“Why not?”
“You won’t succeed. She’s a ghost. That’s why I think she’s an undercover. Which begs the question: Working for who, investigating what? And what would they do to her if they found out? I wouldn’t stick my neck out if I was you.”
“What did Olivia look like?”
“I’m serious, Madison. Don’t be foolish. Drop this, or you’ll wind up in trouble.”
She stared at Imani pointedly. “Tell me what she looked like.”
“Fine, it’s your funeral. Average-looking. Brown hair. Medium height. Buff, like she works out. Regular features. Boring dresser. Mature for a law student, meaning older than average in appearance. But I’m telling you, you’ll never find her. And if you’re not careful, you’ll wind up just like her, which could be really bad. Olivia is not currently registered in any Boston-area law school. Now, maybe she got caught snooping, Nancy reported that to her dean, and she was expelled. But maybe she’s floating in a river somewhere, and that’s only partly a joke.”
In the heat of the bar, Madison shivered. Imani got to her feet.
“I’ve got a headache, and this place is making me claustrophobic.”
“Go. I’ll get the check.”
“Thanks. Watch your back, hear me?”
“You too.”
They hugged goodbye. Madison signaled the bartender. She was waiting for the bill when she caught a flash of red from the corner of her eye.
Wallace.
But when she turned in a panic to scan the room, he wasn’t there.
* * *
Watch your back. Out on the street, Madison heeded the warning, walking for a good ten minutes in well-lit, high-traffic areas, ducking into doorways to scan the street behind her. Only once she was certain Wallace wasn’t following did she call an Uber and go to the town house.
The lights were on in the town house as she passed by on the other side of the street. Her shoulders relaxed when she saw it. Nightmare scenarios had been running through her mind all day. Judge Conroy behind bars, talking to the feds, giving up anyone and everyone, including Madison herself. Judge Conroy kidnapped by Wallace, in the trunk of a car, chained in a basement. Ridiculous. The judge was at home, keeping a low profile because of the chaos all around her. Well, Madison would give her an earful. She’d demand that dismissal order for Danny, then quit on the spot, making a break with the judge before things got worse.
She took a roundabout route to the alley behind the town house until she was certain that she was not being followed. The judge’s white SUV was in its parking spot. She crossed the empty courtyard, feeling exposed in the blaze of light that spilled from the house. In the back hallway, she went to disable the alarm. But it hadn’t been armed in the first place. Odd. The kitchen smelled stale, a faint tang of garbage in the air.
“Hello? Judge, it’s me, Madison.”
No reply. She stopped and listened. The silence was thick and heavy. It was a bit after nine. Every light was on, so the judge was not asleep. Was she sick?
In the back hall, Lucy’s food bowl was not just empty, but licked clean. Madison had never known Judge Conroy to let the cat go hungry. The water bowl was dry. Behind her, feet pattered. Lucy rubbed up against her legs, meowing. She seemed eager for Madison to pick her up.
“Where’s your mom, huh? She didn’t feed you?” she said, picking up the cat and kissing her head.
Lucy never normally let Madison cuddle her like that. She opened a can and dumped food in the bowl. Lucy attacked it. Madison filled the water bowl, then tiptoed to the bottom of the grand staircase, looking up. The second-floor lights were on.
“Judge?”
Nothing.
Suddenly afraid of what she might find, she got out her phone and tapped in 911, poising her thumb over the Call icon. A pulse beat in her throat as she climbed the stairs. The door to the master suite was ajar. She stopped on the threshold, gathering her nerve, and shoved the door with her foot. It swung open. The room was brightly lit. The bed had not been slept in. Breathing out, she walked into the dressing room. It was strewn with empty shopping bags and evening wear. A sleek black dress. A red pantsuit. A sequined skirt and several slinky tops that went with it. Clothes they’d considered for the reception and rejected. Judge Conroy had been planning to return them the following day at lunchtime. Meaning today. She hadn’t, obviously.
In the bathroom, the lights blazed. Madison had packed up her cosmetics bag and brought it upstairs before they left. But the judge left her things in disarray. Lipsticks and compacts and makeup brushes littered the vanity top. They’d stood there, side by side, applying bronzer and highlighter and blush. There was a Kleenex in the sink. She remembered debating lipstick colors. Madison said to go bold—Ruby Woo, the classic red from MAC. But the judge preferred subtle, a peachy nude from Chanel. She’d applied it and blotted it, tossing the Kleenex into the sink. It was there now, her kiss still visible.
Was it possible that Judge Conroy didn’t make it home from the reception? But her car was parked in its spot in the back alley. Though, since they hadn’t gone over together, she didn’t know for sure what mode of transportation the judge had taken. Maybe she’d Ubered. Or she drove there and back, made it to the house, and then something happened. Someone came in and took her. Yet the alarm was off, and there were no signs of struggle.
Someone she knew, then, whom she’d let in voluntarily?
Wallace?
The hairs on Madison’s arms stood up.
24
On the T back to Cambridge, she composed multiple texts and deleted them unsent. It was hard to say what you meant when you were worried about incriminating yourself.
Judge, could you get in touch? I have a question about an assignment …
Dear Judge Conroy, I noticed you were absent from chambers and am checking in to see how you’re doing. I hope you’re well …
You never came home from the reception. Where are you? Are you okay?
Please call, I’m worried about you …
The problem was, texts could be intercepted. Federal investigators could be tapping the judge’s phone. Wallace or Logue might be monitoring her communications. Madison couldn’t risk having her message fall into the wrong hands. If any of those people learned the extent of her involvement with Judge Conroy, she’d be in trouble, possibly in danger.
She decided to do nothing. It was safer to wait. Tomorrow afternoon, the final class was scheduled for the Fourth Amendment seminar that Judge Conroy taught. Madison would see the judge there. Unless Judge Conroy was a no-show, which would mean something dire had definitely happened.
The next day, she was en route to class when her phone dinged with a notification. It was from Canvas, the course website. “Update re: Fourth Amendment Seminar.” She opened the app with a sick feeling, reading the message from the registrar’s office.
CLASS CANCELATION. We received word that Prof. Kathryn Conroy is out of town until further notice. Class is canceled. We are following up to get further information.