Missing Justice (11 page)

I got lucky. My first choice judge, David Lesh, had just finished a plea and was working in his chambers. Lesh was a former prosecutor. He was also a former employee of the City Attorney’s Office, but his job there was to advise the police. He wouldn’t look kindly on Dennis Coakley’s obstructionism.

He gave me a warm welcome. “Get in here, Kincaid. I haven’t seen you since all hell broke loose. How are you holding up? You look great.”

“Thanks, Judge.” Lesh was a regular fixture on the happy-hour circuit and an absolute nut, but his position required certain formalities. “I’m doing surprisingly well. I took some time off, and now I’m in the Major Crimes Unit.”

“Well, good for you. You deserve it. If it means anything, I think you did a great job in the Derringer trial.”

His delivery, without an iota of irony, evoked a sharp laugh from me. An actual guffaw. “Oh, yeah, ended beautifully,” I said.

“At least you’ve got a sense of humor about it. So what are you here for?”

“I’m working on the Clarissa Easterbrook case.”

His tone changed markedly, as was Lesh’s way. Irreverence always took a backseat to the things that mattered. “I heard about that this morning. The saddest thing. She was such a nice woman. Did you know her?”

“No, but I did meet her once. I guess you knew her from the City Attorney’s Office.”

“Not from work so much as just being around City Hall together. She was a really great gal, the kind of person who genuinely wanted to hear the answer when she’d ask how you were doing. Are you guys getting anywhere on nailing whoever did this to her?”

“Bureau’s working on it,” I said, shaking my head, “but nothing yet. That’s actually why I stopped by. We want to look at her files to see if someone might have had a grudge, but we’re having some problems getting in. I don’t want to get too far into an explanation since it would be ex parte, but I’d like to get someone over here from the City Attorney’s Office, if you don’t mind.”

Judges weren’t supposed to talk about a case with only one of the lawyers present.

“I take it Coakley’s not letting you in?” he asked.

“Well, he hasn’t said one way or the other, but I wanted to do the file review yesterday. I even walked over there and was ready to do it.”

“Let’s see what he’s got to say about it.”

He picked up his phone and punched in a number from memory. After Lesh was a prosecutor and before he was a judge, Coakley was Lesh’s Duncan Griffith. Some bad blood was rumored, so this might be fun.

“Dennis Coakley, please. This is Circuit Court Judge David Lesh.”

Lesh was too much of a pro to drop his poker face, but I’d heard him make calls before. He’s usually just plain old David Lesh.

“Mr. Coakley, how are you? .. . I’ve got Samantha Kincaid in my chambers. Do you have a second to walk over here for a quick discussion? .. . Well, she doesn’t seem to agree…. Unless you tell me she can get in there right now to see what she wants to see, I think you do have a disagreement…. I know it’s unconventional, but it’s also the easiest way to do it. Do you really want to formalize this? I could have her apply for a warrant, in which case you wouldn’t even be here for my decision…. All right, I’ll see you in a few.”

A pissed-off Coakley walked in a few short minutes later. If we’d been in Toon Town, his face would have been red, his ears smoking, and he would have been storming in at a forty-five degree lean. In the real world, his neck vein was pulsing. Not nearly as cute.

“All right,” Lesh said, once Dennis was settled, “any need for a court reporter?” We both declined. “Just so you know,

Ms. Kincaid was careful not to tell me too much about the nature of the dispute until you were here. I know she wants to look in Clarissa Easterbrook’s files, and you told me you didn’t feel you were able to accommodate that, at least not on the DA’s timeline. Is that about right?”

I nodded, but Coakley had come ready for a fight. “Honestly, Judge, I can’t even believe we’re here. Ms. Kincaid showed up at my office yesterday, unannounced. I gave her the one and only file she described as being of interest, and I’ve been working ever since to view the remaining files for privileged information. I’m nearly done, and pulling me away from that process only slows things down. I feel ambushed.”

Lesh asked me if I wanted to respond.

“I was not trying to ambush anyone, your honor. The problem is that Mr. Coakley assumes he has the singular right to decide when and where and under what terms those files can be reviewed as part of a pressing homicide investigation. The fact of the matter is I could have applied for a search warrant and shown up at City Hall with police to execute it. I thought having a judge mediate the discussion might facilitate an agreement about the matter.”

“Right,” Coakley scoffed, “and you just happened to pick a judge who used to work for me.”

Lesh made a T with his hands. “Whoa, that judge is still in the room, thank you very much. As you know, Dennis, I made a decision when I became a judge not to remove myself from all cases involving the city or the DA’s office, just the ones that were pending while I worked for those offices. That said, if you think I’m biased, you are welcome to ask me to recuse myself, and I won’t fight it. We’ll get another judge for you. Just say the word.”

Local custom holds that judges will remove themselves from a case based solely on an attorney’s request. But local practice holds that no lawyer ever actually makes such a request lest it burn them down the road, either with the challenged judge or the one unlucky enough to pick up the extra work.

“That’s not necessary, your honor.”

“Then let’s get down to business. You know why the DA wants to get into those files: There’s always the possibility that someone on a case had it out for Clarissa. Tell me precisely what your concern is about letting her have a look.” Lesh gestured at me. “You’d be doing the review, right? Not your officers?”

“That’s correct, your honor.”

Coakley repeated the same line he’d given me the day before.

And Lesh had the same response. “Wait a second. I don’t understand why her files would contain any communications with you. The city’s a party, for Christ’s sake.”

“We don’t know what kind of internal memoranda she made about other privileged matters in an employment context, though, your honor, or how she maintained those memoranda. I just want a chance to peruse each file and ensure that it contains only case information. It’s standard practice in document production.”

Lesh made my argument for me. “Maybe in a civil suit, but this is a murder investigation. You’re talking about a theoretical possibility that Clarissa Easterbrook who is now dead, by the way not only had a conversation with someone in your office but that she recorded it in some form and then placed it in a case file where Ms. Kincaid might stumble upon it unwittingly. And you think this possibility warrants a delay in a murder investigation?”

“Not a substantial one, your honor. As I said, I’m almost done.”

Lesh shook his head. He had worked both the civil and criminal sides of the bar, but even he was incredulous at this particular civil litigator’s priorities. “How far have you gotten, Dennis?”

Coakley pursed his lips and thought a second. “Probably eighty percent.”

“And was there anything in that eighty percent that you needed to redact?”

“No, there wasn’t.”

“Of course not,” Lesh said. “OK, here’s what we’re doing, kids. Dennis, get the files that you’ve completed ready for Ms. Kincaid to review at City Hall. Where should she go?”

Coakley clearly thought about arguing, but hedged his bets that things could get worse and relented. “Clarissa’s office would probably be best.”

“Good. While she reviews those, you’re free to continue working on the remaining twenty percent. But if she gets done before you do, too bad. The two of you can race to the finish.”

We both said thank you and started to leave. Before I walked out, Lesh called me back. “Samantha, do you have a minute?”

“Of course, your honor.”

Once the door was closed, he asked me to sit down. “What was that all about?”

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“I certainly hope that’s not the case, or you’re going to have a very rough career ahead of you. Did you really need me for that?”

“We were at an impasse, your honor. I thought you’d help us reach a compromise, and you did.”

“It’s my job, Kincaid, and I haven’t turned into one of those lazy sacks who’s complaining about more work yet,” he said, knocking on his wood desk. “But you didn’t even talk to Coakley about this before coming to me, did you?”

“Not since yesterday,” I said.

“Before Clarissa’s body was found,” he said, shaking his head. “The guy was eighty percent done, so he meant it when he said he’d been working on it. The fact is, you could have come to the same solution with a phone call. But he probably gave you a hard time yesterday, so you decided you’d teach him a lesson. And don’t think for a minute that I’m not aware why you handpicked me as your weapon.”

I didn’t say anything.

“It’s not my business, but just some friendly advice. I know Coakley, and I’d bet money that word of this will get back to Griffith.” That would be terrific, given the meeting we’d just had. “Don’t forget, I’ve worked for that office too. You’ve got to stop butting heads, or you’re in for a world of hurt.”

People feel perfectly free to lecture me about butting heads, but who scolds the butt heads Maybe Lesh could bend the will of jerks like Coakley through charm and personality, but I’ve found those kind of people will run me over if I don’t stand up for myself. I still loved Lesh, but until he walked a mile in my Ferragamos, he didn’t have a clue as to what my job was like.

I thanked him again for his help and headed back to my office.

Five.

While I was packing up what I needed for the file review, I heard a tap on my open door and turned to find Russ Frist wheeling my long-lost leather chair into the office.

“Lucy,” I said in my best Desi impersonation, “you got some ‘splaining to do.”

He flicked a manila envelope onto my desk in front of me.

“Good shot.” I looked at the envelope but didn’t open it.

“What can I say? Too much ultimate Frisbee in the Corps.”

“I wouldn’t have guessed that about you, Frist. When I was in college, the ultimate Frisbee guys were big dope smokers.”

“Right, but they probably never inhaled. Let’s just agree that you probably shouldn’t extrapolate too much from your Harvard experience, Kincaid.”

“Nor you from the Marine Corps.”

“Touche.”

“Now shut up, soldier, and tell me why you have my beloved chair.”

“Open the envelope,” he said.

Inside, I found two Polaroids of my chair and a series of ransom notes written with letters cut from magazines.

“A couple of the guys heard about your unhealthy relationship with the office furniture and thought it would be a funny way to welcome you to the Unit. I put the kibosh on it after Duncan called you out on the Easterbrook case. Seemed like it would be in poor taste.”

“Gee. You think?”

“Just take the chair, Kincaid. You have been spared the usual rites of passage.”

“Spared, or is this simply a reprieve?”

“You’re a smart woman.”

“Great. I’ll keep my back up.”

“Like you wouldn’t anyway?”

As he turned to leave, I said, “Don’t you want to know about the Easterbrook case?”

“Of course I do. I was just waiting to see if you’d tell me on your own.”

I was starting to like this guy. I filled him in on what I’d learned so far from the investigation. “I was just about to head over to review the victim’s files.” I left out the part where I hauled the City Attorney into court to speed access. “You want to come with?”

“The joys of document review. No thanks. If I liked scouring through boxes of files on the off chance of finding a little nugget, I’d be over at Dunn Simon making a shitload of money.”

It’s helpful as a prosecutor to remind yourself occasionally of the things (other than lots of money) that go along with civil practice at the big prestigious firms. I was a summer associate at Dunn Simon after my first year in law school. I got paid twice what I make in my current position for what amounted to a two-month job interview. But I knew I’d never want to work there after a young partner explained to me why he loved the peculiar formatting that the firm insisted on for each and every document: “It’s just the Dunn Simon way.” Yuck.

“I don’t know, Russ. Might have to pull a Little Red Hen on your ass.”

“I’m afraid I’m not familiar with your literary reference. I tend to read material for adults.”

“Yeah, right. The kind with pictures that fold out in the middle. I mean that you don’t eat the bread unless you help plant the grain. I’m picturing myself in the first and only chair in State v. Yet to Be Determined for the murder of Clarissa Easterbrook.”

“You keep dreaming, Kincaid, because it’s not gonna happen. Besides, I’ve got a good excuse, not that I need to give you one. Judge Maurer sent a case out for trial this afternoon that I was sure would settle, so I need to get ready. Have fun with those administrative law files, though. Sounds like a blast.”

I welcomed my chair back into its new home and scooted old blue crusty into the hallway with a piece of paper pinned to its back that read hazardous waste. Given the state of the budget around here, it still might be a step up for someone.

Nelly Giacoma remembered me from the day before. She tried to sound chipper when she welcomed me into the office, but I could tell from her puffy eyes and congested voice that she’d been crying. I asked if I could see Clarissa’s files.

“Dennis Coakley told me you’d be coming by. I needed to keep busy, so I helped make sure we had all the pending cases. He’s got everything in piles for you in the conference room at the end of the hall.”

The conference room turned out to be little more than a storage space that held the water cooler and a bulletin board posting the required equal employment disclosures. There were four boxes of files stacked in the corner and a small table I could use for work space.