Mystery Writers of America Presents the Prosecution Rests (2 page)

“Of course! I’m not trying to influence you in any way.”

But the luncheon went downhill after that. She dashed off as quickly as possible, pleading another appointment, and he finished
his coffee alone. He was just paying the check when Frank Rockwell stopped by his table on the way out.

“Courting the press these days, are you?” he asked.

“Not really. She interviewed me last month and I felt I owed her a lunch in return.”

“Never get too friendly with the press,” the gray-haired justice advised. “They’ll screw you every time.”

Fine smiled. “Thanks for the advice, Judge.”

Whatever Bangor had hoped would come of the lunch with Maeve McGuire, it hadn’t happened. Fine hated to admit failure to the
Chief and decided to try another possibility on his own. With no pending sessions that afternoon, he drove out to Willow Road,
where his predecessor Colin Penny resided. It was an upper-middle-class neighborhood of older colonial homes, and Penny’s
house was only a few doors away from Judge Wanamaker’s, where Fine had attended a New Year’s Day open house a few weeks earlier.

Zach Wanamaker was at the courthouse, of course, and there was no sign of his wife as Fine drove past the house. He was in
luck with Penny, though. The former judge was sweeping a light coating of snow from his driveway in an obvious make-work effort
to keep busy at something. Fine pulled up and parked.

“I was driving by and saw you out here,” he said, getting out of the car.

“Hello, Judge.”

“I think you can call me Harry,” Fine told him, already regretting that he’d stopped. “How are you doing?”

“Okay. I think I’ll be going back into private practice soon. Taking good care of my old office?”

“Sure,” he answered with a smile. Penny was a decade older than him, a hard age to be starting over. Already his face was
lined, and he seemed to have aged since Fine had last seen him. The word was that his wife had moved out after his forced
resignation and was staying with their son’s family in Arizona. “Stop in and see us sometime.”

Penny tried to smile but couldn’t quite make it.

“I don’t think that would be wise. I’m the black sheep these days.”

“I’m sure you weren’t the only one who took a contribution now and then.”

“No,” he agreed, “but I was the only one Maeve McGuire found out about.”

“Well—” Fine glanced up at the sky, searching for a way out of the conversation. “Think we’ll get any more snow?”

“Any minute, now that I’ve finished sweeping.” He turned away and headed back to the house. “Good seeing you, Judge.”

Fine returned to his car and drove back to the office.

____

H
E REPORTED TO
Judge Bangor later that afternoon. Judge Susan Quinn was present too and was especially interested in Fine’s brief conversation
with Penny.

“How did he seem?” she wanted to know.

“Maybe a little bitter,” Fine said. “But it’s hard for me to tell. I never knew him that well.”

Judge Bangor wasn’t interested in Penny’s feelings.

“Did he say anything about someone else on the court being involved?”

Susan, at age forty-six, still wore her hair at shoulder length despite some traces of gray. She was married to a successful
surgeon, and the two were popular partygoers in local society. She interrupted to defend Penny. “Isn’t it bad enough you forced
his resignation?” she asked.

He turned to her and said, “My dear, this appellate court is the most important thing in my life. I intend to keep it pure
and uncorrupted no matter who suffers. Now then, Harry, what, if anything, did Colin Penny say to you?”

“Nothing, really. I remarked that there were probably others who’d accepted donations, and he replied that he was the only
one the reporter found out about.”

“Was he speaking specifically of the appellate court?”

“I don’t know. It was just a general comment.”

Susan shook her head. “Chief, you’re carrying this to extremes. Harry has told you everything he knows.”

“Very well,” Judge Bangor agreed. “We’ll adjourn this session for now.”

T
HE REST OF
the week passed quietly. January was often a slow month on the court calendar, and the Chief called only one joint session
on Friday concerning a statute of limitations case. Zach Wanamaker cast the deciding vote to uphold the lower court’s ruling,
and everyone scattered for the weekend.

Fine went down to the parking garage with Wanamaker when it was over. “Going skiing this weekend?” he asked, knowing that
the older man spent time on the slopes whenever he could. He was in good physical shape, with a ruddy outdoor complexion.

“You bet!” Judge Wanamaker replied. “I’m driving up to the mountains tonight, meeting some friends there.”

Fine didn’t particularly care whether his friends were male or female. They were just making elevator conversation. “We’ll
see you on Monday, then.”

Wanamaker nodded. “I’ll be driving back early Monday morning. Have a good weekend.”

Fine spent Saturday and Sunday reading up on earlier appellate court decisions. He had a good working knowledge of the law,
but Judge Bangor could leave him in the dust with citations of obscure cases. Fine’s law clerk had assembled enough reading
matter to keep him occupied for the weekend, and he almost felt guilty slipping away on Sunday night for dinner with a lady
friend.

He was preparing to leave for the courthouse that sunny Monday morning when Judge Bangor phoned. “I just wanted to alert you,
Harry. That reporter, Maeve McGuire, was killed by a hit-and-run driver about an hour ago, on her way to work.”

____

B
Y ELEVEN O’CLOCK
the five justices were assembled in the Chief’s spacious office. Judge Bangor rapped his knuckles on the desk to signal for
quiet, though no one had said a word since entering the office. He took out one of his cigars, but it remained unlit, perhaps
in deference to Susan Quinn, the most outspoken justice on the subject of smoking.

“You all know why we’re here,” Bangor said.

“Miss McGuire made charges against Colin Penny that forced his resignation. And recently I’ve heard rumors that she was about
to make accusations against another of our number. Her death this morning is tragic, of course, but it has nothing to do with
us. I would suggest that if any of us are contacted by the press we merely have no comment other than to express our sympathy
to her family.”

“The press will be all over this,” Frank Rockwell said. “She’s one of theirs.”

He brushed back his gray hair with a familiar gesture and added, “Harry had lunch with her last week.”

Wanamaker turned toward him, a bit surprised by this news, but the Chief hurried to his defense. “I asked Harry to contact
her because she’d recently interviewed him. I thought he might learn if the rumors were true that another justice was involved.”

Fine nodded in agreement. “Unfortunately, I learned nothing from her.”

Susan Quinn spoke next. “Where did you hear these rumors, Chief?”

“I’d rather not say.”

“Come on!” Judge Wanamaker insisted. “We have a right to know.”

Bangor squirmed uneasily. “All I can tell you is that it was someone at the newspaper who knew what she was working on. It
was the same person who tipped me off about the situation with Judge Penny.”

“What time was she killed?” Susan wanted to know.

“The police tell me it was about seven forty a.m. She started work at eight. They have alternate side of the street parking
and she was crossing the street to her car. A neighbor heard the thump when the car hit her, but no one has come forward yet
who actually saw it happen.”

“Are the police checking garages and repair shops?” Harry Fine asked.

“Of course. That’s the first thing they think of.”

There was little more to be said. None of them wanted to suggest, even obliquely, that Maeve McGuire had been killed to keep
her from revealing anything further about bribery or illegal campaign contributions. Even Judge Bangor finished the session
by remarking that it was a terrible accident.

And yet, the driver hadn’t stopped.

____

F
INE WENT BACK
to his office and tried to work, but the memory of Maeve McGuire was too strong to shake off. He ate lunch alone at a little
coffee shop down the street and returned to find a pale Susan Quinn waiting in his office.

“What is it?” he asked, immediately on guard.

“I received a message meant for Judge Wanamaker,” she said in a hushed voice. “I’m not sure what I should do.”

“What was it?”

“It was on my voice mail, but it was for Zach. His garage called with an estimate on repairing his car. He’s to phone them.”

“You haven’t told him?”

“He’s not back from lunch.”

Fine stared out the window for a moment. She was asking him what she should do, and he didn’t know what to tell her.

“Can’t you just give him the message when he returns?”

“Harry, what if the car was damaged when he hit—”

“Don’t even say it,” he cautioned. He wasn’t willing to accept the notion that Zach Wanamaker, or any of the other justices,
could be a murderer.

“Should I tell the Chief?” she asked.

“Not yet. Look, it may be nothing. It may be a ding in his door or a damaged tire.”

“You don’t usually get estimates on jobs like that.”

She was probably right, but they needed more information before taking it to the Chief. “Look, could you phone the repair
shop and say you’re Judge Wanamaker’s secretary calling for the estimate? Find out what repairs it’s for.”

“I—I don’t know if I should do that.”

“I’d do it myself and say that I’m Zach, but they might know his voice.”

“You really think we should?”

“We have to know, Susan, before anyone else does. If the police are starting to check repair shops—”

“All right,” she decided. “I’ll call.” She put on her reading glasses to make out the number on her note and punched it into
Harry’s phone.

“Make it sound good,” he told her, shutting the office door.

“Hello?” she said. “This is Judge Wanamaker’s secretary. You phoned him about repairing the damage to his car? He’s wondering
how much that would be.” She listened and jotted down a figure.

“Nine hundred eighty-five dollars,” she repeated, raising her eyebrows toward Fine. “And what would that cover? The right
front fender and the right headlight. And you’ve already notified the insurance company? Very good. When will it be ready?
Not till Friday? All right, I’ll tell him. Thank you.” She hung up.

“You should have been an actress instead of a judge,” Fine told her.

“Sure, or maybe just a secretary.”

“He hit something with his car, or someone.”

“I can’t believe it, Harry. We’ll have to tell the Chief.”

“All right,” he agreed. “We’ll go in together.”

Judge Bangor looked up as they entered his office and closed the door. “What’s up?” he asked, looking from one to the other.

Susan told him what they’d done, about the mistaken message and her call to the repair shop. “It’s probably nothing,” she
told him. “But in view of what happened this morning—”

Bangor shook his head. “I’ve known Zach for twenty years. He couldn’t do anything like this.”

“You’d better ask him,” Fine suggested. “I think he’s back from lunch now.”

A few moments later Zach Wanamaker joined them in the Chief’s office, puzzled by their grim expressions.

“What’s up?” he asked.

Judge Bangor asked, “Did you have an accident with your car, Zach?”

“Accident?”

“A call from your repair shop was on my voice mail by mistake,” Susan told him. “Nearly a thousand dollars’ damage.”

“Oh, that!” He shrugged it off. “Driving back from the mountains this morning I hit a deer. Killed it dead.”

“Did you report it to the police?” Bangor asked.

“Of course! You think I’d break the law? I got home a little after seven, showered, and took the car into the shop. Luckily
I could still drive it.”

“We’ll have to confirm your story.”

“Confirm all you want,” Wanamaker said, his ruddy complexion turning a deeper red than usual. “I damn well didn’t kill your
girlfriend, if that’s what you’re thinking!”

Everyone seemed to freeze at his words, and Fine had the bizarre impression of time standing still. He feared what might happen
next, but there was an opportune knock on the door and Judge Rockwell entered. “Am I interrupting something?” he asked.

The Chief recovered his composure, as if Wanamaker’s words had never been spoken. “Not at all, Frank. Come in. We’re just
discussing the McGuire situation.”

“Terrible! A terrible accident.”

Judge Bangor spoke as if announcing a verdict, without looking at Zach Wanamaker. “It was no accident. I’m calling a secret
session of this court for Wednesday morning at eleven, to consider the murder of Maeve McGuire and any possible involvement
by a member of this court.”

____

B
ANGOR REMAINED IN
his office with the door closed, admitting not even his law clerks, until late in the day.

Then he summoned Fine. Lighting one of his cigars, he said, “Harry, I want you to check out Judge Wanamaker’s alibi about
hitting the deer. See if there’s any truth to it.”

“I don’t know that you should refer to it as an alibi, Chief. He hasn’t been accused of anything yet.”

“Just see if the state police have a report of his car hitting a deer this morning.”

“All right.” He hesitated, knowing he was on slippery ground. “What he said about you and Miss McGuire—”

“—is no one’s business. We were friends for a time and she tipped me off about Penny.”

“What about the latest rumor?”

“She didn’t give me a name. By that time we’d broken up. That’s why I sent you to see what you could learn.”

Fine tended to believe the last part, and it was none of his business if they’d been more than friends.

“All right,” he said. “I’ll check on the accident first thing in the morning.”