Damn, she owed him. She ought to help him straighten out this mess, even if it was risky.
She sent the affidavit to the printer, then searched for a copy of Danny’s plea agreement. She read it with fists clenched and head buzzing with rage. Danny had signed away his rights, including the right to challenge the plea, and pleaded guilty to the whole freaking conspiracy. Everything the Pe?a crew did. All the heroin those lowlifes sold. All the shootings and murders. He wasn’t there for any of it, but he agreed to pay the price. How was that possible? They had no evidence on him. The case was so weak. Madison hadn’t graduated from law school yet, but even she knew better than to let a client take a plea this unfair.
How could Danny’s lawyer have let this happen?
Her brother had told her the answer. The lawyer was in on it.
As much as it shook her faith in the justice system, she had to admit that was the only explanation that made sense.
She sent the plea agreement to print, then started researching the lawyer, Raymond F. Logue. He was an old-timer, admitted to the bar in 1972. The Massachusetts Bar Association website showed a long history of disciplinary complaints, for everything from misappropriation of funds to conflict of interest to failure to maintain malpractice insurance. He’d been fined multiple times, referred for continuing education, and suspended twice. But never disbarred.
How was that possible? This man should not be practicing law. Did he have friends in high places? She heard Danny’s voice in her head. My lawyer goes way back with this judge. Has her in his pocket.
Danny had been telling the truth about everything else. But Judge Conroy being in league with a dirty lawyer was a bridge too far. That, she would never believe.
A shadow fell across the carpet. Somebody stood in the doorway behind her. She caught the scent of rose perfume.
“Madison. You’re here late,” the judge said.
8
Judge Conroy picked up the pages off the printer. Madison forced a smile, but her heart had stopped beating for a second. The judge handed her the pages without so much as glancing at them, and she placed them face down on her desk. She wasn’t out of the woods yet. The computer screen was tilted away from the door. If the judge took a step to the left, she’d see the research into Logue, the dirty lawyer she was supposedly in league with, according to Danny. Not that Madison believed that. She didn’t. Not for a second.
“Shame on the law clerks, leaving the new intern to man the fort—on a Friday night, no less,” the judge said.
She stood beside Imani’s chair, her hand lingering on its back, looking impossibly glamorous in a navy sweater dress, a long strand of pearls, and sky-high heels that must pinch at the end of a long day. If she decided to sit, she’d have a bird’s-eye view of the screen.
“They told me to go home. But I wanted to finish up my assignment so you’d get it first thing Monday.”
To her own surprise, Madison’s voice came out calm and steady. She had to hand it to herself: she was smooth in a crisis. Moving her hand to the mouse, she clicked, and the list of Raymond Logue’s disciplinary complaints vanished. Not a moment too soon. The judge sank into the chair with a sigh and kicked off her shoes, looking right at that screen.
“You wrote a whole research memo on your first day. I’d say that calls for a reward. Have you eaten?”
She was confused by the question.
“Have I— Oh. Yes. The clerks took me to lunch.”
“It is after eight o’clock. I was asking about dinner.”
The judge’s question made her realize she was famished, and her stomach let out an audible rumble. The judge laughed.
“That answers that. I’m heading out to get a bite. Join me.”
“You want me to, to come to dinner?” she stammered.
“Yes, was I not clear?”
So much for the idea that the judge only socialized with her staff on special occasions. Maybe she liked Madison more than the law clerks. They did have that special connection because of high school. Too bad she had to ruin it. This was her chance to speak to the judge alone. To admit she’d—what? Fudged? Omitted? Forgotten to mention Danny? One way or the other, she would spit it out.
“I’d love to join you. I, um, just need to finish up a few things—if that’s all right.”
She couldn’t leave without covering her tracks. Getting caught researching Danny’s case would make her transgression a thousand times worse.
“I can wait. Do you like sushi? There’s a little place in my neighborhood. I could go on Resy and see if they have a table.”
“That would be awesome. Thank you.”
“I’ll be in my office. Come get me when you’re done.”
She watched in amazement as the judge picked up her shoes, walking away in stocking feet. Not only hadn’t she been caught, but she’d been invited to dinner? Hanging with Kathryn Conroy. She felt chosen. But she couldn’t let herself get distracted, or she’d blow it. Nancy would come in, find a document with Danny’s name on it, and Madison would be toast. Clicking around the computer screen, she searched for minimized documents, carefully closing each one before exiting the database and logging off. She stashed Danny’s documents in her backpack and headed to the bathroom.
After a long, stressful day, her makeup had melted, giving her a shiny look. She freshened it, slicked on some red lipstick, brushed her hair till it shone, and twisted it into a quick bun to look dressier. If only her clothes were better. She wore what she could afford. H&M, Uniqlo, Zara, whatever she found on the sale racks marked down to nothing. Her outfit was office appropriate; that wasn’t the issue. But she looked like a poor student playing dress-up. Which she was. Someday soon, she’d be a lawyer with a lawyer’s paycheck—and oh, the clothes she’d buy. Maybe then she would look the part of the friend of the renowned judge dining on fancy sushi. Until then, well, fake it till you make it, right?
Walking up to the judge’s door, she took a deep breath and knocked.
“Come in.”
Judge Conroy had on a plaid trench coat—Burberry, Madison thought—with the collar turned up to frame her face, and had swapped out heels for a pair of chic weatherproof boots.
“Ready?”
Madison nodded, stepping aside and holding the door open, but the judge shook her head.
“We’ll go out the back,” she said.
Madison hadn’t known there was a back. What she’d thought was a closet door opened into a brightly lit, windowless hallway. She followed the judge to an elevator that operated with a biometric sensor. The judge pulled off a black leather glove and pressed her fingers against the screen, and the doors slid open with a high-tech swoosh.
“This is the secure elevator. Reserved for judges. The doors are bulletproof.”
Madison nodded, impressed. As they got in, she felt like she was stepping into another life, one of privilege, but also danger. It was thrilling, though maybe it shouldn’t be. Judges had these protections for a reason. Litigants got angry. They protested, nonviolently the vast majority of the time, but sometimes—well, just because the murder of the judge’s husband remained unsolved didn’t mean it wasn’t retaliation.
The elevator deposited them in a dim, echoing underground garage, freezing cold and smelling of gasoline. Bulbous security cameras bristled from the corners of tall concrete posts. The judge walked quickly, shoulders tense, boots ringing on the hard floor, looking around like she expected an assailant to leap out at any moment. They came to a white SUV. Before getting in, the judge looked in the back seat. Checking for intruders, perhaps? They got in. Anxiety came off the judge in waves. It was unnerving.
“Do you drive, Madison?” she asked, backing out of the spot.
“Occasionally. I have a license but no car.”