Due Justice

Chapter 20

“She left a voice mail on my machine saying that she was going to Minnesota and she’d call me when she got back.”  I could see that this news caused him some serious agitation, but he was trying to control his temper. I didn’t tell him I thought the message was another of Carly’s lies.

“Look,” I said, “Don’t shoot the messenger. You asked me if I’d heard from her, I told you what I know. Don’t you think I understand she’s better off in jail than she is dead?”

I was really running out of patience with this guy. I didn’t get to be a federal court judge at the age of thirty-six because I’m stupid. We might be out of each other’s jurisdiction, but he certainly wasn’t winning any points with me, either.

“All right,” he ran his hand over his head, through his thick, dark hair in obvious frustration. His hair looked like it was used to this treatment. It was wavy and constantly messed up. “What would she be going to Minnesota for?  What’s in Minnesota?  Does she have family there, or did Dr. Morgan have family there?  You know her. What’s she doing?”

I thought I heard preaching in his voice. I hate it when people try to manipulate me. “Don’t you think I’ve been asking myself that same question ever since I got the message?  It might help if we knew what she and Dr. Morgan were talking to one another about. Have you been able to shed any light on that?”

Let’s just put the burden back where it belongs, I thought. He didn’t like it. He was having difficulty conducting a civil conversation. At that point, George walked back in and tried to diffuse the situation.

“Ben,” George said, “I think she might have gone to the Mayo Clinic. I read in Dr. Morgan’s obituary that he trained there. Carly doesn’t have any connection with the Mayo Clinic and she didn’t go for business, did she?”

“I checked with her boss. He said she hadn’t been in to work in three days and it was most unlike her. He didn’t know where she was, or at least he said he didn’t. Your Mayo Clinic theory makes as much sense as anything else, George. I’ll check it out.”

Hathaway got up to leave. “Wait a minute,” I said. “What about my question?  Have you found out what she and Morgan were working on or why they were communicating with each other?”

He studied me for a long time. “Okay,” he finally said. “The only thing that makes sense to me is that they were working on some aspect of this breast implant litigation. Her company, MedPro, derived about fifty percent of its revenue in the 1980s from the sale of breast implants. They’ve been selling them in Britain and France following the FDA moratorium here in this country. The lawsuits were threatening to put the company under. I think Dr. Morgan and Carly Austin were working on a strategy to defend the claims.”

I let out a long breath of air I didn’t realize I’d been holding. “Let’s just suppose that’s true, why would that have gotten him killed?”

Hathaway looked at me as if the rumors of my intelligence had been greatly exaggerated. “The first rule of police work, Wilhelmina--follow the money,” he said as he walked out. I was beginning to hope that he found Carly soon because that would mean I could stop talking to him all together. Maybe forever. I made a mental note to take him off our guest list.

George apologized for getting angry earlier and I promised not to take any more chances with what he called facetiously, my “pretty little head.”  I had to laugh at that, and the laughter made my head hurt. George is the farthest thing from a chauvinist I’ve ever met.

After we had the coffee, I turned in for the night. Since he’d already canceled my trial for tomorrow, I’d take advantage of the break.

I skipped my run the next morning. I was beginning to feel closer to normal, but not up to pounding of any kind. I dressed in a denim shirt, chinos and my black Cole Haan flats and, after breakfast, drove myself to the office. Some federal district court judges have law clerks who act as chauffeurs, but I really enjoy driving Greta. I’ve been told she’s too flashy for me to drive now that I’m on the bench. If you’re from Detroit, cars are the essence of life itself. How could I give up Greta just for a job?