Judge Stone by James Patterson - 17

MONTGOMERY, ALABAMA

A couple of hours later, I was in Montgomery. Sitting in a waterfront restaurant that looked out on the Alabama River. I studied the menu like I’d never seen it before.

After carefully reviewing the list of dinner entrées, I looked up at the waitress and said, “I believe I’ll have the low country boil.”

My dinner companion, Loucilla Payne, scoffed and said, “That’s a shocker.”

She was just trying to devil me. I ignored it and smiled politely at the waitress, as if Loucilla hadn’t spoken a word.

Loucilla crossed her arms and leaned on the table. She gave the young waitress a confiding look over her round-framed eyeglasses. “Save yourself a trip. She’ll want extra red cocktail sauce for her shrimp. And double butter for her corn and potatoes.”

Loucilla held up the bottle of Crystal Hot Sauce they’d set with the salt and pepper shakers. “Can you bring a fresh bottle? This one’s all used up.”

I let the waitress walk away before I said, “Just because you’re my best friend doesn’t mean you can order my food.”

She laughed at me. “We’ve been meeting up twice a month for years. You pick the same restaurant every time. And you always order the same damn thing. You’re entirely predictable.”

It wasn’t surprising that Loucilla Payne could anticipate my selection from the menu at the Oyster House in downtown Montgomery. We went way back. We’d had each other’s back since we were undergrads at Tuskegee University.

And now, thirty years later, Loucilla was a tenured professor of political science at the University of Alabama at Birmingham. I said, “Whatchu got good? Anything happening this week?”

“Mary, please.” She gave me that no-bullshit glare over the glasses. “I lectured about global politics, attended faculty meetings, graded papers. Meanwhile, you were in the papers, first with the murder sentencing, then that criminal case against the man piping raw sewage. And then Bullock County topped that, made the national news—never thought I’d see that day. Tell me about it.”

I took a swallow of lemonade. Loucilla had a frosty glass filled with lager beer, which I’d have preferred. But a woman who’s running for reelection as circuit judge has no business trifling with alcohol when getting behind the wheel.

Loucilla was impatient. “Come on! Quit dragging your feet. I want to hear about that thirteen-year-old girl, and the poor doctor they’re determined to crucify.”

I’d tried to avoid the topic all week. But I couldn’t dodge it with Loucilla. She was my confidant, the one person with whom I could unburden myself and be vulnerable.

I dropped my voice. “She’ll be arraigned in circuit court next week. It’s on my Tuesday docket. But you know nothing happens at arraignment. I just read the charge to her. Her lawyer will enter a plea of not guilty and that’s it. Simple. Nothing much to it. So maybe we won’t attract too much media attention.”

“You kidding me? Really? It’s the biggest case in the country. Media’s going to be on it like flies on shit. And you’re right in the middle of the controversy. You watch your back, Mary.”

“I think you’re being dramatic.”

When she rolled her eyes, I doubled down, saying, “I know it’s a high-profile case, no question about that. But you’re exaggerating my importance. The case isn’t about me. I’m just the judge. The arbiter up behind the bench. Nobody pays attention to the judge in these sensational cases.”

Loucilla gave me a dark look. Shaking her head at me, she said, “Are you just lying to me? Or actually deceiving yourself, too? You can’t honestly believe what you’re saying here. Remember that judge in Las Vegas who got knocked flat when a defendant leaped over the bench like Superman?”

I did remember that. At the time, I had to make myself stop playing that clip over and over on social media. But Union Springs wasn’t Vegas. “The defendant in this case will not fly over the bench to attack me. I guarantee it.”

“It’s not her I’m worried about.” She was getting worked up, starting to raise her voice. “It’s a miracle you haven’t been assaulted already, the way you sashay around the courtroom in that black robe. Like a bullfighter waving a red cape.”

“Oh, stop. And for God’s sake, lower your voice. You’ll get us thrown out.”

“You stop. I’m serious.” She was giving me a searching look. “There’s a lot of talk on campus. They’re already organizing. Students are planning to head to Bullock County when it goes to court, to protest.”

I tried to envision it. Protesters on both sides of the issue, clashing in the street in front of the courthouse. The sheriff might want to get involved, and the result could get ugly.

I reached for her beer and took a sip from the bottle. When she saw me steal a swallow, Loucilla squawked. “Get your own bottle! You’re a grown woman, why you always do that?”

I didn’t try to explain my actions. Loucilla knew I grew up with two little sisters. I didn’t get to have a Coke all to myself until I went away to college. “It will be a long time before the case goes to trial. College students will have a new cause célèbre by then.”

“You can’t seriously believe that.”

I didn’t, not really. But I wasn’t disposed to admit it, even to my best friend.

I said, “Well. If people want to voice their opinions on the public sidewalk, that’s their right.” The waitress walked up, bearing a tray. My dinner was a steaming dish of shrimp and Andouille smoked pork sausage with red potatoes and corn on the cob. I was glad to see generous helpings of butter and red sauce. And the waitress set a brand-new bottle of hot sauce on the table.

Loucilla cut into her steak but wouldn’t back off. “What you’re going to face won’t be a friendly debate, a simple difference of opinion. People are not going to be civil, Mary. Is the county prepared? You need security.”

“Loucilla, it’s a courthouse. I have a bailiff. We’re protected by the sheriff’s department.”

She snorted at that. “Jesus, Mary. Anybody can bypass security at the Bullock County Courthouse, it’s so full of holes. They barely monitor the metal detector at the front door. And the back door—they still keeping it propped open?”

They were, but I was too ashamed to admit it. The employees wanted a shortcut from the parking lot for their breaks. That would have to change. There was an elementary school behind the courthouse. If hell ever broke loose, those kids could be in danger. I needed to talk to the County Commission.

Loucilla tipped back her beer. When she set it down, I was ready to change the subject. Thought we could talk about her life for a bit, rather than mine. I said, “So tell me about your ex. Has she recovered from her broken heart? Or is she still calling in the middle of the night?”

“You think you can distract me that easily? I’m not done with you yet.”

I considered a restroom run, just to create a break in the conversation. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

“You think you can avoid this topic?” My friend laughed in my face, didn’t try to hide it. “You’re sitting on the biggest case Alabama’s ever seen. This could be the most significant court decision on individual rights and science since the Scopes Monkey Trial in Tennessee in the 1920s.”

For the moment, I was speechless. The parallel was daunting. Was I ready to rise to the challenge?

Loucilla wasn’t put off by my silence. “Of course you can’t go into specifics. You have an ethical obligation. But just let me say this.” She pierced me with a look through her eyeglasses. “You can make history. Do the right thing. ”

My shoulders sagged. Within the space of a couple of hours, I’d been instructed to do the right thing by two people with opposing views who devoutly believed they were on the ethical and decent side of the issue.

I lifted the ear of corn from my dish and bit into it, hoping to silence the discussion. But my friend kept talking. “But maybe it’s too much, more than you signed on for. You know, Mary, that’s okay. You know you can dodge it altogether. Make it someone else’s problem. You could drop out of the judge’s race right now.”

I dropped the corn onto my plate. Couldn’t protest, because my mouth was full.

She said, “If you withdraw from the election, you know what would happen? Your term ends, new judge gets elected and takes your place. Someone else, some other judge, would try that criminal abortion case. It doesn’t have to be you. Girl, you could let that cup pass.”

I just shook my head, wondering, How many times will I be advised to step away from the Bria Gaines case?

Loucilla was trifling with me, willfully misunderstanding my situation. She couldn’t have been serious when she suggested that I drop out of the judge’s race. I had an obligation to the citizens of Bullock County. I’d sworn an oath to faithfully discharge my duties as judge of my Alabama circuit. I took that responsibility seriously. It was sacred to me. Who would take care of the people of Union Springs if I just dropped out?

When I could speak, I said, “I never quit anything in my whole damn life.”

She hid a smile. “Hmmm. I guess that’s true.”

Our dinner talk was subdued afterward, even stilted. We split the bill, as was our custom. I was afraid my reticence had erected a wall between us, but as we walked out of the restaurant, she linked her arm through mine.

When we paused on the sidewalk, I saw the figure in his hiding place. A man standing deep in the shadows across the street had his phone pointed directly at the two of us—certainly appeared to be taking photos. I nudged Loucilla.

She dropped my arm. Squinted through her round glasses, took a step toward the curb. “Hey!” she called out.

The guy darted away, disappearing into an alleyway. Loucilla turned toward me, wearing an expression that said What the hell?

“Was that my imagination?” she asked.

It wasn’t. But I couldn’t explain it. “Looked like he was taking our picture.”

“Damn, Mary. It’s starting. Paparazzi are already chasing after you.”

“Nobody’s chasing after me. Must be a mistake.” I was serious. In my years as a lawyer and a judge, no one had ever snapped a picture of me outside the courthouse. “I don’t think he wanted my picture. Maybe they mixed us up with somebody else.”

“No, ma’am. You’re an influencer, an overnight sensation. You’ll have to get used to the attention.” She teased me about it as we walked to the parking garage. “You’re going to need to buy some new clothes, Mary. Something with style, clothes that make a statement. You have to be camera-ready.”

I laughed along with her.

When we fell silent, an uneasiness, even tension, arose. We both carried that constant sense of watchfulness, the notion that things could go bad at any time.

All the way home, I caught myself looking in the rearview mirror. Like I thought someone might be following me.