The Judge’s List

4

But for Frankie, her PD would have begun with sleeping in, something she could only dream of. The dog was making noises before sunrise and needed to go outside. Afterward, Lacy stretched out on the sofa and tried to nap, but Frankie decided it was time for breakfast. So Lacy sipped her coffee and watched the day slowly arrive.

Her thoughts were a mix of excitement over the meeting with Jeri and the usual angst over her career. In seven months she would turn forty, a reality that saddened her. She was enjoying her life but it was slipping by, with no real plans to marry. She had never longed for children of her own and had already decided it wouldn’t happen. And she was fine with that. All her friends had children, some even teenagers, and she was thankful she wasn’t burdened with those challenges. She could not imagine finding the patience to raise kids in the age of cell phones, drugs, casual sex, social media, and everything else on the Internet.

She had joined BJC twelve years earlier. She should have left years ago, like virtually all the colleagues she had known. BJC was a nice place to begin a career but a dead end for any serious lawyer. Her best friend from law school was a partner in a mega-firm in Washington, but it was an all-consuming lifestyle that she wanted no part of. Their friendship required work, and Lacy often asked herself if it was worth it. Her other girlfriends from back then had drifted away, all scattered around the country, all consumed with busy lives at their desks, and, when time allowed, at home with their families.

Lacy wasn’t sure where to look, or what she wanted, so she had hung around BJC for too long and now worried that she had missed better opportunities. Her biggest case, her pinnacle, was behind her. Three years earlier she had led an investigation that took down a circuit judge in the largest judicial bribery scandal in Florida history. She had caught the judge in bed with a crime syndicate that was skimming millions from an Indian casino. The criminals were now locked away in federal prisons with years to serve.

The case was sensational, and for a brief period of time gave BJC its finest hour. Most of her colleagues quickly parlayed the success into better jobs. The legislature, however, showed its gratitude with another round of budget cuts.

Her pinnacle had cost her dearly. She had been severely injured in a staged auto accident near the casino. She spent weeks in a hospital and months in physical therapy. Her injuries had healed but the aches and stiffness were still there. Hugo Hatch, her friend, colleague, and passenger, had been killed at the scene. His widow filed a wrongful death suit and Lacy pursued her own case for damages. The litigation looked promising, a nice settlement was all but guaranteed, but it was dragging on, as do most civil lawsuits.

She found it impossible not to think about the settlement. A pile of money was almost on the table, funds that were being aggregated by the government forfeiture of dirty assets. But the issues, both criminal and civil, were complicated. There was no shortage of aggrieved people, and their hungry lawyers, clamoring for the cash.

Her case was not yet set for trial, and she had been assured from the beginning that it would never happen. Her lawyer was confident the defendants were horrified at the prospect of facing a jury and trying to explain away the intricate planning of a deliberate crash that killed Hugo and injured her. Settlement negotiations should commence any day now, and the opening round would be in excess of “seven figures.”

Turning forty might be traumatic, but doing so with a fortified bank account would take some of the sting out of it. She had a decent salary, some money inherited from her mother, no debts, and plenty of savings. The settlement would push her over the edge and allow her to walk away. To where, she wasn’t sure, but it was certainly fun to think about. Her days at BJC were numbered, and that in itself made her smile. It was almost time for a new career, and the fact that she didn’t have a clue as to where she might go was actually exhilarating.

In the meantime, though, she had a few files to close, a few judges to investigate. Normally, she began each day with a pep talk to force herself back to the office, but not today. She was intrigued by Jeri Crosby and her fantastic story about a murderous judge. She had doubts about its veracity, but was curious enough to take the next step. What if it were true? What if Lacy Stoltz topped off her stellar career with another pinnacle? Another glorious moment that solved half a dozen cold cases and captured headlines. She told herself to stop dreaming and get on with the day.

She took a quick shower, spent a few minutes with her hair and makeup, threw on some jeans and sneakers, put down food and water for Frankie, and left her apartment. At the first intersection, she eased through a yield sign, one that always reminded her of her car crash. It was odd how certain landmarks triggered certain memories, and each morning she looked at the sign and flashed back. The memory was gone in an instant, until the next day. Three years after the nightmare, she was still cautious behind the wheel, always yielding, never exceeding the limit.

At the western edge of town, away from the Capitol and the campus, she pulled into an old shopping center, parked, and at 8:05 entered Bonnie’s Big Breakfast, a local hangout with no students, no lobbyists. As always, it was crowded with salesmen and cops. She picked up a newspaper and found a seat at the counter, not far from the kitchen window where the waitresses chirped at the cooks, who snapped back their own colorful comments. The menu offered a poached egg on avocado toast that was legendary, and Lacy treated herself to it at least once a month. As she waited, she checked her email and texts and was pleased that all the important messages could be put off for twenty-four hours. She sent a note to Darren with the news that she would not be in.

He replied quickly and asked if she was quitting.

Such was the mood around BJC these days. Those still hanging around were suspected of planning their escapes.

At 9:30, Lacy was on Interstate 10 going west. It was March 4, a Tuesday, and each week on that day at about that hour she expected a call from her older brother and only sibling, Gunther. He lived in Atlanta where he was a player in the real estate development business. Regardless of the market, he was always upbeat and on the verge of another major deal, conversations that Lacy had grown weary of but had no choice but to endure. He worried about her and usually hinted that she should shuck her job and come make some big bucks with him. She always politely declined. Gunther lived on a tightrope and seemed to relish borrowing from one bank to pay another, always one step ahead of the bankruptcy lawyers. The last career she could imagine was building more strip malls in the Atlanta suburbs. Another recurring nightmare was having Gunther for a boss.

They had always been close, but seven months earlier their mother had died suddenly and the loss made them even closer. And, Lacy suspected, so had her pending lawsuit. Gunther believed she was due millions and had developed the irritating habit of tossing around investment advice for his kid sister. She was not looking forward to the day when he needed a loan. Gunther lived in a world of debt and would promise the moon to secure more of it.

“Hey Sis,” he said cheerfully. “How’s it going down there?”

“I’m fine, Gunther. And you?”

“Got the tiger by the tail. How’s Allie? How’s your love life?”

“Pretty dull. He’s out of town a lot these days. And yours?”

“Not much to report.” Recently divorced, he chased women with the same enthusiasm as he did banks, and she really didn’t want to hear about it. After two failed marriages she had encouraged him to be more selective, advice he routinely ignored.

“You sound like you’re in the car,” he said.

“I’m driving to Pensacola to chase down a witness. Nothing exciting.”

“You always say that. Are you still looking for another job?”

“I never said I was looking for another job. I said that I’m getting a bit bored with the one I have.”

“There’s more action up here, kid.”

“So you’ve said. I don’t suppose you’ve talked to Aunt Trudy lately.”

“Not if I can help it, you know?”

Trudy was their mother’s sister, a real busybody who was working too hard to keep the family together. She was grieving over her sister’s sudden death and wanted to share her misery with her niece and nephew.

“She called two days ago, sounded awful,” Lacy said.

“She always sounds awful. That’s why I can’t talk to her. Strange, isn’t it? We barely spoke to the woman until Mom died, and now she really wants to be pals.”

“She’s struggling, Gunther. Give her a break.”

“Who’s not struggling these days? Oops. Look, got another call. It’s a banker who wants to throw some money at me. Gotta go. Will call later. Love you, Sis.”

“You too.”

Most of their Tuesday chats ended abruptly when he was besieged with other, more important calls. Lacy was relieved, because he usually asked about her lawsuit. She called Darren at the office just to say hello and reassure him that she would indeed be back tomorrow. She called Allie and left a voicemail. She turned off her phone and turned on the stereo. Adele Live in London.