The Judge’s List

12

BJC was governed by a five-person Board of Directors, all retired judges and lawyers who had found favor, or something along those lines, with the Governor. The big donors and heavy hitters were awarded appointments far more prestigious than BJC — college boards and gaming commissions and such, gigs with nice budgets and perks that allowed the chosen ones to travel and rub elbows with the powerful; whereas BJC board members got meals, rooms, and fifty cents a mile. They met six times a year — three in Tallahassee and three in Fort Lauderdale — to review cases, hold hearings, and occasionally reprimand judges. Removal from office was rare. Since the BJC’s creation in 1968, only three judges had been kicked off the bench.

Four of the five board members gathered late Monday morning for a scheduled meeting. The fifth seat was vacant and the Governor was too busy to fill it. His last two invitations had been declined by his chosen appointees, so he said screw it. Meetings were held in a borrowed conference room at the Supreme Court because the BJC suite was too depressing to take over for the day.

The first item on their agenda was a ten o’clock appointment with the director, a private, one-hour recap of the agency’s caseload, finances, personnel, and so on. It had become an unpleasant ritual because Charlotte Baskin had one foot out the door and everyone knew it.

After going through the motions with her, the members were scheduled to take up the docket of pending cases.

Lacy was thankful she had nothing on the docket and would not appear before the board. Her Monday began like most others and required the usual pep talk to herself about hustling to the office and, as the senior investigator, arriving with lots of smiles and encouragement and excitement about serving the taxpayers. But the pep talk didn’t work, primarily because she was still mentally at the beach and by the pool. She and Allie had enjoyed three long lunches, with wine, and plenty of naps and sex and long walks along the water’s edge. At some point they had agreed that they should forget the future for the time being and simply live in the moment. Worry about the important stuff later.

Once she was away from him, though, she began to ask herself the question that had nagged her since Friday: If he gave me a ring, what would I do with it?

The answer was elusive.

At 9:48 another email arrived, again from Jeri. There had been at least five over the weekend, all ignored until now. Lacy had put off the difficult conversation long enough. She had learned long ago that procrastination only made the task more unpleasant. On her cell phone, she punched one number. No answer. No voicemail. She tried another one. Same result. She was quickly losing patience with the cloak-and-dagger as she punched the last number she had for Jeri.

“Hi, Lacy,” came the pleasant but tired voice. “Where have you been?”

And how is that any of your business? She swallowed hard, took a deep breath, and replied, “Good morning, Jeri. I trust this line is secure.”

“Of course. Sorry for the inconvenience.”

“Yes. You’ve called and emailed all weekend, I see.”

“Yes, we need to talk, Lacy.”

“We’re talking now, on Monday. I thought I explained to you that I do not work on weekends and I asked you not to call or email me. Right?”

“Yes, you’re right, and I’m sorry, but this is really important.”

“I know it is, Jeri, and I have some bad news. I met again with my boss and presented the allegations, and she was adamant. We will not get involved in a murder investigation. Period. As I have already told you several times, we are not equipped or trained for that kind of work.”

A pause. One that would be brief because, Lacy knew Jeri was not accustomed to taking no. Then she said, “But I have the right to file a complaint. I’ve memorized the statute. I can do so anonymously. And by law the BJC is required to spend forty-five days assessing the allegations. Right, Lacy?”

“Yes, that’s the statute.”

“Then I’ll file a complaint.”

“And my boss says we will immediately refer it to the state police for investigation.”

Lacy waited for a sharp rebuke, one that Jeri had no doubt worked on. She waited and waited and finally realized the call was over. Jeri had abruptly ended it and walked away.

Lacy was not naive enough to think they would never speak again. Maybe, though, Jeri would simply go away for a while. They had met only a week before.

And maybe the killings would stop.

Half an hour later, Jeri was back. She began with “I’m not sure, Lacy, but there could be two more dead bodies. Numbers seven and eight. I’m digging for confirmation and I could be wrong. I certainly hope so. Regardless, he will not stop.”

“Confirmation? I didn’t know you had confirmed the others.”

“I have, in my mind at least. My theory may be based on coincidental evidence, but you have to admit it’s overwhelming.”

“I’m not sure it’s overwhelming but it’s certainly insufficient to start an investigation. I’ll say it again, Jeri, we are not getting involved.”

“Is it your decision or your interim director’s?”

“What difference does it make? We’re not getting involved.”

“Would you if you had the authority?”

“Goodbye, Jeri.”

“Fine, Lacy, but from this point on the blood will be on your hands.”

“That strikes me as an overreaction.”

Jeri mumbled incoherently as if trying to hide her words. After a few seconds she said, “He’s killing more these days, Lacy, almost one victim per year. This is not unusual for serial killers, the smart ones anyway. They start slow, find some success, hone their skills, lose their reluctance and fear, and convince themselves they are too clever. That’s when they start making mistakes.”

“What kind of mistakes?”

“I’m not going to discuss this on the phone.”

“You called me.”

“Right, and I’m not sure why.” Her line went dead again.

Felicity suddenly appeared at her desk without making a sound and handed over a telephone message, an old-fashioned pink slip. “Better call this guy,” she said. “He was pretty rude.”

“Thanks,” Lacy said, taking the message and looking at her receptionist as if she could leave now. “Please close the door on the way out.”

Earl Hatley was the current chairman of the BJC. He was a former judge, a nice gentleman, and one of the few members Lacy had met over the years who actually cared about improving the judiciary. He must have been holding his phone because he answered immediately. He asked if she could drop whatever she was doing and hustle over to the Supreme Court building for an urgent meeting.

Fifteen minutes later, Lacy walked into a small conference room and was greeted by the four. Earl asked her to have a seat and pointed to a chair at the end of the table. He said, “I’ll skip the preliminaries, Lacy, because we’re running behind schedule, and we have a more pressing matter.”

She showed them both palms and said, “I’m all ears.”

“We met with Charlotte Baskin first thing this morning and she handed in her resignation. She’s gone, moving out today. It was a mutual parting. She was a bad fit, as I’m sure you were very much aware, and we were getting complaints. So, once again, we have no executive director.”

“Am I still employed?” Lacy asked, not the least bit perturbed.

“Oh, yes. You can’t leave, Lacy.”

“Thanks.”

“As you well know, Charlotte was the fourth ED in the past two years. I’ve heard that morale is quite low.”

“What morale? Everybody is looking for another job. We sit over there, year in, year out, waiting for the ax to fall. What do you expect? It’s hard to remain enthusiastic when our meager budget gets cut every year.”

“We understand this. It’s not our fault. We’re on the same team.”

“I know who’s at fault and I’m not blaming you. But it’s hard to do our work with weak leadership, sometimes no leadership, and fading support from the legislature. The Governor couldn’t care less what we do.”

Judith Taylor said, “I’m meeting with Senator Fowinkle next week. He’s chair of finance, as you know, and his staff thinks we can get some more money.”

Lacy smiled and nodded as if she were truly grateful. She’d heard it all before.

Earl said, “Here’s our plan, Lacy. You’re the senior investigator and the star of the organization. You are respected, even admired, by your colleagues. We’re asking you to become the interim director until we can find a permanent one.”

“No thanks.”

“That was quick.”

“Well, so was your request. I’ve been here for twelve years and know my way around. The big office is the worst one.”

“It’s just temporary.”

“Everything is temporary these days.”

“You’re not thinking about leaving, are you?”

“We all think about it. Who can blame us? As state employees, the law says we get the same raises as everyone else, if the legislature is feeling generous. So when they cut our budget, we have no choice but to cut everything but salaries. Staff, equipment, travel, you name it.”

The four looked at each other in defeat. The situation seemed hopeless and at that moment all four could walk out the door, resign, go home, and let someone else worry about judicial complaints.

But Judith gamely hung on and said, “Help us here, Lacy. Take the job for six months. You can stabilize the agency and give us some time to shore up the budget. You’ll be the boss and have complete authority. We have confidence in you.”

Earl added quickly, “A ton of confidence, Lacy. You are by far the most experienced.”

Judith said, “The salary is not bad.”

“It’s not about money,” Lacy said. The salary was $95,000 a year, a nice improvement over her current $70,000. She had never really thought about the director’s salary, at least not in a covetous way. But it was indeed a substantial raise.

Earl said, “You can restructure the place any way you want. Hire or fire, we don’t care. But the ship is sinking and we need stability.”

Lacy asked, “How do you plan to shore up the budget, as you say? This year the legislature cut it again, down to one-point-nine million. Four years ago BJC got two-point-three million. Peanuts compared to a sixty-billion-dollar state government, but we were created by the same legislature and given our orders.”

Judith smiled and said, “We’re tired of the cuts too, Lacy, and we’re going after the legislature. Let us worry about that. You run the agency and we’ll find the money.”

Lacy’s judgment was suddenly clouded with thoughts of Jeri Crosby. What if her suspicions were true? What if the killings continued? As director, interim or not, Lacy would have the authority to do whatever she wanted with Jeri’s complaint.

And she thought about the money, the not insignificant raise. She rather liked the idea of restructuring the office, getting rid of some dead weight and finding younger talent. She thought of her weekend with Allie and the reality that they had not made any progress in planning their future, so a dramatic change in scenery was unlikely, at least anytime soon.

The four smiled at her and waited, as if desperate for the right answer. Lacy kept her frown and said, “Give me twenty-four hours.”