The Hanging Judge (16 page)

“No, Your Honor, I won’t be bothering you like this again,” Mrs. Abercrombie said. “But it’s just a very technical point, and as long as I’m here, could I ask you? It’s just a little thing but very important. I won’t sleep.”

“Nope,” David said brusquely. “All set now?” He held up a finger as she started to protest. “No, now, Mrs. Abercrombie, doggone it. If you say one word about your cases, I’m going to recuse myself. You know what that means, right? I’ll have to send everything to Judge Sowerby in Worcester.” He tucked the towel under his arm and added, more quietly. “And won’t she be thrilled.”

“It’s pretty minor, David,” Claire began.

“Nope, nope, nope,” David repeated, giving Claire a warning look. “Let’s get you back to your car before things get any worse.”

David maintained an obliteratingly hearty patter as he hustled Mrs. Abercrombie through the kitchen, out to the garage, and into his car. Calling from the driver’s side to Claire that he’d just be a minute, he backed briskly out and down the long driveway.

The sight of Mrs. Abercrombie’s aged Volvo at the bottom of the hill provided the judge with a new topic, and all through her transfer he rhapsodized about what sturdy cars the Swedes built, how Volvos ran forever, and what wonderful qualities they exhibited on ice and snow. Through all this Mrs. Abercrombie, blinking into the darkness, said not a word. She maintained this silence as she got out, restarted her car, and finally pulled away.

The Volvo’s taillights receded nearly to pinpoints before swinging onto a side road.

“Gone,” David said aloud. He rested his forehead on the steering wheel. Claire, he was sure, would have her coat on, ready to wrap up the evening, by the time he got back up the hill.

18

“
So this new girl we hired is sucking my dick, you know?” Alex Torricelli’s brother, Tony, was regaling Alex in a half whisper. “It’s only fair, right? I gave her a job, so she gives me one.” He squirmed with pleasure at his joke.

It was the final stage of a dinner at the Torricellis, and the two brothers’ wives were out of the room. From Alex’s point of view, the evening had been a washout. Janice scarcely looked at him, and when she did, her eyes were as hard as lug nuts.

Still, here they were. Tony had been bugging him for some sort of family get-together, and, after Janice and the baby came back, Tony’s wife, Cindy, started calling Janice and finally succeeded in setting up the dinner. It was not fun, but nothing too bad had happened, so far.

“Come on, Tony,” Alex muttered. “I need these stories like a hole in the head right now. Besides, I don’t know how you can be intimate with all these girls and still …”

Tony stopped tittering and broke in. “I’m not intimate with them,” he said indignantly. “I have sex with them.”

Janice entered the dining room at this moment carrying the silver coffee service and their nice cups. Tony’s wife, Cindy, followed with the treasure Alex had been looking forward to all day—one of Janice’s special-occasion nutmeg cakes. Its aroma filled the house reminding Alex of happier days.

Janice looked over at Tony as she and Cindy approached the table. Alex could see Janice read on Tony’s blank face the obvious fact that he had been entertaining Alex with some dirty story. She turned and gave her husband a freezing stare.

She thinks we were talking about the meter maid,
Alex thought despairingly.
Or about her.

“What? What?” Tony was mugging, barely able to repress his grin. It was Tony’s favorite brand of sadism to want women to know that he had been naughty and to be helpless to do anything about it. Girls, he’d decided, liked this.

Janice set the tray down with a clatter.

“Excuse me,” she said in a voice that sounded like glass cracking and walked out of the room. Her footsteps receded into the silence, and there was the sound of the bathroom door opening and closing—not slamming, Alex thought thankfully, but not closing softly, either.

He looked over at Tony, shook his head, and murmured, “What an asshole.”

“What? What? What’d I do now?” Tony looked up at his wife with an expression of earnest inquiry, radiating blamelessness.

“Janice is funny sometimes,” Cindy said, carefully setting the cake platter on the edge of the table and pushing it toward the center. “Look at this beautiful cake. It smells delicious.” She smiled wanly at Alex. “Want me to slice?”

She had a broad, pleasant face that always looked tired, and she was about two years away from losing her waist completely. Early in their marriage, before the boys arrived—when she still had her curves—Alex could recall times when she had tried standing up to Tony, but he had crushed her so thoroughly, and publicly, that now she mostly moved around him like a zombie, going along, vacant-eyed, with whatever he did or said.

When Janice returned from the toilet, Tony started straight in on the subject he’d obviously been wanting to raise all night: the Hudson trial and Alex’s testimony. By moving to a new topic like this, and speaking a little loudly as he did, he was showing loopy Janice that he forgave her for leaving a bruise on the very nice evening they’d all been having.

As she sat down—looking at no one—Tony took a quick sip of coffee and said, “So I got to tell you, Allie, you’re missing a big opportunity with this Hudson thing. I was telling Cindy here.”

“What opportunity is that?” Alex asked, keeping his voice neutral.

“Well, I know a lot of the Holyoke cops, and from what they tell me you could be looking at a promotion this time next year if your memory was better.”

“My memory’s just fine, Tone.”

“And we have some friends in the South End who don’t like Hudson, either. Some very important people in the Italian community, if you know what I mean, including a guy who played hockey with Ginger Daley’s brother and had the hots for Ginger.”

Alex was looking across the table at Janice. He wanted to smooth something over with her, just using his eyes, to let her know he was on her side. But she was giving all her attention to the plate in front of her, taking one joyless bite after another and occasionally glancing past him into the living room. To Alex, it looked as though she were preparing some explosion, something that would reduce him to ashes. He knew Janice’s expression when she’d had enough, and she’d definitely had enough. Something bad was coming.

“So?” Alex asked. He was sick of Tony.

“Look, Dumbo,” Tony said, shoveling in another large bite of cake. “This cake’s outstanding, Jan.” He spoke with his mouth full and leaned across the table holding his hands out palm up, as though he were trying to pull something out of Alex.

“If I have to spell this out for you, I will. What you need to do is think back, okay? Even you can do that. Just think back and remember that the guy you saw getting out of the Nissan that morning was Hudson. It’s, you know,” he gestured at the plate in the center of the table, “it’s a piece of cake.” A whistling laugh escaped him, and he resumed. “You were only twenty feet away from him, for Christ’s sake. You had to have seen him.”

“For the hundredth time, Tony, he was wearing a hoodie and he had his back to me. Plus, I was watching the kid behind the wheel.”

Janice broke in now, with the leading edge of her anger. “Who he came this close”—she held her thumb and finger an inch apart—“to getting killed catching. Shot by his own supposed buddies.”

Tony threw his hands up and leaned back. He stared disgustedly at Alex, taking his time to chew and swallow. “I don’t know why I waste my time with you. You hear what I’m saying? You know what I’m telling you? You’re not that dumb are you?”

“No, Tony, I’m not that dumb. I hear what you’re telling me, loud and clear. You and a few other guys.”

“Everybody knows that fucker killed her!” Tony pointed toward the front door at an invisible Moon Hudson. “You could ice the bastard, and do yourself and your family a big favor at the same time. One nod from you would do it, just three little words: ‘That’s the guy.’ Any jury would believe a big dumb puss like yours. I can’t believe you could be so stupid with a cookie like this right in your lap.” Tony’s face went red and the veins in his temples stood out. “Why can’t you wise up for once in your life? Jesus!”

Alex put his fork down and gave an exaggerated shrug. “Sorry. That’s just me, I guess.”

“Jesus, what’s the use?” Tony said. “You’ve been this way your whole fucking life. This is just you to a T.” He scraped the last of the cake into his mouth, wiped a dab of frosting off his lower lip, and shook his head again.

Janice, who’d been looking at Tony with her mouth open, now asked, “What’s in this for you, Tony?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Uh-uh,” she said. “That won’t work on me,
paesano
. My parents were both Sicilians, from Sciacca, and I know the smell of a dead fish even when he’s using half a bottle of aftershave. What’s in it for you, buddy? Eh? Who’s putting you up to this? Your cop pals, or your so-called friends from the South End?”

“Cindy, my love,” Tony said, smacking his hands on the table and looking over at his wife. “It’s late. This has been great, but we have to get the sitter home.” He pushed himself up from the table, digging at his teeth with his forefinger, while Cindy looked dutifully around at her feet for her handbag.

Janice stood up and gestured to Tony. For the first time that evening, she smiled.

“Let’s have a little talk,” she said. “Just you and me. Come in the kitchen for a sec.”

“What do you want to talk about?” Tony asked suspiciously. Cindy was wandering into the living room, still in search of her purse. With a hand on her shoulder, Alex was murmuring something in a kind voice. The wind was picking up again and passed with a rattling brush across the roof and over the windows.

Janice lifted her shoulders in an oversize shrug, imitating Alex, and smiled again, nodding at her husband’s back. She held up one finger. “
Un minuto,
that’s all. I have an idea that might help us both out. In the kitchen.” The last three words were delivered in a whisper, as though she didn’t want Alex to hear.

It occurred to Tony that somebody in this family might have half a brain, and he let Janice lead the way. His well-practiced eyes took advantage of the opportunity to examine, and imagine fondling, Janice’s sweet butt. Did she always move her hips that way?

When she had the door firmly closed behind them in the kitchen, Janice came toward Tony with a look in her eye almost of flirtatiousness and placed her left hand on the lapel of his jacket. She stroked his well-developed right pectoral. Tony’s vanity was so boundless that he assumed for a moment that she wanted him to kiss her—she was coming up so close—and he started to bend down with his most urbane smile. She was not a bad-looking woman.

“Look,” he started to say, putting his hand on Janice’s shoulder. His crotch started to stir lazily. “I’m really sorry if I was out of line back there.” His voice resembled something as close to human as he ever got in the presence of a woman.

Janice’s movements were swift and precise. Her left hand took a firm hold on Tony’s lapel, and her right hand grabbed his testicles, hard. Then she jerked down and twisted. Tony smothered a scream and felt himself starting to black out. He had never realized that anything that happened so fast could hurt so much.

“Jesus, Janice,” he gasped. “What the fuck …” He tried to get hold of her wrist, but she only twisted harder. His knees were starting to buckle. Something banged off the counter as his free hand groped for balance.

“Have I got your attention now, Tony? Huh? Let go of my wrist or I’ll yank them off.” She gave another excruciating twist. “Let go of my wrist, Goddammit!”

Sweat was pouring down Tony’s face and his eyes were squeezed shut. Only some pride kept him from screaming. He let go of her wrist, and Janice eased her grip. A muffled gasp squeaked out of him. His sister-in-law’s furious whisper seemed to come from inside his head.

“I just realized tonight where my problem was, you big prick. I saw it when I walked in just now, right in front of my nose all the time.” She twisted again and got a sharp intake of breath from Tony.

“Janice, Christ, you’re fucking …” He smothered another cry as she bent her knees for leverage and wrenched again.

“You’re not a person, Tony, you know that?” Her words were low and enraged now, right in his face, so close he was catching flecks of her spit on his eyelids. “You’re nothing but a big cock with a smiley face on it. The only thing you never faked is an orgasm.”

“Okay, Christ, just let me …” Another squeal of pain squirted out of him.

“And if I ever hear you calling Alex ‘Dumbo’ again, or anything like that, or shitting on him because he isn’t the sneak you are, I’ll feed your chickpeas to my cat.”

“Okay, okay, Jesus Christ.”

She let go and stepped back. Tony was bent over, holding himself and breathing hard. There was a silence long enough for a truck to rumble by in the distance. Then Janice bent down to pick a soup ladle off the floor.

“Good.” She stood up. “Now let’s go out and say a nice
buona notte
for the lovely evening we’ve all had. Always such a pleasure to see you two.”

Janice reached toward Tony, only intending to pat his cheek, but his half-crippled body dodged sideways, and he grabbed something off the kitchen counter and waved it at her.

“You k-keep away from me, you harpy!”

Janice stepped back and pointed the ladle at him. “I know, Tone, you’ve got a cheese grater, and you’re not afraid to use it.” She tilted her head to one side and smiled. “It’s like your mama told me: such a sweet boy, but not too bright—and so spoiled.”

19

D
avid returned to his house to find good news and bad news. The good news was that Claire had not put on her coat; the bad news was that she had migrated from the sofa to the wingback and put her shoes on. Marlene had her chin on the hassock, and Claire was scratching the top of her head. The fire had died down, and the room was darker.

“Sorry about that,” David said. He was standing in the doorway with no idea where to sit. “That’s never happened before.”