Poetic Justice. Andrea J. Johnson
bench.
“My time is valuable. I’m due to give testimony upstate in less than two hours. Is my presence still required here? If the judge dismissed the drug charges, shouldn’t the trial be—”
“Yes, ma’am,” Grace said, “but we still have a plea on the table. She likes to hold the jury and witnesses until the final disposition. But if you come with me, I’ll walk you through to chambers. We can ask the judge’s secretary if it’s okay for you to leave.”
And with that, Grace climbed down from the bench and escorted Phyllis out of the courtroom through the side door that led to the judges’ collection of private offices.
As I strolled back to my workstation, I focused my sights on Harriston and Stevenson. Their discussion was loud enough to hear from my desk, but I missed my opportunity to eavesdrop when I bumped into the back of Maggie Swinson, the judge’s trial clerk. She’d perched on my desk shamelessly flirting with Corporal North, who still sat on the witness stand.
“You know, most of us clerks hang out at Cooper’s on Wednesday nights for karaoke. You should stop by for a drink,” Maggie said in her southern Delaware drawl where U’s were elongated and G’s barely exist. “We could do a duet together. ‘Endless Love’ is one of my particular favorites.” She emphasized the statement by leaning her medically enhanced bosom close to the corporal’s face.
“Seriously, Maggs? Can you park your rear somewhere else?”
Rude? Yes, but I feared her enormous rump was going to knock my water cup onto the laptop I’d left running. Besides, Corporal North had a white-knuckle grip on the edge of the witness stand—a sure sign he needed saving. Maggie was a full-figured country queen with a honey-blonde bouffant, a brilliant smile, and a notorious reputation as a man-eater.
“Excuse me, darlin’.” She snapped at me. “I wasn’t in the middle of a conversation or nothing.”
Maggie slid off the desk, and her genteel façade slipping for a second as she narrowed her eyes at me. She then twirled back to the corporal, reached into her bra, pulled out a slip of paper, and handed it to him.
“Here’s my number, in case you want to come.” She rocked her hips like a pendulum, pivoted, and sashayed over to the attorneys, who were still deep in debate.
I sat down and plugged the charger cable into my steno machine. Then I scrolled through the transcription software to make sure the Bluetooth connection had successfully transferred all the notes from sidebar to the laptop. I even checked the mini-microphones I kept running during trials in case of emergencies. When I paused to reach for my Styrofoam water cup, Corporal North stared at me.
“You spent a long time talking to the judge and bailiff.” His voice was higher and tighter than the coarse bass he’d used during testimony—the strained voice of a man trying to hold back his anger. “What’s going on? Is the judge planning something?”
Did he really expect me to answer that? Sure, he was the investigating officer on the case, but he was also a witness. My goal was to maintain neutrality or silence when confronted by witnesses.
“The judge?” I sipped my water and conjured up a generic reply. “She clarified a few issues for the record. Criminal trials can be rough on stenographers.”
No exaggeration there.
“Rough on witnesses, too.” He gave a derisive snort. “At least you didn’t embarrass yourself in front of the jury.” He cleared his throat and muttered to himself, “Damn that Mulligan chick. Should’ve gone with alcohol. I bet those charges would have stuck.”
Not likely.
The words danced on the edge of my tongue. Sarcasm wasn’t going to help his situation, but nothing else seemed appropriate in the face of watching Langley’s unfathomable luck claim another victim.
North banged the top of the witness stand with his fist and glared into the distance. Unsure whether he was waiting for a response, my gaze went to the jurors who filed out of the jury room, into the gallery, and through the double doors at the back of the courtroom.
“You know, Corporal, we’re in recess. You don’t have to sit here if you need to report to your superiors.” I widened my eyes and hoped he’d take the hint. All I wanted to do was archive my notes and escape to the kitchen to meet Ms. Freddie. People didn’t usually notice me in my little nook—a fact I enjoyed—and I hated how his lingering presence highlighted my position, not an ideal scenario with Langley just a few yards away.
“Yeah, you’re right.” North gave a resigned huff. He gripped his campaign hat and stood. Then he stuck the powdered sugar inside the corresponding evidence envelope and handed the bundle to me with his hand still inside. “Your clerk forgot to collect these.”
I shrugged. This wasn’t the first time Maggie had left items unattended during a recess. I accepted the moot evidence by wrapping my hands around the length of the envelope, where the white evidence tape concealed the left side. Heat tickled my palm as I clasped the package. When North removed his hand, the warmth disappeared.
“That’s funny,” I mumbled as I set the materials on Maggie’s desk, which was catty-corner to mine.
“What’s funny?” Corporal North paused while stepping down from the witness stand.
“I thought I felt your hand through the envelope, but that’s impossible…isn’t it?”
“Not unless…” He rotated toward me at a slow burn, as if realizing something for the first time, “…there’s a hole. Try it again.”
He set down his hat and reclaimed his seat so we could reenact our exchange. His hand inside, my hand outside. We lingered mid-clench.
“Do you feel something, or are we playing the world’s weirdest game of handsies?” He relaxed his jaw into a dopey grin that almost made me forget he was a witness.
Almost.
I lowered my gaze and let a bushel of curls conceal my embarrassment over happily groping a state trooper’s hand. I moved to slide away. But, as I did so, my palm rubbed against something scratchy. A flash of heat and…nothing.
“There it is again,” I whispered. “Hold still.”
I grabbed a pen from the desk with my unoccupied hand and placed a dot on the envelope under the area of my palm, where I felt the flash.
When I disengaged from the package, I poked at the marked target with my fingernail. It was a small flap of white tape concealing a jagged hole the length and width of a large paper clip, through which protruded North’s flesh.
“What the…” I rubbed my thumb across his skin through the slit. “Did you do this when you opened the evidence, or has this been there the whole time?”
“What? No.” North took his hand out of the envelope. “No way. I only made one rip—right along the blue edge near my signature.”
“Who do you think—”
“I don’t know.” He grabbed the envelope and held the hidden flap up to the light. “But there are several layers of tape here…and it’s not all from the lab.”
He angled the envelope for my inspection. Sure enough. Strips of clear packing tape were visible over the lab’s white masking tape, as if someone had opened and resealed the envelope a second time.
“Should I call the judge?” I turned to make sure our antics hadn’t caught the attention of the attorneys…and Langley.
“I’d rather talk to the chemist first,” he said. “I don’t want to jump to conclusions. This could be from the audit. Do you know if Phyllis Dodd is still around? I thought I saw her a few moments ago.”
“She left with Grace, the bailiff. They were headed to chambers.”
“You’ve made my day.” He handed the envelope back to me with a