Chasing The Dead

Chapter Seventeen

Alex pounded down five flights of stairs to the street, taking her anger and frustration out on each step. She couldn’t decide what was worse: that she’d let Judge West goad her into threatening to kill him or that she’d accused him of murder.

By the time she reached the first floor, she’d burned enough energy to think clearly. What mattered was whether she believed his denial and his alibi. She couldn’t picture him rear-ending Robin’s car, forcing her off the road. It was easier to imagine him whispering in someone’s ear about a problem that had to be solved in a hurry, never mind the details.

If the judge was responsible for Robin’s death, she was culpable as well, even if the law wouldn’t draw that link. She’d given in to her weakest self by joining hands with West, making it easy to draw a straight line from that moment to this. She had to find out the truth about Robin’s death, no matter the consequences. She couldn’t leave it up to Rossi, because he wouldn’t hesitate to use the investigation as another way to bring her down. And she couldn’t ask anyone for help without putting them at risk by dragging them into the deal she’d made with the devil.

When she left the courthouse, she saw the man who’d walked into Judge West’s chambers staring up at Andrew Jackson and his horse. She was about to pass him when he turned, head still raised, and ran into her.

“Oh,” he said.

“That’s two ohs in one day,” Alex said.

“Yes, it is,” he said with a smile. “That’s my limit, I’m afraid.”

He was an inch shorter than her, his gray complexion waxy in the sunlight. She was close enough to make out the detail on his gold pin. There was a navy blue inner circle inscribed with Service-Valor-Sacrifice. A map occupied the center of the pin with 50th superimposed over it. The words Vietnam War appeared beneath that. A small rectangular ribbon in green, gold, and red was attached to the bottom of the pin.

Alex pointed to the pin. “You served in Vietnam?”

“Eighty-Second Airborne, 1968 to 1970.”

“Long time ago.”

“But not forgotten.”

“Nor should it be,” Alex said, hesitating for a moment. “Did you find the probate department?

“I did, but everyone was at lunch. I’ll have to try again, but next time I’ll know where I’m going.”

“Since you didn’t know your way around the courthouse, I take it you’re not a lawyer.”

He laughed. “Oh, no. I was looking into a matter for a friend, another vet, that’s all. I’m retired, so I don’t have much else to do.”

The man was so courteous and disarming that Alex warmed to him immediately, their pleasant conversation a welcome antidote to her confrontation with Judge West.

“What did you do before you retired?”

“Pretty much the same thing, helping vets, so I guess you could say I didn’t work very hard or I never retired.”

“I know a few lawyers who do probate work. I’d be happy to give you their names.”

“Then you must be a lawyer.”

“Guilty,” Alex said.

“And a good one, if I’m any judge of people.” He stuck out his hand. “Mathew Woodrell.”

“Alex Stone,” she said, shaking his hand.

“A pleasure,” he said. “Nice to know a lawyer if I ever need one.”

“Well, you won’t want it to be me.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because I only represent poor people accused of crimes.”

“Then I hope you’re right.”

She watched him walk away, then look back at her and give her a little wave. A westbound bus was stopped on the other side of Twelfth Street. When it left, she saw Rossi standing on the sidewalk. They stared at each other, neither of them moving, waving, or nodding, until Rossi turned his back and walked away.