“This is ridiculous.”
As the security guard started to unclip his handcuffs from his belt, the high chain-link fence to the parking lot began to jerk and squeak to life. We both turned, surprised, as the fence opened and a black Jaguar XJ emerged from the lot behind the Juvenile Justice Center.
The car pulled up alongside us. The passenger side window rolled down. “Jameson.” Judge Bryce leaned over, shouting out of the car window. “What are you doing to Mr. Justin Glass?”
The security guard’s chest pumped up. “Yes, Judge.” He nodded toward me. “This man was taking photographs of our building, sir.”
“So what?”
“With all due respect, Judge Bryce”—the man shifted from one foot to another, starting to get nervous—“it’s against the law to take photographs of any courthouse.”
“That’s ridiculous.” Judge Bryce pointed at me and then looked back at the security guard. “Leave him alone or I’ll have to report this to your supervisor. I happen to know that Regal Security’s contract is up for renewal, and they will not like hearing about this at all.”
“But sir.” The security guard looked at Judge Bryce with a mixture of disappointment and exasperation. “The law says—”
“The law does not say that.” Shaking his head, Judge Bryce dismissed the security guard with his hand. “Go on back, now. Don’t make me get out of the car.”
“But . . .” The security guard put his hands on his hips.
“Now.” Judge Bryce turned off his car and stepped outside, slamming the door shut. He then walked around the front of his car and stood toe to toe with the guard. “I’m the presiding judge of this court. I’m in charge of this courthouse, and I’m telling you for the last time to go back inside and leave Mr. Glass alone.”
That was it.
The security guard took a final deep breath, staring at Judge Bryce with a mixture of respect and resentment familiar to any enlisted grunt that ever had to deal with a commanding officer, then slightly bowed his head. “Yes, sir.”
We watched in silence as he shuffled back toward the front of the courthouse, rounded the corner, and disappeared.
When Judge Bryce was sure that he was gone, he turned to me and shook his head in dismay. “My apologies.” He paused, as though thinking about whether he should elaborate. “Been having trouble with Jameson for years. He has applied to be a police officer in every city and county in Missouri, and never made it . . . mostly because he’s a moron.”
“Well thank you for stopping. Thought I was going to be put in jail.”
Judge Bryce laughed. “Maybe handcuffed, but as soon as he got you into the courthouse, somebody with a brain would’ve intervened.”
“Hope so.”
Judge Bryce looked at the building and then back at me. “Mind if I ask why you were taking photos of one of the ugliest courthouses in America?”
“A theory.” I kept it vague.
“Seem to still be very interested in the blue vans.”
“I am.” I paused. “But I’d better go and let you be on your way.”
Judge Bryce nodded and looked back at the vans on the other side of the fence. “I thought your march was wonderful,” he said. “Call me if you have any updates, will you? I feel terribly out of the loop.”
“I will.”
“Maybe coffee or lunch sometime.” Judge Bryce rubbed his chin, thinking. Then he sighed and stepped a little closer to me. “But be careful.”
“About what?”
“Well.” Judge Bryce looked around. “I know you’re working closely with Sergeant Schmidt.”
I shrugged. “He’s my contact.”
Bryce nodded. I wasn’t telling him something he didn’t already know. “I’ve been around a long time, you know? Remember, I was a prosecutor before I was ever a judge, and I’d be careful with Sergeant Schmidt. That’s all I’m saying.”
“Something specific here that I need to know?”
Judge Bryce shook his head, then he talked softly and slowly. “Plays the game very well. Easy to underestimate, and I’ve seen things and I’ve heard things . . .” He stepped back. “Shouldn’t go into too much detail, but my warning is a fair one. We got a city on edge. Jimmy Poles is nowhere. Supposedly he’s fled the state because he fears for his own life. Last night was the first night it was a little better, but I think it’s just the calm before the storm. Too much pressure. The city’s gonna pop.” Judge Bryce stepped back and started walking to his car. “I can feel it.”
He opened his car door, and he stuck one foot inside. “Plus the birds tell me he’s gonna be the next chief if he plays this right.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
What Judge Bryce told me about Schmitty rattled around in my brain for the rest of the day. It probably troubled me more because I knew that at least part of it was true. It was convenient for me to consider Schmitty a friend, even though he wasn’t. We’d never seen each other for non-work-related reasons. Never hung out because we enjoyed each other’s company or for no reason at all.
It was convenient for me to consider Schmitty a good guy, because he’d passed along some information or let me see a confidential file. But it was just as plausible that he was playing me, knowing that one day he’d need my family’s support when his name was dropped as the next chief. And given all the favors he’d done for me over the years—with little given back in return—I’d gladly offer him my endorsement and tell Annie, my father, my brother, and the rest of the Glass machine that he was a good choice.
Or maybe Judge Bryce’s warning went beyond simple politics. He’d heard the whispers about Jimmy Poles. Maybe there were whispers about Schmitty, too. He certainly knew his way around the system, but I couldn’t imagine Schmitty being dangerous or hurting anybody.
It nagged at me.
Emma knocked on my open office door. “You doing OK?”
I looked down at the stack of papers for my review and the small notebook filled with phone messages that I needed to return. Then I looked back up at her. “I guess so, just . . .” I wondered whether I should tell her about Judge Bryce’s warning. “What do you think about Schmitty?”
The question caught her off guard. “The cop?”
I nodded. “The guy who’s been working with us on the Lost Boys.”
Emma paused, as if picturing him in her mind. “What about him?”
“Think he’s using me? Using my name? Using my connections?”
Emma smiled. “Of course he is.” Then she shifted her weight to her other foot and put her hand on her hip. “That’s how it goes with cops. Doesn’t mean it’s bad. That’s their job.” She started to turn, but stopped. “Anything else?”
“Well.” I pointed at the chair next to my desk. “Why don’t you have a seat?” I thought for a moment, then, as Emma sat down, I warned her. “It’s only a theory.”