Dirty Blonde

CHAPTER 9

The next morning, Cate drove up Market Street in heavy traffic, insulated by the car’s perfect seal from the media in front of the courthouse. Reporters held microphones at their sides, and cameramen drank coffee by enamel-white vans with cheery station logos. They were waiting for her, but she wouldn’t have answered their questions anyway. She couldn’t, because she didn’t have the answers. Art Simone had been shot to death last night. And the police were looking for Richard Marz, who was nowhere to be found.

Cate felt a wave of regret. She should have foreseen that it could happen. That if Marz couldn’t get justice in her courtroom, he’d get it on the street. She took a right onto Sixth Street. She still couldn’t believe that Simone had been murdered. She didn’t respect him, but she didn’t want him dead. She’d prayed her comments hadn’t put him there.

Cate aimed the car for the security booth that would admit her to the judges’ parking lot, where she’d take the keyed elevator up to her chambers in the secured half of the courthouse. As a federal judge, she could conceivably go through the entire day without meeting a single member of the public she served. She used to think this was unhealthy, but today she was loving the idea.

Upstairs, Cate opened the door to her chambers, and Val looked up from her desk, her brown eyes filled with empathy. Her full mouth tilted unhappily down at the corners and her smooth skin belied her age of sixty-five. She slipped off Dictaphone headphones covering her steely braids. “Judge, I’m so sorry.”

“Thanks.” Cate set her briefcase and bag on the navy couch in the reception room, a medium-sized square furnished with an inherited couch and matching leather side chairs. She slipped out of her sheepskin coat and hung it up on the rack.

“It’s such a shame. I prayed for him, and for you. Did you get any sleep?”

“Some.” Cate walked to the desk with her purse and briefcase. “How about you?”

“I’m fine.” Val handed Cate her message slips, over an array of graduation photos of her son and daughter. “The Inquirer keeps calling and said it’s important that you get back to them.”

“I’ll get right on that. Next year.”

“Graham Liss called twice and said it’s very important you call him back. The chief judge called and he wants to see you as soon as you get in.”

“Oh, great.”

Val frowned. “Hold your head up. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Cate had tried to convince herself of that, all last night. She gestured at the law clerks’ office, which had fallen suspiciously silent. “They’re eavesdropping, aren’t they?”

“They’re worried about mama.”

“How’s Emily taking this? It’s her case, too.”

“Fine, I made her tea. I’ll take care of your bags, too. Just go.”

“Invaluable,” Cate said, touched, and took off for Sherman’s chambers.

It was a short trip on the private elevator, and Cate used the time to collect her thoughts, square her shoulders, and check her makeup in the brass plate around the elevator buttons. She looked reasonably presentable with her hair loose to her shoulders, her standard pearls with a white silk T-shirt, and a black Escada suit with matching pumps. She stepped off the elevator, hurried down the hall, and entered the chief’s chambers.

“Hey, Mo,” Cate said, greeting Sherman’s secretary, Mavis Tidell. She knew the secretary’s nickname because she was also Val’s best friend. Mo looked up from her desk with a smile.

“Back at you, Judge. Go on in. They’re inside.”

“They?” Cate opened the office door, then was taken aback. The chief sat at the head of his mahogany conference table, but to his right sat Judge Meriden and two other men in business suits, one of whom looked familiar.

“Judge Fante, come in.” Sherman stood up in his distinguished, if stooped, way, somber behind his gold-framed reading glasses, and the others followed, smiling grimly, all around.

“Hello, Chief. Jonathan.” Cate nodded at Meriden and hoped her surprise at his presence didn’t show.

Chief Judge Sherman gestured. “Cate, our guests are homicide detectives with the Philadelphia Police Department.” As he spoke, a tall, fit detective in a boxy khaki suit and a maroon knit tie stepped forward and extended his hand.

“I’m Steve Nesbitt,” he said, his handshake firm. He looked about forty-five years old, with thick graying hair, a brushy brown-and-gray mustache above even teeth, and a proprietary manner that suggested an ease with himself. He said, “Pleased to meet you.”

“Thank you, hello.” Cate tried to get her bearings.

“I’m Paul Roots,” the other detective said. He was attractive and younger, in a dark suit with an expensive cut and a dark silk tie.

“Great to meet you,” Cate said, taking a seat at the opposite end of the table, which cued everybody to resettle themselves. She’d been in Sherman’s office only once before and it was everything a federal judge’s chambers should be. A thin Oriental area rug lay atop the thick navy carpet, and his large desk was very Ethan Allen mahogany, with matching chairs and end tables on either side of a tapestry couch in muted jewel tones. Antique maps of colonial Philadelphia and award certificates covered the paneled walls, and federal reporters, law reviews, and black binders of committee reports lined the bookshelves. Faint cigar smoke wreathed the air, for that quintessential old-boy touch.

Chief Judge Sherman cleared his throat. “Cate, I called you in because of the crime that occurred last night. I know you must feel this weight very heavily, and I’m sorry it had to happen to you. It’s a first for us, at our court. Right, Jonathan?”

“Yes, Chief.” Meriden nodded, though he’d been on the bench only five years himself, and Cate segued to officially resenting that he was here.

Sherman continued, “The detectives wanted to speak with you about the matter.” His eyes darkened behind his glasses, and the lines that bracketed his drawn mouth deepened. “Perhaps I’ll let Detective Nesbitt explain.”

Nesbitt faced Cate. “Your Honor, as you know, Arthur Simone was murdered last night. He was killed by a single bullet to the forehead, fired point-blank, outside Le Jardin, a restaurant on Delaware Avenue. The crime took place, we believe, at around 8:15 p.m. Someone walked directly up to Mr. Simone, fired, and ran. He used a.22-caliber weapon.” Nesbitt withdrew a skinny spiral pad from his breast pocket, flipped it open, and checked it. “Simone had been having dinner with his attorneys, George Hartford and another person, Courtney Flavert, a jury consultant who worked on the case. Simone left the restaurant ahead of them, to catch the red-eye back to L.A.”

Cate shuddered, picturing the scene. “Were there any witnesses?”

“No, there’s only the two restaurants on the block, and the other one was closed, it being Monday. That stretch can be deserted at night.”

“If there were no witnesses, how do you know all this?”

Nesbitt hesitated. “It isn’t public knowledge, but we have a video from a security cam in the restaurant’s parking lot. Our prime suspect is Richard Marz, who lost his lawsuit before Your Honor yesterday. It appears to be Marz on the videotape, or someone of the same size and stature. We don’t have a positive ID yet. It was dark that late and foggy because of the rain.”

“Oh God.” Cate heard her own voice catch. So awful. So hard to process.

“We’re trying to find Mr. Marz, but his whereabouts are unknown.”

“Did you talk to his wife?”

“Sure, yes, and his mother. They don’t know where he is. They’re upset, understandably.”

Cate flashed on the melee in court. The wife screaming.

“Anything you can tell us about Marz that might help?” Nesbitt slid a ballpoint from his pocket and clicked it with a flat thumb.

“Not really.” Cate tried to think. “I don’t have any inside information on him. I met with his lawyer the other day, and I know he wanted to settle the case, but Simone wouldn’t.”

Sherman asked, “How far apart were they, Cate?”

“Marz had come down to twenty-five grand from two million. Simone wouldn’t pay a penny, his lawyer said.”

Judge Sherman tsked. “No wonder you couldn’t settle it.”

Nesbitt scribbled on his pad. “You learned this in negotiations?”

“Yes. Marz’s lawyer was there, and Simone’s. No principals.” Cate was kicking herself. Maybe if she had asked Marz and Simone into her office, this wouldn’t have happened.

“Any record, or transcript of something like that?”

“No, not typically,” Cate answered, and Chief Judge Sherman met her eye.

“Well, Judge Fante, let’s get to the point.” Nesbitt unclicked his pen. “The reason we’re here is that we have a great concern that Mr. Marz may come after you next.”

“You think he’d do that?” Cate asked, shocked.

“He has a clear motive to hurt you. You’re the one who made the judgment against him.”

“I was on his side, for God’s sake.” Cate couldn’t wrap her mind around it. “My comments on the bench made that clear.”

Meriden sniffed, and Nesbitt continued: “Bottom line, you ruled against him, Your Honor. Your judgment cost him a lot of money, millions and millions of dollars. At this point, we don’t know where he is and we don’t know his mental state. He could be unhinged. He could kill again.”

Sherman added, “Cate, I’m taking it seriously enough to send a court-mail to all members of the court and the building employees, advising them to be on alert. Mr. Marz will be apprehended if he attempts to enter the courthouse.” Sherman’s eyes softened and he looked at Cate. “I won’t take any chances with our newest member of the Eastern District.”

Cate smiled, and so did the others, except Meriden.

Sherman continued, “Sadly, it’s not unprecedented that we judges are threatened for the decisions we make. We can’t hide, nor should we. We have a job to do, and our courtroom calendar is public. It can be accessed by any member of the public, by logging on the directory downstairs or the court website. I myself have had my life threatened several times.”

“So have I,” Meriden chimed in.

“But Marz isn’t a rash, impulsive criminal,” Cate said, trying to process the information. “He’s a lawyer. In fact, a prosecutor. He may go after Simone, but he wouldn’t come after me. He doesn’t have that kind of rage. He’s an intellectual. A computer geek at heart.”

Nesbitt frowned. “With all due respect, Your Honor, you wouldn’t think that if you saw the videotape. The man fired without a second thought. I’ve seen gangbangers with more conscience.”

“If it’s him on the tape.”

“I believe it is, and again, I didn’t think he was such a geek when I saw him attack Simone.”

“You were there that day, in court?”

“Yes, as a spectator. Frank Russo is my former partner.”

“I thought you looked familiar.” Cate wondered fleetingly how Russo felt about her, after yesterday. “Have you talked to Detective Russo about this?”

“Yes.”

“Did Marz tell Russo he was going to kill Simone, or say anything like that? Or that he was going to kill me, for that matter?”

Nesbitt stiffened. “It’s not procedure to discuss an ongoing investigation, and this isn’t public knowledge, but Marz didn’t talk to Russo yesterday. Marz disappeared right after your verdict.”

“Entry of judgment,” Sherman corrected. “Only juries issue verdicts.”

“Sorry. Entry of judgment.” Nesbitt nodded. “Now. Judge Fante, did you notice anyone following you last night after work? Or anything unusual at all?”

Yikes. “No one following me, I don’t think.” Caught off guard, Cate didn’t know how much to tell them. “I had a date after work, and we went to dinner, then to my date’s house.” She noticed that the room got quieter, everybody interested in the life of the resident Single Girl. She swallowed hard. “Then I went home.”

“How did you get home?”

“Drove.”

“You didn’t notice anyone following your car, did you?”

“No.”

Nesbitt consulted his pad. “Marz drives a dark blue Subaru, late model. I’ll write down his license number for you.” He flipped the page, jotted down the information, and ripped it off, handing it to her. “Keep a look out, tonight. If I may ask, do you live alone?”

“Yes. In Society Hill.”

“Did you notice anything unusual around your house?”

“No.”

Nesbitt made a note. “Tonight, scan your street before you enter your house and make sure that nothing looks suspicious. Check and see if the parked cars look familiar. Do you have a security system?”

“A burglar alarm.”

“Use it. Do you own a gun?”

“No.” Cate laughed, then noticed Chief Judge Sherman and Meriden looking surprised. “Chief, do you have a gun?”

“Of course.”

Meriden said, “I collect guns.”

“I collect Blahniks,” Cate said, but it wasn’t a girl crowd.

“Your Honor, you might want to consider purchasing a weapon for your protection and taking lessons, at a firing range. We don’t have the personnel to protect you, but we’ve alerted the marshal service and they’re going to put extra marshals on overtime, at least until we apprehend Marz.” Nesbitt gestured beside him. “Judge Meriden and you are the only two judges on the eighth floor, correct?”

“Yes.”

Meriden said, “Cate and I share a common hallway, and visitors are buzzed in to get past the locked doors. There’s a security camera, so each chambers can see whom they’re buzzing in.”

“Why are we discussing this?” Cate asked, confused.

Meriden answered, “We had a reporter buzz in this morning, posing as a lawyer in a products case. Luckily, my clerk stopped him.”

“That’s a different issue from Marz, isn’t it?” Cate asked, and Nesbitt nodded.

“Again, bottom line, you’ll both have to be on alert. Look out for each other. Be careful out there.”

Judge Sherman lit up. “That’s what they used to say on Hill Street Blues! Tell me, Detective, was that show accurate, in your opinion?”

“Barney Miller was my favorite.” Nesbitt broke into a smile. “Ask my partner here. He’s the expert. He wanted to be a technical adviser on Cold Case. He tells everybody, ‘I coulda been a consultant! I coulda been a contender!’”

Detective Roots came alive. “Well, I could have, and I almost was!”

Nesbitt chuckled. “The difference between a consultant and almost is a house down in Margate, a boat, and two million bucks.”

“All right, enough.” Roots rose, flushing, and brushed down his slacks. “Before we go, let’s walk around the eighth floor. See how it’s laid out.”

“I’ll take you there, detectives,” Meriden offered, beating Cate to the punch.

For now. But she wasn’t going to let it lie.