The Judge's List (The Whistler #2)(64)

Lieutenant Ohler said, “Probably so.”

“Who knows what you’ll find, but there will likely be prints from my mailman, none from me, and, if we’re lucky, something left behind by this crazy person.”

“Sure, Judge.”

Lieutenant Dobbs pulled out a plastic bag and carefully shoved the envelope inside. He said, “We’ll get right on this. Mind if we ask how urgent it is?”

“How serious is the threat?” Ohler asked.

“Well, I’m not going to pack a gun when I leave the house, but it would certainly be nice to know who’s behind this.”

“Anybody come to mind?” Dobbs asked.

“Not really. I mean, there are always a few crazies writing letters to every judge, but no one specific.”

“Good. We’ll drive it to the crime lab today. We’ll know by tomorrow if there are any good prints. If so, then we’ll try to match them.”

“Thanks, gentlemen.”

As they drove away, Ohler mused, “Do you wonder why he didn’t show us the three letters?”

“That’s what I’m wondering,” Dobbs replied. “Obviously he doesn’t want anyone to see the letters.”

“And the other two envelopes?”

“He touched them and they’re likely to have his prints.”

“And we have his prints, right?”

“Sure. Every lawyer is printed before he gets a license.”

Seconds passed as they left the gated community. On the highway, Ohler asked, “What are the chances of finding any useful prints on the envelope?”

“I’d say zero. Nuts who send anonymous mail are smart enough to use gloves and take other precautions. Not rocket science.”

Ohler said, “I gotta hunch.”

“Great. Another hunch. Let’s hear it.”

“He knows who it is.”

“Based on what?”

“Based on nothing. It’s a hunch. Hunches don’t have to be based on anything.”

“Especially yours.”



* * *



—

An hour later, Judge Bannick parked in his reserved space beside the Chavez County Courthouse and walked through the rear doors. He spoke to Rusty and Rodney, the ancient twin janitors, as always attired in matching overalls, and he took the back staircase to the second floor where he had ruled supremely for the past ten years. He said good morning to his staff and asked Diana Zhang, his longtime secretary and only true confidant, to join him in his office. He closed the door, asked her to have a seat, then said, gravely, “Diana, I have some terrible news. I’ve been diagnosed with colon cancer, stage four, and it doesn’t look good.”

She was too stunned to respond. She gasped and immediately began wiping her eyes.

“I have a fighting chance, plus there are always miracles.”

She managed to ask, “When did you find out?” She looked at him through the tears and once again realized how tired and gaunt he seemed.

“About a month ago. I’ve spent the past two weeks talking to doctors all over the country and I’ve decided to pursue an alternative treatment through a clinic in New Mexico. That’s all I can tell you right now. I have informed Chief Judge Habberstam that I am taking a sixty-day leave of absence, beginning today. He will reassign my cases for the time being. You and the others will remain on full salary, without a lot to do.” He managed a smile, but she was too shocked to return it.

“Things should be much quieter around here for the next two months. I’ll check in all the time and make sure you’re doing well.”

Diana was at a loss. He had no wife, no children, no one she could run to with food and gifts and sympathy. She mumbled, “Will you be here or out there?”

“Back and forth. As I said, I’ll be in touch and you can call me anytime. I’ll pop in here to check on you. If I die it won’t be for a few more months.”

“Stop it!”

“Okay, okay. I’m not dying anytime soon, but it might be a struggle for the next few months. I want you to contact all my lawyers and inform them that their cases will be taken up by other judges. If they ask why, just say it’s an illness. After I leave in a few minutes, please inform the others. I’d rather not face them.”

“I can’t believe this.”

“I can’t either. But life isn’t fair, is it?”

He left her sobbing and made a quick exit without another word. He drove to a GM dealership in Pensacola where he swapped vehicles and leased a new Chevrolet Tahoe. He signed the pile of paperwork, wrote a check for the balance, one from his many accounts, and waited as they screwed his old license plates onto his new SUV. He detested the silver color but, as always, wanted something that would blend in.

He settled into the soft leather seat and absorbed the rich new car smell. He fiddled with the GPS, ran through the apps, hooked up his phone, and drove away, heading west on Interstate 10. His phone pinged—a text from another judge. He read it on the large media screen: Judge Bannick. Sorry to hear the news. I’m here if you need me. Take care. TA.

Another ping, another message. Word was spreading quickly through the district’s legal circles and by noon every lawyer, secretary, clerk, and fellow judge would know that he was ill and taking leave.