"Preposterous," Klinger said, waving a hand in dismissal. "Ciampi was fishing. She knows something but not enough. No federal judge is going to give her a warrant to search the office of another federal judge based on guesswork."
"Maybe not," Louis said. "But I don't like taking that chance. Let me sweeten the pot. There're going to be changes in the administration in Washington, D.C., after the new year. It could be your ticket to the U.S. Justice Department, maybe even the new-and prettier-version of Janet Reno. But you need your friend Hugh Louis to put in a good word."
"Cut the bullshit, Louis," Klinger replied. "You don't like me, and I don't like you, and neither of us trusts the other. However, I do agree that we have a mutually beneficial relationship. I can control the outcome of this trial, if it comes to that, and you know the right people in Washington. But that letter is my insurance policy that after the trial, you don't drop me like a hot rock."
Louis felt a hatred boil up in him like bile. He would have liked to reach across the desk and slap the ugly old bitch. But he smiled and nodded as if she'd made an excellent point. "All right, you got me. If not a friendship, then a partnership. You just need to make sure that letter doesn't fall into the wrong hands. Or, well, you've seen my clients, they might take it personally."
"Don't threaten me, Louis," Klinger said. "You just get this thing settled with Lindahl so that we don't have to go to trial. And I'll do my part if we do. In the meantime, the letter stays in my safe where it belongs."
Louis stood up to leave. He didn't bother to shake the judge's hand and she didn't bother to stand up.
Louis left the judge's chambers without saying anything to the law clerk, who had her nose planted in a book of New York statutes. Verene was happy to see him go, but her mind was in turmoil. The button on the judge's intercom had locked in the open position, so she'd heard every word of the conversation.
Two hours later, the judge emerged from her chamber to go home for the day. "Staying late, Verene?" she asked.
"Yes, ma'am, if you don't mind," she said. "It's nice and quiet here when everybody's gone and I can get some good studying in. I'll get the guard to lock up after me if that's all right with you."
"Suit yourself," the judge said and left.
Verene waited another half hour to make sure the judge wouldn't have forgotten something and decided to return. Then she stood up and went into Klinger's chambers and walked quickly over to the wall safe. She figured that the judge had probably forgotten that she'd once called and given Verene the combination so that she could fetch some documents to bring to her courtroom. And Verene never forgot a number or a conversation.
Verene opened the safe and removed the unmarked file with the letter and envelope with the return address to Auburn State Prison. She took out the letter and began to read. By the time she finished, tears were rolling down her cheeks; she was young and idealistic. She'd hoped when she started to clerk for Klinger that she'd found a role model in the judge. But now she knew better. She took the letter out to the copy machine in the office and made several copies. Placing the letter and envelope back in the file, she returned it to the safe.
With the copies tucked into her purse, Verene picked up her law books, turned out the lights, and left.
21
Ithad been a productive afternoon. most everyone at the office had gone home at noon for an early start on Christmas Eve, which had allowed him to sit down with Repass and Russell to discuss the case. He'd hoped Guma would be there, too, but his old friend had called to say he had good news but would have to tell him later at a dinner party Marlene was throwing.
So it was only the two assistant DAs who had sat in stunned silence when he told them what Marlene had learned about Kaminsky and Klinger.
"I can't believe a federal judge would do this," Russell said.
"Why not? It's a corrupt world." Repass added, "But how do we prove this little bit of corruption?"
"Let's not worry about it now," Karp said. "The letter would be nice, and I'd like to be able to get that judge removed because of it. But we need to concentrate on winning this case. We still have an advantage. They think this thing is going to be settled without a fight. I heard that Lindahl has even drafted a proposed agreement."
"What!" the women exclaimed. "If he does that, we're on our own," Russell said.
Karp held up his hand. "But I've been assured by Denton that there'll be no deal. The city council would have to approve, which could happen, but it would take some time. Then the mayor has to sign off on it. It ain't going to happen between Christmas and New Year's, after which Denton will be sworn in. He's been doing a bang-up acting job with Lindahl, giving all the signs that he's willing to go along just to not have it hanging over his head at the start of his administration. So the opposition's been in no hurry. So let's just get our own ducks in order and give them a little surprise come January 24 and our opening statements."
The rest of the afternoon had been spent formulating their strategy, looking for holes and filling them. They'd knocked off at five and Karp had hurried home, looking forward to a little time with the kids and Marlene before the guests arrived.
He walked in through the front door of the loft and froze at the sight of the young man with the gun in his hand. The gunman was wearing blue jeans and cowboy boots, a holster slung from his thin hips like a gunfighter in a Western movie. He was facing away from Karp, who thought he might just be able to take him out before he was noticed. Then he heard the twins shout.
"Cool! Do it again! Do it again!"
As Karp hesitated, the gunman holstered his weapon, then after a brief pause drew the gun and "fired" in the proverbial blink of an eye. The sound of applause and more delighted shouts from his sons convinced him that no one was in any danger. Which meant that someone was playing with guns in his home.
"What the hell?" he said, walking into the loft, where he saw that the twins, Lucy, Marlene, Jojola, and Gilgamesh were all smiling at the man with the gun.
"What the hell," he repeated himself just in case he hadn't been heard the first time. The gunman turned as he holstered his.45 Colt-the very pistol that a young Butch Karp had dreamed of owning someday as he'd watched the Saturday afternoon matinees with his buddies, dreaming of being a cowboy-and stuck out his hand as he walked across the floor.
"Mr. Karp, sir," the young man with the tan, thin face and piercing blue eyes said. "Ned Blanchett, I'm…a friend of your daughter. Sorry if I startled you."
"He's my boyfriend, Daddy," Lucy said, jumping into Karp's arms. "You be nice."
"I'm always nice," Karp groused and tried not to wince when Ned shook his hand. He was no slouch and regularly hit the weights, but damn if the kid doesn't have a grip that could crush a two-by-four. "I just don't like guns."
Ned's smile disappeared. His face crumbled into that of the boyfriend who knows that he's made a bad first impression on his girlfriend's father and might never recover. He hurriedly fumbled at the gunbelt buckle. "I'm sorry, sir. You're absolutely right, sir. I should have asked your permission. I'll put it away, sir."
Sir? Karp thought. Next thing I know, he'll be asking for permission to marry my daughter.
"No reason to apologize to Mr. Grumpy," Marlene said, who joined her daughter in hugging Karp. "We asked you to demonstrate. Or, more accurately, if you include the twins, begged you to demonstrate."
"Ned's in the Wild West Exposition at the Garden, Daddy," Lucy said. "He's going for the national title in the quick-draw contest."