Dirty Blonde (22 page)

“Stay calm! Nice and easy!” the other two cops shouted, their weapons still aimed on target.

Against the car, the watch cap moved up to reveal a man looking at Cate. “Judge?” he asked, in disbelief.

Cate blinked, astounded. The driver wasn’t Russo at all.

CHAPTER 28

It was Nesbitt. Cuffed and in custody, against the car.

Cate gasped. “What are
you
doing here?” she shouted.

“What do you think?” Nesbitt shouted back, as the cops tugged him toward the cruiser.

Suddenly Cate heard a sound of a car engine starting. Her head snapped around and she spotted reverse lights on another dark car, farther up the row.
Russo!
Who else would drive away, in the middle of a scene like this?

Nesbitt saw it, too. “No, wait, stop! You got the wrong guy!” he called out, right before the cops shoved him into the back seat of the cruiser.

“Officers, look up there, you got the wrong cop!” Cate cried, pointing and hurrying off the curb, but the two cops in the nearer cruiser were slamming the door on Nesbitt and jumping back inside. The two other cops were trying to get the neighbors to stay on the sidewalk, away from the scene. Down the street, the car squealed out of the space and zoomed down Meadowbrook, almost hitting a group of residents.

“Stop that car!” Cate cried and took off running. “Help! I have to catch that car!” She kept running with the knife, a sight that sent neighbors fleeing in fear. She sprinted past them, her heavy coat flying, her bare feet killing her as she tore down the street.

“I’m behind you!” Gina called out, but Cate didn’t look back. If she couldn’t catch the car, she had to see the license plate. The car was dark and sleek. What kind was it? It was pulling away so fast, she couldn’t even read the plate.

She picked up the pace to the end of the street, panting frantically, and kept running even after it was futile. The car barreled through a stop sign, then swerved onto the main road, passed a minivan at speed, and accelerated. Cate wished she had a gun, like on TV, but all she could do was watch helplessly as the car became two red lights in the distance, then disappeared.

She threw the knife in frustration, as it clattered on the cold asphalt. She bent over, trying to catch her breath. She couldn’t feel her feet anymore but they looked like hell, red-pink and cut up. She straightened when Gina caught up with her, and they both stood panting in the middle of the street, like the out-of-shape gals they were.

Cate said, between breaths, “I think I just made a big mistake.”

“You sure as hell did.” Gina nodded, panting. “Go get my knife.”

Back in Center City Philly, at the Criminal Justice Center, it took two hours, four phone calls from top police brass, and a signed statement from Cate to convince the uniformed cops not to arraign Detective Nesbitt. By that time, stringers listening to the police scanners had gotten wind of what had happened, and the press thronged outside the CJC. Cate and Nesbitt found themselves in one of the all-white attorney interview rooms, waiting for a go-ahead from uniformed cops before they could leave the building without being hassled. It was her first chance to apologize.

“I really am sorry. I didn’t realize it was you.” She shifted in her heels. Her feet were killing her.

“Don’t worry about it.” Nesbitt shoved his hands into the pockets of a brown bomber jacket, which he wore with jeans and old Nikes. “I wasn’t taking any chances. I’d follow you home but some wacky blonde gave me a flat.”

Ouch
. “Sorry, I forgot.”

“No sweat, it was my kid’s car. Russo knows my car. He woulda made me if I took my own.”

“So now your kid’s mad at you?”

“She’s at college. If you don’t tell, I won’t.”

Cate smiled. “So. Wacky blonde, huh?”

“Yes, Your Honor. You should’ve seen yourself with that knife.” Nesbitt took a hand out of his pocket and raised it in a bad imitation. “Nigella on ’roids.”

“Nigella? What kind of reference is that, for a detective?”

“Hey, I cook.”

“Well, I stab. Gimme some credit. I
killed
that tire.”

“
After
the uniforms came down the street! What was that about, rookie?” Nesbitt smiled, and Cate gave him a shove, forgetting that federal judges weren’t supposed to have fun. He laughed. “What were you thinking? Were you gonna get Russo by yourself?”

“I called for backup.”

Nesbitt’s eyes flared. “Where’d you get ‘called for backup’? TV? I hate to tell you this, but you’re no David Caruso. You’re not even the
Cold Case
girl, whatever her name is. I’m a professional. Leave it to me.”

“Then how come you didn’t see me sneak up on you? Huh?” Cate laughed. “Busted!”

“Never mind that. You took a risk.”

“So did you. You’re supposed to be by the book.”

“I was by the book. I got you into the mess and I’ll get you out of it. That’s number one in the book.” Nesbitt faced her fully, no longer laughing, and brushed graying bangs from his forehead, revealing eyes that were a very steady blue, Cate saw for the first time. “If I hadn’t taken the record about you from Simone’s hotel room, it wouldn’t have been in the file and Russo wouldn’t have known about it.”

In the next second, the door opened suddenly, and Special Agent Brady came in, his expression animated when he saw Cate.

“Judge! Here you are!” Brady was followed by three other special-agent types. “Sorry I’m late, I was meeting with Sergeant Lester and Inspector Dennis at the Roundhouse.” Brady shook Cate’s hand with vigor, then introduced her to the agents filling the tiny room. She shook their hands, and Brady said, “What a scare you had! I understand Detective Russo was following you?” The question must have been rhetorical, because Brady turned immediately to Nesbitt. “You Steve Nesbitt?”

“Yes.” Nesbitt extended a hand, and Brady shook it quickly.

“I met with your inspector and sergeant, just now. They’re not very happy with you tonight. Neither of them was aware that you were surveilling Judge Fante.”

“That’s right. I’m off duty. All blame goes to me.”

Cate blinked, surprised.

Brady said, “There’ll be plenty of it to go around.”

“He was trying to help,” Cate interjected, feeling defensive for Nesbitt.

“You can use me, Brady,” Nesbitt said, his tone firm. “Jurisdiction or no, I can help. Russo was my partner. I know the most about him. I knew he’d be there tonight and he was.”

“I’m not going to stand here and argue with you, Detective. You’re out, and we’re in.” Brady turned to Cate. “Your Honor, any threat to your health and well-being is within the bureau’s jurisdiction, not that of the Philadelphia police. With the recent attacks on the federal judiciary and their families, we’re taking your case very seriously.”

“Why can’t jurisdiction be concurrent?” Cate asked, annoyed. “Two heads are better than one, and Detective Nesbitt’s point about knowing Russo makes sense.”

“With due respect, Judge, it doesn’t work that way. The bureau has more resources at its disposal and more experience with attacks on federal judges and officials. We’re better able to protect you.”

“Then where were you tonight?” Cate shot back, and Nesbitt hid a smile.

Brady answered, “We would have been there, Judge, if you’d have given us the chance. I tried to speak with you before you went on the bench, but you declined. You said you’d call tonight, but you didn’t. You’ll find a message from me on your home and cell phones. Your secretary gave me both numbers.”

Oops.
Cate had turned the phone off at Gina’s, out of habit. The sudden noise always bothered Warren.

“We can’t protect you if you don’t cooperate with us, Judge.” Brady turned to Nesbitt. “I think we can take it from here, Detective.”

“She needs protection tonight.” Nesbitt gestured at Cate. “He’s not gonna let her go.”

“We’ll protect her. We’ll be outside her house in cars, all night. End of discussion. I think it’s time for you to go.”

Nesbitt pursed his lips and touched Cate’s coat. “Judge, no matter what these guys say, call me if you need anything.” He brushed his bangs back, revealing another flash of blue. “I’ll check in with you tomorrow.”

“Thanks. Sorry about the tire.”

“No sweat.” Nesbitt turned and walked out of the room, and Cate had an attack of separation anxiety. He’d put himself and his job in jeopardy to make sure she was safe. He wasn’t a by-the-book guy, he was an above-the-call guy.

An hour later, Cate had shed her coat, bag, shoes, suit, and underwear on the way to the bathroom, where she’d taken an endless bubble bath, washing the grime out of the cuts on her feet, then dried off and crawled into bed, feeling clean, exhausted, and reasonably safe. Before they’d let her enter the house, the FBI agents had scoured the place, checking her phone messages to make sure Russo hadn’t called, and even reinforcing the back door with more plywood. They sat staked outside the house in cars, forgoing her offers of the warm house and vying with the press for the few parking spaces on the street. Cate put it all out of her mind and buried her face in the pillow, her last waking thought of Nesbitt.

Hey, I cook.

Nesbitt was also Cate’s first waking thought, and she lay in her soft, warm bed, trying to understand why. A detective with graying sideburns, deep crow’s-feet around his eyes, and a brown bomber jacket that fit too snugly around the waist. Hardly the kind of man she usually went for, much less woke up thinking about. She flopped over and became aware that the soles of her feet hurt, which made her remember last night. In the next instant, the phone was ringing. It must have been ringing before, too, waking her.

She opened her eyes, her head muzzy. The room was still dark. It sounded like it was raining outside. She lifted her head and glanced at the clock. 5:45. She double-checked the clock, but she hadn’t read it wrong. Who could be calling at this hour? It had to be the press. They’d left messages last night.

She let it ring until voice mail picked up, but in the next instant, her cell phone started ringing beside the bed, the blue numbers springing to life in the dark room. She checked the display.

It was Gina. Cate’s brain came alive.
Russo. Warren.

“What’s the matter?” Cate said, opening the phone.

“Did you see the newspaper?”

“No. I was asleep. I know, it has the story about Russo, last night.”

“That’s not all. Go and get it.”

CHAPTER 29

Cate put on a coat to grab the newspaper from her front step, then slammed the front door, ignoring the press collecting on the sidewalk outside her house. She didn’t see any of the FBI agents, and she didn’t care. It didn’t matter now. Nothing did. She slid the newspaper from its clear plastic sleeve dotted with raindrops, and unfolded it, separating its soaked pinked edges.

FEDERAL JUDGE WIELDS KNIFE, screamed the headline on the front page, and Cate read the story with dismay. It was all about last night, including eyewitness accounts of her running down Meadowbrook Drive, brandishing a knife “on the apparent belief that she was being stalked.” It made her sound ridiculous, but it was true, and at the bottom of the page was the related story: FEDERAL JUDGE STARS IN NEW SERIES:
Fact or Fiction—You Be the Judge.

Cate held her breath as the story reported that the offices of
Attorneys@Law
in Old City had confirmed that a new TV series titled
Judges@Court
was presently in production, starring an “empowered-type” female judge with a secret sex life. A representative of
Attorneys@Law
confirmed that the series would be “completely fictional,” despite the fact that the show’s creator was recently sued in a case before Judge Cate Marie Fante. The representative gave no further details, except to say that the new show would “bring approximately 1,568 new jobs to the city.”

As bad as the stories were, they weren’t even close to the one that sent Gina into orbit. Cate turned to the metro section, and her mouth went dry. The photo showing her going into the Fort Washington bar was plastered on the top half. She sank to the entrance-hall floor, barely able to read the column.

Judge Cate Marie Fante, of the Eastern District of Pennsylvania, has been very busy after hours, and she’s not working overtime. She’s dating. You may think this is none of our business—or yours—until you understand that several of her “dates” are men convicted of assault, battery, check forgery, and even violations of federal weapons laws. Now ask yourself, is this any way to run our legal system? We should note that our many calls to Judge Fante’s chambers went unanswered.

Cate could only skim the sentences, as if to read the text thoroughly would be to absorb the full brunt of its impact, like standing still in front of a speeding car. The piece contained every detail about the bars, all culled from the record in the stolen file. Russo must have found another way to hurt her, the best way. He had leaked the entire record to the newspaper, and its reporters had taken it from there; putting two and two together and calling Micah, just as Cate had, then digging deeper. The newspaper even identified four of the men she’d “dated,” with their photos. Jeff Rader. Mark Boulez. Mike Holliman. Mustafa Raheed.

Cate closed her eyes, mortified. She remembered the men, though she hadn’t known their last names. Or that they had criminal records. She’d gone to the sleaziest bars and picked up the sleaziest men. Why hadn’t she thought of that? What else did she expect? Of course, some would be ex-cons, even felons. She turned back to one of the articles, an interview with one of the men, who had served time for fraud and drug offenses.

She picked me up at the bar. There wasn’t a lotta conversation, if you follow.

Cate felt as if her heart would break. She thought instantly of Graham. What would he say? How would he feel to know he was one of so many? How would he understand, when Cate herself didn’t?

What did I do right? Was it the bling? Tell me, so I’ll do it again.

Cate thought of everyone she cared about, reading the articles. Chief Judge Sherman. Val. Emily. Sam. The courtroom deputy. The stenographer. The other judges at her celebration dinner, last summer. Matt Sorian. All of her old partners. Mrs. Pershing, switchboard diva.