Touch of Red (Tracers #12)(80)

“Okay, see you back at the station.”

They entered the lobby, flashed their badges at the guard, and walked around the metal detector. Ric and Christine came in through the back entrance and met them at the elevator.

“Everything in order with the warrant?” Sean asked.

“I skimmed through,” Ric said. “Looks like she’s after everything but the kitchen sink. Computers, cellular devices, clothing, shoes.”

“The knife sheath in there?” Jasper asked.

“Yep.”

The elevator emptied and everyone stepped on. Sean jabbed the button for level two—luckily no civilians were riding up with them.

“Same as we talked about?” Ric asked.

“That’s right. I’ll handle the search and the inventory,” Sean said. “You take the judge aside and try to convince him to come in for an interview.”

“No judge is going to give an interview without a lawyer present,” Christine said.

“You’d be surprised,” Ric told her. “Some people think they’re smarter than everyone. This judge might just waive his right to counsel.”

“I’m not counting on it,” Sean said, “but I am counting on you to keep him under control while we paw through his office.”

“This should be fun,” Jasper said as the doors dinged open.

They stepped off and turned onto a long corridor, and Sean imagined fifteen-year-old Hannah Lipsky walking this same route late at night in the presence of a cop. Courtrooms lined the left side of the hallway. They passed Judge Mahoney’s courtroom, which was empty at the moment, and reached a glass door for a private office.

“Ready?” Sean asked.

Everyone nodded.

Sean strode into the waiting room and cut straight to the reception desk.

“Detective Sean Byrne, SMPD, for Judge Mahoney.”

The receptionist looked alarmed by the sudden crowd of people, two of whom were uniformed officers.

“Uh . . . I’m sorry. You’re who?”

“Where is the judge, ma’am?”

“The judge . . .” She glanced around, flustered. “He’s out right now. Would you care to—”

“We have a search warrant for his office.” Sean slapped the paperwork on the counter as Ric walked past the reception desk.

“Sir? Sir?” The woman jumped to her feet. “You can’t just go back there! He can’t go back there!” She turned to Sean with a frantic look. “What is the meaning of this?”

“Where is the judge?”

“He left. After his hearing ended.”

Sean’s gut clenched. “When did he leave?”

“Uh, I think . . . it was about eleven?”

Ric returned to the waiting room. His gaze locked on Sean’s and he shook his head. No judge.

What the fuck? Sean turned to Christine. “I thought you had eyes on him this morning?”

“We did. We do.” Now Christine looked flustered. “His Escalade is parked right down there in the parking lot.”

Sean jerked his head at Jasper. “Get started on the office.”

“Down the hall and to the right,” Ric told him.

“Where’s the judge’s assistant?” Sean demanded.

“That’s me.”

“What is your name, ma’am?”

“Connie Hudson.” She was still standing, and she reached for the phone beside her computer.

Sean leaned over the counter and stopped her. “Not so fast. Where, exactly, did the judge go?”

Her cheeks flushed crimson. “I don’t know. He didn’t tell me. He went into his office and hung up his robe and left.”

“Where’s his bailiff?” Ric asked.

“He left, too. He said he felt sick and needed to go home.”

Ric looked at Sean.

“When was this?” Sean asked.

“About, I don’t know, an hour ago? Not long after the judge.”

Ric pulled out his cell phone. “Tell us his name.”

? ? ?

Brooke swung onto Cameron’s street, searching for any sign of the boy or his dog. She was driving too fast and nearly hit a silver Audi backing out of a driveway as she pulled up to Cameron’s house and parked.

Should she try Cameron’s or the neighbor’s house first? Her question was answered when the neighbor’s front door opened and Fenway darted out, straining against the leash held by an elderly woman. The dog was yapping wildly and trying to drag the woman down the steps.

“Mrs. Nance?” Brooke crossed the lawn, and Fenway turned his attention to Brooke, barking and lunging.

“Fenway, no! Stop that!”

Brooke stayed out of biting range. “Mrs. Nance, I’m a friend of Kaitlyn’s and I’m trying to locate Cameron. Has he been by here?”

“Kaitlyn called me,” she said, looking confused. “What is this all about?”

A long horn blast pulled Brooke’s attention down the street where a minivan narrowly missed the speeding Audi as it blew through a stop sign.

Brooke stared after the silver car. Suddenly her blood turned cold.

“I haven’t seen Cameron. Isn’t he in school?”

Brooke looked at Mrs. Nance. “I . . . um, excuse me.”