the photograph. “What does this look like to you?”
Lola studied it for a moment and then looked up, frowning as if her time was being wasted. “It looks like some teenage boy drew a dick pic on a dusty tailgate.”
The chief gave a low chuckle. “That is exactly what I said.”
“The problem,” Keen said, “is that this particular dusty tailgate belongs to Judge Markham’s Suburban. His grandkids saw it too, which has him ready to hold everyone in contempt.”
“Okay,” Cutter said, leaning back in his chair. “I doubt a juvenile drawing rises even to the level of criminal mischief.”
“All true enough,” Phillips said. “But I didn’t call you over to discuss lewd artwork. According to my contact in the Central Violations Bureau, there’s a guy with a warrant, living near the village of Stone Cross.”
The Central Violations Bureau, or CVB, was the repository for citations issued by various government entities in national parks or other federal lands. Generally unpaid tickets for offenses against regulations dreamed up by some bureaucrat behind a desk rather than laws set forth by Congress, CVB warrants were not in the bottom of the pile for a deputy’s enforcement priorities. They were in an entirely different pile, in the bottom of a forgotten drawer, under a bunch of other things that no one wanted to do. Ever.
“What’s this CVB warrant for?” Cutter asked.
Phillips gave a conspiratorial wink. “Public urination within three hundred feet of an outhouse in a national park.”
“Guess we really are the action service,” Lola scoffed. “You’re sending us five hundred miles to arrest a guy for peeing in the woods?”
“No,” Phillips said. “I’m sending you five hundred miles to protect a federal judge.”
CHAPTER 7
There was no escaping an edict from the chief, but Cutter tried anyway. “Excuse me, ma’am, but a protective detail because someone drew a penis on the judge’s car?”
“There’s a little more to it than that, Big Iron.” Phillips rarely missed the opportunity to tease him about the fact that he carried his grandfather’s revolver—an anachronism in this era of high-capacity semi-automatic pistols that Cutter thought of as combat Tupperware. The chief envied him, so she teased him.
She nodded to Inspector Keen, giving him the floor.
“Three days ago,” Keen said, “Judge Markham received this letter, postmarked from Bethel.” Keen opened a manila folder and took out a plastic sleeve containing a single sheet of paper. He passed it to Lola, who scanned it, then gave it to Cutter. This was a photocopy, but the original looked to have been handwritten on a sheet torn from a spiral notebook, the frayed edges still attached. Printed in all capitals, the writing was neat and meticulous, as if the author had taken a great amount of time on each individual letter. There were a few misspellings and some kind of stain on the bottom corner, but it was impossible to tell what it was on the copy.
Cutter read it aloud.
TO: THE DISHONORABLE JUDGE MARKHAM.
FINDING: WE WILL MEET ONE DAY. VERY SOON AS A FACT.
JUGMENT: VERY GUIOLTY
SENTENCE: SHALL BE TAKEN AWAY.
NO ONE CAN EVERY FIND YOU. MY HAPPINESS IS TO HOLD YOUR BEATING HEART IN MY HAND.
YOU WILL NEVER SEE ME COMING BUT YOU WILL KNOW JUGMENT.
“Jug-ment,” Lola said, reaching over to tap the misspelled word. “That sounds interesting. Maybe the letter-writer is a porn star with an axe to grind.”
“Yeah,” Keen said. “Because you have to be able to spell to be a threat.”
Lola rolled her eyes. “I’m joking, Scott.”
“Okay,” Cutter said. “We’ll be happy to head to Bethel and arrest whoever you want us to arrest.”
“Nice try,” Phillips said. “We don’t have any suspects.”
“Not yet,” Keen added. “But the way the letter is written suggests someone who had a case before the judge.”
Phillips put a hand flat on her desk and leaned back slightly in her chair. “Our problem is this. Judge Markham is on his way to a Yup’ik village called Stone Cross tomorrow, where he will preside over arbitration in a land dispute. He’ll have to fly to Bethel, where he’ll take a boat or small plane upriver to Stone Cross. He won’t be in Bethel long, but the arbitration in Stone Cross has been in the news for a couple of weeks.”
Keen took the letter and slipped it back in his file.
“How about the Bureau?” Lola asked. “Are they sending anyone out?”
Though the two agencies worked in tandem after a threat to a federal judge, the FBI customarily handled the criminal investigation, while the Marshals Service focused on the