"And how likely is that?"
She sighed into her phone. "Of all the potential judges to hear this case, Joseph Cranford is the worst."
"He is?"
"Yes," she said. "He's only forty-five. The youngest superior court judge in the Los Angeles area. If there's anyone who can even remotely appreciate rock music, he's the one. This is kind of worrisome."
"How worrisome?"
She didn't answer this question. "It's also kind of suspicious," she said instead.
"What do you mean?"
"Of all the superior court judges in the Los Angeles district, how did he — the only one I was truly worried about — just happen to get picked for this? This seems like more than a coincidence."
"You think National had some pull in what judge was picked?" Jake asked. "I thought that was impossible."
"Nothing's impossible when you have enough money," Pauline told him. "This is America after all. Look, let me dig into this thing a little. I'll get back to you as soon as I can."
"How worried should we be about this?" Jake wanted to know.
Silence, stretching out for almost ten seconds. Finally, "I'll get back to you, Jake."
It was the following Monday before she got back to him, December 31, the last business day of 1984. She called at 10:30 in the morning and Jake knew from the tone of her voice in her initial greeting that she did not have good news to share.
"What's wrong?" he asked her.
"Judge Cranford is wrong," she told him. "It's even worse than I thought."
"What do you mean?"
"I've had our investigations department looking into Cranford for me over the last few days."
"You were investigating a superior court judge?" he asked. "Jesus, Pauline. Can't you get into trouble for that?"
"We do it all the time," she said. "That's what our investigations department is for. They research judges and jury members and opposing lawyers and opposing clients. There's nothing illegal about it — well, not usually anyway — most of what they gather is all public record stuff. All law firms do it."
"Okay," he said, feeling a little better — a little — now that he knew she hadn't been wiretapping or bugging a judge. "So what did you find out?"
"Well, I think I solved the mystery of how he just happened to be picked for this particular case. He volunteered for it."
"Volunteered? Can he do that?"
"Not in general," she said. "But he offered to take it from Judge Stinson, who had been assigned to it originally. No explanation was given or asked for."
"Okay," said Jake. "So what does that mean?"
"It didn't mean anything until our guys dug a little deeper. But when they did, they found out that Joseph Cranford went to law school with a man named Eric Frowley."
That name sounded familiar to Jake, though he couldn't quite place it at first. Pauline quickly gave him the clue that brought it home, however.
"Eric Frowley is lead counsel for National Records," she said.
"Holy shit," Jake said, suddenly remembering. He was one of the lawyers they'd met with during their last major dispute — the one over choreography of the concerts. It was upon his desk that Matt had rolled a joint and Jake had critiqued it's engineering.
"They were fraternity brothers in Phi Delta Phi," Pauline told him. "They used to do circle jerks and date-rape freshmen girls together. And now he's the judge in charge of your case."
"Isn't that illegal?" Jake asked. "I mean, shouldn't he remove himself from the case because he knows this lawyer?"
"No," Pauline said. "A judge does not have to recuse himself merely because he's an acquaintance of one of the lawyers in the case. He only has to do that if he has some sort of business interest in the case or if there is some evidence of impartiality. And in this case, we don't even have any evidence that these two are still acquaintances. For all we know, they haven't talked to each other since law school."
"But doesn't the fact that he personally asked to take this case mean anything?" Jake asked.
"Well, it does to you and me," she said. "Common sense says that its quite obvious they know each other and that this is a set-up, but as far as legalities go, no, it doesn't mean anything."
"So what do we do?"
A long pause. Finally, "I don't know."
This was perhaps the most distressing thing Jake had ever heard her say. "You don't know?"
"Look," she said, "I'll fly down and I'll be there with you when its time to go to court. I'll do my best and my best is pretty damn good, but..."
"But?"
"But I think that maybe they outmaneuvered us," she said. "I'm sorry."
Jake sighed. "Yeah. Me too."
Jake was not really in the mood for a New Year's Eve party that night but nevertheless he put on his partying clothes at 8:30 PM, put $400 of his rapidly dwindling supply of cash in his wallet, and went down to the parking garage to retrieve his Corvette. He had promised Kelly Rogan — the LAPD officer who had come to his house the night National had cut them off — that he would take her to the annual Flamingo Club New Year's Gala and he was a man who prided himself on keeping his promises.
He already knew that the relationship with Kelly wasn't working and wasn't working on many different levels — political, personal, and even sexual. She, like most cops, was a staunch, ultra-conservative right-winger and he was a screaming liberal left-wing musician. He did illegal drugs and she arrested people who did illegal drugs. He believed that all private citizens should be banned from owning firearms and she believed that every law abiding citizen should be allowed to own their own assault weapon if they wished. He believed that religious teachings had no place in public schools and she believed that the worst mistake this country had ever made was removing prayer from public schools. He believed the government stuck their long nose far too far into the business of its citizens and she believed they didn't stick it in nearly far enough. Their conversations were usually nothing more than arguments over political issues politely disguised as friendly debates. Their second date, in fact, had consisted mostly of a lengthy discussion about his arrest in New York City on possession of cocaine charges.
"I'm glad you got off, you know, because I like you," she told them as they'd sipped drinks at a Flamingo Club table, "but that technicality you got off on is a perfect example of what's wrong with our system."
"Technicality?" Jake asked, raising his eyebrows. "They completely fabricated their probable cause writ. They had no legal reason to raid our hotel room so they made up a bunch of crap to get a judge to allow them to."
"Yes," she agreed. "They did step a bit over the line, but you did have eight grams of cocaine in your possession, didn't you?"
"That's not the point," he said. "They had no reason to enter our private area and look for it. They invaded our privacy."
"But you were doing something wrong and they caught you at it. Just because their reasons for gaining entry to your hotel room were a little questionable doesn't mean that the evidence of your wrongdoing should be thrown out."
"Actually, it does mean that," said Jake. "I have a reasonable expectation of privacy in my hotel room. How was what we were doing in there hurting anyone?"
"You were using drugs," she said. "That hurts everyone."
This was typical of their conversations. Jake never accused her of being wrong, and she never accused him of being wrong, but they were simply at different ends of the spectrum, unable to even hope to see eye to eye on most issues.
This concern in and of itself would not have been sufficient to make Jake begin to despise her as much as he was starting to despise her if that had been the only problem. He did, after all, enjoy a good debate of his political views with those who could debate intelligently and well — as Kelly sometimes could. The true reason he viewed his entire involvement with her as a big mistake was her attitude towards him. She was not dating him because he was Jake Kingsley, the man, someone she liked to intelligently debate with. She was dating him because he was Jake Kingsley, the famous musician, and she wanted to be with him on that basis alone, regardless of his differing opinions. She knew as well as he by their second date that they were incompatible as a couple but still she continued to pursue him because she wanted to be seen with him, to have the newspapers and the tabloids print stories about them, because she thought he was a rich and famous person and she wanted to be associated with him despite the perceived character flaws she felt he had. She was, in fact, exactly the sort of woman he had always tried to stay away from.