Chapter 4
Judge Charles Aiken had an unexpected break before Thanksgiving. He was transferred to regular session, a change which he deeply welcomed. His position was an appointive and not an elective one and when his party scored well at the polls in November, Mayor Warren Bauer rewarded Charlie's supportive efforts with news of the transfer. Charlie was grateful to Bauer for several reasons. The biggest was his fear of another night court episode like the one with Julie Miller. Another was the more orderly routine of living that presiding in day court afforded him.
It was not long, however, before he discovered that there were cases involving tempting females coming up before him during the daytime hours, too. He found himself looking at each of them the way he had looked at Julie Miller and the self-awareness disturbed him. He wondered if he was reaching an age where he had to "watch his step, where he no longer had the same control over his instincts as before. He tried to keep a tighter rein on himself and managed to avoid temptation in admirable fashion until the Rita Grimek case came up in the docket.
The hearing came before him in December during regular session. It was a hit-and-run case and the charge was manslaughter. Rita Grimek had knocked an old man down with her car and he'd died a few hours later, either as a result of the injury or of a heart condition. The cause of death was debatable but not so, the defendant's callous actions. She had not been interested in going to his assistance or even telephoning anyone for help. As a matter-of-fact, she had not bothered to make any telephone call for assistance or legal aid even after arrested. From the police report, she apparently had refused to tell the authorities nothing more than the barest amount of information regarding her point of origin or destination.
Rita Grimek was a sensuously stunning woman. She had long hair that fell down her proud back in black waves. Her mouth was a painted scarlet wound and her lipstick thick and creamy. The hips were ample and the legs tapered into high, slim heels. Charlie noted that she wore a silver ankle bracelet. When she swayed on the narrow heels, her breasts seemed to stab straight up at him from beneath her tight, knit blouse. The tips were unbelievably sharp and Charlie stared at them as he listened to the details of her case.
"You haven't been very cooperative with the police, Miss Grimek," he said finally. "It's obvious you have something to hide. May I remind you of the seriousness of the charge? This silence is not acting in your favor, I assure you."
She merely shrugged and Charlie was struck by her cool indifference and detachment. He wondered if she was married and if she was trying to keep it a secret. She had a married look to her and yet, a look of animal sensuality.
He thumped the gavel and moved that the court be cleared while he questioned the defendant in his private chambers. No one seemed to think it unusual and as Charlie entered his chambers and doffed his robe, he tried to convince himself that he was only trying to be fair to the woman.
She entered, sat down and crossed her shapely legs. "Can I smoke?"
"Of course," Charlie replied, coming around to light the cigarette for her. She seemed to be a bit more nervous and tense than she'd been in the outer court and Charlie was secretly pleased. "I want you to know that I'd like to help you, Miss Grimek."
She glanced at him with open disbelief. "Oh, sure."
Charlie considered his words carefully. "I think you're more afraid of your husband than you are of this manslaughter charge."
Her glare showed both surprise and anger. "My husband is none of your business!"
"Then you are married."
She scowled and puffed hard on the cigarette.
"You were with another man last night, weren't you?"
She seemed to be weakening by degrees. "That's got nothing to do with what happened."
"How are you going to explain to your husband? To start with, why you were out so late last night?"
She gnawed on her lower lip, her eyes averted. "He's out of town on business. He won't be back until tomorrow afternoon. He doesn't have to know about any of this unless someone tells him."
Charlie smiled patiently. "But what if you're convicted of the charge and in jail tomorrow when he arrives home?"
There was panic in the dark eyes as she looked up at him. "You've got to believe me, Judge Aiken, that old man must have been trying to kill himself. He stepped right in front of me and as it was, I barely brushed him." She paused, the hand holding the cigarette trembling slightly. "Please, Judge Aiken, you have to help me. The only reason I didn't stop was because I didn't think he could be hurt and because ... well, I didn't want to get involved."
"I'd like very much to help you, Missus Grimek," Charlie replied flatly, "but it works both ways. You must help me, in turn."
She looked puzzled. "How can I help you? I don't even live in this town. I told you I was just passing through."
He looked down at the double-heart anklet around her lovely ankle and breathed in the scent of her perfume and wondered how often she had used sex to get what she wanted in life. Judging from the expensive car she'd been driving, her husband was wealthy. She was wearing a diamond ring that looked as though it cost more than a thousand dollars. Yes, she definitely looked the sort who was accustomed to trading on her lush beauty whenever in need or whenever in want.
"You can help by being completely honest with me, Missus Grimek," he stated finally. "I want you to tell me the whole story from beginning to end. Then, and only then, will I be able to judge your innocence or guilt. That is how you can help me."
"All right," she sobbed, the tears rolling down her face.
Charlie moved closer to her and touched her black hair in a soothing manner. "Easy now, my dear. I'm sure we can work this out together if we're honest with one another."
She sniffed and turned her head slightly toward the door. "Do I have to tell it all out there before all those people? I don't think I could, honestly. I think I'd rather take my chances. I don't mind telling you the truth but not ... well, my husband would find out for sure." She pleaded with him with her slumberous and moist black eyes and Charlie felt the blood rising and heating in him. She caught his hand and squeezed it against her cheek, her red lips parted. "Please, Judge Aiken, I'll do anything you say but don't make me tell the truth out there in court."
"Anything?" he echoed softly.
The long lashes fluttered. "Anything."
Without stopping to think of the possible consequences, he placed one hand on the sharp outline of her breast and squeezed the firm flesh testingly. The nipple felt like a tiny nail against his palm and he was amazed at the unsuspected fullness his hand encompassed. The knit blouse was utterly deceiving in that it only suggested the size of her breasts while emphasizing the fine sharpness of their uptilted shape.
Rita Grimek remained expressionless while he fondled her.
He let his hand fall away as he smiled down at her. "I think we understand each other, my dear." She nodded. "Perfectly."
"I'll have the case held over until tomorrow morning," Charlie stated purposefully. "You mentioned that your husband is not due home until the afternoon. That will afford us the opportunity to discuss the situation privately tonight. Let's see now ... where can we meet?"
"There's a motel on First Avenue and Ashland," she offered tonelessly. When he looked back at her, she lowered her lashes in mild embarrassment. "I was there last night."
"I see. All right, that will do fine."
Rita Grimek rose from the chair and straightened her skirt and sweater-blouse. "What happens now?"
Charlie felt all-powerful as he smiled at her. "Just leave everything to me, my dear. The important thing is what happens tonight."
The sultry brunette gazed at him for a moment and then smiled. "Just leave everything to me, Judge."
Charlie could feel himself beginning to tingle with anticipation and he had all he could do to keep from dragging her to the office couch right there and then.
There was a knock at the door and then the sound of the knob turning.
"What is it?" he asked roughly, turning sharply.
"You're wanted in the auditorium, your honor." The voice was familiar and so was the face. How the hell had bailiff Al Rudd drawn daytime duty? Charlie had last seen Al in night court. "Sorry. Didn't mean to intrude." Al looked at Rita Grimek appreciatively and went on apologizing and explaining to the judge. "All of the new appointees are down in the auditorium, your honor. Water Commissioner or somebody is going to speak, I think."
"That's ridiculous. Court is in session."
"Yes, your honor," Al said, meaning anything.
"Hell with it. All right, I'll go to the meeting. See to it that temporary release papers are signed for Missus Grimek, will you?"
A totally friendly smile spread over Al's foolish face. "Yes sir, your honor. Right this way, miss." He held the door open for Rita and she passed through like a princess-or perhaps, a judge's mistress.
The door closed quietly and Charlie Aiken was left alone, committed to an evening in the arms of a beautiful lady who had misencountered the law. Well, he'd done it again. What the devil was happening to him? What was he becoming in his old age? One thing of some consolation was that women certainly seemed to find him attractive of late. Rita Grimek hadn't seemed at all disturbed by his advances and Julie Miller's behavior on the leather couch had most vividly testified to her appreciation of him.
Now, if only he could manage to interest Helen only half as much as the others, perhaps he wouldn't be so susceptible to creatures that fell into his tangled web. Helen, with her civic affairs and social committees and dynamic drives for activity ... and so little time and desire to be just a woman.
Charlie sighed and went out to court to announce the delay in the proceedings.
"Hey, Argon, wait up!"
Ben Argon stopped on the steps of the courthouse and adjusted his winter police cap. "What's up, Joe?"
The other patrolman fell into step with him. "You see the crash on Whitebank Avenue?"
"Nope. Just came on duty. Something big?"
"I'll say. Some creep ran into a snowbank and couldn't get out. Another jerk came in too fast behind him. When the smoke cleared, eight cars were piled up in the snow. Geezuz, what a mess."
"How about some coffee?" Ben suggested, nodding at the cafe.
"Sure thing," Joe replied, shaking his head. "I could use it after seeing an accident like that. I don't think I'll ever forget it."
The cafe looked out at the passing traffic in the square. Trucks had muddied what was left of the snow. A big intercity bus turned into the depot, bringing a cargo of visitors. When had Whitebank changed from a town into a city? The two policemen talked shop over their coffee. "So tell me. What were you up to in the courthouse, Ben?"
"Witness for an over sixty-five ticket. This guy tried to beat the rap by claiming that his speedometer had been set wrong."
The air smelled reassuringly of fresh coffee and mass-produced pastry and people who used recommended soaps. Argon had a suffocating sense of adjustment, of absorption into a picture where his life had a ready-made meaning.
His colleague asked with flattering interest, "Did he beat it?"
Argon smiled wryly. The waitress brought refills on their coffee. "Not a prayer. He had a good spiel, though. The judge listened for all of three minutes, then cut him off like he was slicing salami in a delicatessen."
"Who was the judge?"
"Williams. He can think of more senseless reasons for cutting a case short than anyone I ever heard of. The whole room just laughed. If that guy had had a lawyer, Williams would be up in front of the Civil Service Board tomorrow morning. What about you? Up to anything exciting?"
The other cop sighed. "Just a dame I had to bring down from Thirteenth Street. She had too-fast-for-conditions written all over her. She killed an old man, but the judge let her off."
"She was driving?"
"Yeah."
"How old was the old man?"
"Oh, seventy or eighty. I guess they figure he died of a heart attack before her car bumped him. There was a chance he had crossed against the light."
Argon frowned thoughtfully. He was not sure why the simple story he just had heard seemed to fit with earlier information-he was a cop and he seemed to have instincts which he barely understood himself. He had learned to trust them, however.
The other man stood up. "Look, boy, I've got to run. I've got to be a street guard at Fulton School."
"Wait a minute. Who was the judge on this accident case?"
"The judge? Charlie Aiken. Remember, he used to be in night court?" Argon remembered.
His life and Judge Aiken's had brushed at the edges lately, he thought, not significantly, of course. He thought of leaves flowing downstream in a current. Every so often they would bob against one another. All that the contact meant was that both were caught in the same stream. If the stream was a quiet one, so was the casual contact.
But if there were sudden rapids or floods, then what?
Al Rudd had to tiptoe through the auditorium while the speech was going on. He tapped Charlie Aiken's shoulder. When the justice turned, Al whispered, "What about her car keys?"
No one in the audience had yet started to stare, but in a moment someone might. Charlie, not too unhappily, rose and left the auditorium with the bailiff.
In the corridor he asked patiently, "Tell me again. Car keys?"
"Missus Grimek." Al, a loosely built man, was taller than Charlie. He also had a habit of shifting his weight from one leg to another in a silent graceless way which gave Charlie the impression that a piece of Al might fall off at any moment. "She says they took her car keys when they arrested her and she wants them back. I don't know where they are, your honor. Maybe you know."
Charlie snapped before he thought of the consequence, "We'll mail them to her, of course. This was more than a parking violation."
Al shifted his weight again. The new carpet and the new acoustical ceiling in the recently built corridor seemed to absorb what should have been a grinding noise, as of machinery groaning. "I told her that, your honor. She's upset. She wants the car."
Charlie felt himself flushing. What a damned fool he was. Of course she would want the car keys-need them, in fact.
He handed Al the keys to his personal desk and gave hasty instructions as to which drawer would yield Mrs. Grimek's car keys. He was glad Whitebank still had traces of a small town about it-when the community became even larger, impounded car keys would be going through something like a computer on their way back to the motorist who had tangled with the law.
His step was buoyant as he returned to the auditorium. Golf and a sensible diet had kept Charlie Aiken hard-bodied and fit-he still could have worn the clothes that he had owned twenty years before. It was only recently, though, that he seemed to have become attractive to strange women. Maybe, he thought wistfully, Helen's treatment of him had left him with that unclaimed look, recognizable by other lonely souls.
Al Rudd decided that he did not like Rita Grimek. Pretty? Sure, but not when she opened her mouth and talked tough. Like when he'd told her that her keys would be returned in due course.
She hadn't protested or pouted. She had stared at him out of bold dark eyes and ordered, "Get 'em, old man. Know what I do to old men who annoy me? I run them over."
For a reason he could not define to himself, Al was sorry for Judge Charles Aiken. It was just a waste of a sermon.