23

It was a Tuesday when Judge Dawson’s clerk called Piper on her cell phone and said the judge wanted to meet for lunch.

Piper hadn’t seen Lazarus today. Riley had popped in briefly in the morning and actually spoke to her. He talked about his wife and two kids and then said something about enjoying kicking down doors more than paperwork.

Up on the board now were crime scene photos from both scenes. Another photo was up of Ava Mitchell, what looked like a high school yearbook photo. It sent a shock of discomfort through her.

She looked like Sophie.

She looked like Piper.

Piper got her satchel and rose to leave for lunch. Henry was down in the basement again riffling through the utility closet and looked at her as she passed and gave him a quick smile.

“Your friend’s a lot different than you,” he said. “He’s here all night sometimes. I don’t think he sleeps.”

“Don’t know how. I can’t function if I don’t get my eight hours.”

“Me neither. The great free pleasure in life.”

The elevator doors opened, and Piper said, “Have a good day, Henry.”

It was a clear and pleasant day, so she rolled down her car windows, letting the breeze flow through. Her lunch with the judge was at a country club. The club’s golf course appeared lush and green, and as she drove up, a gate with a teenager checking passes came into view.

They had free valet, but she felt self-conscious at the state of her car and drove the extra distance to self-parking.

Going inside the extravagant building, she instantly felt out of place. Most of the women looked like they could be ripped from magazines, and the men were dressed like movie executives or CEOs. She wore a plain suit she had picked up at JCPenney.

She found the hostess and said, “Excuse me, I’m meeting someone here.”

“Sure, go on in.”

The tables were immaculate with thick tablecloths and spreads of colorful food laid out before the different guests, some of them sipping mimosas and Bloody Marys.

Judge Dawson occupied a secluded table on the veranda, her chin resting on her hand as she gazed out over the grass. She was dressed in an elegant blue suit that seemed like it would cost more than a rare piece of jewelry.

“Please, have a seat,” the judge said without glancing in her direction. It caught Piper by surprise since the judge’s eyes were averted.

She then shifted her attention to Piper, who felt a small discomfort at the judge’s gaze.

“Have you eaten here?” the judge asked.

“I haven’t.”

The judge signaled to one of the servers, who hurried over as if responding to their boss.

“Yes, Judge?” the young man said.

“Can I presume to order for you, Counselor?”

“Sure,” she said with an awkward grin.

“Two smoked salmons and two glasses of Prosecco, please.”

“Of course. Good choice.”

He left without trying to upsell anything, and when they were alone, the judge said, “I don’t usually drink so early, but the acidity of the wine cleanses the palate to offset the richness of the salmon.”

“You certainly know your food.”

“The great pleasure in life. With all the various compulsions people engage in, they forget some of the best ones nature has given to us.”

“Someone told me the same thing about sleep this morning.”

“I prefer being awake when I experience my pleasures.”

Her hands were as smooth as cream, and she moved with grace. As if she were gliding through water. “Your basement brought back memories of an office I occupied during my brief tenure as a lecturer.”

“Where?” Piper said.

“The FBI Academy at Quantico.”

“Really? Doing what?”

“Teaching search and seizure at the request of the director. Most federal agents are former police officers, and law enforcement tends to have an atrocious understanding of the Fourth Amendment. So he asked if I could give some primers to the incoming cadets. They had my office in the basement away from everybody else. As though they had to hide their shame that they were having trouble understanding the Constitution.”

“I have a feeling they understood it just fine. People in government tend to ignore the Constitution when it stops them from doing what they want to do.”

“Touché.” The wine came, and the judge closed her eyes, savoring a sip. She let it linger in her mouth briefly before swallowing and opening her eyes.

“Do you know Napoleon refused to go into battle without his favorite wine? He believed he would lose any encounter if he didn’t have a bottle with him. He couldn’t get his wine at Waterloo. Didn’t turn out so well for him.” She took another sip. “Do you have anything like that? Beliefs that defy logic that you are certain are true?”

“Yes.”

“What?”

“My faith in God.”

She grinned. “I would be careful saying that around Detective Holloway.”

Piper felt a little more comfortable with the judge’s grin and leaned back in her seat. She still felt awkward among all this affluence and didn’t quite know what to do with her hands, so she put them in her lap. “He has some curious views on the subject.”

“Oh, yes, I’m familiar with Detective Holloway’s views.”

“How long have you known him?”

“We’ve had a few cases together.”

The server brought an extravagant shrimp cocktail with the wine, though she didn’t recall the judge ordering it. Piper was hungry and wanted to try some, but the judge wasn’t taking any, so she waited.

“Does he still carry a photograph of Ava Mitchell in his wallet?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t know he did that.”

“Whatever she meant to him, he couldn’t let go of it.”

“Then why did he leave Homicide?”

“There’s a subtle difference between leave and leave before they ask you to leave . He couldn’t focus on anything else, and everyone knew it. But it came full circle for him with this case.”

“You think the two are linked as well?”

“What does the detective say?”

“He thinks it’s the same person.”

She sipped her wine before saying, “Similar circumstances, similar deaths. It’s a fair conclusion.”

“He’s certain it’s somebody with a lot of alarm security experience.”

“Or someone that wants him to believe they have a lot of alarm expertise.”

“I don’t know. I’m not convinced they’re linked. Lazarus certainly is.”

“Detective Holloway enjoys working with theories. The problem with theories is that you have them first, and then look for evidence. But it leads to making the evidence fit your theories rather than the other way around. When it works, it’s brilliant. When it doesn’t, innocent people get arrested and the guilty go free.”

The food came out. The judge took a linen napkin and folded it into a perfect triangle before laying it on her lap. Piper tried to do the same thing and felt like a child fumbling with a toy she didn’t understand.

Judge Dawson took a small bit of salmon on a fork and tasted it. She ate slowly and chewed purposefully. Piper just wanted to wolf it down, so she had to restrain herself and take small bites. The salmon tasted like smoked honey and almost melted in her mouth.

They ate silently for a few minutes before the judge said, “What does he think of Sophie?”

“Doesn’t talk about her that much.”

“When he does, what does he say?”

“He wants to interrogate her.”

“Interrogate, not just interview?”

“She’s already been interviewed.”

“So he thinks she was involved somehow?”

“He at least thinks she knows more than she’s saying.” Piper set her fork down and took a sip of the wine. “I try not to blame him for it. He has little experience with kids, and she’s the only one to survive.”

“Why do you think that is?”

“I think it was a miracle she got away, and I’m not going to let anyone interrogate her with any other assumptions.”

The judge took another bite before sipping at her wine. “In my experience, detectives are too quick to accuse and guardians too quick to trust.”

“I’d rather trust and get hurt sometimes than not trust at all.”

“Depends on how much you get hurt if you’re wrong.”