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"Shut up." The woman doing the search was definitely too interested in what I had hidden under my almost not there camisole. But other than lingering a bit, she did nothing obvious.
Of course not. The lobby area or whatever the downstairs of a courthouse is called was too open and too surveilled. It had to look like what the fuck, the judge was in his chambers and had time to arraign and let go some down on her luck girl.
Little Miss Curious Hands did find the metal knife I had in my shorts.
Good girl. Kept her from exploring the hem of my shirt or the heels of my shoes.
Different suite of offices. No receptionist. It was Sunday. Just the judge's big sunny office, door open. The electronic buzzer announced we'd entered, me and two very large men in uniform that I wasn't one hundred percent sure were police after all.
Interesting. I had played mnemonic tricks with myself across town. Made pejorative words for each of them, describing facial features and mannerisms, speech patterns and reducing each to strings of letters that spelled out words.
Twatface for one. It wasn't perfect but I bit the tip of my tongue, running it over my incisors as I repeated the acronym, a physical memory trick to go with the mental. Tall, white, acidic-green-eyes, tremor – that wasn't perfect because it was only the slightest trace of a stutter. It would have to do. His nametag read Franklin. The rest of the acronym meant nothing.
The other guy was harder to place but by the time we were going through security I had something on him that would stick.
The judge's name I'd already texted to Cole. He wouldn't be able to hide. He really was a judge. In the 30 minutes I'd had, I'd checked my records, even though I already knew.
Judge Townsend was one of the judges who saw a lot of pretty larceny – I meant petty larceny – cases.
Right before the girls disappeared. No one had ever put these things together because we're supposed to trust people in positions like his.
"Should we stay, sir?"
The judge tilted his head in a confidence-building uncle-y way. "I think we'll be all right, don't you, Lily?"
"Sure," I said in a drawl.
The officer holding my arm shook it and dropped me into a chair. "Show respect."
Right.
I glanced up as they left. I'd already checked out the door when we came in. Deadbolt arrangement. Opened on a key. Hopefully the judge knew where his keys were because I heard it lock behind the two probably cops.
When I turned back to the judge, I didn't have to pretend to be afraid.
"Do you know why I asked the police to bring you here today?" He had honestly been wearing his robe and now he took it off to reveal jeans and a button down. He came around the desk. I'd been deposited in a more likely chair this time. Probably the old, the fat, the unattractive who actually got an audience with the judge were seated here.
I didn't think it meant anything that I was too.
Judge Townsend swung his leg. His hands were folded one over the other on the thigh of the swinging leg. The other was braced on the floor, keeping him comfortably perched on the desk.
"Yes, sir? I think – I thought. Arraignment?" God knew Lily had been through enough imaginary arraignments to know the term. "Only I thought …" I trailed off.
He filled in the blanks. "No, you're right, we don't usually do arraignments on the weekends. But a pretty little girl like you doesn't belong spending the night in jail if she doesn't have to and besides, it's a small matter."
I gushed. I leaned forward, letting the cami pull tight. "Oh, yes, sir. Your honor, I really didn't mean to. I've got –" I ran a hand through my hair. I wasn't cuffed. Which wasn't great. Probably it meant the judge was armed or the cops, real or not, had never left the outer office. "I needed to do my hair. And nails! I've got an interview day after tomorrow and I haven't had a job in a while. I've been –"
"Inside, I know." He gave me another of those avuncular sympathy looks. "But Lily, didn't you get in trouble for this before? Wasn't that why you were in jail?"
"It was only for a little while!" I said as if that meant anything, then hung my head, as if realizing that was stupid and I was sunk.
Honestly I felt stupid and sunk. I'd worked in narcotics. Drugs. Not sex crimes. I was out of my depth and didn't have a good idea what to expect.
And something had changed. It made no sense, because the last thing Cole St. Martin did was respect my boundaries or body or personal space. But somehow I'd come into a place where I wasn't anxious to sex my way through any of this.
Granted, Judge Townsend was in his fifties and he wasn't in bad shape but he was no Jesse.
He was no Cole St. Martin.
