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“He’s on a deadline writing orders before the weekend,” the clerk said. “You need an appointment, and he has no room on his calendar this afternoon. If you need a search warrant signed, I would suggest that you go see Judge Coen for that. He handles criminal matters.”
“It’s about his son, Nicholas,” Ballard said. “I think you should ask him if he wants to see us.”
Without responding to Ballard, the clerk picked up a phone, hit one button, and then whispered behind a hand cupped around her mouth. Ballard made out the wordNicholasbut otherwise could not pick up on the conversation. The clerk put down the phone and got up. She walked to a half door in the corral and pulled it open.
“The judge will see you,” she said. “Come through here and then go through that door and down the hallway. His chambers are the first door on the right.”
Ballard led the way. The clerk’s directions were not needed because the judge was standing in the doorway of his chambers. He was wearing a white shirt and tie but no jacket or robe. Ballard watched his eyes for any hint of recognition of Masser or herself from the surveillance at the Parkway Grill.
She saw nothing.
They followed Purcell into the office. He sat down behind a desk covered with legal documents. He pointed to the two chairs across from him, and Ballard and Masser sat.
“Thank you for seeing us, Judge,” Ballard began.
“Never mind that,” Purcell asked. “What’s my son done this time?”
“Uh, nothing, sir. As far as we know.”
“Then if this is about the DA dropping those charges against him, I had nothing to do with that. I didn’t even make a call.”
“It’s not about that, sir.”
“Then why are you here on a Friday afternoon before a holiday weekend? What is so important about my son?”
“Well, sir, we are from the Open-Unsolved Unit and we think your son is key to identifying and arresting a serial rapist and murderer.”
Purcell drew his head back as if he’d been slapped.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” he said. “Nick’s had his difficulties but nothing that even approaches an involvement in—”
“We are not suggesting he is in any way involved, Judge,” Ballard said quickly. “It’s his father we’re looking for. His real father. His biological father.”
That stunned the judge into silence. Ballard studied him for any sign that he knew about the Pillowcase Rapist’s connection to Nicholas Purcell. She saw none.
Ballard felt her phone buzz in her pocket. She guessed it was Captain Gandle calling her back, probably to tell her not to approach the judge without the command staff’s approval. But she had a perfect excuse not to answer. You didn’t take calls when you were talking to the presiding judge of the superior court. You didn’t even look to see who was calling.
“What do you mean, his real father?” Purcell said.
Ballard nodded. This was the moment.
“Judge, do you remember the Pillowcase Rapist case?” she asked.
“Of course,” Purcell said. “But that was before my son was even born.”
“Not quite, but that’s the case we’re working. And I need you to know that that is all we’re interested in. We don’t care about anything else, what you may have done in adopting your son or—”
“Are you suggesting that Nicholas is not my son?”
“Judge, weknowhe’s not your son.”
“This is incredible. How could you—”
He stopped mid-sentence as a thought occurred to him.
“You talked to my wife?” he said. “You talked to Vivian?”
“No, sir, we didn’t,” Ballard said. “We got your DNA from a spoon you left on a table at a restaurant.”
