The Law And Lady Justice

He headed for the station without looking back. The buzz of voices, calm against angry, swirled about him as soon as he stepped inside; the scent of cigarettes and stale coffee hit him like a punch to his empty stomach and set it to churning. Flickering florescent lights over his desk made the entire office seem like a surreal episode of Star Trek. Sitting down at his desk, he stared at the scene before him. Cops, perps and a couple victims.

“Welcome to my life,” he muttered.

He’d asked for this; planned for it by taking Pre-Law courses and joining the force immediately after he finished college. For him solving puzzles was what was important. And there’d never been a puzzle he couldn’t solve—unless you counted women.

Women!

Doug sighed. He just couldn’t figure them out. Take Judge Jessica. Boy, would he like to take Judge Jessica!

Doug groaned at his wayward thoughts, and libido, forcing himself to pick up a pen and get to work. But within minutes his mind wandered once more. Name, address and crime just didn’t measure up to smooth skin, the scent of sin and a body he’d like to get to know from the tip of what he was certain would be great toes to the top of that too-smart head of hers. How long was that hair she pinned up so primly? And was that red-brown color for real?

“Hey, McGuire!”

“Huh?” Doug blinked at the desk sergeant. “What?”

“I was calling your place. Don’t you sign in anymore?”

“Sorry.” His mind was not where it should be today. “What do you want, O’Riley?”

“You know that creep Judge Kirkland let go today?”

Doug sighed, the image of Jessica’s hair trailing to her waist dissolving at the reminder of what had happened to the case of which he’d been so proud. “Gilbert? What about him?”

“They just pulled him out of the Milwaukee River at Michigan Avenue with a plastic bag over his head.”

Doug gaped. “What?”

The sergeant shook his head and gave Doug a strange look. “He’s dead, McGuire. Peterson’s on his way. Meet him there.”

Doug nodded and the sergeant retreated, still shaking his head. Doug sat at his desk and stared at the phone. Wouldn’t Judge Jessica just love to hear this? He couldn’t resist. He had to tell her, he thought, reaching for the phone.

Sounding rushed, Liz Alexander answered after several rings. “I’m sorry, Detective, you just caught me on my way out. Judge Kirkland isn’t here. She was so upset about what happened today that she left early. I suspect she wanted to take a walk before her dinner meeting so she could clear her head. She does that sometimes.”

“Dinner?”

“At Water Street Bistro. Do you know it?”

“Fancy. On the Riverwalk. Prime real estate.”

“That’s the one.” Doug could swear he heard a smile in Liz’s voice, although he couldn’t figure out what was so funny. “Would you like to leave a message?”

Doug grunted, annoyed that he’d given in to the impulse to call the judge. It had been childish. Even more childish was his irrational disappointment to find that the judge wasn’t waiting to talk to him.

“No. No message.”

“Detective?” Though Liz’s voice was unfailingly polite, he just knew she was smiling. He could see her grinning from ear to ear, and he gritted his teeth to keep from saying something he’d regret. Doug McGuire might be a smartass, but his mother never raised her son to be rude to a lady.

“Yes, Liz.”

“Jessica should be at the Bistro by six-thirty. She has dinner there every Thursday night.”

“Thanks, Liz.” He hung up.

Water Street Bistro would be her style, he thought. Candles and silver, white tablecloths and wineglasses on every table. Hovering waiters, a wine steward and a maître d’. He could see her in a black dress, single strand of pearls around that throat he’d love to taste, sipping champagne with some dude in a black tuxedo.

Doug growled and stood up. He had work to do. Places to go. Dead bodies to see. And it would have to snow in hell before he’d step foot in the Water Street Bistro.

Jessica always kept a pair of walking shoes beneath her desk. Often before work, and sometimes during the day, she would put on the shoes and walk off her frustration. Without her robes she was just another career woman in a suit and tennies, hoofing it down Wells Street.

By the time she returned to her office, changed into her low-heeled taupe pumps and grabbed her briefcase and purse, she had no time to go home and change. So it was that she ended up at Water Street Bistro for her weekly dinner with her father wearing the same mint-green business suit she’d put on that morning before leaving her condominium on Lake Drive. She would have preferred just to go home, but her father would be crushed if she missed their dinner date. Every Thursday night the two of them got together and shared their lives. And she had to admit their dinners together always made her feel calmer and saner for a little while—just knowing that there was someone who loved you always, no matter what, could get a person through the toughest of times.

Since her mother’s death ten years past, her father had thrown himself into his work, starting restaurants then selling them once they became well established. His latest venture, Water Street Bistro, was more successful than any of the others, and thus far he had given no indication he would sell. She hoped this meant he was beginning to get over her mother’s death, as much as it was possible to get over the death of the woman he had adored.

Because of the importance of their weekly ritual, Jessica was surprised to arrive and find their usual table deserted.

“Your Honor.” Bruno, the maître d’ from Austria, bowed. “Your papa, he will be here soon. Please to sit down and order the wine.”

Though Bruno was ever so serious, Jessica often had a hard time not laughing when he spoke. He sounded like Arnold Schwarzenegger, though Bruno was only five foot five and weighed a hundred pounds soaking wet.

Jessica nodded her thanks as Bruno pulled out her chair. “Where is my father, Bruno?”

“I do not know. He is everywhere. Here, there, gone and back. And after he sees you today on the television, ach! The man he is a crazy person.” Bruno threw up his hands. “He marched out of here and he does not come back.”

Jessica frowned. She didn’t like the sound of that. She took the wine list Bruno pressed upon her.

“Do not worry, he will be back soon, Your Honor. He would not miss this night with you for all the tea in his coffee cup.”

Jessica blinked. Bruno had a way with a cliché. Sometimes it took her several minutes, or days, to figure out what he meant. This one was easy. “All the tea in China, Bruno.”

Bruno lifted his nose. “That is what I said.”

With great dignity he left her alone and went to greet the gathering dinner crowd.

Jessica stared at the wine list, but she did not see the choices. Instead she frowned, reflecting. Though her father had never been late for one of their dinners before, she had noticed an increasing absentmindedness on his part. Now that she thought about it she could name several times she’d called the restaurant, or the house, when he should have been at one place or the other, only to have to leave messages on an answering machine. She was embarrassed to admit her job consumed her so completely she thought of little else, and had not put the disturbing incidents about her father together until now.

Could something be wrong with Daddy?

“Hey, baby girl, sorry I’m late.”

The object of her concern kissed her cheek before slipping into the chair opposite her. Jessica’s smile felt stiff as she took in his disheveled state and flushed face. Ben Kirkland never looked unkempt. That would be bad for business. Yet here he sat with the top buttons of his shirt askew, his tie loose, and his salt-and-pepper hair looking as if he’d just come through a wind tunnel.

Jessica glanced through the wall-to-wall picture window that overlooked the river below them. Bright and shiny sunlight reflected off the still water. Not a breeze stirred. Her smile turned upside down as she narrowed her eyes upon her father. “Where have you been, Dad?”

He paused in the midst of tightening his tie. Was she wrong, or did he look just a bit guilty? What on earth could her father be hiding from her?

He smoothed his hair and raised an eyebrow in her direction. “Am I under oath, Your Honor?”

“Of course not. It’s just…” Jessica sighed. She did have an abrupt manner when she questioned people. She couldn’t help it, that was her way, her job. “You’ve just been different lately, Dad. I wondered if anything was wrong.”

“Wrong?” He reached for the wine list, and crooked a finger at the wine steward who hovered nearby. “Why would anything be wrong?”

Jessica frowned. His voice was too high, his color too pink despite the healthy summer tan of his face, and he wouldn’t meet her eyes. “Dad?”

Her voice wavered in the middle, sounding like a child frightened by the bogey man in the middle of the night. Her father, who had heard her cry out in the dark often enough and had always come to her rescue, glanced up in surprise. Their gazes met and he hesitated just long enough for her to wonder if he told her the truth with his brusque words. “I’m fine, baby. Leave it be.”

He turned away to greet his steward, ordering wine with practiced ease. When he returned his attention to her, he was once again the man she knew, the man she loved more than any other. “So tell me about today.”

The words were not a request but a demand. Jessica had known she would have to discuss her day, but she’d dreaded it. When things happened that she could not control, she wanted to crawl into the sand, bury her head and never pull it out.

“You heard what happened. Bruno told me you were upset.”

Her father snorted. “Bruno! He doesn’t understand our legal system. As he always says, ‘I came to America for freedom, but sometimes your freedom is just too free.’”

“He’s right.” Jessica paused as her father performed the wine ritual with his steward, then she nodded her thanks as the accepted selection was poured into her glass. She picked up the crystal and swirled the ruby liquid about, tilting the glass just enough to catch the setting sun and turn the wine the color of blood. Then she put the wine down, untasted. “I had no choice, Dad.”

“Of course you didn’t. No one knows better than I how hard it was for you to let that creep go.”

Their eyes met, and they shared a moment of silence for the tragedy in their past. Once there had been four Kirklands living happily in a house in a Milwaukee suburb. Jessica’s sister, Karen, had been two years her senior, and though they had fought like sisters, they had loved like sisters, too. When Karen went away to college at the University of Wisconsin at Madison, Jessica had visited her often, counting the days until she could join Karen and experience the swirl of life in Mad City, as it was known to Wisconsin Badgers.

“Jessica?” Her father’s voice brought her back to their table. He held his wineglass aloft, waiting for her to join him. She picked up her glass and tapped the rim to his. “Here’s to getting past the past and moving on,” he said.

Jessica took a sip, then set the glass down with deliberation. “I wish I could, Dad. But every time I have to let someone go whom I know is guilty, I remember Karen and…” She stopped and took a deep, ragged breath.

Her father’s hand covered hers where it rested on the table. “And you feel like your heart is being ripped out of your chest and stomped on.” She nodded. “What happened to Karen was unspeakable, honey.”

Jessica stared at his large, blunt, sun-browned hand covering her smaller, thinner, paler one. “Mom never got over it.”

“I doubt we will, either. At least until we can have some closure.”

She looked into his eyes and recognized the never-ending pain. “I thought that if I put away the guilty, I’d feel better.”

“Don’t you?”

“Sometimes. But every time I have to let one go, I remember that one, and not all the guilty ones I’ve sentenced.”

“Why do you think that is?”

“Because no matter how many I sentence, I’ll never know if he’s the one who murdered my sister.”

Her father winced.

“I’m sorry.” Jessica turned her hand and intertwined her fingers with his. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It’s the truth. Maybe we don’t talk about Karen enough.”

“I doubt that. You know sometimes I can’t remember what she looked like? I know she had lighter hair compared to mine, and she wanted to be a veterinarian. Sometimes, I can almost hear her laugh, but I can’t remember her face.”

“Look at her picture. I always do.”

“Her picture isn’t her, Dad.”

He squeezed her hand. “We’ll never forget Karen, never forgive what happened to her, but both of us need to get past it and move on with our lives. Especially you, Jess.”

Jessica straightened, pulling on her hand, but he wouldn’t let go. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you need to do something other than worry about the bad guys all the time.”

“I thought you were proud of my career.”

“I am. I’m bursting my buttons whenever I can work into the conversation that my daughter is a judge. But you’re starting to worry me.” Jessica scowled and took a gulp of her wine with her free hand. “Don’t glare at me like that, young lady. You need to get a life.”

“Pardon me?”

“Find a man. Have some fun. Live a little.”

“You were the one who broke out the champagne when Dennis moved out.”

“Dennis Wolcott was a wimp. Face it, girl, you need a man.”

Jessica rolled her eyes. “Honestly, Dad!” But his gaze, no longer on her, was fixed on someone near the door. “Dad?”

“Here comes one now,” he murmured, his mouth curving into a welcoming smile.

Jessica glanced over her shoulder to find Doug McGuire bearing down on them. Bruno chased after him, flapping his hands like an agitated bird.

McGuire stopped at their table, his dark-blue gaze touching on the wine, then lighting on their joined hands. He frowned and lifted an icy stare to Jessica.

“What do you want, Detective McGuire?” She removed her hand from her father’s, then picked up her wine when her hand suddenly felt too empty and vulnerable. McGuire always made her feel—nervous.

“We need to talk.”

Jessica raised her eyebrows and lifted her glass. She sipped, ever so slowly, watching McGuire heat toward slow burn. Damn it was fun! “I think we talked enough today, Detective, don’t you?”

Her father turned a laugh into a cough. Her gaze flicked toward him, and she remembered what he’d said just before McGuire descended. She needed a man. Well, McGuire might be a man, but he was not for her. She had to get rid of him before Daddy started matchmaking. And from the look of his grin and the sparkle in his eyes, she didn’t have much time.

“I’m having dinner, Detective. You can make an appointment with Liz.”

“No chance. The boyfriend will just have to eat alone tonight. I need you to come with me.”

She narrowed her eyes, then carefully set down her wine before she made a scene by throwing it into McGuire’s face. Then she sat back and looked him up and down. “This sounds interesting.” She ran her tongue over her bottom lip, tasting the rich, red flavor of the Merlot her father had chosen. “What do you have in mind, Detective?”

His gaze, which had fixed on her lips, snapped to her eyes. The heat there made her want to pull at the suddenly tight neck of her blouse. “Lose the date,” McGuire ordered.

Her father snorted again. She cast him an annoyed glare and stood up. Shouldering past McGuire, she bent and kissed her father’s cheek. “Excuse me, but the detective is quite insistent.” She patted his cheek. “I’ll make it up to you, sweetheart.”

Her father grinned at her obvious ploy and winked. “Good night, Jess.”

Jessica turned and nearly bumped into a scowling McGuire. She moved past him and out the door.

Once outside, out of the range of too many listeners, she turned and demanded, “What’s so important you dragged me away before I had a chance to eat?”

“So I’ll buy you dinner.” He took her arm and started to hustle her along at a rapid pace.

“Where are we going?”

“Where we can talk. I think we need a level playing field and that fancy jacket-and-tie joint ain’t it. I know a good place to eat just a couple blocks from here. Do you mind walking?”

“Not at all, it’s a beautiful night for a stroll. So why are we running a marathon?”

“Oh, sorry,” he said, slowing his steps. “Your boyfriend’s sure the understanding type.”

She feathered a smile. “He’s very secure, because he knows how I feel about him.”

“He called you Jess. I like that. Heard you broke your engagement to Wolcott. You went with that guy a long time, didn’t you?”

“Yes, seven years.”

“Sure didn’t take you long to find a replacement.”

“Is that what you wanted to discuss, McGuire?” she asked with a rise of anger. “As much as I value your opinion, it’s a poor substitute for a gourmet meal. This could have waited until morning.”

“Just wanted you to know that you got your wish.”

“My wish? I don’t recall wishing for anything, except maybe your transfer to Anchorage.”

“Very funny. Figured you’d be interested to hear that we pulled your friend Gilbert out of the river a short time ago. Very wet—and very dead. Congratulations, Judge, justice has been served.”

Shocked, she stopped abruptly. Then had to hurry to catch up with him.

Chapter 3

By the time Jessica got over the initial shock of Gilbert’s murder, they’d reached the restaurant. But it wasn’t a restaurant. From the outside, the place looked like a sleazy, rundown, enter-at-your-own-risk dive. Big bold, black letters painted on the window identified it as The Precinct, and a smaller line below read Bar and Grill.

A cloud of gray cigarette smoke greeted them at the door along with Patsy Cline wailing “Crazy.”

I must be, too, to allow myself to get maneuvered into this!

The moment she entered, Jessica recognized a dozen or more faces in a glance—she’d seen them in court time enough. Good Lord, he had brought her to a cop bar!

Doug would have to have been blind not to notice that Jessica drew the curious glances of most of the men in the room.

“Hey, Your Honor, you slumming?” one of the men standing at the bar asked good-naturedly.

“Well, Detective Slocum, what a pleasure to see you outside of court. You look much taller now that I’m not peering down at you from behind my bench.”

“And if I might say, you look mighty good out from under that black robe.”

“Say it! Say it!” she teased. “It’s music to my ears, Detective.”

“How ya doin’, Judge?” another asked.

“Just fine, Tony,” she said, slapping him on the shoulder in passing.

When she spied a heavyset man at the end of the bar, McGuire followed her over to him.

“Detective Bronowski! How are you? I miss seeing you in court.”

“Heck, Judge, call me Ski. We ain’t in court now.”

“What have you been doing since you retired?” she asked.

“Jerry and I bought this place,” Ski said.

“So you and Jerry are still partners. Good for you.”

Bronowski nodded to Doug, then said, “If McGuire gives you any heat, just let me know. Jerry and I can handle him for you.”

That’s a laugh! If anyone needed help, it was him, Doug thought. She was the one giving off the heat. He got hot every time he looked at her—and it sure wasn’t from anything she said. He took her arm and steered her over to a corner table that offered a modicum of privacy.

“So this is where the long arm of the law comes to unwind,” she said, once they were seated.

“One of them. There’s a couple more in the city— Fuzzy’s and Coach’s on the south side. A couple sports bars on the north side. Mostly the guys like to hang out in the sports bars.”

One of the men playing Sheepshead at a nearby table yelled, “Hey, McGuire, when are you and the judge gonna put on gloves and sell tickets?”

“We’ve been considering it as a fund-raiser toward promoting your early retirement, Novack.”

“I hear they pulled Gilbert out of the river tonight.” Doug nodded, wishing the loudmouth would shut up and concentrate on his card game instead of them. Novack looked at Jessica. “Too bad, Your Honor. That walk you gave Gilbert got him a short swim instead. You the one that whacked him, McGuire?”

“Yeah, right.”

“Novack, you gonna deal or shoot bull all night?” one of the men in the game asked. To Doug’s relief, Novack shut up.

“Don’t think you’ll find too many Gilbert mourners in this crowd,” he said.

“Well, I’ll be honest with you…I’m not sorry he’s dead. As a judge, I abhor violence, but the citizen in me is glad to know there’s one less murderer out there tonight.”

“I tried to get that scumball behind bars where he belonged.” When she glanced around, he asked, “Who are you looking for?”

“Your friend Sherilyn and her Mr. Microphone.”

Doug chuckled. “Yeah, she’s a real piece of work, and the lady sure has got it in for you.”

“I think she’s one of those insecure women who look upon every other woman as her natural enemy.” She made an appealing sound that might have been a giggle. “I suppose it didn’t help when I beat out her boyfriend in the election.”

Doug’s approving gaze lingered on her face as he wondered how she’d look with that auburn hair tumbling around her shoulders. “She’s not even in your class, Judge Jess.”

The waitress approached with pad in hand. “How’re you doin’, Doug?”

“Real good, Kate. How’s Danny?”

She drew a deep sigh. “About the same. He has some good days and some bad ones. He told me he saw you on television today arguing with some dumb female judge who let your collar go.”

Doug threw Jessica a quick glance, but she showed no reaction. “Be sure and give Danny my best.”

Kate nodded. “So what’ll it be tonight?”

“A couple of beers, burgers with the works and some fries.”

“You got it, honey.” Kate came back instantly, put down a pitcher of beer and two glasses, and then took off again.

“Sorry about Kate’s remark,” he said, filling her glass.

“Think nothing of it. I’m getting used to those kind of comments.”

“You can’t blame people for resenting how these criminals get off, can you? But don’t be misled by Kate’s remark. She’s one of the great women of the world. Do you remember reading a few years back about this hopped up junkie who shot his girlfriend, set the house on fire, and before shooting himself put a bullet into the young police officer who came into the burning building to rescue an infant in a crib?”

“Oh, yes. That was so tragic. If I remember, they all died.”

“Not quite. The baby died…the woman died…the perp died, but the police officer wasn’t that lucky. He sustained first-degree burns over his face and hands, and the bullet severed his spinal cord. The doctors say with continued therapy he might be able to sit up in a wheelchair in another year. In the meantime, they’ve been working on plastic surgery to cover up the burns on his face. He was pretty maimed. That young police officer is Danny Harrigan— Kate’s twenty-one-year-old son. Her husband, Jimmy, had been shot and killed five years before that incident, when he stopped a car on a routine traffic violation.”

“That’s terrible! I’m so sorry, Doug.”

“Yeah, we’re all sorry. And poor Kate. Bad enough she lost a husband—and son—but she has to work her butt off to pay for the medical bills that the insurance doesn’t cover. Any woman dumb enough to fall in love with a cop ought to go to a shrink first before marrying one.”

“It sounds to me like you really mean anyone who chooses to become a police officer ought to pay a visit to that shrink. Why did you go into law enforcement, Doug?” she asked.