Page 13 of Dirty Judge

“Damien Carter?” She interrupted.

“Yes.” I smiled. “I’m sure he’ll love the attention.”

“He did,” she said. “They profiled him last year, and then he had the audacity to send them an invoice for the time he lost during the three-hour cover shoot.”

Of course…“What about Jameson Tate?”

“The lawyer who makes a living defending the worst of the worst?”

“Theallegedworst of the worst,” I said. “I’m sure he has some interesting things to say.”

“I doubt his clients would appreciate him talking to the press—ever.”

“Fine,” I said. “How about?—”

“If you say Andrew Hamilton or anyone else who you’ve already recommended long ago, I’m going to lose it, sir.”

“It’s not personal, Mara.” I shut my laptop. “I don’t think it’s appropriate for a judge to ever talk about his personal life.”

“I’ve already written most of the answers that I think you would approve of—” She slid a sheet across my desk. “The only one I left blank was regarding your feelings about all the backlash you got years ago for the Grant Jenkins sentencing.”

“I don’t have any feelings about that,” I said. “Grant Jenkins deserves to spend the next twenty years under the jail. I was more than generous by letting him spend that time in a very nice prison—with air conditioning.”

“He was only twenty-five years old at the time, sir.”

“He killed five people.”

“Via car accident.”

“Drunk-drivingis not an accident.”

“I know, but?—”

“There is no ‘but,’ Mara,” I said. “He deserved triple the years of what I gave him, and anyone who feels sympathy for him should think about his five victims instead.”

Silence.

“I’ll tell them that you won’t address that topic at all,” she said finally. “And I’ll tell them you’re considering an in-person interview?”

“No.” I skimmed her sheet and slid it back. “They can have your written version. Check the grammar on questions three, eight, and nine, though.”

“Very well.” She folded it. “Anything else you need before this evening’s final arraignments?”

“Yes.” I opened my drawer and took out an envelope. “Can you tell the administrators to hurry up and get me three new clerks?”

“They’re on it,” she said. “They’ll be here soon.”

“How soon?” I asked. “Judge Watson and Judge Harold requested clerks after me and they already have them.”

“They’re not as picky about the qualifications as you are.” She opened the door, then she looked over her shoulder. “And two quit within seconds of realizing they’d be working under you.”

“That’s their loss, correct?”

She didn’t answer.

She slipped out and shut the door.

Seconds later, my phone vibrated with a message from her.