"Thank you."
She looked at the stack of files on my desk.
"Your nine o'clock calendar is being reassigned."
"Make sure the parties know."
"They'll know."
"And Evelyn?"
"Yes?"
"Don't tell anyone to keep this quiet."
She stopped.
"I wasn't planning to."
"Good."
I leaned back and held the ice against my cheek.
My reflection appeared faintly in the dark window. The left side of my face had begun to swell. A reddish mark stretched from beneath my eye toward my jaw.
I remembered the way Miller had laughed when I told him I was a judge.
The laugh bothered me more than the pain.
It was the absolute confidence of a man who believed he had correctly measured another person's place in the world.
A knock sounded at the door.
Chief Judge Margaret Whitcomb entered without waiting for an answer.
She was sixty-two, silver-haired, and composed with the practiced precision of someone who had served on the bench for more than two decades. She had supported my appointment when several influential attorneys suggested I lacked the appropriate temperament for the position.
She stopped when she saw my face.
"Dear God."
"Good morning, Margaret."
She didn't smile.
"Tell me who did this."
"Officer Bradley Miller."
"Was he assigned to courthouse security?"
"Not permanently. He was here for a scheduled appearance."
She sat across from me.
"Thomas gave me a brief account."
"Then you know enough to begin preserving the evidence."
"I've already requested the recordings."
"From every camera covering the fourth floor."
"Yes."
"All security radio traffic from the time the elevator broke down."
"Josephine."
"And the original incident reports. Not revised summaries."
Margaret leaned forward.
"I understand."
I looked at her for several seconds.
"Do you?"
She waited.
"Because this isn't going to become an unfortunate misunderstanding between a police officer and a judge."
"Nobody has suggested that."
"Someone will."
Margaret's gaze moved toward the bruising along my cheek.
"Perhaps," she said. "But we won't let the courthouse handle this privately."
That was the first reassuring thing anyone had said to me.
Then she added, "You should know there's another complication."
I sat straighter.
"What complication?"
"The woman he thought you were."
"Maya Reynolds."
Margaret nodded.
"Her case was on the fourth-floor calendar this morning. She was scheduled to appear at nine."
"And?"
"She arrived."
I looked at the clock.
It was 9:24.
"Was she late?"
"According to the preliminary record, she checked in before nine."
I lowered the ice pack.
"Then why was Miller looking for her?"
"That's what we're trying to determine."
A quiet unease moved through me.
If Maya Reynolds had already checked in, the premise of Miller's confrontation was false before he ever approached me.
"Who was assigned to her case?"
Margaret hesitated.
"Josephine, I need you to remain separate from the investigation."
"I'm asking who's assigned to her case, not asking to investigate it."
"Judge Bennett was handling the morning appearances."
I knew Judge Bennett. He ran a crowded courtroom and preferred moving his calendar efficiently to giving speeches about procedure.
"And the warrant?"
"There wasn't one issued this morning."
I stared at her.
"Are you certain?"
"As far as the clerk's record shows."
A knock interrupted us.
Thomas entered with an expression I couldn't read.
Behind him stood a younger courthouse deputy carrying a sealed evidence envelope.
"Your Honor," Thomas said, "there's something you should see."
Margaret rose.
"What is it?"
Thomas looked at me.
"Officer Miller filed a written statement before anyone reviewed the video."
"That's not unusual," Margaret said.
"No, ma'am."
Thomas paused.
"What's unusual is that he claims Judge Caldwell struck him first."
I felt my jaw tighten against the swelling.
Margaret held out her hand for the statement.
Thomas didn't move.
"There's something else."
He looked toward the door.
"The officer says he has a witness."
"Who?"
Thomas swallowed.
"Maya Reynolds."
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