“I just know. She’s been missing for three weeks, Evelyn. And that’s just not like her. At the least, she’d have called.”

“Maybe she’s like you say: underground.”

Charles wagged his head of wavy gray hair, an effect that Evelyn cherished about the older man, how he looked so wise and gentle . . . how he was set in his ways with the things he said and with his conclusions. It was hard to believe that anyone would want him hurt.

“Afraid not, Evelyn. We have scheduled calls and meetings. She’s missed the last two. I’m telling you, these guys are ruthless.”

“Of course,” said Evelyn, already feeling a trace of sympathy for the woman, sight unseen. “But if you have all of this information, plus a tape from her, I don’t see why we don’t just inform the proper authorities—send in the boys—you have the power of the federal government to back you.”

“I thought about that long and hard. The thing is, their network is too wide. Based on what I’ve been told, they’ve got members in local, state and federal agencies,” the Judge explained, his skeptical eyes surfing the restaurant. “They’d find out in a heartbeat.”

“Oh.”

“And besides, a part of me is still hoping that she’s alive.”

“Michelle?”

“Yes, but I doubt it. Do you remember Amelia Cohen?”

“Of course. The former U.S. attorney who killed herself while she was parked down in Chinatown.”

“It wasn’t a suicide, Evelyn.”

Evelyn’s expression turned from curious to stunned.

“Now, think back to last Christmas Eve and Dudley Schmidt.”

“Doesn’t ring a bell,” said Evelyn, wagging her head.

“No matter. Just another robbery/homicide. Just the brother of Mark Schmidt, one of NYPD’s finest detectives, Evelyn,” Pullman’s eyes projected severity. “The man was strangled as he left Toys ‘R’ Us with a last-minute gift for his little boy.”

“And Dudley Schmidt’s killing is tied in with Amelia’s?”

“Is it? Schmidt had more than a thousand dollars in his pocket when he was found. It was a hit, cut ’n dried. If I were to sit here and detail all of the complexities, cover-ups and conspiracies behind these murders—almost three dozen others—you’d lose sleep for the next month.”

Evelyn was speechless in light of these revelations. It felt like someone had just revealed some truth about her: that she wasn’t really a woman, but a cow. Hard to believe.

“Evelyn, you sitting here with me right now is even dangerous. I could very well be the next one to go . . .”

She made a face, somewhat doubtful. As though to confirm his theory, the Judge said, “Of the four hundred homicides in the last twelve months, thirty-two victims were law enforcement. And I’m not talking suicides. I mean unsolved murders.”

“Slow down, Judge. What are you saying? What do those unsolved murders have to do with you, and why does my sitting here now have any relevance to that?”

For the first time this afternoon, Evelyn was uncomfortable. Afraid. And now she was glancing around the restaurant looking for possible threats.

“Because Michelle tried to get certain people to acknowledge this video. Anybody she spoke with . . . anybody that they think she spoke with is now dead.”

“And she spoke with you?”

“A number of times. I was sort of receiving updates from her. We had our . . . well, secret meetings.”

Evelyn noticed the hesitation in that statement and she read between the lines.

“But we never spoke out in the open. Not like this. I thought being amongst a daytime crowd might serve as a distraction in the event—well, you never know.”

“Secret meetings, Charles? Would that be in your chambers? Or at home?”

“Uh . . . err . . . just business.”

“I bet,” said Evelyn, wanting Charles to know that she understood more than he was telling her. “So now, I guess I wanna know who ‘they’ are. Do we have specifics? Names? Can I see the tape?” Again Pullman was staring. He knew it would come down to this. “Who and what is L.T.K.?”

 

Copyright © 2005 by Relentless Aaron. All rights reserved.