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  “It must. They killed the plaintiff. They attacked me.”

  “Did you see the paper this morning, honey?” Katie asked softy, changing the subject, putting her hand across the table on top of his.

  The Judge reached for his wine and took a large gulp, his eyes narrowing, anger etched across his face.

  “I did. And the bastards are going to pay for that. Big time. Whoever painted me into this corner is going to regret it. They're going to find my very large foot imprinted up their ass.”

  The Judge took another large swig of wine for emphasis. He could feel himself turning pink.

  Katy quickly changed the subject, launching into a narrative about a troubled youth she had counseled that afternoon. Katy worked as a high school counselor at Palos Verdes High School. It was more than a job for her, it was a calling. She also privately counseled teenagers on the side, which meant she wasn’t entirely idle during summer vacation. By the time she finished, carefully soliciting the Judge's advice as she told her story, he'd forgotten the morning's headlines. She had an amazing ability to calm him.

  “Don’t forget, Judge, dinner with my parents Sunday night.”

  The Judge shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He couldn’t help himself. He wasn’t looking forward to this dinner. Really a post marital interview, though Katy’s parents didn’t know that. This would also be his first time meeting her father, as if there wasn’t already reason enough to be nervous.

  “Are you sure this is really the best time to tell them we’re married?” asked the Judge.

  “Yes. We can’t wait any longer. We’ll tell them how we eloped. Then a week later we’ll surprise them with our news of the baby. I’m going to be showing soon.”

  The Judge sighed. “How about you just take your mother to lunch and tell her. Then she can go home and yell at your dad. Wouldn’t that be easier on everybody?”

  “No, Judge. You can’t chicken out. I’m counting on you to back my play. Crowded restaurant. My dad there with my mother. You at my side at the table. It’ll all work. My mother won’t make a scene.”

  They parted after dinner, Katy returning to the boat, and the Judge back to his office to finish up a little work, and to retrieve Carl Greene’s report on his new technology. He’d read it tonight on the boat, then meet with Frankie tomorrow to sort out the law and make a determination. Working on Saturdays came with the turf practicing law. It was a collaborative affair and often chewed up weekends and holidays. It would be useful to hear Frankie’s view.

  It was eight p.m. when the Judge pulled into the underground parking under his office. The lot was empty, as was the lobby, the elevator, and the common reception area to his office. It was after all Friday night. The security guard was missing from the downstairs desk, likely making his rounds. The Judge wondered if it was wise to waltz into his office alone at night, particularly after the attack on the beach. He set the thought aside. He'd be damned if he’d live his life in fear.

  He made his way down the narrow corridor to his office and opened it with a replacement set of keys the suite manager had given him earlier. He walked over to the bureau, retrieved the bureau key from his new key set, and opened its drawer.

  The report was gone!

  CHAPTER 10

  8:15 PM Friday

  The Judge squatted down and examined the bureau lock. There were small marks around the keyhole on the face of the drawer, and on the edge of the drawer at the top, right above the latch, as if someone had used a small screwdriver on it, scratching the wood in the process. It wouldn't have taken much force with a small flat head with a long handle to force the lock.

  The Judge locked up and went down to the lobby to find the security guard on duty. He turned out to be relaxing in a small room off a utility hall running behind the elevators, engrossed in a baseball game on TV. The Giants were getting trounced. The man looked about the Judge’s age. He had a larger paunch and apparently sore feet, judging by the way his shoes were off and his feet elevated. The odor of used socks permeated the room. The Judge asked if he’d seen anything unusual. If anyone had asked for the Judge. If anyone had come in late over Thursday night or early Friday morning. The guard had seen nothing unusual. The Judge wasn’t sure he would have, even if there was something to see.

  The Judge rode down a floor to retrieve his car and headed back to the marina and his beloved boat. His arm was throbbing and he needed more meds. He didn’t know what he would do about the missing report.

  He parked in the boat owners’ parking area and hoofed his way to the water and the docks. As his dock gate closed behind him and he started down the steeply angled ramp to his boat there was a sudden commotion aboard The Papillon. A blond shape came hurdling off the boat down the boarding steps, tumbling in an excited crash of legs at the bottom before regaining balance.

  It was Annie, his year-old golden retriever. She’d escaped to meet him. Katy must have stopped by their house in Malaga Cove and picked Annie up. She came tearing down the dock at him like a runaway projectile, her paws going in mismatched comic relief, her tail spinning about like a prop. She almost knocked him over when she collided with him, causing them both to recoil from the impact. She immediately jumped up and demanded to have her muzzle rubbed, her ears stroked, and other attention lavished as was her right. She was irrepressible. All caramel fur, soft brown eyes and flagman tail.

  Katy appeared on the aft deck as the Judge and the dog walked down the dock, also glad to see him, and relieved.

  The Judge followed Katy down the steps to the main cabin, where she turned and threw her arms around him. She'd changed from her traditional grey slacks and blouse she wore as a counselor, to pale blue silk house pajamas, soft and inviting, complementing her blond hair and picking out the blue in her eyes. She noted the pain and weariness behind his eyes and prescribed a stiff gin and tonic, Bombay. The drink seemed to magically materialize in her hand.

  He went further below, aft, to the captain's cabin, and unwrapped the dressing on his arm. In the midst of his rewrap, his cell phone, left up in the salon, went off with the stirring notes of the USC fight song. A small vanity he allowed himself as a reminder of his days there years before.

  “Can you grab that for me, honey?” he yelled up the stairwell to the salon. He heard a "sure", and then muffled conversation on the phone he couldn't make out.

  Suddenly Katy appeared in the stairwell, his cell phone in hand. A glint in her eyes didn't bode well. Then she gave the Judge a 'stinky fish' look and handed his phone down to him with two fingers, keeping her arm outstretched and away from her body in mock disgust.

  The Judge, puzzled, took the phone and said, "Hello."

  "Oh thank God I've got you Judge," a very distressed female voice squeaked over the phone. "I had to search everywhere until I found your private number.” The voice sounded vaguely familiar and very upset.

  “It’s Barbara."

  The only words that came to the Judge’s mind were Oh shit.

  Barbara was a tall brunette, beautiful, divorced now, and on the prowl for her next husband. She and the Judge had been an item of sorts a year or so before he'd met Katy. Item, hell, they'd had a passionate affair behind her then husband’s back. Images of wild nights on a fur rug fireside in Vail, and a tangle of legs and twisted clothes in the back seat at the Seattle Airport parking lot, flashed though the Judge's mind. Like daguerreotypes lifted up to the light from an old box in a dusty attic.

  The affair had ended when the Judge insisted Barbara either fish or cut bait. Leave her husband and run away with him, or mend fences at home and end their liaison. Barbara decided economic issues outweighed love. She couldn't leave quite yet. So the Judge had.

  Unfortunately for the Judge, he seemed destined to run into Barbara frequently. Most recently on Catalina Island. And always it seemed Katy was just around the corner, invariably catching him talking to Barbara, guided by some internal intuition he didn’t understand. Katy took a dim view of Barbara. Was
it because Barbara was beautiful? Or perhaps because she was oversexed? Barbara exuded a certain feminine sensuality that hung like musk in the air when she entered a room.

  Perhaps it was because Barbara was single now and on the prowl for a new attachment. Or because Barbara was still infatuated with the Judge. That was obvious, he thought smugly. Perhaps because the Judge was the one Barbara let slip away.

  He brought himself back to the present, trying to understand what Barbara was wailing about on the phone, looking up to see Katy staring down from above on the steps, arms crossed in disapproval.

  "Barbara, Barbara, calm down," he said over the wail. "Take a big breath and then tell me slowly."

  There was a brief silence on the line. Then Barbara began again.

  "He's dead Judge. The bastards killed him. Snuffed him out like you'd step on a snail. Then dumped him like a piece of trash. He's gone." She started to wail again.

  "Okay, Barbara, I understand. Slow down again and tell me more."

  "We were about to be engaged. Talking about marriage. I had it all planned out. He loved me. I know he did. It would have worked this time. Do you know how hard it is to find an eligible man in this town, Judge? Particularly when you're 29."

  The Judge knew damn well Barbara was pushing 40. It didn't seem the time to correct her.

  "They've killed him, Judge. And they've destroyed my life. You've got to do something. Find them. Make them pay. The bastards must pay big."

  “Okay, Barbara. I understand. What was your boyfriend's name?" The Judge forced himself to ask the question. Against his better judgment. Katy would not approve of his involvement.

  "His name is… was Carl. Carl Greene," said Barbara, lapsing into a wail again.”

  The Judge went silent. Christ! It seemed he was destined to stumble into these damn situations. How many times had he turned a corner, only to walk smack into himself coming back around from the other side? He took in a big breath to steady himself.

  “Okay, Barbara. Okay. I am definitely going to help, but we can't do much tonight. Can you meet me in Santa Monica for coffee tomorrow, maybe about nine a.m.?”

  The Judge could feel weight shifting on the stairs above him, almost hear the teeth clinching together, the eyebrows furrowing, eyes turning a colder blue. Well shit, Katy shouldn't be eavesdropping on his phone conversations.

  The Judge ended the call, and then spent the better part of an hour smoothing ruffled feathers. He got himself another gin and tonic, then started by telling Katy how much he liked her new pajamas.

  "It's a jump suit," she icily corrected.

  He commented on how slim she looked. "No bump showing yet." That was the wrong thing to say as well. Apparently one didn’t call it a bump. Her feathers went up several degrees. He joked them back down, talking soothingly, directing conversation to their upcoming dinner where he’d meet her dad. How she’d go about announcing their marriage. How she planned to smooth things over with mom by trotting out budding plans for a grand reception for family and friends at the California Club. And there was the pregnancy to consider. Still a well-kept secret to be released at a subsequent dinner.

  It had indeed been a whirlwind courtship and marriage. His head was still spinning from it all. And Katy’s must be too.

  As the Judge finished his second drink, Katy leaned way over their small boat table to clink her orange juice glass with his glass, the front of her jacket spilling open to reveal small perky breasts. Intentionally, suspected the Judge. Females were tricky.

  He openly admired them. Then looked up to see her watching him, anticipation in her face. He reached across the table for her then, walking her around the table and into his arms. They made a beeline for the aft cabin and the partially circular queen bed.

  "Are you sure this is all right?" asked the Judge. "It won't hurt your baby?"

  "Our baby, Judge, and he'll be fine with it."

  "How do you know it’s a 'he?'" asked the Judge.

  "I don't for sure,” Katy said. “Just female intuition. The only thing I know for certain is it's ours, and it's going to be wonderful.”

  The Judge gave her his best reassuring smile, hiding his doubts.

  She grabbed him then, pulling him to her and grappling with his belt. Sixty seconds later they were joined, the Judge on top, crushing her into the mattress, beginning their ritual of love.

  He always worried he would crush her, or break a bone, or maybe just smother her. But females were apparently far hardier then they looked. Of course he'd had no experience with a pregnant one. This whole pregnancy thing was a little unnerving, frightening even. He was sharing her body with another entity that was in the process of taking over. And he suspected the 'taking over' didn't end with birth. In fact that was likely just the beginning. He was very unsure what he'd gotten himself into.

  CHAPTER 11

  9:00 AM Saturday

  The Judge met Barbara at the Crepe Café in Santa Monica, at the beginning of the 3rd Street Promenade. The Promenade lodged a popular smorgasbord of shopping and dining, garnished by the antics of street performers along its three block stretch. Musicians, hip hop dancers, magicians, folk singers, clowns; you never knew what would show up. It was his favorite spot for people watching on late summer afternoons when the law business was slow.

  The Crepe Café was a small French-inspired place. Black and white checkered floor with a long food bar with stainless stools. Sort of Champs-Elysees in Santa Monica. Plentiful outdoor seating made it useful for a discreet chat.

  Barbara was early. Holding down an outside table. She was all yellow chiffon, wrapped by a huge collar creating a plunging neckline. In the Judge’s view it displayed a tad more than was proper. The dress was tight across her small waist and flowed out over long tan legs that seemed to go on forever.

  The Judge knew her voluptuous breasts were new equipment, recently enhanced, and about which Barbara was most proud. He was a small breast man himself. Disfavoring artificial enhancements that distorted the female body, and which, as far as he could tell, never felt quite right.

  But he kept this opinion to himself, dutifully glancing at her exposed chest with his best expression of awe and admiration. It was expected. He and Barbara went back a long way.

  Today she had small blotches under her eyes, unevenly covered by dabs of makeup. She hadn't gotten much sleep. He suspected she was still in shock over the death of her…. Lover? Boyfriend? Fiancé? Whatever he'd been. With Barbara you could never be sure.

  The Judge had only observed Carl in the arbitration, giving his testimony or sitting quietly with his legal counsel while the business of sorting out the facts was carried out by opposing counsel. Early fifties, blue eyes, medium height, a little chubby inside a conservative suit likely dictated by his counsel. A large head with what was left of blond hair on a receding hairline, a round English face, punctuated by an aquiline nose, prominent, and pointed in the direction he spoke. At people, at exhibits, at the Judge. Not a handsome man by any means, but with an air of underlying confidence and authority that would attract many women.

  Carl looked quite capable of creating the invention at the heart of the controversy. And he was supposed to have lots of money. Or so Frank, the Judge's law clerk, had foolishly whispered, earning him a stiff rebuke. The law was supposed to be blind to such matters. But then again Carl Greene would have to have money to attract Barbara. She was anything but blind.

  "Oh Judge," Barbara launched in, "it was to be my… our… new future together. We'd planned it all. I was setting up our fancy engagement party. He was going to buy me a townhome we'd share for six months. Then a big wedding. We'd be happy forever. Now it's all gone. Poof. Ended in some damn back ally in Santa Monica. Life really sucks." Barbara was close to tears again.

  "It sounds like it was a very quick romance, Barbara."

  "Oh, it was, Judge. It was wonderful. We'd be married now, but of course we had to wait."

  "For what?” asked the Judge.

/>   "Well, you know, stuff, and of course the divorce."

  "So Carl was still married during all this?” asked the Judge, sitting back in his chair a little to absorb this.

  "Well yes, but it had been a miserable marriage, Judge. They hadn't slept together in years. And then she filed for divorce and has been trying to steal his money and grab all his inventions. He was going wind it all up right away so we could be married. File new papers and all. You know. All the formalities."

  Yes, thought the Judge. All the formalities. Often a slip between cup and lip when it came to those formalities.

  “How long were you seeing each other, Barbara?”

  "We met just after that horrid weekend in Catalina when we were together."

  "Barbara, we weren't 'together'. We were on the Island at the same time."

  "Oh, I know, I know, Judge. You were with that young child, Cathy or something. Way too young for you dear."

  "Katy. I was with Katy. And we're married now," said the Judge, finding it difficult to hide his satisfaction.

  All Barbara could say was "Oh," doing her best to hide her malice for all 'younger' woman in general and this one in particular.

  "How did you meet Carl?" asked the Judge.

  "Well, that's a little sensitive, Judge."

  "Anything you tell me is privileged, Barbara. You know that."

  "We met at a club."

  "Nothing unusual about that."

  "Yes, well, you see, it was kind of a different club."

  "How so?"

  "Barbara looked around to be sure their conversation was private, then leaned closer over the table, batted her pretty brown eyes with the extended eyelashes at him and murmured, "S & M club."

  "A what?” asked the Judge, fully astonished now, thinking at first he must have misheard. Sitting back even further in his chair.

  "You know, sadomasochism. Where they tie people up and stuff. It’s called The Grotto. Its right here, near LAX. It’s all very hush hush. But loads of fun."