Make Me Melt(18)

Being back at the beach house only served to remind Jason that he and Caroline came from different worlds. He didn’t like to think about his own parents, or his miserable childhood in Hunters Point, one of the most impoverished and crime-ridden districts of San Francisco.

He only knew that if it hadn’t been for Judge Banks, he probably wouldn’t have survived to adulthood. He hadn’t been back to his old neighborhood since he’d turned eighteen. He hadn’t seen his old man since he was twenty, when his father had turned up at his college dormitory looking to borrow money. He could still recall the anger and shame he’d felt when he’d opened his door to see Daryl Cooper outside his room, looking like a homeless bum and obviously in need of his next fix. Jason had wanted him gone before any of the other guys in the dorm saw him and guessed who he was and where Jason had come from.

But everything in him had rebelled against giving his father money, especially when he knew it would only go toward drugs or alcohol. Only when Daryl had grown belligerent and threatened to make a scene had Jason relented. He’d given his father everything he’d had, under the condition that he never come back and never try to get in touch with him again.

That had been almost fifteen years ago, and he hadn’t seen Daryl Cooper since. But the memory of that exchange remained vivid. Even now, there were times when he felt his life was a sham and that sooner or later people would realize he was nothing more than poor white trash.

He turned at the sound of footsteps behind him and saw Deputy Mitchell and another man just inside the house. He recognized the second man as Steven Anderson, the judge’s legal assistant. They’d met several times when Jason had traveled to San Francisco to visit the judge. He was young, probably in his mid-twenties, and he reminded Jason of the ambitious Stanford law students who had frequented Judge Banks’s house back when he was a teenager: good-looking, affluent and entitled. As Steven pushed a two-wheeled dolly, stacked high with white cardboard boxes, Jason couldn’t help thinking that the legal assistant looked as if he’d be more comfortable on a golf course than in a courtroom.


He stepped through the French doors into the house and shook Steven’s hand.

“Thanks for bringing these over on such short notice,” he said. “I’ll make sure you get them back as soon as possible.”

Steven nodded. “No problem. I had our paralegals working around the clock to make copies of everything before the FBI confiscated the files. This is every case the judge worked on for the past twelve months.” He indicated one box with an orange label on the outside. “These are the high-profile cases, like the Sanchez case and the Conrad Kelly case.”

Conrad Kelly was the leader of an antigovernment extremist group, and he’d been found guilty of bombing numerous state and federal buildings in California over a ten-year time span. He’d been convicted earlier that year, and Judge Banks had sentenced him to thirty years in prison. As a result, the judge had received several death threats, but subsequent investigations had led nowhere.

“Got it,” he said to the other man, lifting the top box and placing it on the nearby dining table. “I’ll start with this box.”

Steven hesitated.

Jason paused in the process of opening the box. “Was there something else?”

The legal assistant shifted his weight. “No. It’s just that the judge dealt with a lot of slimeballs. It could have been any one of them. But—”

“But what?”

Steven looked embarrassed. “It’s probably nothing, but there was this one night a few weeks ago, when I was at the judge’s house. We were reviewing a case that’s coming to trial in another week.” Seeing Jason’s expression, he hurried on. “Anyway, as I was leaving that night, there was this car parked outside the house, with someone inside. I didn’t think too much of it, other than the car definitely didn’t belong in a neighborhood like Sea Cliff. But it took off when I came down the walkway toward the sidewalk. I didn’t get a look at the driver.”

Jason frowned. “When was this, exactly?”

“Almost three weeks ago, on Wednesday night at ten.”

“Do you remember the make or model of the car? Could you determine the color?”

“No. I’m not much of a car aficionado, so the best I can tell you is that it was a shit-box sedan, either brown or greenish-brown. But I noticed that one of the taillights wasn’t working.” He made an apologetic gesture. “I’m sorry—that’s the best I can tell you. Like I said, it might not mean anything.”

“Or it could mean everything.” This from Colton, who had come in behind the other man. “Did you tell any of this to the police?”

Steven nodded. “Yeah, of course. I mentioned it when they came to the office to look at the judge’s casework. They said they’d look into it.”

“Thank you, Steven.” Jason shook the other man’s hand. “Deputy Black will show you out.”

Steven hesitated. “Is, uh, Judge Banks’s daughter here? I mean, that’s why you’re here, right? Speaking of which, why would she choose to stay in Santa Cruz and not in San Francisco? I’d think she’d want to be closer to her father.” He gave a self-conscious laugh. “I haven’t seen her since she graduated. Would be nice to say hello.”