“Another rape and murder,” Casey said as she read.

“Keep going,” the judge said. “Read the details. Pretend you found out that someone planted my son’s DNA in those hospital records.”

Casey’s stomach soured as she read on. The murdered girl had been not only stabbed but mutilated. Pictures showed that her ears and nose had been sliced off, her eyes gouged out with the point of the same razor-sharp knife before the killer unleashed a frenzy of stabs into her lower abdomen. The coroner said the rape took place between the mutilation and the stabbing.

“Horrible,” Casey said, noting the location of the crime as Wyoming, New York, “but I don’t see the relevance.”

“Look at the other two,” the judge said.

Casey sat back down and read on. They were similar to the first, varying only in location and time and that one was a teenage boy, also sodomized after his face had been mutilated but before he’d been stabbed. The murders were spread out across the two years previous to Cassandra Thornton’s, all at varying towns in New York that Casey hadn’t heard of. Cassandra Thornton would have been the fourth if the crimes were put into sequence.

“These happened close by?” Casey asked.

The judge remained rigid, her chin tilted up. She blinked and nodded. “Small towns, small police forces. Each of them just far enough apart. Small media markets. None of them overlapping. No leads in any of the cases, although we believe that the killer had some kind of personal contact with each of them. No one ever connected the dots.”

“How did you find these?” Casey asked, handing back the file of police reports and crime scene photos. “What do they have to do with Dwayne Hubbard? There was nothing about any of this in his case.”

“Because I didn’t let it,” the judge said.

Casey shook her head. “You’re talking even crazier.”

“Come with me,” the judge said, standing up and motioning for Casey to follow. “Let me show you.”

44

JUDGE RIVERS went out through the front doors and down the steps with the folder in her hand.

“And we’re going where?” Casey asked.

“Cassandra Thornton’s.”

“Her grave?”

“Her home,” the judge said, and climbed into the front of the Suburban.

“Twenty years later?”

“You’ll see.”

Casey got in back.

“You met Martin already,” the judge said, twisting around.

“I met a guy with crazy sideburns and a chrome-plated forty-five,” Casey said.

The judge’s face darkened. “Christ, Martin. I told you to keep it in your pants.”

Martin’s face colored as he started the engine and put the truck into gear. “And I told you about the kind of people we’re dealing with.”

Judge Rivers just shook her head.

“Don’t worry, I had a crazy aunt worried constantly about being abducted by aliens,” Casey said, getting a sharp glance from Martin in the mirror.

“Martin and I met because of this case,” the judge said. “Martin Yancy?”

“The investigating officer,” Casey said, recalling the name on the police report she’d read and studying him in a different light. “Pretty sloppy work.”

“Actually,” the judge said, “Martin was the best, but I was able to convince him to hold off on anything thorough until he looked into the other possibilities. We went through a lot together and we learned the truth. We’ve been together ever since. He’s as protective as he is reliable, though. I’m sorry about the gun.”

“I mean, he just jumps me on the street and forces me into the truck,” Casey said, still steamed.

“Christ, Martin.”

“I told you I wouldn’t hurt you,” Martin said defensively, addressing Casey in the mirror as they pulled up the long gravel drive. As if to prove his goodwill, he handed her purse back.

“Right. Ten minutes into my abduction,” she said, snatching it.

“This is a dangerous situation,” Martin said.

Casey folded her arms across her chest and said, “I’d like to bring a friend, too, if you don’t mind.”

“Not from the Freedom Project?” the judge said.

“No, but why not?” Casey asked.

The judge glanced at Martin, who said, “The people pulling the strings are using the Freedom Project to destroy Patricia.”

“Are you saying Robert Graham?” Casey asked.

The judge turned around. “We’re not saying him or anyone. I’m not as concerned as Martin, but someone dredged this case up to get at me.”

“Why? Who? Why would they wait this long?” Casey asked.

“The court of appeals,” Martin said, entering the traffic circle and heading back into town through a steady flow of people returning home from work.

“Maybe some fanatic pro-life group? I don’t know,” the judge said. “The court right now is more conservative than it’s ever been. My appointment wouldn’t help their cause. Wouldn’t have helped, I should say. It’s over for me now. I know that.”

“Patricia is Supreme Court material,” Martin said, his teeth clenched. “She’s got all the qualifications. This was the next step. Anyone who would mess with that is dangerous enough to carry for.”

“Martin, if someone was going to kill me,” the judge said, explaining to him, “they would have done that instead of going to all this trouble.”

“What trouble?” Martin asked with a skeptical look.

“Hiring Ms. Jordan to come up here all the way from Texas,” the judge said, “working the media. Christ, they had Brad Pitt at the press conference. That doesn’t just happen.”

“So, I can bring someone?” Casey asked.

“Who?”

“Jake Carlson,” Casey said. “He’s the one doing… Hubbard’s story for Twenty/Twenty. The Project gave him the exclusive on Dwayne, me, all the inside information. You should want him to see this, if it’s real.”

“Of course it’s real,” Martin said, an edge to his voice.

“She’ll see,” the judge said, calmly patting his leg. “Go ahead.”

Casey removed the phone from her purse and dialed Jake’s cell phone, telling him as much as she could without mentioning Martin’s.45 or sounding as skeptical as she felt.

“It’s Graham,” Jake said when she’d finished.

“I thought you were off that?” Casey said, annoyed. “It could be anyone inside the Project, or someone outside who promised support, or a friend of Robert’s who turned him on to the case.”

“No. Listen,” Jake said. “Forget about me and my instincts. Six months ago, Graham and his buddies Massimo and Anthony Fabrizio-another guy I saw him meeting with-tried to pump a hundred grand into Judge Rivers’s campaign account. She’s not even supposed to have campaign money, but she’s been funneling it to Washington on both sides of the aisle. I’m told it’s a good way to grease the track to the US Supreme Court. Except she didn’t want their money. She gave it back.”

“Okay,” Casey said, drawing out the word and eyeing the judge suspiciously.

“And… you’re with her?” Jake asked, incredulous.

“We just passed the Seward House,” she said, drawing a guilty look from Martin. “Can you meet us?”

“I’m walking out of Marty’s office as we speak,” Jake said. “I’ll get my car and follow you. Don’t mention Graham. Let’s keep that card close.”

“Where should he meet us?” Casey asked the judge.

“Where is he now?” Martin asked.

“Parked behind the Barrone & Barrone building on Genesee Street,” Casey said.

“Tell him we’ll wait for him in front of the Auburn Theater.”

“I heard him,” Jake said. “Either way, I want in on this. If Judge Rivers is as bat-shit crazy as it sounds, damn, they’ll sign me to a ten-year contract. If she’s not, then…”

“Then what?” Casey said, studying the back of the judge’s silver head.

“I don’t even want to think about it.”