While I was pursuing the Cowgill angle, Freddie was busy interviewing the legal reporters. He started with Andromeda Wohlworth. The way he told it:
She was a pretty little thing, and young, wearing a wispy kind of dress like she pictured herself standing on a high bluff overlooking an ocean harbor, the wind blowing through her long hair and clothes while she waited for her man to come home from the sea. Yet when he found her she was sitting at a table and staring at her cardboard coffee cup, an expression of disillusionment on her face as if life had let her down. Her head came up when the door to the coffeehouse opened and she saw the handsome black man for the first time. “Is this him?” she wondered. “The man who sounded so desperate to meet me?” He walked toward her, moving deftly for a big man as he maneuvered around tables and chairs without once taking his eyes off of her. His smile was confident and sure. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest as he approached her …
“Really, Freddie?” I said. “Really?”
“Do you want to hear what happened or don’t you?”
“Do you need to make it sound like you’re reading a Julie Klassen novel?”
“I don’t know who that is.”
“Klassen. Local girl. Writes Regency romance novels.”
“Whatever she does, that’s fiction. This here’s the truth.”
“If you say so.”
“Ms. Wohlworth?” His voice was a rich baritone and sent shivers up her spine.
“Yes,” she said.
He reached for her hand. She gave it to him. It seemed so small in his.
“I’m Sidney Fredericks. Thank you so much for agreeing to meet me.”
She smiled brightly. “The pleasure is mine,” she said.
He gestured at the chair opposite her. “May I?” he asked.
“Of course.”
He settled in, again without taking his eyes off of her. She found his gaze disconcerting. Nervous warmth started in her stomach and spread in both directions.
“Ms. Wohlworth,” he said.
“Andromeda. My name is Andromeda.”
“Andromeda. That’s lovely. Named for the Greek princess or the constellation?”
“Both, I think. Although—” She pointed at the word a barista had scribbled on her coffee cup. “My friends call me Andi. I would like it if you called me Andi, too.”
“You honor me.”
“Oh, for God’s sake,” I said.
“It just kills you, doesn’t it, that women find me more attractive.”
“First off—no. Second, this isn’t Masterpiece Theatre.”
“I don’t watch that.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“You want me to tell the story or not?”
“Just get to the point, wouldja?”
“Am I in trouble, Mr. Fredericks?” she asked.
“Freddie.”
“Freddie.” She repeated the name like it was an invitation.
“No, no, you’re not in trouble at all, of course not,” the handsome black man assured her. “I’m here because we’re hoping you can help us.”
“You said on the phone that you’re with the NCRA.”
“NCRA?” I asked.
“Andi, you hold a Registered Professional Reporter Certificate issued by the National Court Reporters Association.”
“Yes.”
“You appreciate, then, that we’re not only deeply involved in promoting the profession of the court reporter, we maintain a stringent code of ethics for our members. Chief among these, and I’m quoting now, ‘preserve the confidentiality and ensure the security of information, oral or written, entrusted to the member by any of the parties in a proceeding.’”
Andi began to shift uncomfortably in her seat. “You don’t think—” she began.
Freddie cut her off. “Andi, please. We came to you because your reputation is impeccable.”
Andi liked hearing that, although up until that moment she didn’t know she had a reputation—at least not as a court reporter.
“We’re hoping you can assist us,” Freddie quickly added.
“In what way?”
“We have heard rumors that some reporters have been a little too free with the information they hear at reported proceedings. If this is true, then we feel we must somehow not only remind our members of their obligations but also strengthen our certification requirements. The NCRA must guard against not only the fact but the appearance of impropriety.”
“I appreciate that,” Andi said. “I just don’t know what I can do to help.”
“We would like to understand how this information is getting out. Is it by design or simple carelessness? Do you have friends in the profession?”
“Yes, I do. Some from when I went to Anoka Technical College and others I met along the way.”
“You meet with them? An attractive woman like you, you must go to parties.”
Andi felt the warmth move up her throat to the face. She knew she was blushing. “Parties,” she said. “Dinners. Just hanging out.”
“What have you seen? What have you heard?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“What do you and your friends talk about? Do you talk about your jobs?”
“All the time. Mostly, though, it’s about the people we work with, judges, lawyers.”
“Do you talk about the proceedings you record?”
“I don’t.”
“Of course not, but others?”
“Sometimes. We talk about the stories we hear.”
“You repeat the stories?”
“We never name names.” It was clear that Andi was now talking about herself. “We never say what case it is, just sometimes things we find funny or odd.”
“One case in particular that we’re aware of, a sexual assault in Hennepin County that didn’t go to trial because of insufficient evidence. Something about photographs…”
“Selfies.”
Andi’s hand flew to her mouth as if she wished she could catch the word and put it back.
“Yes,” Freddie said. “Selfies. You heard that as well?”
She nodded.
“Can you tell me the circumstances?”
Andi shook her head.
“I’m not interested in names, Andi. No one is going to be in trouble. We’re only interested in fixing the problem, possibly through the continuing education courses members must take to maintain their licensure.”
“It was just an acquaintance, I don’t remember her name, complaining that a rape victim claimed her attacker took pictures but no one would believe her. She wasn’t talking about the case so much as the rape culture, the fact that no one seems willing to believe the victim.”
Freddie reached across the table and took Andi’s hand. He gave it a gentle squeeze.
“I understand,” he said. “I’m upset about it, too.”
Andi smiled in return. Maybe he does understand, she thought. He seems so compassionate.
“She said that, did she?” I asked.
“I could see it in her eyes.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Who else was there?” Freddie asked.
“What do you mean?”
“In the room with you.”
“It was her and me and—we weren’t in a room. We were in a car driving to a club that we like. Me, her, and another friend who was driving.”
“So, no one could have overheard you.”
“No.”
“Did your friend repeat what she said to anyone else?”
“If she did, I wasn’t there,” Andi said. “And I know her. She wasn’t an acquaintance like I said. She’s my friend, and she’s even more conscientious than I am. She’s not one to spread rumors. It was just that one time because she was angry.”
“You can see why revealing confidential information like that is unacceptable.”
“I do.”
“I want to thank you for your time.”
“Is that all?”
“We’re hardly conducting an inquisition, Andi. We’re just looking for ways to strengthen our certification process.”
This time she squeezed Freddie’s hand. “Must you leave so soon?” Andi said
“There are important meetings I must attend.”
“Important meetings?” I said.
“I’m married, remember? Otherwise…”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”
Freddie rose from the table, much to Andi’s obvious disappointment. Almost as an afterthought he asked her, “Do you know anything about computers?”
“Me? No. Why do you ask?”
“I tried to use my laptop before I came over. I think I caught a virus.”
“Oh, no.”
“Do you know anyone who could help?”
“I really don’t. Sorry. Although there’s this place near where I live that does computer repair.”
“I’ll figure it out. Good-bye, Andi.”
“So what do you think?” Freddie asked me.
“The narrative voice sucks. Other than that—it doesn’t look too promising, does it?”
“No, but I went to see Lisa King just in case. Want me to tell you about it?”
“Do I have time to get popcorn first?”
The first thing the receptionist saw when he stepped off the elevator was a black man. Not a tall man, or a handsome man, or a man wearing a tailored sports coat from Men’s Wearhouse. He was a black man, and his smile did nothing to dissuade her anxiety as he approached. Not that she was a bigot; she had voted for Barack Obama twice. She had been raised in Minnesota, which was only six percent African American, though. Black people made her nervous.
“You knew what she was thinking?” I asked.
“Yes, Taylor. All I had to do was look in her eyes and I knew what she was thinking.”
I didn’t argue with him.
“May I help you?” She was speaking a little too loudly, but, she told herself, he didn’t look like a client.
“I have an appointment to see Lisa King,” Freddie said.
“Does she know you’re coming?
“I have an appointment,” he repeated.
“May I see your identification?”
Freddie gave her a good look at his ID. Her eyes went from the photograph printed there and back to his face. It was only then that she picked up a phone.
“Ms. King,” she said, “an African American person named Sidney Fredericks to see you.”
Words were exchanged.
“Are you sure?” the receptionist asked.
More words.
“As you wish.”
The receptionist put down the phone.
“I’ll escort you to her space,” she said.
“You can never be too careful,” Freddie said.
Her head snapped around so she could get a good look at him. Did he just call me a racist? she wondered. Well, I never.
She led him down one corridor and up another. They stopped at a closed door. The receptionist knocked, waited a couple of beats, and opened the door. A woman was inside seated in front of a stenograph machine. She was wearing headphones that she removed when the black man entered the office.
“Mr. Fredericks?” she asked.
“Ms. King?”
“Lisa.” She extended her hand. Freddie shook it. “Thank you, Agnes.”
The receptionist looked from the black man to Lisa and back again. She stepped out of the office, started to close the door, thought better of it, and made a production out of making sure it was opened all the way.
“I’ll be at my desk,” she told the woman.
Lisa smiled and said thank you. Once the receptionist was out of earshot, she turned her smile to Freddie.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“For what?”
“Never mind. So, Mr. Fredericks—”
“Freddie.”
“Freddie, what can I do for you?”
The black man gestured at the stenograph. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything important,” he said.
“Just doing some transcriptions.”
“I’m surprised at the size of your offices.”
“The firm’s been expanding,” Lisa said. “It’s owned and operated by a half-dozen court reporters. We’re basically all partners offering”—she smiled as if she had written the speech herself—“cutting-edge reporting and legal services provided by trusted, vetted, and professional court reporters with over a century of combined experience.”
“Cool.”
“We also do closed captioning. You said on the phone that you were with Associates and Kaushal?”
“We’re deeply concerned that confidential information concerning the Peterson murder trial might have been leaked to the public.”
“I don’t know why you came to me. I’ve never worked with Kaushal. I don’t think any of my partners have, either, although if you put in a good word for us we’d appreciate it.”
“You weren’t involved in the case, but you know those who were.”
She stared at the black man as if she were trying to read his mind.
“Mr. Fredericks—” she said.
“Freddie.”
“Mr. Fredericks, I have always strived to maintain the highest standards of confidentiality in my profession. So have my partners. So have my colleagues outside these walls. Do you expect me to say otherwise?”
“No.”
“Is there anything else?”
“Lisa, I don’t know from court reporters or legal stenographers. I don’t know what you guys talk about or don’t talk about, and I don’t really care one way or the other. But information has been leaked all over the damn place, not just about the Peterson case but several others as well, including one I know you did work, Rozanski-Kendrick in Hennepin County. We don’t think there are any reporters involved directly. We do think that maybe things mighta been spoken outta turn that coulda been picked up by someone else. That’s what we’re interested in. The someone else. Cuz if this stuff does get out people are gonna go apeshit, and all this—” Freddie gestured at the walls. “If your integrity is questioned even a little bit, what’s that gonna do to your business?”
“Is that a threat?”
“No, Lisa. That’s just me beggin’ ya to tell me if anything you and Andi Wohlworth and April Herron said to each other could have been overheard by someone else.”
Lisa was obviously jolted by the names of her friends. She thought about it for what seemed like a long time before she answered.
“I assure you, Mr. Fredericks, that anything that might have passed innocently between us stayed between us.”
Freddie thought that was a good answer, but not what he was hoping for. They spoke some more, but the answers never got any better.
“We should take their index cards off the board,” Freddie said.
“They take depositions in divorce cases, don’t they? I’d like to find out who worked with David Helin and Brooke St. Vincent before we decide.”
“According to Puchner, the reason Standout Investments settled out of court was to avoid depositions, so…”
“There must be something else that connects these five cases,” I said.
“Different courts, lawyers, and judges. One was federal, two were in Ramsey County, the others in Hennepin. Only two of the cases actually saw the inside of a courtroom. One went to jury and one ended up before the Court of Appeals. I don’t know.”
“Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how—”
“Swear to God, Taylor, you quote Sherlock Holmes I’ll smack you right in the mouth.”
I might have finished the quote just to see if he was serious, only my ringing cell phone interrupted. Probably for the best.
I checked the caller ID.
“Mr. Siegle,” I said.
“He’s back. The man who was watching yesterday, who you chased away? He’s back. He’s sitting out there—wait. There’s another car—another man. Dressed all in black. He’s walking to the first man’s car.”
“Mr. Siegle.”
“The second man is standing by the first man’s car, and now—he’s looking at me. He sees me standing at the window. Oh my God, he’s coming toward the house.”
“Call 911,” I said.
“Taylor—”
“Hang up the phone. Call 911. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
I hung up my own phone and headed for the door. Freddie followed close behind.
“What?” he said.
“Maybe nothing,” I said.
Only I didn’t believe it.