High in Trial - By Donna Ball Page 0,23
the Berman case. She studied the file over a cup of soft serve vanilla ice cream, her hair falling forward to shadow her face as she absently licked the ice cream off the spoon.
“Bad dude,” she observed, turning a page. “Three assaults, walked on every one. Forgery, fraud, possession… I can’t believe he never did time before this.”
“That’s because he never came up before Judge Stockton before,” Buck said. The red vinyl seat creaked as he leaned back against it, stretching out his legs, sipping his coffee. “Nothing pissed off the judge more than a criminal who got off on a technicality. The thing is, he didn’t blame the criminal—he blamed the law. And if you were the arresting officer who screwed up and didn’t get the right warrant or forgot to read a Spanish-speaking person his rights in Spanish, he not only made you wish you’d never walked into his courtroom, he’d make you wish you’d never been born before you walked out. He used to say we were the torchbearers, and he would always hold us to a higher standard, because if you couldn’t count on the guys who fought on the side of right, then what were any of us here for?”
Wyn glanced up, smiling. “He sounds like a real old-fashioned hanging judge. Were you ever in his courtroom?”
Buck shook his head. “He retired before I joined the force. But he’s the reason I went into law enforcement, and that’s no lie. As a kid I spent just about as much time over at the Stockton place as I did at my own, and I guess he taught me pretty much everything I know about the justice system… and more than that, about morality and standing up for what was right. He was one of those legends, the kind you read about in books, like Daniel Webster or Justice Holmes… At least he seemed that way to me.” He shrugged a little self-consciously. “A hanging judge? Not really. But he was a stickler for what was right.”
Wyn nodded thoughtfully, scraping up the last spoonful of ice cream from her cup. “So why do you suppose he let this guy plead to second?”
“You got me.”
Wyn finished her ice cream and turned the last page in the file. “Well, I don’t see anything that would trigger an alarm bell here. Did you talk to his parole officer?”
Buck nodded grimly. “He was on a weekly schedule and hasn’t checked in in two weeks.”
“Uh-oh.” Wynn put down her spoon. “That’s not good.”
“No. It’s not.” Buck took a sip of coffee. “According to his parole officer, he was living with his brother and helping him out with his construction business. The brother hasn’t heard from him in a week.”
“That he’ll admit to.”
“Right. He also hasn’t seen one of the company pickup trucks in about that long.”
“So we’ve got a recently released murderer—”
“Second degree,” Buck reminded her.
“Right, second degree murderer that the trial judge was worried about…”
“Nobody said ‘worried,’” Buck corrected. “All Roe said was that the judge wanted to keep an eye on him.”
She leveled a look on him. “Yeah, so maybe the guy was the judge’s long lost illegitimate son or the innocent victim of a frame and he wanted to make sure prison wasn’t too hard on him. The judge was worried about Berman getting out. He served all but five years of his sentence, which means he was no angel in prison. He hasn’t checked in with his parole officer in two weeks and he seems to have gone on the road. So what we have to figure out is what Judge Stockton was worried about. Who did he think this guy would go after when he got out?”
“Yeah.” Buck blew out a breath. “That’s all we’ve got to figure out.”
Wyn said casually, “Did you talk to Raine?”
The two of them had come to an understanding early in their relationship that there was no way to keep Raine’s name from coming up now and again. Buck had known her all his life and had been married to her most of it. Wyn had been friends with Raine before… well, before. All of their lives were entwined, and they always would be. Still, it was awkward. And Buck couldn’t prevent an automatic shifting of his gaze when he heard her name. He didn’t like it when his worlds collided, or even brushed up against one another. He never knew how to react.
“No,” he replied, “the judge never discussed his cases