The Mourning Sexton (32 page)

CHAPTER 51

A
s Brendan McCormick stood to greet him, his smile turned to a look of concern.

“What happened to your arm, David?”

“Why bother asking?”

“Why? Look at it. It's in a cast. What the hell happened?”

Hirsch took a seat facing the desk. “You already know what happened.”

“I know?” McCormick gave him a puzzled smile as he sat down behind his desk. “I'm afraid I'm not following you.”

Hirsch gazed at him. “Cut the bullshit, Brendan. Your guy did this to me.”

McCormick leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. His leather briefcase rested on top of the desk to his right. He was frowning at the brass clasps on the briefcase, as if confused by their mechanics.

“So,” McCormick finally said, still staring at the clasps, “here we are. Together again, eh?”

Hirsch's gaze shifted to the framed photo of McCormick in his college football uniform. He gave a mordant smile as he stared at the number emblazoned on McCormick's jersey.

McCormick turned to see what Hirsch was looking at.

“What's so funny?”

“I forgot how much we have in common,” Hirsch said.

“Football?”

“For starters. Both played linebacker. Both played on teams called the Tigers. Both wore the same number.”

“Oh, yeah. That's right. You were fifty-seven, too.”

“I didn't make the connection at first.”

“What connection?”

“To you. The name and the number.”

McCormick frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“Come on, Brendan. This isn't Romper Room. You were a Missouri Tiger, and that was your number. Tiger Fifty-seven equals Felis TigrisL-V-I-I. I suppose it could have been me, too. We're just a pair of corrupt old tigers, eh? Except I'm not the tiger with the bank account in Bermuda.”

“So?” McCormick forced a laugh. “I have a house in Bermuda. That's why. I used to have a bank account in Steamboat Springs when I had a condo there. It's convenient.”

“Please, Brendan. I saw the documents.”

“What documents?”

“The papers Judith hid in the safe. Bad stuff. All those wire transfers to your account at the Hamilton Bank and Trust. Each one tied to a damage award in the Peterson Tire case. Fifteen percent of the difference between ninety percent of the plaintiff's demand and the actual amount awarded. I did the math. Each transfer comes out to the penny.”

McCormick was staring at him now.

“Millions and millions of dollars,” Hirsch said. “Nice work if you can get it.”

McCormick leaned forward, his face coloring. “Like Guttner didn't have his fat snout in the trough. Don't try any of that holier-than-thou bullshit with me, Hirsch. I know who you are. And I know exactly why you're here today.”

“Is that so? Why am I here today?”

McCormick patted his hand on his briefcase. “This.”

“What's in there?”

“What you came here for.”

“Money?”

“Hush money, right? Or should we call it blood money? I figured you'd get around to it eventually. It's what makes your people tick.”

“My people?”

“You heard me.”

“What if I told you I wasn't here for the money, Brendan?”

He laughed. “Right. You came here to talk football. Linebacker to linebacker.”

“What if I told you I couldn't care less about your kickback scheme?”

“Sure. And there really is an Easter Bunny, too.”

Hirsch stared at him. “I'm telling you the truth.”

“You expect me to believe that?”

Hirsch shrugged.

“You're trying to get me to believe you're not here for money?”

“That's what I'm telling you.”

McCormick frowned. “So what are you here for?”

“I think you already know the answer to that.”

McCormick leaned back in his chair. He stared up at the ceiling and scratched his chin.

Hirsch waited.

McCormick lowered his gaze. “Judith?”

Hirsch nodded.

“That's what this is all about?”

“Yep.”

McCormick shook his head. “I don't get it.”

“Get what?”

“You didn't even know her.”

“Not then. I do now. She was a remarkable person.”

“I suppose.”

“But easy to underestimate.”

“You think so?”

“Come on, Brendan. You know that better than anyone else. Look what she did. She figured out what no one else had even suspected. She pieced together your entire scam. All on her own, too. Even traced it back to the origins—back to your kickbacks from Guttner in those warehouse cases.”

McCormick was staring at him now, his jaws tensing.

Hirsch said, “But she had a tragic flaw, didn't she?”

“What?”

“Youth.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“She actually believed she could save you, didn't she? She believed she could get you back on the path of the righteous. Turn you back into the judge she'd once worshipped.” Hirsch shook his head sadly. “So naive. She didn't understand that you were decades beyond redemption. Nor could she imagine how you'd react when she told you what she'd found.”

McCormick was frowning again at the clasps on his briefcase.

Hirsch leaned forward, his anger beginning to build. “So that's why I'm here today. I don't care about your kickback scheme, and I don't care about your money. I want only one thing from you.”

McCormick look at him. “What?”

“The reason.”

“What reason?”

“Why you killed her.”

McCormick laughed. “Come on, David. We both know the accident killed her.”

“Actually, Brendan, we both know the accident didn't kill her. She was dead before that SUV left your driveway.”

“Good God, David. Listen to yourself. Dead before the SUV left my driveway? What are you smoking, pal?”

“You weren't listening to me, Brendan. I didn't come here to find out
how
she died. I already know that. You strangled her. Murdered her with your own hands. I've tried to visualize it, Brendan. Where'd you do it. In your den? Or was it in the breakfast room?”

McCormick stared at him.

“It's a nasty image, Brendan. You're more than a foot taller than she was, right? You must have outweighed her by a hundred and fifty pounds.” Hirsch grimaced and shook his head. “Like choking a child. And then you put her in the car and faked the accident. I assume that part was improvised. Not bad either. You fooled the medical examiner that night. Still, it was a close call, and you knew it. You learned your lesson, though.”

“What lesson is that?”

“To hire professionals. That's what you did the second time, right?”

“Second time?”

“That was a professional job.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The reporter.”

McCormick stared at him but said nothing.

“You remember Patrick Markman, Brendan. Died in a one-car accident driving back from Jeff City. Fell asleep at the wheel. How convenient. Were they the same folks you hired to stop me?”

“I'm not telling you a goddamn thing.”

“Forget about Patrick Markman, Brendan. Forget about me, too. I didn't come here for that. I'm here only for Judith. I know you didn't set out to kill her that night. You may be dumb, but you aren't that dumb. Did you even suspect why she wanted to talk with you that night? That must have been a shock, eh? Your cute little law clerk had you by the short hairs, didn't she. Is that why?”

“Why what?”

“Is that why you killed her?”

The room was silent. McCormick was staring at the clasps again.

Hirsch waited.

McCormick raised his eyes and met Hirsch's gaze.

“Why should I tell you anything?”

Hirsch thought of his conversation with Rosenbloom. “Closure.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“Time to wrap up the case and move on. I filed it as a wrongful death case, Brendan. I've established the wrongful part, but I haven't established the reason.”

McCormick forced a laugh. “You forgot your first lesson as a prosecutor, David. You don't need to establish a reason. The law doesn't care why you robbed that bank. It only cares whether you did it.”

Hirsch said, “You forgot the second lesson. The law may not care why, but the jury does. I'm the jury here. I care, Brendan.”

McCormick leaned back in his chair and stared up at the ceiling tiles. After a long pause, he said, “I couldn't sleep that night.”

“What night?”

“The night after you filed the lawsuit. I'd had that date marked on my calendar for three years. The first months after she died were rough. I kept waiting for someone to file suit.”

“Why?”

“Why?” McCormick lowered his gaze to Hirsch. “Think of who the defendants would be. Big corporations with deep pockets. Plenty of money to spend on medical experts and plenty of incentive to find a different cause of death. Those first six months I had one of my clerks check the court files once a week. I viewed her father as my best hope. The old bastard hated lawyers. Especially plaintiff's lawyers. And he hated personal injury cases. I'd touch base with him every month or so. See how he was doing. See whether he'd changed his attitude. Tell him how much I admired the way he was sticking with his principles. Even in the face of his own daughter's death. Gradually, a lawsuit seemed less and less likely. I contacted her father after the second year, and he was still against it. Last December eighteenth was my finish line. Once I crossed that line, the race was over. What was that word you used? Closure? That was going to be my closure. I sent one of my law clerks over on the morning of the nineteenth to confirm that it was over. I had my ticket for a flight to Bermuda that afternoon. Man, I was ready to celebrate. And what happened? He came back carrying a copy of your fucking lawsuit.” McCormick grimaced. “What a cluster fuck that was.”

“You did a good job of acting at our first meeting.”

“Obviously not good enough.”

“You had me fooled.”

“Oh? So what happened?”

“Exactly what you feared.”

“A pathologist?”

Hirsch nodded.

“I knew it.” McCormick shook his head. “Shit.”

“You still haven't told me.”

McCormick frowned. “Huh? Oh, right. Not much to tell. You think it was one of those haunting Greek tragedies? Some big Hollywood ending?” He chuckled and shook his head. “Sorry to disappoint you. I lost my temper and grabbed her. Freaked out. Don't even remember what happened after that.”

He paused, the hint of smile on his lips. “But you are right about one thing. I learned something important that night.”

“What?”

He contemplated Hirsch for a moment. “I'll show you.”

He reached for his briefcase and unsnapped the clasps.

“I don't want your money,” Hirsch said.

McCormick stood and opened the lid of the briefcase. “I have something better than money.”

Hirsch got to his feet. “What?”

“Relax, David. I'm going to show you what I learned. It all relates to Judith's death.”

The open lid of the briefcase screened its contents from Hirsch's view.

“You were right,” McCormick said. “She caught me by surprise that night. It taught me the value of preparation. I'd hoped you were coming here for money. Money's easy. But you want something more than money. Well, guess what? I'm prepared this time.”

“What are you doing?” Hirsch said, more for those listening in. The equilibrium had shifted. Everything felt wrong

“I brought a present. Something better than money. See if you can guess what it is. Catch.”

McCormick tossed something metallic at him.

Hirsch caught it. A handgun.

He looked up.

McCormick was pointing a gun at Hirsch's chest. He grinned as he gestured toward the gun in Hirsch's hand. “I call it evidence of self-defense.”

And then he pulled the trigger.

The blast knocked Hirsch backward over the chair.

He heard shouts as he fell.

Then gunshots. Four of them.

Then shattered glass.

Then nothing.

He was on his back gazing up at the ceiling tiles. At the thousands of little black holes in white tiles.

He was gazing up at a negative of the night sky.

All those stars.

Was that Orion over there?

A face blocked his view. A face up close. A frown. Worried eyes. Hand touching his neck. Mouth moving.

But no words.

No sound.

The face gone now.

The stars blurring overhead.

And then a voice.

“Don't die, your grace.”

A familiar voice.

“Take my advice.”

What?

“Live a long, long time, because the worst madness a man can fall into in this life is to let himself die for no real reason.”

He recognized the words.

“Don't be lazy, my grace. Get up from there. Let us go out to the fields together dressed as shepherds. Just the way we decided we would. Who knows? Maybe we'll find your fine lady out there waiting for you behind some bushes.”

Dressed as shepherds.

He smiled. He knew who it was.

The sky was dark now; the stars blinking out one by one.

Yes,
he thought,
let's go out to the fields, Sancho.