Until Judgment Day (14 page)

M
ONDAY
, J
ANUARY
6, 8:45
A.M.
J
UDGE
R
EGINALD
K
EEFE'S
C
HAMBERS

“
I
'
M DUE IN COURT
at nine o'clock.” Judge Reginald Keefe tugged impatiently on the sleeves of his judicial robe and indicated a chair. “You might as well sit.”

Keefe's utilitarian office lacked style, warmth, character, and substance, which, in Sheriff Granz' opinion, matched the man behind the desk perfectly.

Granz perched on the edge of the uncomfortable straight-backed chair and leaned his briefcase against the legs. “You'll find what I have to say worth your time.”

“Doubtful. Make it fast.”

“I know Governor Graham sent your name down along with Woods' for possible appointment to the Appellate Court.”

“So?”

Granz fingered a bandage inside his left elbow and sat back. “Graham's a conservative, ex-prosecutor Republican.”

“He's goddamn card-carrying John Bircher.”

“So is Woods. And you're a left-wing Democrat bleeding-heart liberal from the civil bar.”

“I wouldn't put it that way.”

“Graham will.”

“If you plan to insult me, get out of my chambers.”

“I was stating facts. If you were insulted I apologize.”

Keefe looked at Granz through suspicion-squinted eyes. “Apology accepted. Go on.”

“Your name came down because Graham's making a run for President. He needs to consider a token liberal to prove he's open-minded and convince voters that's the kind of president he'll be if they elect him.”

“He'll appoint me if he wants a judge who's tough on crime.”

“Compared to you, John Gotti and the Gambino Family were tough on crime. When Graham finishes paying lip service to the knee-jerk liberal far left, he'll appoint Woods unless someone runs interference for you.”

“You forget it was Woods who tossed out Mackay's subpoena and got that priest killed—what was his name again?”

“Duvoir. I didn't forget.”

“I ordered the Bishop to testify.”

“And he didn't give us jack—he's still in jail. How does that make you look?”

“Nevertheless, it was a good order.”

“I agree, but one pro-law-enforcement order in fifteen years doesn't line you up to the right of center. Graham will appoint the man his appointment secretary, Ronald DeWitt, says works best politically, and since the World Trade Center and Pentagon, that means someone backed by law enforcement.”

Keefe glanced at the clock. “What's all this got to do with you?”

“I can get you appointed.”

“How?”

“The Governor's—”

Granz' jaw started working like he was chewing a hunk of jerky, spit bubbled at the corners of his mouth, his eyes glazed over, and the veins in his neck bulged as if they might split the skin.

Keefe leaned forward. “Granz?”

Drool puddled on Granz' chin. His arms quivered.

“Sheriff!” Keefe's voice rose in alarm.

Granz suddenly blinked several times, licked his lips, and wiped his chin on his sleeve. “What?”

“You scared the shit out of me, Granz. What happened?”

“Nothing.”

Granz yanked a paper cup from the dispenser on the side of the water cooler by Keefe's desk and held it under the blue spigot. “Mind if I have a drink of water?”

“Help yourself.”

He pulled a bottle from his briefcase and washed down a handful of pills. “Thanks.”

“No problem. You sure you're okay?”

“Just a sudden stress headache.”

Keefe steepled his fingers. “Where were we?”

Granz pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “Unless somebody does some heavy lifting on your behalf, you've got less chance than a popcorn fart in a hurricane.”

“Is that an offer?”

“That's right. You've got to have law enforcement's support.”

“You're only one cop.”

“I'm
top
cop.”

“The police chiefs will never support me.”

“I can neutralize their opposition.”

“It'd still take some serious juice.”

“Twenty-five years ago, Ron DeWitt and I were young Sheriff's deputies together. Partners, in fact. DeWitt was good-looking and smart—a rising star with a future, a foxy wife, and a house behind a white picket fence.”

“I'm listening.”

“He went home one day and learned his wife, Rose, had hauled ass with a butch dyke from San Francisco. Rosie didn't leave anything behind except her wedding ring, a get lost note, and a stack of credit card bills bigger than the equity in his house.”

“Why would I care about this?”

Granz continued as if Keefe hadn't interrupted. “DeWitt loved Rose more than anything in the world. For two years he turned into a belligerent, out-of-control, falling-down drunk. I covered for him, saved his ass more times than I can remember. When he climbed out of the bottle, he no longer wanted to be a cop, and enrolled in Santa Clara Law School.”

“Go on.”

“That was almost twenty years ago. I've got a lot of bad memories from those days. DeWitt wants to ride Graham's coattails all the way to the White House. He owes me big, and I'm willing to call in the markers.”

“Why would you do that for me?”

“I want something in return.”

Keefe furrowed his brows, but his eyes widened with interest. “Try to bribe me, I'll toss you in your own jail and flush the key.”

Keefe paused, but when Granz didn't respond, he asked, “What's the quid pro quo?”

“Nothing illegal, just a little help cutting through some bureaucratic red tape.”

“What kind of red tape?”

“Jam an adoption through for me as fast as possible and I'll write your letter of recommendation, drive it to Sacramento, chat with DeWitt about the good old days, and hand-deliver my letter supporting your appointment to the appellate court.”

Keefe leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. “Adoptions take time.”

“Bull. Social worker interview, background check, verification of birth parents' status. All unnecessary bureaucratic crap in this case.”

“Who's the kid?”

“Emma Mackay.”

“Let me think.” Keefe tugged on an earlobe and pretended he needed to be convinced.

“This is a one-time offer, Keefe. Take too long, I walk out and deliver a different letter to the Governor's office. Catch my drift?”

The Judge ignored the not-so-subtle threat. “I remember when Emma Mackay's father was killed in that Los Angeles courtroom shooting a few years back. A terrible tragedy. Young girls need fathers.”

“You're all heart, Keefe.”

“Since she's over twelve, I need her consent.”

“I spoke to her about it last night.”

“What did she say?”

“‘Of course, Dave, it was inevitable. Do I get a raise in my allowance?'”

Keefe's face cracked into a smile that looked more like a triumphant smirk. “I could get it done in a week if you deliver all the necessary papers immediately.”

“I'll have them on your desk before you go home this afternoon.”

“Tomorrow morning's fine. Meanwhile, run rap sheets on yourself and Mackay. Shouldn't take more than a few hours. By the way, there's a two-hundred-dollar adoption fee.”

“Jesus Christ!” Granz reached inside his coat.

“Put your checkbook away, I wouldn't want anyone to get the wrong idea. I'll waive the fee. Have you filed a petition with the court clerk?”

“It's filled out, in my briefcase.”

“Give it to me, I'll file for you then intercept it, so it doesn't fall into a bureaucratic black hole at Social Services.”

“We've got a deal?”

“Call it a mutual favor.”

Granz slid the petition across the desk. “Whatever.”

“One thing—send me several sheets of Sheriff's letterhead stationery. I'll draft the letter to the Governor personally, for your signature.”

“Knock yourself out, I don't give a damn what it says. Next Monday morning, we'll exchange signatures—yours on the adoption order, mine on your letter.”

Keefe grinned. “Was there anything else on your mind?”

Granz stood. “Nope. If you need me for anything in the next hour or so, I'll be in my wife's office.”

“Don't worry about a thing, Dave, I've got it under control.” Keefe stuck out his hand. “It's nice to swap favors with a friend.”

Granz ignored Keefe's extended hand. “Don't push it, Reggie. I'd sooner have a rabid skunk for a friend.”

M
ONDAY
, J
ANUARY
6, 10:00
A.M.
DA M
ACKAY'S
O
FFICE

G
RANZ HANDED HIS WIFE
a cup of coffee and plopped into a chair.

“I must look like a charity case,” Mackay said.

“Maybe it's my outfit.”

“Whadaya mean?”

“Escalante brought coffee when she briefed me this morning, too. But pregnant women shouldn't drink regular coffee, so please make it decaf next time, okay?”

“I'll try to remember.” He grabbed her cup. “I'll drink yours, too. What'd she have to report?”

“Nothing breaking. Why don't you check with Miller later?”

“Will do.”

“Diedre Burton called a few minutes ago. You're blood test came back RH-positive.”

“That's what we expected, right?”

“Yes, but my prenatal blood test shows a significant level of RH antibodies.”

He clamped his fingers around the cups in his lap, then jerked them away. “Damn, that's hot! Is everything okay?”

“We don't know yet. She referred me to a specialist. I already set up an appointment.”

“Tell me when and where so I can go with you.”

“Tomorrow morning at Cleveland Clinic.”

“Isn't there someone closer than Ohio?”

“Diedre says he's the best.”

“Then I'll make flight reservations for us.”

“Already did—I fly Continental out of SFO an hour before midnight.”

“Just you?”

“It's only a couple of days, three at the most. I'd rather you stay with Emma.”

He thought about it. “If you're sure you don't need me there, I'll take Em shopping for a new dress.”

“Why?”

A lopsided smile creased his boyish face. “Keefe's going to sign the adoption order next Monday.”

“Impossible.”

“That's what he said at first, but I convinced him otherwise.”

“You talked to Keefe? I didn't even know you'd filed the petition.”

“I filled it out this morning while I waited for the blood draw. Keefe will complete it, and file for us after you stop by his clerk's desk and sign it.”

“What about the Social Services report, background checks, all that other paperwork?”

“He's got authority to short-circuit most of it, and I promised to run our raps for him, and drop off a complete package tomorrow.”

“Why would Keefe do this for you? You hate each other worse than a mongoose and a cobra.”

“We declared a temporary, mutually beneficial truce.”

“Dave, you didn't—”

“I made Keefe an offer he couldn't refuse but kept you out of it. It's strictly between Keefe and me—”

Suddenly, he felt a monster grab his eyeballs, roll them back, and try to claw its way up from his soul, in another evil attempt to commandeer his brain.

“No!” he told it.

“No what?” Mackay asked.

He sucked up his resolve, willed himself to look at her, then swallowed the black monster down with a mouthful of steaming coffee, followed by another, and a third.

“I said ‘no,' there's nothing improper about what Keefe and I agreed to, just a gentlemen's agreement. Don't worry about it.”

“I'm not worried. How can you down hot coffee like that?” Mackay asked.

“It's not that hot.”

Mackay walked around the desk and tugged him to his feet. “I'll go sign the petition.”

She hooked her arm through his and walked him to the door, head on his shoulder. He twisted the knob but she stopped him before he swung the door open.

“Dave?”

“Yeah?”

“All of a sudden I feel like I waddle instead of walk.”

“It's your imagination. No one else will notice unless you confide in them. Does Escalante know?”

“Yes, I told her.”

“Did she say you waddle?”

“No, but I'm her boss. I had to wear this old suit today because my others feel too tight.”

“I like it.”

“No you don't. Do I look dowdy?”

“You look more beautiful than ever.”

“Maybe you'll get lucky before I take off for the airport, sweet talker.”

“How 'bout right now?” He glanced meaningfully at her leather sofa.

“Tempting, but I need to wrap up a few things now that I'm going to be gone again.”

“I can wait until after work.”

“It'll be worth the wait, you'll like me better than ever.”

“Not possible—how come?”

“My other suits were too tight in the tummy.”

“Yeah?”

“The good news is they're tighter in the chest now, too.”

“Doesn't matter to me.” He licked his lips. “Anything more'n a mouthful's wasted, anyway.”

“Get out of here, Granz.”