Casting Bones (8 page)

Archer nodded, folding his hands in his lap. He had the distinct impression there really weren't too many positive qualities about the deceased.

‘All right, let's start there.'

Sue Waronker leaned forward, her elbows on the dark wooden desk. Letting out a slow breath she said, ‘I've lived the last twelve years making excuses for Judge David Lerner. That was my job. And, Detective, I'm paid to do my job. You give me a check and I'll do almost anything you want done. Almost. Understand? And, I've been led to believe that part of my job is to support the judges in this division. Not just Lerner, but the others as well.'

Archer nodded, hoping to encourage her narrative.

‘Well, one of those judges is no longer among us. While he was alive, I lived with his arrogance, I put up with his superior attitude and the harsh sentences that he passed on young men and women in this city. It was a job that I sometimes couldn't stomach, Detective. Judge Lerner destroyed a lot of young lives – especially the men's – and their families because of harsh penalties that very few of those people actually deserved. He wasn't the only one on this floor. But I worked for him and I apologize to anyone if I turned a blind eye to some of his corrections.'

‘You say this without a background in the justice system? Without any education in criminal law?'

The lady gripped the edge of her desk, her knuckles white.

‘I say this, Detective Archer, with a compassion for people. Judge Lerner and Judge Warren,' she hesitated, ‘and there are others, believe me, I'm sorry, but there are, were, several judges who seemed to revel in harsh sentencing on young people who I believe deserved a second chance. It's my thought, but as you point out, I haven't one good reason or qualification to make that statement.'

‘Mrs Waronker, I was simply pointing out that there may be legal reasons beyond your, or my understanding. No offense.'

‘I'm going to be totally honest with you, Detective Archer. You seem to have been honest with me.'

His innocent face on, Archer smiled.

‘I worked for him almost twelve years. The pay was decent, the hours sometimes long, but I fit in well, and I'm really good at what I do.' She hesitated. ‘One of the girls who worked with him is now tending traffic court. Abruptly dismissed. So obviously, the man had issues with employees.'

‘OK.' He nodded, feeling like the other shoe was about to drop. Which was the reason for his visit.

‘That said, I go back to my statement.' She wore a weak smile. ‘Or my outburst about the judge.'

Q nodded again, trying to encourage the lady.

‘I've known him a long time, and Judge David Lerner didn't really have a lot of redeeming qualities. Pressed, I'm not sure I could name one. I'm not sorry he's gone, Detective. Part of his job seemed to be making people's lives a living hell. My honest answer to your question is this: there could be all kinds of reasons and all kinds of people who would want him dead. All kinds.'

She'd given him a copy of the judge's calendar, his Rolodex, plus the names of the other six juvenile judges who worked in the building. He checked at the front desk to see if any of them were available.

‘Richard Warren. He's the only one who isn't busy at the moment. He's in his office. Do you want me to see if he can work you in? Would you like to see him?' the plump honey-blond receptionist asked.

Archer walked down the hall and into a cramped office. After introducing himself, he said, ‘You worked with David Lerner? Judge David Lerner?'

The judge looked up, peering skeptically at Archer through large black-framed glasses. A small wiry man, about forty and quite pale. Someone who spent a lot of time inside.

‘I did.'

‘Did you have much interaction?'

‘Interaction?'

‘Did you work together? I'm sorry, Judge Warren, I'm not exactly sure how your system works. Maybe you could help me out. Tell me how things progress in this court.'

‘We handle our own caseloads, Detective. I may have a day, or a moment when I deal with one of the other judges' cases, but for the most part we are independent of each other.'

‘Judge Lerner had a reputation for being a little harsh in his sentencing. Did you have any feelings about that?'

‘Judge Lerner,' he leaned on the man's last name, ‘called his own shots. He didn't ask my opinion on how to adjudicate.' Warren crossed his arms over his chest and dared the detective to keep up the interrogation.

‘Judge, we're trying to find out who murdered your colleague. I'm asking you if you have any idea who might have had a reason to—'

‘Detective, New Orleans has a lot of bad characters who are underage. And when those kids get out, I'm well aware some of them are not happy with our part in their incarceration.'

‘So you think that offenders may—'

‘Offenders. Their family. Their friends. We get threats from all of them. You want to go back twelve years and look into every kid Judge Lerner convicted? Or every threat he received in his tenure? Do you want to put your staff through that process? Good luck with that, Detective.'

‘How about you, Judge? Do you give harsh sentences? A little over the top? A little severe for the offense?'

Warren stood. His gaze went beyond Archer, to the entrance to his office, the wall in the hallway. His stare had a distant look.

‘Detective, Judge Lerner was a zero-tolerance judge. If you break the law, you pay for that transgression. Some of us feel that's following the letter of the law. Some of us agree with that philosophy. Some of us.' Standing up he walked to one of the three windows in his office. ‘We all have a sense of responsibility, Mr Archer. We need to rid our streets of these punks. Teach them a lesson, OK?'

Archer remembered the song from Gilbert and Sullivan's
The Mikado
. ‘Let the Punishment Fit the Crime'.

‘Some of us? You must be someone who believes in harsh penalties. You must be one of the good guys.'

Warren wet his lips with his tongue.

‘I am a fair judge, Detective. That is what I believe.'

‘Judge Warren, I sincerely hope that whoever committed this crime isn't thinking about killing more judges.'

‘What?' Rearing back, Warren stared at Archer's face. ‘Is that a threat?' He threw his arms out, an expression of bewilderment on his face. ‘What are you saying? Are you suggesting—?'

‘A threat? No, I—' Archer had said it as a thought, a warning. The man's life could be in danger. Didn't he get that? Maybe even the judges in New Orleans were suspicious of the police and questioned their motives. ‘Definitely not. I'm not in a position to threaten you. It's a sincere warning. As of this moment, we don't know who killed Judge Lerner, or why, but if I were you, I'd be watching my back.'

Warren walked from behind the desk and forced Archer into the hall. ‘Detective Archer, if you want to file a grievance about the way I handle
my
business, you can take it up with the state board. Judge Lerner isn't around to explain the way
he
did things.'

Archer nodded. The guy was very touchy. As if Archer had touched a nerve.

‘I don't understand your business, Judge. But, you need to understand it may be possible someone doesn't like the way you
do things. Be careful, Mr Warren. I'm serious.'

‘Fuck you, Detective. I'm serious as well.'

I
t was mid-afternoon when he left the building. Three judges, the Waronker lady, and he wasn't much further ahead than he had been. The judges were closed-mouthed, a brotherhood and all that. Judge Traci Hall, who worked in the next office, admitted that the punishment David Lerner handed down often seemed excessive, but that was the most she would say. She was guarded in her comments and Q quickly understood that brotherhood, sisterhood, was paramount. No one wanted to be the snitch. Much like the Detroit Police Department, and he assumed with the NOPD as well.

Archer guessed none of Lerner's fellow judges would venture a reason why someone would gun down the man. Richard Warren had been sullen and defensive and would probably rate another interview.

Sue Waronker, on the other hand, gave him several reasons. None that he took too seriously, although a lead was a lead. She seemed to have some issues with a couple of offenders the judge had sentenced, and she had suggested he talk with the secretary who had claimed sexual harassment. Archer intended to follow up on her immediately as he walked to traffic court on Broad Street.

The detective was starting to have a better understanding of the murdered judge. Twice divorced, twenty years on the bench, drove a Jaguar convertible and seemed well off, supposedly because of good investments. Then there were the rumors that he'd thrown cases for money. It was going to be hard to prove those stories.

He had a daughter named Alison, who, by Lerner's own admission to his colleagues, never talked to him. The judge apparently hadn't seen her in over ten years. No inquiries from either of the wives or the daughter. Nobody cared about this guy.

Walking over to the traffic court, Archer found the maligned secretary in a small office buried in the back of the building. One metal desk, a laptop Dell computer, a couple of file cabinets and two chairs. The name on the desk plate said Brandy Lane. To him, it sounded like a stripper's name.

When he made his introduction she said, ‘I thought you'd be visiting.' Brandy had a soft face, expressive eyes and short brown hair. Not a raving beauty, but not totally unattractive.

‘I'd like to ask you some questions.'

‘Sure.' She motioned for him to sit across from her. ‘I'm not sure I can tell you that much. It happened several years ago. It happened, it's over, and I'm here now.' She sounded resigned.

‘I looked it up and apparently you dropped the charges.'

‘I only filed to get him to stop. It started with rude comments. He'd comment on the clothes I wore, then he'd talk to me about my body. He accused me of coming on to him, and believe me, Detective, if you've seen pictures of him, he wasn't the most attractive man in the world. There was no way I ever would have made advances on that man. No way.'

Archer had seen the real body. Water logged, and not a pretty sight.

‘And then he kept commenting on my name. Said it sounded like a stripper's name or a porn star.'

He swallowed and glanced again at the name on her desk. Brandy Lane. Were all guys on the same wavelength?

She studied Archer for a moment, then said, ‘The strange thing about all of that, was, I was certain he was gay. I think he used sexual harassment with women to cover that fact.'

‘Gay?'

‘Please, don't take that in a wrong way. My thoughts, no proof. He was an asshole. Not because I thought he was on the other side.'

‘So you filed charges?'

‘I did. And I learned something, Detective Archer. You don't file charges on a judge when you're surrounded by other judges. Great lesson, but I wish I'd never been in a position to be schooled. I never should have made any waves. I know that now. A very bad decision. Judges in New Orleans are very powerful. I worked for one and had no idea. Honest to God, they will kick your ass.'

He nodded, understanding only too well. Judges, officers on the force, they stood up for each other, right or wrong. No question about it. In Detroit, it involved the cop who was in business with Archer's brothers. He fronted a drug running business, but as bad as the drug business was, the police fraternity did not approve of Quentin Archer's crusade against Officer Bobby Mercer. The force as one stood up for Mercer. They made it very clear. And six months and twelve hundred miles later, here he was. Not guilty, but he was the one who exited. He'd been certain Mercer had committed murder, to cover his drug running, but that same police officer still walked the streets of Motown. Don't go after a judge when you're surrounded by other judges? The same philosophy seemed to apply to cops.

‘Ever have any thoughts about getting revenge?'

She smiled softly. ‘Sure. All the time.'

‘Ever act on any of those thoughts?'

‘No. Sometimes I wish I had. Guy was a son of a bitch. Actually, I probably would have, at one time. I might have killed him, Detective.'

‘Why didn't you?'

‘Someone else beat me to it.'

The parking ticket was wedged between the windshield wiper and the glass. Archer ripped it out and thought about tearing it into a thousand pieces. Some meter maid had already gone out of her way to incite his wrath.

The Chevy was sticky hot inside as he drove back to the office, both windows down. Parking the car, he took the elevator to the third floor. At his desk he sorted through handwritten notes and keyed them into his computer. Scrawled notes. The department had recently bought new recording devices but Archer worked better off his paper trail. Half of his life was trying to organize things. Lost in his own world of reconstructing his morning, Archer jerked when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

‘Found a gun, partner.'

Archer turned and stared at Strand. A sick little grin was on his partner's face and Archer knew immediately.

‘Recently fired?'

‘How did you know?'

‘How long can you hold him?'

‘Don't give me any shit, Q.'

‘How long, Strand?'

‘We'll see. Ex-con with a gun? Dead judge? I think we've got some time to work him.'

‘You're still pretty sure, aren't you?'

‘I want it to be him, Q. Makes our world a lot simpler.'

‘And justice?'

‘It will be served.'

Archer just shook his head.

‘Look, Q, I'm not looking for a bad collar. Last thing I want is six months down the road we find we nailed the wrong guy. But right now, I like this kid for the murder. He ran. He walked out of that restaurant right after we questioned him. We need to hold him till we can work the case.' Shrugging his shoulders he said, ‘Besides, I wasn't the one who found the gun.'