The Fourth Motive (19 page)

“Fair enough. How about discussing you going away for a while?”

“You never let up.” She shook her head. “Forget it; I’m not running away from this.”

“Who says you’d be running away? Take a vacation. Go visit your aunt in the wine country.
You haven’t seen her in years, and you know she’d love to have you. You always loved
the ranch so much as a child. Why not go?”

“You know why not: I’m staying until this thing gets resolved.”

“Its resolution could be your death,” he said.

“Getting a bit melodramatic, aren’t we?” she taunted. As soon as she spoke, she regretted
it.

“Are we?” Callen countered. “I’d call being stalked, assaulted, having your house
burned, and nearly getting abducted fairly dramatic, wouldn’t you?”

“We aren’t in court; I’m not going to play word games with you. Lay off.”

The Judge opened his hands. “How can I ‘lay off’? You’re my daughter. I’m your father.
I don’t want to see you hurt. And I’m not convinced you’re aware of the seriousness
of the situation you’re in.”

Paige rolled her eyes. “Of course I’m aware of how serious the situation is.” She
pointed to her face for emphasis. “But I’m a big girl now. And I don’t want you interfering
in my life. You can’t continue to make decisions about me without my say-so. It’s
got to stop.”

“You’re willing to risk harm and go unprotected because you don’t like the company
I keep? Because you think I’m breaking the rules?” The Judge pointed a finger at his
daughter. “You think the man in the ski mask isn’t breaking the rules? Hell, Paige,
he’s making them up as he goes along. You can’t take those kinds of chances with your
life.”

Paige stood up. “I’m not Mom,” she said softly. “You’re not going to run my life.
We both know how that ended up, don’t we?”

Her voice, though muted, vibrated with suppressed emotion. With each word she spoke,
the Judge seemed to diminish in stature.

“I was only trying–”

“Then stop,” she commanded, cutting him off. “Just stop. I’m going to handle this
in a legal and appropriate manner. Without bending the rules. That’s final.”

The Judge nodded. His lower lip was trembling ever so slightly, and the makings of
a tear began to form in the corner of one eye.

Paige sighed. “Dad, I didn’t mean to–”

“It’s all right,” he said, his turn to cut her off. “Why don’t you go to bed? It’s
been a long day.”

She began to reply, then thought better of it. She walked over to where her father
sat dejectedly at his desk and put her arms around his shoulders. She briefly laid
her cheek against his forehead. Two swollen drops of water ebbed down his weathered
face. He irritably brushed them aside.

“Oh, Dad,” she said.

“Forgive me,” he said. “Blubbering like a schoolgirl. Must be another sign of old
age.”

“I’ve got to get some sleep,” she said. “I’ve got a busy day tomorrow.”

“You’re not thinking of going in to work?”

“Don’t start up again,” she said. “Good night.” She walked out of the study.

Once Paige had gone, the Judge wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his robe and replaced
his glasses. He returned his attention to the contents of the desk drawer he’d hastily
closed when Paige had entered.

From the drawer he removed an elaborately engraved nickel-plated revolver. It was
a Smith & Wesson Model 10, with the old-style, four-inch tapered barrel. The handgun
had been a gift from one-time Alameda County Sheriff Tom Madigan. Judge Callen carefully
opened the cylinder and inserted six .38 Special cartridges. He tucked the revolver
into his waistband and wrapped his robe around it.

The Judge spent the remaining hours until dawn examining the second object he’d removed
from the top drawer of his desk. It was a framed black-and-white photograph. The picture
depicted a little blond-haired girl and a tall, distinguished-looking man in judge’s
robes. They were both smiling and holding hands.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 22

 

 

It was well after noon by the time Paige reached her office. She’d awakened feeling
exhausted and disjointed, and found her usually chipper father in the kitchen, morose
and un-talkative. Mrs Reyes had not arrived yet, which was unlike her, and the Judge
was grumpy as a result. He was a man of routines. He barely noticed her kiss to his
forehead as she grabbed a cup of coffee and headed out the door. She was forced to
again borrow her father’s Mercedes-Benz sedan, since her Saab had been totaled in
the previous day’s collision.

She spent the remainder of the hectic morning meeting with insurance appraisers and
contractors, obtaining estimates and commissioning repairs to her damaged condominium.
Once she’d accomplished these tasks and ensured that work had begun, she loaded the
car with enough of her smoke-scented clothing to tide her over until the repairs were
completed and she could return. She would deal with the insurance claim on her wrecked
car tomorrow.

Paige parked the Mercedes in her designated spot at the courthouse and took a moment
to scribble a note explaining that the car belonged to Judge Callen, so it wouldn’t
be towed away by a hyper-conscientious parking technician.

Standing on the steps of the courthouse as she approached was Deputy District Attorney
C. Timothy Potter. He was smoking a Benson & Hedges menthol and ogling the female
passersby as they strolled past on their way to the Park Street business district
and its many shops, restaurants, and cafes. At his feet was a collection of discarded
fast-food wrappers that contained the remnants of substances that left corresponding
stains on the lapels of his expensive suit. On seeing Paige approach, Potter ground
out his cigarette and patted down his thinning hair. Grinning to himself, he ducked
inside the courthouse lobby and hid around the corner behind the door. He was certain
she hadn’t seen him. The lobby was almost devoid of people, since the lunch hour was
in full swing.

As Paige entered, elbowing the courthouse door open, Potter leaped out from behind
her and yelled. “Boo!” A gleeful smirk spread across his features.

In a gasping twitch, Paige whirled to face him, her briefcase falling to the floor.
Her arms involuntarily lifted to cover her head and face. Unable even to scream, her
face had gone ashen white and tremors racked her entire body.

“Paige, it’s OK,” Potter stammered, realizing how terrified she was. A sick look replaced
his laughing expression. “Take it easy; it was only a joke.”

“You fucking bastard,” she cursed, waiting for the trembling to subside. She was shaking
so hard, her shoulders hurt.

“Don’t be so uptight,” he said. “Jeez, it was just a little gag. Lighten up.” He began
to straighten his tie.

Paige reached out a fist and slammed it into his face. Potter’s head went back and
his eyes momentarily crossed. He reached up with both hands and covered his bleeding
nose.

“You hit me,” he exclaimed in astonishment. “You actually hit me.” He lowered his
hands to examine the blood on them.

Paige was actually somewhat astonished herself. She stared at her own fist, not convinced
she had actually done the hitting. Her skinned knuckles wouldn’t lie.

“You fucking bitch,” she heard Potter say. “I’m going to have you arrested.”

At Potter’s indignant threat, the volcano of tension, fear, and exhaustion that had
been building to a fever pitch within Paige during the past two days erupted. She
looked slowly at her bloodied fist, then at Potter’s pudgy face, and back to her fist.
Her tremors vanished and she felt strangely calm. Potter’s voice seemed like it was
being projected to her ears through a mile-long tunnel.

“You’re finished; I’m going to sue your ass.”

Paige hit him again. This time, instead of an instinctive reflex punch, she coiled
her arm back and put everything she had into it. She aimed for and struck Potter’s
already-bleeding nose dead-center. Potter fell straight down to the ground on his
butt. The trickle of blood that had been ebbing from his nostrils became a river.

Potter shook his head. A small group of onlookers began to gather.

“I don’t fucking believe it.” he said, shaking his head. “The fucking bitch hit me
again.”

“Who are you calling a bitch?” he heard her say. When he looked up, she kicked him
in the stomach. He rolled over on his side and began to retch.

Paige sensed she was creating a spectacle but didn’t care. She knew she should be
appalled but was not. As she stood in the lobby of the hall of justice with a black
eye, a bruised face, and skinned knuckles, beating the crap out of a fat county lawyer,
she realized she felt better at that moment than at any time in the last two days.
But as fast as the euphoria of release came, it went. With her rage gone, Paige found
her chest heaving, her eyes watering, and was almost unable to stand on legs of rubber.

The giant bulk of Charlie White appeared. He pushed through the growing crowd and
took Paige gently around the shoulders. He began to lead her to her office.

“Oh, Charlie,” Paige began to sob, a flood of emotion suddenly pouring forth. “He
scared me. He scared me so bad. I don’t know what came over me.” Tears streamed from
her eyes.

“It’s all right, honey,” Charlie cooed. “Let’s get you into your office.”

At the office door, Charlie and Paige were met by Carmen, the secretary she shared
with Potter. Carmen’s eyes went wide.

“What–”

“Never mind,” Charlie cut her off. “Take Paige into her office, get her some water,
and don’t let nobody in. Nobody; you got it? And take the phone off the hook.”

Carmen had been employed by the DA’s office long enough to know better than to argue
with Charlie. Once Charlie released the shaken Paige to Carmen’s care, he returned
to the lobby.

Potter had risen to his hands and knees and was finishing what appeared to be a lengthy
puking session. He lolled his head from side to side, repeating the words “fucking
bitch”, and occasionally punctuated his declarations with spit. Most of the onlookers
had left; the odor and image of Potter’s ejected fast-food meal was more than enough
incentive to drive them away. Charlie walked around the widening pool of gastric fluids
and retrieved Paige’s dropped briefcase.

“I see we had chili dogs for lunch,” the bailiff chuckled.

“Go to hell,” Potter retorted.

“I warned you to leave her alone,” Charlie said, “but you were too stupid to listen.
Well, now you learned.”

“Fuck you, White,” Potter groaned, rising unsteadily to his feet. “I’m pressing charges.
You can tell her that.”

“What the hell happened?”

White and Potter looked up to see Sergeant Wendt enter through the main doors. “Christ,
Charlie,” Wendt asked. “What did you do?”

“I didn’t do it,” White said, “but I wish I did.” He gave Potter a contemptuous stare.
“If I’d done it, the sorry bastard would be in the hospital instead of choking up
his chowder.”

“Deputy District Attorney Paige Callen assaulted me,” Potter announced. “I want her
arrested for battery. It was a totally unprovoked attack.”

“You’re kidding? Paige Callen did that?” He pointed to Potter’s bashed and bloodied
nose.

“Absolutely,” Potter insisted. “I just told you I want her arrested. Under California
law, as a sworn police officer, you cannot refuse to accept my citizen’s arrest. I
want her arrested. Now.”

“I know how to do my job,” Wendt said. “I don’t need the likes of a barf-covered Perry
Mason to tell me how. Until I talk to Ms Callen, nobody gets arrested.”

“She’s in her office,” White spoke up.

“C’mon, Charlie,” Wendt said. “Let’s go see her.” They headed for the deputy district
attorney’s office.

“Wait a minute,” Potter said. “Don’t you want to get my side of the story first? I’m
the victim.”

“I already know your side of the story,” Wendt answered him over his shoulder. “I’m
a detective, remember? You got the shit beat out of you by a pretty young blonde.
Case closed.” White guffawed.

Once in the DA’s office, the police sergeant and the bailiff found a more-composed
Paige Callen at the water dispenser, gulping down aspirin. She gave them a weak smile
when she saw them.

“Hi, Randy,” she greeted. “How’s your day going? Mine’s going swell.”

“Hi back,” he said. “Funny thing happened on the way to your office. I was coming
to check on your well-being and update you on the progress of the investigation. When
I arrived, I found a short fat dude who looks a lot like your co-worker on all fours
in the lobby, hurling his guts out. Looks like he went one very short round with Mike
Tyson. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

“Cut the baloney,” Paige said. “He jumped out at me from behind; some kind of joke,
I guess. Startled the hell out of me. I don’t know what came over me. As soon as I
saw him laughing, I saw red. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize to me,” Wendt said. “I’m not the one who got thumped.”

“Actually,” she said, “I’m not sorry at all. It felt good.”

“It may not feel good for long,” Wendt told her. “Deputy District Attorney Potter
wants me to arrest you.” Charlie White nodded in affirmation.

“You’re kidding.”

“I wish I was. Potter’s insisting. And he knows I can’t refuse his citizen’s arrest.”

Paige plopped heavily into her chair. White set her briefcase gently on her desk.
“That’s just great,” she said. “This has been the worst week of my life.” She rubbed
her brow. “And it’s only Wednesday.”