Read Online The Judge by Steve Martini - Free Book Online

says.

    "The enemy of my enemy," I tell her.

    "Exactly. Two days ago I wouldn't have given him a second thought, or two cents for his chances." She's talking about Acosta.

    "And now he's a knight on a charging steed," I tell her.

    "I wouldn't go so far as that. But I think he may kick some ass. At least his lawyers will."

    "You think Kline's that bad in court?"

    "That," she says, "and the fact that his evidence has now suddenly turned to shit."

    "What are you talking about?"

    "Right after Kline grabbed the file off my desk and announced to the world that he was going to do this thing himself, the audio techs call.

    The wire. The one worn by Hall that night. It didn't work." This brings the only smile she has exhibited since arriving at my house, something sinister that does not rest well on Lenore's face. "They don't know if it simply malfunctioned, or if somebody turned it off."
    "Turned it off?" She gives me a look that says "think about it." "Acosta. Mendel and the association. If you sandbagged the judge ..."
    She leaves me to finish the thought; that if the cops set the Coconut up, they would not produce the audiotape that might exonerate him.

    "They'd be better off going one on one," says Lenore. "Hall's word against his."

    "There was nothing on the tape?" I ask.

    "Nothing beyond Acosta's husky voice and a somewhat salacious hello from Hall. Not exactly incriminating," says Lenore. "After that it all goes buzzy." I can feel my heart sag in my chest. Twenty more years of the Coconut on the bench.

    "So it's his word against hers?" I say. She nods.
    "It may be enough. She seemed as if she would come across well on the stand." A wishful thought on my part.

    Lenore waffles one hand at the wrist, like it could go either way. "Before I was escorted from the premises I heard rumors," she says. "Talk of a deal."
    "God. Don't tell me."

    "Some reduced infraction," she says, "but only on condition that he resign from the bench." I sigh like a man before a firing squad that's just shot blanks.

    "He rejected the offer," she says, "out of hand. Some story that he was visiting the witness on judicial business."

    "That's his defense?" I say. "What was this business? A major mat tress inspection? I can hear him on the stand. I was merely lying on top of the woman to see if we could punch a hole in a Posturepedic."

    " Lenore does not laugh. "You have to admit, it's a little strange. The judge is pressing for information of police misconduct and gets nailed in a Vice sting. Before they can get him to trial, the evidence turns sour."

    "So what are you thinking? A shot across his bow. They want to warn him off."

    "Who knows? All we know now is that it comes down to a credibility contest. Who the jury believes," says Lenore. "With removal from the bench as the bottom line." She tells me that Kline is getting pressure from the Commission on Judicial Accountability, the judge's answer to the Congressional Ethics Committee. I won't tell what you're doing under your robe if you don't tell what I'm doing under mine.

    "They want Acosta off the bench," she says.
     

    If there's anything more sanctimonious than a reformed hooker, it's a lawyer turned judge.

    "Judicial hari kari," I say.

    "You got it. They don't want a messy public hearing before the State Supreme Court," says Lenore. "As they see it, it would be better if he fell on his own sword."

    "I can imagine." As we talk a beeper goes off in her purse. She puts the glass down and fishes around among hairbrushes and hankies until she finds the little black beast.

    "The only thing they didn't get," she tells me. Her way of informing me this beeper belongs to the state.

    She looks at the number displayed on the LED readout. "The interest of all your affections," she says.
    I give her a quizzical look. "Tony's cellular number."
    "Tell him I want to talk to him." As I say this, Lenore makes it, somewhat unsteadily, to the wall-mounted phone by the kitchen door. I bring her a