Marilyn Vidal had been of the same mind when she was notified of the shooting. She’d been prepared to drop everything and make the drive from Dallas to be with Holly, who had discouraged her from coming. “I’ll call when and if I need you. Right now, it’s rather chaotic.”
“I thrive on chaos.”
That was true enough, but Holly won the argument. Marilyn stayed put but had ordered Holly to keep in touch, particularly if she was required to issue a statement to the media. “Before you say anything into a microphone, run it past me.”
Dennis, her former boyfriend, had also called on the office line. Mrs. Briggs had spoken to him, assured him that Holly was bearing up well, and agreed to notify him in the event her status changed or if there was anything he could do for her.
However, Holly hadn’t been without a coterie of supporters. In a town of only twenty thousand, word of the shooting had spread rapidly. Judge Mason, the administrative judge of the district, had been in the neighboring courtroom at the time of the shooting, so he was immediately at Holly’s side. A few friends she had made since moving to Prentiss had rallied around her, aghast over what had happened and eager to help in any way they could.
Most of the time they had been left waiting while she was being interviewed by police. But it had been a comfort just knowing they were accessible if she needed them. Eventually they’d seen the futility of hanging around and had made their departures.
Mrs. Briggs was the last holdout. “I’ll be fine,” Holly assured her now. “But if it makes you feel better, I’ll request a police escort home.”
“You absolutely should. And call me if you change your mind. I’ll come over at any hour.”
Before leaving, she got Holly’s promise to do that, although Holly knew she wouldn’t be summoning help. It had been a horrific experience, but the culprit was dead. All that remained for her to do was to give her formal statement, and then the ordeal would be over.
In the coming days, Greg Sanders would be watching to see how she responded to the crisis situation and how quickly she recovered from the trauma of it. If she showed any signs of cowardice or weakness, he would gleefully expose it.
Following Crawford Hunt out of the interrogation room, Matt Nugent and Neal Lester made their way down the hallway toward her. They had interviewed her in the Family Court immediately following the shooting, but to record her formal statement, they had asked that she come downstairs to the ground floor where, like the SO, the city police department was also headquartered.
She stood up. “My turn?”
“I’m afraid not, Judge Spencer,” Neal Lester said. “We’re only taking a break. We’ve got a lot more to cover with Mr. Hunt.”
“I see.”
“I know this is a hardship after what happened today. We’ll get you out of here as soon as possible.”
“I understand.”
“One question, though. The suspect’s name hasn’t been released because we’re having trouble locating next of kin, but his driver’s license identifies him as Jorge Rodriguez. Ring a bell?”
“No.”
“Not surprising,” Nugent said, looking happy to have something to contribute. “He had a Texas driver’s license, but it’s a fake. Fairly good one, but still phony.”
“He was an illegal?”
“We’re looking into it,” Lester replied. “But even if he was, that doesn’t mean he hadn’t wound up in your court sometime before today.”
“It’s a possibility. I’ve only been on the bench for ten months, you know. But the docket has been full. I’ve presided over a lot of trials and hearings since my appointment.”
“Maybe Rodriguez was a holdover from Judge Waters,” Lester suggested. “Held a grudge of some kind.”
When her mentor, the Honorable Clifton Waters, was diagnosed with terminal cancer, he had enticed her to resign from a law firm where she had practiced for several years, relocate to Prentiss, and apply for the bench he would be vacating.
It had been a chancy career move, but she’d taken a leap of faith, and it had paid off. Acting on Waters’s recommendation, Governor Hutchins had appointed her. Judge Waters had lived long enough to see her sworn in. It had been a proud day for both of them.
Nugent said, “We’ll send somebody over to your office tomorrow to look through court records, see if Rodriguez turns up.”
“I’ll make sure Mrs. Briggs knows you’re coming and has everything ready.”
“What about before you came here?”
“I was with a law firm in Dallas.”
Lester jotted the name down in a small spiral notebook he took from his shirt pocket. “We’ll ask them to run Rodriguez’s name through their files, too.”
She gave him a contact name. “The firm will help any way they can, I’m sure.”
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Crawford Hunt emerge from the men’s room. His hair was damp and had been pushed straight back off his forehead, as though he’d washed his face and then had run wet fingers through his hair. He seemed intent on walking past her again without speaking. She stepped into his path.
“Mr. Hunt, may I have a word with you?”