High in Trial (19 page)

Maude looked at the picture and kept on looking at it. She didn’t raise her eyes or
make a move or even draw a breath, but Buck didn’t think it was his imagination that
her lips seemed to lose color. He watched her carefully as he continued.

“Judge Stockton actually proposed the deal that pled it down to second, but he seemed
to be worried about this guy. He wanted to keep an eye on him when he got out, but
nobody seems to know why.”

Still she didn’t look up. She was like a statue, frozen there, porcelain white skin,
marble white lips, the glossy cap of her hair suddenly looking as cold as marble.
And she said nothing.

“So I talked to a fellow who knew Berman while he was upstate. He seemed to think
Berman had a grudge against Judge Stockton. Now, a lot of inmates are bitter about
the lawman that sent them up, and some of them are even stupid enough to threaten
revenge. But I don’t think I’ve ever heard of one who swore to get even with the judge
who granted their plea bargain and even went so far as to carry around his obituary
like some sort of target or something. The judge died of a stroke. I was here when
it happened. Something’s missing from this picture, Maude. I was hoping you could
help me put it together.”

Still, she remained silent. She was silent for so long, so silent and so motionless,
that Buck was starting to grow alarmed. Then she said softly, “Twenty years. My word.
It goes by so quickly.”

She set the papers aside and, without looking at Buck or, in fact, anything else in
the room, she rose and walked to the window. She repeated absently, almost to herself,
“My word.”

The golden retriever, sensing her distress, went to stand beside her. She dropped
a hand to his head, stroking it, gazing out the window. “I told him he should recuse
himself,” she said without turning. She spoke in a leisurely, almost ruminating manner,
as though relating a tale that was of only the most passing interest to either of
them. “But he was the district court judge. How could he take himself off the case
without explaining why? And the explanation would have destroyed Jessica. He couldn’t
be the cause of that. Neither of us could.”

Buck frowned, completely lost now. “Jessica,” he repeated, baffled. “Raine’s mother—the
judge’s wife?”

“It was the car, you know. The car that poor boy hit that night, the car that would
have proven—or at least cast a reasonable doubt—that he was not at the gas station
at the time of the robbery. Don Kramer built his whole case around it. If he could’ve
found the people in that car…”

Buck said uncertainly, “Mrs. Stockton? Was she driving the car he hit that night?”

Maude shook her head slowly and turned. Her smile was tired and infinitely sad. “No,”
she said. “I was.”

*    *    *

The fairgrounds looked different than they had the day before. The RVs were still
there with their barking dogs bouncing in their ex-pens and the smells of morning
bacon and coffee lingering faintly in the air. The rows of minivans and SUVs were
the same, hatchbacks open on crated border collies, cocker spaniels, bearded collies,
and shelties. The same colorful blue and yellow agility equipment was set up under
the pavilion, and the jumpers-with-weaves course was defined by white gating a few
dozen yards away. Dogs were being walked in the grassy area, canvas camp chairs were
set up around the ring, and the smell of greasy nachos and roasting hotdogs came from
the concession area. But the applause seemed muted, the runners lacked enthusiasm,
and the day itself seemed wrapped in a pall of dull-gray light.

By force of habit, I took Cisco’s lightweight canvas crate from its storage position
behind the front seat and slung its strap over one shoulder, my day bag over the other.
Cisco waited patiently—we’d worked hard on that—until I unclipped his seat belt, took
his leash in hand, and said, “Release.” He bounded out and began to sniff the ground
beneath us for familiar footprints.

The border collies poked their noses over the barrier and I knew they needed to be
walked. “You’re next,” I promised them. “I’ll be right back.”

I couldn’t help noticing as I passed the pavilion that there were fewer spectators
than there had been yesterday. Some were gathered in small, tense groups, and I knew
they were talking about Marcie. One woman was crying. Others, oblivious to the drama
that was taking place beneath the surface, were widely scattered around the bleachers,
studying their course maps or watching the competition, some with dogs but most without.
I paused to watch a golden retriever fly across the first three jumps of a sequence,
and realized it was Gunny when I recognized the handler. I put down my crate and bag
and stood to watch.

Gunny knocked a bar and missed two weave poles, but it wasn’t a bad run, all things
considered. When the ring crew started breaking down the course, I realized with a
pang that the next event was the one Cisco and I had entered for the afternoon.

Ginny saw me and waved. I set up Cisco’s crate near a concrete pillar while she and
her mother made their way over to me with Gunny. There was no point in trying to claim
a space in the livestock barn. We wouldn’t be here that long.

“Nice run,” I told Ginny, because it’s something you say even when you know it’s not
exactly true.

She shrugged. She looked as tired and dispirited as I felt. “My heart wasn’t really
in it.”

Aggie said, “Have you heard anything?”

I tucked my day bag inside the crate and zipped it up. “I have the border collies
with me,” I said. “Neil can’t take them. He just got out of the hospital.”

Their shocked looks didn’t surprise me, but it was a long story and I didn’t want
to stand around while I told it. “The dogs need to be walked. Can you give me a hand?”

Ginny put Gunny in his crate while I got Bryte and Flame out of the car. Ginny took
Bryte and Aggie took Flame, and we started across the dog walk field while I explained
the events of the morning. My mother always said “evil be to him who evil speaks”
so I didn’t think it was necessary to include the details—which, to be honest, were
mostly fabricated by Miles—about organized crime and mobsters breaking Neil’s knee.
The point I wanted to make was that Neil was as much of a victim as Marcie and, for
the time being at least, he wasn’t capable of taking care of the dogs.

“It’s like,” Aggie said, catching a trembling lip between her teeth, “a conspiracy
or something. I never imagined that someone we knew… that something like this could
happen to people in our own club…”

Cisco romped at the end of his twenty-foot leash, play-bowing to the border collies,
sniffing the grass, trying to tell the world that everything was going to be okay.
I couldn’t help smiling as I watched him, and I suddenly wished Miles were here.

I said, “Have you heard anything about Marcie’s next of kin?”

Ginny said, “She was president of the club, but no one knew her very well.” Her tone
was subdued. “She had someone working for her, a kennel boy, who took care of the
dogs while she was away. She didn’t have many real friends. Someone said her mother
was in Pennsylvania, and she has a sister somewhere. Neil would know, but I guess
he’s in no condition to think about it now.”

“We’ll take the dogs, of course,” Aggie assured me. “I’m sure once we get them back
home we’ll be able to find out who’s in charge.”

I nodded. “I gave Neil your phone number. He was… well, he wasn’t really coping very
well. But I know he’ll be in touch.”

Aggie shook her head solemnly. “Such a horrible thing.”

And Ginny pushed her fingers across wet eyes. “Unbelievable,” she said thickly. “I
really just want to go home.”

I helped them load the border collies into the back of their minivan, and we talked
briefly about crates and dog food and all the other things that must have been left
in the hotel room and were by now in police custody. It was all so incredibly sad.
I looked at Flame, who had fought so valiantly to try to lead us to her mistress,
and I leaned through the open window of the hatchback and took her face between my
hands. “You are a good, good girl,” I told her solemnly. “You did everything right.
You did.”

I looked at Aggie. “You’ll make sure she gets a good home?” I said. “Not just with
someone who wants to win, but with someone who wants
her
. Do you promise?”

Aggie smiled at me. “Honey, I’m a dog person. You ask Maude. We know what’s important.
I’ll take care of this little girl, don’t you worry about that.”

I believed her. And I had to leave it at that.

Cisco and I walked back to the pavilion. The course for the next event was almost
complete, and the competitors were starting to gather. I could almost smell their
adrenaline, taste their anticipation as they studied the obstacles, visualized their
runs, and waited anxiously for the judge to call them in for the briefing. This was
the best part. No one was a loser now. Anything was possible. Someone would leave
today with the fastest collie in the southeast. Or the fastest golden, or cocker,
or bichon. Someone else would break the old record for fastest weaves. Someone would
get a double-Q. Someone would be high in trial. Titles would be given out by the dozen.
Dogs would go home with squeaky toys and their owners would tack another ribbon on
the wall and swell with pride. Years of training would pay off today, or not, dreams
would come true, or not, and every competitor here would go home with the best dog
in the world. This was why I loved this sport. For this moment.

Cisco made a high sharp sound in his throat and his ears went forward. I shook myself
out the reverie of longing to follow his intense gaze, but I really didn’t have to
wonder what had caught his attention. Sarah was standing on the other side of the
ring from us with Brinkley, and Cisco’s tail was swinging like a fan on high speed
at the sight of him. She was in deep conversation with a man who had his back to us,
and as I watched, Brinkley noticed Cisco and gave a sharp bark of greeting. Sarah
looked at him and then at us. She waved and then, surprisingly, said something to
the man and pointed to me.

He turned and looked straight at me. My heart stopped.

It was the big-shouldered man who’d been with Marcie last night at the hotel. He started
walking toward us, and as he did, the gap in his half-zipped windbreaker widened just
long enough to reveal the curve of a leather shoulder holster and the unmistakable
glint of a gun.

*    *    *

Maude looked at Buck with something almost like sympathy on her face. Sympathy for
the blank incomprehension that must have shown in his eyes, or sympathy for what she
knew she was about to say would do to him.

She said, “Isn’t there a saying about chickens that come home to roost? What are the
odds that young man should be tried on a capital offense before the one judge who
could have testified to his innocence? Yet, in another way, it was almost inevitable.”
She smiled vaguely. “You see, men like Jonathan aren’t fashioned to be less than honorable.
It isn’t in their DNA. If they stray, or even try to stray, from that very rigid line
that’s their truth
,
i
t’s as though they have an invisible compass that pulls them back, correcting the
course. Most of the time that compass is their own conscience. But sometimes it takes
the form of the hand of God.”

Buck said slowly, “You’re saying Judge Stockton was in the car—the one Berman hit
that night? But that doesn’t make any sense. Why didn’t he report the accident? If
not that night, then later when he realized the car was material evidence in a case…
What was the big deal? Why keep it a secret?”

“He was supposed to be at a conference in Seattle that weekend,” she explained simply.
Her hands were laced together lightly before her, her shoulders firm and square. The
golden retriever, reading something in her posture, sat at her side with shoulders
straight and head high, mimicking her stance. “I was supposed to be at a dog show.
Instead, we were together at a lodge in the mountains. It wasn’t the first time. We
were quite, quite desperately in love and had been for years.”

It was a long time before Buck could speak, though half-formed thoughts buzzed around
and collided in his head like broken-winged insects. He couldn’t quite look at her,
this woman he thought he knew, had known for all of his life. But he couldn’t judge
her, either. He wanted to, but he couldn’t.

He said after a time, with difficulty, “So he broke the law, lied to two officers
of the court, and sent an innocent man to prison to protect you.”

She drew in a sharp breath. “Oh dear, no. I wanted to come forward. When I realized—I
was the one who recognized Berman when the case came across
Jonathon’s
desk six months later, and when I put the timeline together, I realized he couldn’t
possibly have been here committing a robbery and sixty miles away on the Centerline
Road at the same time. I knew we had to speak up… but by then we couldn’t, you see.”

Into Buck’s stunned and unwelcoming silence she explained gently, “By then, Jessica
had been diagnosed with cancer. Jonathon, Raine—they were all she was living for.
If the truth had come out, if she’d learned about us, it would’ve destroyed her. And
neither one of us was willing to do that. As much as he loved me, he loved Jessica
more. Enough to sacrifice his integrity, his principles, his ethics, and his career
for
. Enough to lie
for
. Enough to send a man to prison for a crime he didn’t commit.”