Due Justice

Chapter 23

Before I joined him, I raised my voice and said, “Hold my calls, Margaret,” which was our code for “come in and rescue me in ten minutes.”

CJ said, “Wilhelmina, you know I think the world of you and your husband.”

He knew, and I knew, he thought no such thing and, even if he did, what was the point? I smiled and nodded and waited for the punch line.

“Wilhelmina, I’m concerned about you. You were absent last week after you were, as I understand it, attacked by a mugger. Today, you look exhausted. You have some control over your schedule. You need to pace yourself.”  He sounded genuine, but that tic at the corner of his left eye proved the effort stressed him out some.

Nice backhanded way to say I looked like hell.

Quite sure we hadn’t gotten to the point of his visit yet, I said, “I appreciate your concern, Oz.”

CJ cleared his throat and finally spit it out, like a wad of phlegm.

“I’ve been asked to tell you that your conduct is being perceived, by some, as well, not what we’d hoped for.” Another throat clearing thing. “It’s true you have a lifetime appointment, but you can be, uh, impeached.”

My temperature shot up ten degrees. Nostrils flared.

He noticed. Rushed on. “It doesn’t happen often, but it has happened before.”

Hard words, “I see.”

CJ’s voice squeaked, like the wad of phlegm had settled against his vocal cords and pressed his wind. “I suggest you leave the homicide investigations to Ben Hathaway, particularly when the deceased is someone as disreputable as Michael Morgan.”

He could barely eek out the name. Swallowed. Sweat dotted his forehead.

Now, he had my full attention. My ears burned like hotspots. Eyes narrowed. Brows dipped toward my nose. Fists clinched under the desk where CJ couldn’t see them; where I couldn’t use them to throttle the little shit.

He stood as if about to bolt. “I doubt there’s a person worth knowing in Tampa who’s sorry to see Morgan dead. You want to be careful who you make your enemies, Willa. People in this town have long memories.”

My breaths slammed full and hurt my chest. Fists opened, closed; again, harder. I might actually do something here I’d regret later. Grace under pressure, Wilhelmina. Mom’s voice played in my head, but it didn’t lower my temperature.

Ever since I’d mistakenly taken his parking place my first day on the job, the revered first spot next to the door reserved for the Big Guy, the CJ, Oz himself, he’d been on my case. His reaction was more than a little bit strange for such a minor infraction. He gave me the worst case assignments, the smallest chambers, the most meager courtroom redecorating budget possible. At meetings, he ignored my suggestions and just generally made it known, without saying so, that I was far from his favorite. Okay. I’d come to actually treasure all of that because it meant he left me alone.

But this was the first time he’d ever said anything overtly threatening to me. It was so out of character, so inappropriate and so unjudicial, that I wasn’t totally sure I’d heard him correctly. I was tired. I was stressed. My visceral response seemed extreme. Could I have misunderstood?

“Are you threatening me, CJ?  And if you are, are you threatening me or is this a message from someone else?” I asked him coldly.

He’d reached the door. Had his hand on the knob. But he watched me like a sniper. “Don’t take that tone with me, Wilhelmina. I’m trying to give you some good advice. If you don’t want to take it, the risk is yours.”

He slammed the door on his way out. Hard enough to knock one of the ancient framed photographs off the wall. It hit the floor, landed on a weak corner, and burst apart, sending glass shards everywhere.

Too bad it wasn’t the little dweeb’s head that shattered.

Margret rushed in. The alarm on her face was almost comical. “What happened?”

“Old glass, I guess. Do we have a broom? I’ll take care of it,” I said.

She replied, “That’s ridiculous. Go get coffee. Leave it to me.”

When I returned, all traces of the broken glass were gone. The spot where the old photo once hung showed the most god-awful green blank spot. The thing was almost as big as CJ. If it had landed on his head, he might literally have shattered, just as I’d wished.

The silly thought cheered me up. Along with the Cuban Coffee, good cheer cleared my head. But the situation was as murky as ever.

“Why did CJ give me that warning?” I asked myself aloud.

Heeding Grandma’s warning about answers, I skipped speculation and went right ahead with questions.

“Does he think I’ve disgraced his precious court? Does he hold me somehow responsible for Junior’s recent loss of face? Does someone who once contributed heavily to his reelection campaigns ask him for the favor?”

He has aspirations to higher office. Maybe it’s a black mark against him if he can’t keep his junior justices in line, and he won’t be considered for the Court of Appeals?

If so, that would be most unfortunate.

The only chance I had of getting rid of him was the Peter Principle:  get him kicked upstairs.

It was quite a while before I figured out the real reason for his warning, and it was I who had to be hit over the head with it even then.