CHAPTER THREE

Beth Able woke at four the next morning and put on coffee and went out for her paper.  She never set an alarm because she was always up before the sun after years of working and going to school had accustomed her to very little sleep and long hours of work and study.

She put the television on with no sound and spread the paper on her dining room table and saw what the media had done with the dead juror story. 

Enough blood and gore to ruin anyone’s breakfast and speculation to rival the idiots who thought the nine eleven had been staged by the federal government.  Whatever happened to good investigative reporting she wondered?
She scrambled eggs and made toast and then checked her fax machine and found the coroner’s report for J-6.  Not unusual breakfast reading for the old homicide detective. 

The coroner decided from the facts that the juror’s throat had been slashed first to kill and quiet the victim and then the rest of the damage had been inflicted.  The killer had probably killed the victim while she lay sleeping and then added the gory details later. Not a frenzied killing at all but a quick kill with the details added later for show.

But what was the motive she wondered, to frighten the jury and end the trial, or a personal grudge against J-6, or even a cover for a later murder?  It could even be a murder to smear her reputation and ruin her chances for the federal appointment?  Nothing was clear yet except that she was going to be busy with damage control until this trial was over or tainted.  God forbid anyone else loses their life over this case.

The phone rang and she told the caller to come to the back door.

“Morning Matt,” she said, “What a nice surprise.”

“Thought you’d want to know that suddenly there is a lot of activity on the fourteenth floor.  Lights blazing and more police activity,” he told her.

“Here, read this while I shower,” she handed him the coroner’s report and she was ready to go in twenty minutes.

He drove her down town and they parked in the hotel garage and took the elevator to the fourteenth floor. 

“What happened?” she asked her bailiff.

“Apparently one of the jurors smuggled in a cell phone and received a call with all of the gory details.  She proceeded to have hysterics and woke up everyone on the floor,” the bailiff reported to the judge.

The judge walked to the room that the bailiff pointed out and she rapped on the door and entered without waiting for a response.

“What’s going on here?” she asked.

A man bent over the woman in bed turned and said, “Who are you?”

An officer standing quietly in the corner told the judge, “This is the hotel doctor, Judge.  They called him when the women began to get hysterical and scream and cry about being murdered in her bed.”

“I’m Judge Able, doctor, how is my juror?”

“I administered a sedative to calm her down but she has everyone else up and asking questions,” the doctor informed her.

The judge called the hotel manager and asked for coffee, juice, and donuts to be served in the private dining room in half an hour.

She went out into the hall and made another call to an old friend, retired from St. Catherine’s parish.

Most of the jurors were huddled in four of the rooms speculating on what was going on and whether they were all in danger from a homicidal maniac.

“Matt, would you ask everyone who is up and about to join me for coffee in the private dining room in twenty minutes?”

Matt issued the invitation to everyone as if it were an everyday coffee klatch and told them dress was informal as befitted the hour.

They came down in the reserved elevator in two groups and joined the judge in the dining room where they found her sipping coffee and eating a jelly donut. 

“Please help yourselves,” the judge said, “There is coffee, tea, juice and donuts to tide you over until breakfast,” she commented. 

The group began to help themselves to the refreshments and seat themselves near the judge who it turned out was a slender rather attractive woman in street clothes.

“If everyone has coffee let’s have a little chat to clear the air,” she said. 

“I’m sorry to say that Mrs. Hawsworth has broken the rules by having a cell phone so she will be replaced by one of the alternates,” the judge informed them. 

Hands went up with questions and the judge took a sip of coffee and told them, “Now, as to the incident she was upset about,” the judge paused, “Unfortunately, one of our jurors was murdered here in the hotel.”

Excited questions and speculation greeted that statement. 

“The police are investigating the crime and you may have noticed that I’ve installed additional police staff to make sure that you are all safe and secure even though we have no reason to suspect anything else will happen.  Better safe than sorry,” the judge said. 

They talked softly among themselves, noticeably calmer.

“Each of you has his or her own police officer who will be checking your room with you before you settle in for the night and then will be outside your door all night so that you can rest easy and do a good job as jurors.”

“Of course, we are all sad for Mrs. Devaney and her family but the police will find out who took her life and another jury just like you will decide if that person is guilty or not guilty. 

Ladies and gentlemen our system is a good system and I’m proud of all of you for taking this time from your busy lives to perform your duty.”

She could see that they were much calmer and she said,

“Now, I have a full day’s work with the attorneys ahead of me so I’ve arranged for an old friend to come in and have a small bazaar with bingo, cards  and other games in your conference room to keep you occupied.  There are also books and movies for your convenience.”

She rose and thanked them for their coffee and hospitality, escaping before more questions could come up.

“You really worked that room, Judge,” Matt said as they rode the elevator down to the parking garage. 

She was ready to reply to Matt but when the elevator doors opened and flashbulbs went off and reporters began shouting questions to the judge.

“No,” she told the reporters, “There is no problem, I just had coffee with the jurors and discussed a private jury matter with them.”  It was easier for me to come to them then have all of them hauled over to the courtroom.  Besides, I hadn’t had my coffee yet.”

 “Th-Th-Th- That’s all Folks!” she said as she climbed into the car and Matt drove off. 

“Sorry, Matt, I’m all out of nice this morning.”

Matt laughed, “It’s all right, Bugs.”

“I read the coroner’s report and it just confuses the matter,” he told her.

“I know,” she said, “More contradiction, it just means we don’t see the pattern yet.”

“I hope the cops are on the job and come up with something soon.  I need to concentrate on the case before me,” she said.

Matt dropped her off and she went up to her chambers.  When she unlocked the door and went in there was a sign on her wall in red, “2 down 13 to go.”

She backed out of the office and called the police lab to go over her office with a fine tooth comb.

The chief came over and talked with the top criminologist,
“Any leads on how the perp got in Lowe?”  He asked.

“No signs of tampering at the door or window,” Lowe said, "No unexplained prints or other signs of disturbance.”
“The Judge said the files don’t appear to be disturbed, but her clerk isn’t in yet and hasn’t called in.”

“Judge I don’t like this, let’s send a man out to check on your clerk,” the chief said.

The judge dialed a number, “Jose?”

“Yes, Judge,” he answered immediately.

“I want you to ride along with a couple of policemen going over to my clerk’s apartment.”

“Thanks Jose.”

“Have your cops pick up my bailiff in front of the courthouse on their way,” she said.

She called Matt and filled him in and gave him her clerk’s address. 

“What do you think is up?” the chief asked her.

“I don’t think he’d be happy without a kill,” she said, “He’s out to make a statement.”

“And what’s that?” Lowe asked.

She shrugged, “That he’s more important than any of this or any of us,” she said, “And he thinks the murders are going to prove it.”

They waited in the Judge’s chambers and when the call came in from Matt her fears were confirmed.  The clerk was dead from knife wounds and the apartment was covered in blood.

“Lowe, you take it, I’m assigning you to this case exclusively,” the chief said.

“Let’s have the same coroner do the autopsy that performed Miss. Daveney’s autopsy.  I want to know all of the differences and similarities between the two kills,” the judge said and then added, “We want to keep the team as small as possible with no leaks.”

The chief smiled tiredly, “Who else do you have on the team?” he asked the judge.

“Matt, Jose, two others and a federal agent are looking into it,” she said.

“Feds?” the chief’s eyebrows rose questioningly.

“This guy is interfering with a jury and the justice system chief, that’s a federal crime but at this point they’re just assisting,” she responded.

Matt and Jose came in, both white faced with shock at the bloody scene.

“It was worse than before Judge, lots worse,” Jose said.

Lowe and his crew went to investigate the crime scene and the team coroner was called in and sent to the clerk’s address. 

The Judge called for lunch to be brought in for she and Matt, Jose and the chief and they talked over the situation until the Judge was due in the courtroom that afternoon.

She took Jose aside and asked him to visit the fourteenth floor that afternoon and try to gauge the mood of the jurors and report to her before the end of the day. Jose knew that the judge trusted him and he had eaten lunch with a judge, a homicide detective and the chief of police.  He had a good job and respect. Jose Juarez was a happy man.  But what Jose didn’t know was that he was being watched. 

Judge Able brought the attorney’s to her chambers and gave them a much abbreviated version of what was happening with the murder of the juror and her clerk and cautioned them about speaking to the press.  She put the court sessions on hold until Monday and asked them to have all motions to her by Friday and she promised rulings on Monday. 

Matt joined her in chambers that evening and they sipped a few Jameson’s while they waited for the coroner’s report on the judge’s clerk.

The phone rang and the judge picked it up and listened.

“He’s escalating Matt.  No quick kill this time.  Pretty much wanton, frenzied, butchery,” the judge said, “Lots of anger and mutilation.”

She called her federal agent and gave him the latest news,

“Do you think he’s still a danger to the jury?” she asked the agent.

“Your right, he’s a danger to everyone,” she said and hung up.

She poured another drink for she and Matt and they sat in companionable silence not needing conversation to be comfortable together.
(C) August 2013 Karen MacEanruig