Judge Bryce scoffed at me, arrogant. “You’re bluffing.”
I tried to think of something that would make him stop. We needed to buy some time. “Schmitty gave me all those files,” I said. “Your name is in every single one of them.”
Judge Bryce looked at Nikolas and then turned to me. “My name’s in a lot of files.” His eyes shifted, another moment of doubt.
“But every single file?” I asked, even though I had no idea what I was talking about. “Improbable. What are there, five judges working down there, maybe six?”
“You know nothing.”
I was starting to get under his skin, so I pressed him some more. “Thought you loved those kids. You certainly enjoyed getting your awards and giving your little speeches.”
Judge Bryce stared at me, hard. “Mercy. I showed mercy on those boys. We both know where they were headed. I stopped the cycle.”
“You sound like Jimmy Poles.”
“Somebody has to make the tough calls.”
“And your legacy?” I thought about the Missouri Miracle. “These kids probably aren’t too good for your statistics.”
“They’re not worth the resources.”
“And you get to make that choice?” I forced a laugh. “You’re that smart?”
“If not me, then who?” Judge Bryce’s face turned up into a satisfied smirk, then he added, “And yes . . . I am that smart.” He turned his attention back to Nikolas.
“The investigation isn’t going to stop, you know?” I paused, waiting for a response that never came. “Killing us isn’t going to solve the problem. Others know about the videos.” I thought about the files, still trying to think of a connection that I could never find. Then I remembered when my grandfather recommended that I talk to Judge Bryce, early in the case. His name triggered something, but I couldn’t place where I had heard it and where I had seen it. At the time, I wondered whether it was because I had seen Judge Bryce on a panel or read about his work in the newspaper, but that wasn’t right.
I thought about Devon Walker. His pictures. His progression from a little chubby kid in elementary school to the young tattooed man running the streets.
Then it came together.
“You signed all the warrants,” I said.
Judge Bryce turned back, looking at me.
I continued the thought. “Even though the cases were spread out among all the different judges and probation officers, you were the one who had signed the arrest warrants. As the presiding judge, you were responsible for signing the warrants. You read their histories. You saw they had been given multiple chances. And then you decided to kill them.”
Judge Bryce took a step forward toward me. “You don’t know anything about me.”
“I think I do,” I said as I looked past him. Nikolas turned and nodded. It was a sign, and I got ready. “So we’re supposed to thank you for killing these little kids.”
“They’re not little kids anymore.” Judge Bryce laughed at me. “I’m preventing hundreds—maybe thousands—of people from being harassed and hurt by these thugs. I’m saving the taxpayers a lot of money, too, millions wasted on treatments that are years too late.” Judge Bryce came closer. His eyes were filled with belief, righteousness. “It’s for their own good, to be put out of their misery. I weep for them, but I know that we are all—”
Nikolas spun his chair around and awkwardly threw his body into Judge Bryce’s backside.
The gun went off, exploding just over my head as I rolled to the side. On all fours, I crawled out the door and then tried to run toward the front of the shop. My legs were heavy. Still feeling the effects of the Taser, I tripped and fell.
Behind me, I heard Nikolas and Judge Bryce fighting in the office. Computer equipment crashed to the ground; glass shattered.
I kept going in the darkness.
Stumbling, I came through the curtain and into the front of the coffee shop. I sprinted to the counter and reached under the cash register where Hermes kept the gun.
Groping, I felt in the back. I grabbed it, and then the entire coffee shop flooded with blinding light.
My eyes adjusted enough to allow me to see Judge Bryce no more than six feet away from me, frozen. All color was gone. In the blaring white light, he was a ghost. An outline holding a gun.
His own eyes adjusting enough to find me, Judge Bryce pulled the trigger, and I shot back as we both fell to the ground.
I don’t know how many shots I fired. I just kept pulling the trigger.
CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT
Schmitty stood over the body. Judge Bryce’s chest was painted red. Thick blood seeped from underneath him, expanding into an irregular pool on the hardwood floor.
Schmitty didn’t say anything. There was no need to state the obvious.
He shook his head, took a final look, and turned to me. “Let’s get your friend and go have a chat someplace private.”
We walked to the back. There were a half dozen cops standing around. Schmitty told them to get outside and help make sure there was a decent perimeter.
Nikolas stood near a pile of burlap sacks containing green coffee beans from around the world. I walked over to him and reached out, patted him on the shoulder. “You OK?”
Nikolas shrugged. “Beat up, but still standing.”
“You got nine lives, my friend.” I smiled, then gestured to the door.
Nikolas understood, and he followed me outside. Schmitty trailed behind.
Once we were in the back parking lot, I stopped. There were cops everywhere and a helicopter overhead. “I think we’re even now,” I said to Nikolas. “I saved you, and you saved me. All debts are paid.”
Nikolas nodded. “Fair enough.”
Then we walked around to the front to my law office. “This should work.” I took out the key and unlocked the door, and all three of us went inside. Then I locked the door behind us to make sure we weren’t disturbed.
Schmitty wanted to hear the whole story from our perspective. He didn’t let me ramble. He interrupted, when necessary, pressing me for more and more details. Why did I go to Judge Bryce in the first place?
I told him about the fund-raising dinner, the keynote address, and the tour of the Juvenile Justice Center. I told him about Cecil Bates and the security footage that captured his arrest, and then I told him about the traffic cameras I’d seen coming back from the court in Clayton, my decision to go back to the Juvenile Justice Center and take pictures, and, ultimately, being caught by Judge Bryce after tampering with his e-mail.
“That was what set him off,” Schmitty said. “We’ve been monitoring Judge Bryce for a few weeks, since we traced the leaks about Jimmy Poles back to him. The Twitter account, the images, some of that stuff was done with his court-issued laptop. He took precautions, deleting browser history and creating fake e-mail accounts, but not enough. You’d think he’d know it all leaves a record, but guess not.”