Judgment

17

On the way — she hailed a cab in front of the Dunkin’ Donuts — she texted Duncan: very sorry, got caught up in a thing. will see you at home.

Duncan didn’t immediately text back, which was good, because it probably meant he was in conversation with someone. He wasn’t a particularly shy man. As a law professor, he had plenty to talk about with lawyers and judges, but tonight’s crowd was heavy on financial types. He would no doubt be pissed off that she’d left him there that way, but she’d deal with that later too.

The cab wound through the downtown streets and through the Back Bay, then a few blocks past Boston University to the Home Stay Inn, an all-suite hotel mainly for businesspeople. It was a four-story brick building, handsome in a sort of bland corporate way, located in a desolate neighborhood near gas stations and auto dealerships. She entered the lobby and took the elevator to the third floor and found room 322. She heard her heart beating loud and fast, felt it hammering in her ears.

There was noise inside the room, she immediately realized. Music. No, not just music, but television — music, an announcer, applause — a show of some sort, muffled but loud behind the door.

She reached up her fist to knock on the door but found a doorbell. She pressed it a few times.

Nothing happened. Just the muffled sounds of the TV.

She was oddly unafraid. She was angry, that was the main thing. What this man had done; how he’d used her, manipulated her.

She could hear his words. I don’t know you, but I feel as if I do.

And I saw a sense of a light inside you.

She asked herself why she was even there.

But she already knew the answer. Knew that she needed to confront this bastard, force the truth out of him. Shame him into telling her what was going on, what he was up to, why he did what he’d done.

She rang the doorbell again, a few times.

A minute went by. The TV went quiet. She heard movement inside the room. Then nothing. She rang again. Finally she pounded. “Open the door.”

Nothing.

She pounded harder. “Open the goddamn door!”

She raised her fist to pound again, and the door came open.

For a moment she thought she’d rung the wrong doorbell. An unshaven man in a soiled white T-shirt stood in the shadows. It took her a few seconds to recognize Matías.

He stared at her blankly for a moment; then recognition set in. “Why are you here?” he said.

“You goddamned son of a bitch,” she said. The blood jumped in her veins.

“This is a mistake. You shouldn’t be here.”

“You twisted bastard. I know what you’re doing, and it’s not going to work.”

Matías sighed. “Do what they tell you to do and all will be fine.”

She was surprised at the way he looked, so much sloppier and more unkempt than the polished, well-dressed man that night in Chicago. Worn down, it seemed.

She took a deep breath. What was the point in venting at the man? Instead, she could try to get him to talk. Before she became a judge, she was a highly regarded litigator. Before that, an acclaimed prosecutor. She knew how to work a witness. She used to do it for a living.

“We need to talk,” she said. “We can either do it out here or in there; it’s up to you.”

After a beat, he stepped back and held open the door. She entered the generic-looking living room of a one-bedroom suite. Nearly every surface — couch, chair, coffee table — was covered with take-out cartons or soda cans or beer bottles. A large TV was on but muted. There was an odor hanging in the air, a sour fermented smell with a sharp note of perspiration.

This is not normal, she thought. The man was not a slob; he had to be operating under stress. Her phone made a text-alert sound, but she ignored it. She looked at him and could see the tension in his face. Why hadn’t she seen it before? This was a vulnerability, and she’d go right at it.

“Okay,” she said. “Let me be very clear with you. I’m not going to be manipulated, I don’t care what it costs me.”

“All they want you to do—”

“I know what ‘they’ want, and I won’t do it. Here’s the bad news for you, Matías. I’m willing to sacrifice my marriage, if that’s what it takes. But I’m not going to be blackmailed.”

“You are in so far over your head,” he said. “You have no idea.” He didn’t say it in a threatening way. He sounded defeated.

“And you,” she said. “What do you think happens to your sister now?”

He winced visibly.

“Yes,” she said, “I know about Bianca.”

He shook his head slowly. Now she realized something else: the man was frightened. His eyes widened. “What do you know about her?” he demanded. “How?”

Her phone made another text sound, and she ignored it again. “I have my judicial sources. I know the Miami authorities dropped charges without prejudice, meaning that they can charge her again at any time.”

“These people — please, just do what they say. You have no idea what they’re capable of. These people will do anything — stage an accident, a suicide, whatever they need to do if they think you’re an inconvenience.”

“And who are they? Wheelz? Are they working for Devin Allerdyce?”

Matías laughed mirthlessly. “Devin Allerdyce knows nothing.”

“Then who?”

“I have no idea. They have people inside the Justice Department in Washington. They have people all over. It’s so much bigger than one corporation.”

“And they got their hooks into you through your sister?”

He nodded sadly.

“The opiates. I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Our father was killed in the Dirty War, and she has never gotten over his murder.”

“You’re from Argentina.”

He nodded. “I went to law school in Chicago, and my sister went into a master’s degree program to become a physician’s assistant. In Miami. She worked at a spine clinic, and she started to have problems. She started to forge prescriptions to get OxyContin and that sort of thing. A couple of months ago she was arrested by Miami police. She was charged with obtaining a controlled substance by fraud, which is a felony offense. Meaning prison time. So I flew to Miami — I’m all she’s got — to be her lawyer, help her through the process. And that’s when they contacted me. They made me an offer.”

He hesitated. In the long silence she said, “Yes?”

“They would drop the charges against her if I did as they instructed.”

“How were you contacted?”

“A phone call.”

“And who was it?”

He shrugged. “I wasn’t given a name. He knew who I was, where I was. He knew all about Bianca’s legal situation.”

“What did they promise, exactly?”

“That all charges would be dropped. Just that.”

“And if you didn’t do... as instructed...?”

“She’d be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.”

“So you — what? You forced yourself to seduce the old bag?”

“Oh, please. You’re an attractive woman. You know that perfectly well. That’s not the point.”

Her face turned hot. “Why is my ruling so important? What’s the evidence they’re trying to conceal?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know anything. I just keep my head down and do what I’m told, and my sister remains free.”

“I’m sorry I can’t help you. But I’m not going to be controlled. I have no idea how I’m going to rule,” she said.

“You don’t have a choice! They’re going to release that video. Listen to me. You and I, we’re just... chess pieces. We’re being played. Fighting them is pointless.”

She looked at him for a long moment. “Well, they picked on the wrong woman,” she said. “I will not be played.”