Page 46 of Dirty Judge

“What is it?” I was almost too scared to ask.

“I need you to look into as much information as you can on a former DUI and tragic death case of mine,” he said.

“I want you to do a deep dive on details that didn’t make it to court, facts that might make a jury sympathetic, and things that only a former journalist like yourself would catch.”

“I’m confused,” I said. “Are you asking me to write an article?”

“No.” He shook his head. “Just compile all the research like you’re about to write an article.”

I was still confused.

“For example,” he said, “the one you wrote about the bookstore owner who was secretly laundering money and running a sex trafficking ring. That was fascinating and very well-written.”

“You’ve read my old work before?”

“I’ve never seen a word of it.” He stepped back. “But I’m sure whatever you used to write atThe Wall Street Journalwas impressive to some people.”

I stared at him, unsure if that was a compliment or an insult.

“I’ll do my best,” I said. “Should I assume that I can just work on this instead of the dockets this week?”

“Of course not, Miss Spencer.” He looked at me like I was insane. “You’ll do this in addition to your normal work, and you’ll give me an update about whatever you find by eight thirty tonight.”

“Eight thirtytonight?”

“Do you just enjoy repeating me when I bring up a time, or is that your personal way of saving my demands into your brain?”

“Maybe there’s an echo in this room.”

“I’ll have the engineer check on that and see.” He smiled and tapped his watch. “Eight thirty. Tonight.”

He walked away and disappeared into his office as usual, and for the first time in my life, I totally understood why people committed murder.

RETROACTIVE (ADJ.):

REFERRING TO A COURT'S DECISION OR A STATUTE ENACTED BY A LEGISLATIVE BODY WHICH WOULD RESULT IN APPLICATION TO PAST TRANSACTIONS AND LEGAL ACTIONS.

ASHTON

8:27 p.m.

“I’m calling it a night, Judge.” Mara stood up from my desk. “Unless you need me to do something else for you?”

“No, I think I can handle what’s left on my own.”

“Good to know.” She picked up her briefcase and checked the locks. “Have you heard anything from the police department regarding your cars?”

“Nothing new,” I said. “Last I heard, they’re chalking it up to a random psychopath with a damage fetish.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No.” I shook my head. “The profile is apparently someone who has issues with authority and likes to fuck around without finding out.”

“Sorry.” She shot me a sympathetic smile. “Whenever they find out who did it, I’m sure that person will lose their mind when they realize who they messed with, huh?”

“Yes.” I smiled.She will.

“See you tomorrow.” She left my office and I waited until I heard the hallway door shut before stepping into the larger office.