandros mean more Judges will be assigned here? What does that do to the law enforcement budget, Mister Schubert?”

The man stopped in front of Rowain and jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Captain Witcombe wants you inside. Right now. Her office.”

“You are?”

“As you’ve just heard from the jackals with the cameras, I’m Lieutenant Governor Marius Schubert, that’s who the hell I am. Inside, Rowain. Now.”

He marched alongside her towards the doors. “You are in so much trouble. I knew something like this was going to happen. Told Fargo himself this was a mistake. Should have stuck to the bigger cities first, but he insisted that even tiny little burgs like this place needed to see Judges in action.”

Rowain glanced back to see that the security guards were following.

“Six of you here only half a day and already one of you is dead, one of you has shot one of our finest officers, and you’ve executed one civilian and maimed another.” Schubert pulled open the doors and Rowain slid past him. “Well, your boss is in there now getting the riot act read to him by Captain Witcombe and you’re next, Rowain!”

In the public lobby, four uniformed officers were gathered at the front desk, talking to the desk sergeant. They fell silent as they watched Rowain cross the lobby.

The Lieutenant Governor kept pace with Rowain along the corridor. “Knew this was a mistake. Shoulda just been two of you to start, observing at first. But that little stunt your people pulled out at the warehouse has lit a damn fuse. You ever seen a full-scale riot, Rowain? Because we have. We get one somewhere in this state nearly every damn weekend. But the next one’s not gonna wait for Friday night. It’s ready to kick off right now and those media vultures out there are advertising the damn thing.”

The door to the Captain’s office was open. Rowain could see Captain Witcombe inside, standing behind her desk. On the opposite side of the desk were Judge Deacon and a woman wearing a grey suit. Deacon nodded towards Rowain, but she couldn’t read the expression on his face.

In the doorway she hesitated for a second, and that was when Lieutenant Governor Schubert put his hand on her shoulder and shoved her forward. “Get inside!”

Rowain spun, jamming her elbow into Schubert’s chin. The blow staggered him. He stumbled backwards, cracking his head against the opposite wall.

His guards immediately reached for their guns, but Rowain’s weapon was already in her hand. They backed off, one of them saying, “Woah, hey... Just a misunderstanding.”

Deacon leaned out through the doorway and calmly said, “Warned you to play it cool, Schubert. You asked for that.”

Schubert ran the back of his hand across his mouth—it came away streaked with blood. “Split my damn lip...” To Captain Witcombe, he said, “Virginia, you’re a witness. That was assault!”

Rowain said, “Put your hand on me again if you want more of the same.”

The Lieutenant Governor glared at her as he entered the captain’s office.

As Rowain followed him, Judge Deacon asked, “Remember what I told you this morning when we got here?”

She nodded. “You said to step lightly, sir.”

“So your memory’s not faulty. Just your interpretation of the word ‘lightly.’” Deacon calmly pushed the door closed, in the faces of the Lieutenant Governor’s two guards. “Rowain, you met Captain Witcombe this morning. And this is Detective Morrow.”

Captain Witcombe began, “Rowain...” then corrected herself. “Judge Rowain. Hazel Pinheir, a private security guard at the Mayor Caroleen Omaha Mall, has accused you of an unprovoked attack on her person during which Ms Pinheir’s right radius and ulna were both fractured. We’ve already heard from her solicitor, who has intimated that if satisfactory compensation is not offered by the end of the day, they will be pressing charges. Do you have anything to say to that?”

Rowain glanced at Judge Deacon, who shrugged. She turned back to the captain. “I’d like you to give me her solicitor’s name and contact details, because that sounds like a threat of extortion to me. Two years.”

The detective laughed at that, but stopped when Captain Witcombe glared at her.

To Rowain, Witcombe said, “Pinheir is going to sue you—and probably us as well—and she has a strong case. There are eleven witnesses willing to swear that you attacked her without cause.”

“I warned her to drop her weapon. She refused. I disarmed her. Captain, I have a job to do and I’m not willing to explain and justify every action I make.”

Schubert paused in the process of dabbing at his lip with a handkerchief. “You’re gonna have to, because this cannot stand. This... judicial takeover. When Fargo comes to his senses—or when President Gurney comes to his and realises what a mistake he’s made—then all this will end, and you Judges will go back to begging for work as nightclub bouncers. Then we’re the ones who will have to pick up the pieces. The ordinary taxpayers whose lives you’ve ruined. Rowain, if you have any damn sense, you’ll get yourself the best lawyer you can afford.”

Slowly Rowain turned to face Schubert. “You really don’t understand, do you? Let me make it clear. I do not need a lawyer, because I am a Judge: I know the law better than almost anyone. Pinheir will not sue me, because I did nothing wrong or illegal. She has no case.”

“Eleven witnesses, Rowain!” Schubert said. “Eleven. They can’t all be lying! You need to talk to your union rep or whoever, because they are going to come down on you—on all of you—so hard that we’re going to have to check your dental records to figure out who’s who when this is all over.”

Rowain sighed. “Judge Deacon?”

“Your show, Rowain,” Deacon said.

Rowain said, “Lieutenant Governor, there is no going back, no reset button that’s going to fix everything. The life that you know now is almost gone. There will be no more lawyers, or cops, or—in time—politicians. Just Judges. I do not need to worry about Pinheir making accusations against me. She needs to worry about making accusations against me. And I hope you understood that, because if I have to go through it with you again, I’ll arrest you for wasting a Judge’s time.” To the captain, she said, “We’re done here.”

“No, we’re not.” Captain Witcombe said, “There’s still the matter of Judge Santana. Officer Chaplin is in critical condition. If he dies... hell, even if he doesn’t die. Chaplin’s a good cop. He’s popular. My people are going to close ranks against you. Nothing I can do to stop that.”

Deacon said, “Judge Santana told me what happened. I have no reason not to believe him. Your officer shot an unarmed, handcuffed suspect in the head, point-blank. As far as I’m concerned, that’s murder one.” He stepped closer to Witcombe’s desk and leaned on it, pushing his head close to the captain’s. “You might recall that we’ve still got our own murder to investigate. For that, we’re going to need the continued support of your department. If your people refuse to do their jobs, or in any way hinder our investigation, or if I find that they’re openly hostile to Judge Santana, I will consider that aiding and abetting the murderer. Are we on the same page, Captain?”

She nodded slowly. “Right now, we are.”

“Good.” Deacon turned to the Lieutenant Governor. “Judges Kurzweil and Santana arrested thirty-three perps at the TranceTrance factory. They’re holding them and the merchandise in a nearby abandoned warehouse because this town doesn’t have a prison or a secure enough evidence lock-up. Schubert, I called you here because four months ago the Justice Department sent you instructions to begin construction on a prison with a one-thousand-inmate capacity. You were given one year and told that weekly progress updates would be required. The Department has received precisely zero such updates. Instead, you appear to have assembled a task force dedicated to resisting the idea of a prison at every possible stage. What progress have you made?”

“I—”

“Not good enough,” Deacon said. “I’ll be recommending to the Chief Judge that you be made personally liable for the timely construction of the prison. You’ve squandered four months of your allotted twelve, Lieutenant Governor. Don’t squander the rest unless you harbour a desire to be the prison’s first occupant. In the meantime, you will authorise the deployment of fifty National Guard reservists to police our makeshift prison, and you will release appropriate funds from the state’s budget to cover any and all refurbishment and reinforcement costs. Please understand that this is not a suggestion or a request, Mister Schubert. Nor is it to be considered the opening gambit in a negotiation. It is an order.” He stepped back and glanced at Rowain. “Now we’re done. Let’s go. You too, Morrow.”

He moved towards the door, but the Lieutenant Governor grabbed his arm. “No! Deacon, this is absolutely unaccept—”

“Take your hand off my arm and go do your job, Mister Schubert.”

Schubert backed away, but he wasn’t finished. “This won’t stand, Deacon! I warn you, I have the president’s ear!”

“And I have my mother’s eyes, Lieutenant Governor. Right now, they’re looking at a relic that can’t comprehend that its time has passed.”