Here his voice intensified. He gripped the mic with both hands. “But I’m telling you—however hard this is to hear—I’m telling you it has to happen before those kids ever set foot in a courtroom or are placed in the back of a squad car. Once they get involved in the criminal justice system, our likelihood of success—our likelihood of any kind of meaningful intervention—plummets.
“Back in the 1990s I was very young—a baby judge. I created a new model. We brought together folks from all different disciplines—social workers, psychiatrists, doctors, teachers, community mentors, cops—and we wrapped ourselves around the kids entering the system. And we had tremendous success. People called it a miracle. But that was well over twenty years ago. Times have changed. The types of kids we’re dealing with have changed. They’re harder. The wraparound works, but it’s not as effective as it once was. There are certain kids that are too far gone for the system to reach—ever. Once they’re in, they’ll continue to be in and out of correctional institutions for the rest of their lives—a life sentence, on the installment plan—and they’ll leave a trail of victims along the way.
“I’ll keep doing what I can on my end, but let’s not wait for miracles. Let’s act. Support the Children’s Defense League and help these kids before they come to me. We need to focus on the younger ones, ten and under. That’s where we’ll be successful. We have to act to save the kids who can be saved.”
The man really is a firebrand, I was thinking, when I felt a tap on my shoulder.
It was Annie. She smiled.
I smiled back. “Madame Mayor.”
“Mr. Glass.” She turned and ordered a glass of wine from the bar. “Heard you might be coming to this.”
“And how’s that possible?”
“Power has its privileges.” She took the glass of red wine from the bartender and paid. “I have spies everywhere, you know?”
“Should’ve known that.”
“Feeling better about your brother?”
I didn’t respond right away, because I wasn’t sure how to answer. With the trial and Sammy and the Lost Boys, I’d been too busy to think much about it. “I guess.”
“Well”—she took a sip of wine—“I think you made the right decision.”
“Figured you’d say that.” I quietly laughed and shook my head. “Because you didn’t want to share me with anybody else. Keep me on the down-low.”
Annie nodded. “Perhaps.” We listened to Judge Bryce a little longer, and then Annie leaned in closer. “Got plans for later?”
“Don’t know.”
She paused, thinking over my response. Then she reached into her clutch purse and removed a small envelope from the hotel. A room number was written on the outside. A key was inside. “If you’re available, maybe we could meet.” Annie slid the envelope with the key into the front pocket of my suit jacket.
She touched my shoulder. Then Annie walked away.
As most of the crowd gathered their things and filed out the door, I worked my way up to the stage. There were a half dozen people gathered around Judge Bryce. I waited along the wall for the various well-wishers to say their words of thanks and praise.
Eventually Judge Bryce was alone, and I walked up to him. He was in his midfifties but looked younger. He had a full shock of hair, and his face was lean, like a runner’s.
“I know you want to get out of here,” I said, “but my paralegal and your law clerk have been exchanging e-mails, trying to find a time for us to meet, so I decided that I’d do it the old-fashioned way and just introduce myself to you in person.” I held out my hand and we shook. “I’m Justin Glass. My dad is Congressman Glass, and my grandpa is Judge Calhoun.”
Judge Bryce nodded. “Of course. I should’ve known. Seen you in the newspaper.” He smiled. “And I also read in the paper that Congressman Glass announced that he’s calling it quits.” He took a step back and raised his eyebrows. “Lucky man.”
“He’d be the first one to call himself lucky, I’m sure, but I don’t think he’s actually retiring.”
“Politicians never do.” Judge Bryce subtly looked at his watch and then back at me. “What can I do for you?”
“Well you may have heard that I’m representing some of the families of those boys that have gone missing. It’s been in the newspaper.”
Judge Bryce nodded. “Oh I’ve seen it. I even recognized some of those kids from court.”
“My grandpa thought you’d be a good person to talk to about it. Nothing specific, just about the juvenile court and anything else you might know.”
“I’m always happy to talk to people about what I do . . . or don’t do . . . or, more likely, what I try to do with somewhat mixed results.”
“You’re being modest.”
“No”—Judge Bryce smiled and laughed—“I’m being honest.” Then he put his hand on my shoulder. “When I first got sworn in and put on that black dress, I was pretty naive. Then you start seeing the kids of the kids that you tried to save coming into the system. That’s when reality hits.”
Judge Bryce took a business card out of his pocket. He wrote his cell phone number on the back and handed it to me. “Pretty tired right now after all this. Call me and I’ll give you a grand tour of the juvenile courthouse, and we can maybe find someplace more private to talk.”
“I’d love to hear your thoughts.”
“I’m sure you’d love to hear some gossip, too.”
Like all middle-aged men who were about to have a romantic liaison in a fancy hotel, I called my mother first to ask for permission.
She told me that Sammy was reading a book in the library with the Judge. She’d tell her that I was working late and that she should sleep in the guest bedroom at the main house. We talked a little about when I might be home, keeping it vague. Then the conversation wound down, and my mother’s last words were, “Everything will be fine here.”
I can’t imagine that she approved, but at the same time, she also knew better than anyone where I’d been and what I’d gone through since Monica died. Perhaps any relationship was better than no relationship at all.
As weird as our exchange was, it set me at ease. I didn’t want Sammy waking up in the middle of the night only to find out that she was alone.
On the elevator to the eleventh floor, I thought about Annie and her marriage that wasn’t really a marriage, and about our relationship that wasn’t really a relationship. After a month of absence and avoidance, we were finally coming together, but I didn’t know why.
The doors slid open, and I walked down the hallway, figuring out how the rooms were numbered.
Our room was at the end.
I slid the key out of the envelope, stuck the card in the slot, and waited for the click of the lock as a small green light turned on.
I opened the door.
Light from the hallway cut into the room, but the rest was dark.
I stepped inside, the door closing behind me, and then I saw Annie on the bed. There was a single candle on the nightstand, burning behind her. It cast Annie in a silhouette. A sheet covered her, but I knew that she was naked underneath.