“This third category for a motive is where I believe we’ll find our man,” Wendt said.
“You’ve been a deputy DA for what, about five years?” Farrell asked.
“That’s right,” Paige said. “I got hired by the district attorney’s office when I
graduated law school.”
“Very impressive,” Farrell said, casting a suspicious glance at Judge Callen. “Doesn’t
hurt to have relatives in high places.”
“I resent that,” Paige sat up, her eyes flaring. “I’ll have you know I was hired by
the district attorney’s office on the merit of my application and exemplary law school
credentials, no matter what anybody thinks about cronyism and my father’s influence.”
“And I’ll have you know, Ms Callen,” Farrell said, “I am not a murderer or felon,
no matter what you said about me in federal court.”
“Who’s going to believe that?”
“I would ask you the same question,” Farrell said. “Getting hired at the DA’s office
in the same county where your father is the senior superior court judge, straight
out of law school, without your father’s influence; who’s going to believe that?”
Paige started to retort but couldn’t. Judge Callen looked into his drink. Sergeant
Wendt noticed the ceiling.
“Let’s get back to your job,” Farrell continued. “Five years as a prosecuting attorney
is a long time to be making people unhappy.”
“Who said I make people unhappy? I do my job well.”
Farrell cued Wendt by taking a drink.
“Open your eyes,” Wendt told her. “Everybody hates deputy DAs. Victims hate you because
they blame you for allowing the criminals who victimize them to get off. Suspects
hate you because you put them away. Jurors and witnesses hate you because you inconvenience
them; you keep them from their jobs and families in endless courtroom maneuvers. And
cops hate DAs, maybe most of all, because you sit on your bureaucratic butts in an
office and plea-bargain away the collars they risk their butts on the street to bring
in, and then have to go out and face the same crooks again after you let them off.”
Wendt grinned. “Hell, Paige, it would be a lot easier to find someone that liked you.”
He put up his hands. “Because you’re a deputy DA, I mean,” he quickly added.
“Thanks for clarifying that,” Paige said.
“This motive creates the largest suspect pool,” Farrell said. “As a result, it’s going
to be the most difficult to sift through. Anybody come to mind that fits this profile?
A crook who threatened you? A disgruntled victim?”
“Nobody off the top of my head,” Paige said. “I get a lot of threats. Every decent
deputy DA I know does.”
“Any specific threats stand out?” Farrell asked her.
“Not really,” Paige said. “They’re part of the territory. I don’t take most of them
seriously.” Farrell looked to Sergeant Wendt.
“I’ve already got two detectives, along with a couple of DA’s inspectors who offered
to help out, down at the courthouse scouring through Paige’s old case files. They’re
looking for anyone remotely matching the suspect’s description.” Wendt looked around
the room. “It’s going to take a while. And even if we find the guy somewhere in Paige’s
previous cases, how will we know?”
A long minute of silence followed. Farrell lit another unfiltered Camel. Paige wrinkled
her nose but said nothing.
“If you’ll permit me,” Judge Callen said, “I want to sum up the possible motives as
I understand them so far.”
“Be my guest,” Wendt said.
“The first motive, you said, would be the person stalking Paige targeted her at random,
correct?”
“That’s right.”
“The second motive would originate from Paige’s personal or social life, like an ex-boyfriend?”
“Right again,” Wendt confirmed. “And the third motive would be a suspect emanating
from Paige’s occupation as a deputy district attorney.”
“I see,” Judge Callen said. “That’s a wide range of possibilities.”
“There’s a fourth possibility,” Farrell proclaimed, exhaling smoke.
“A fourth motive?” Wendt asked. “I guess you know something I don’t.”
“Hardly a first,” Farrell mumbled around his cigarette.
“What would the fourth motive be?” Judge Callen asked.
“You,” Farrell said.
CHAPTER 18
“You’re kidding.” Paige said to Farrell. “I’m the one getting stalked and attacked,
and you think the suspect is going after Dad?” She gave her father a sour look. “Some
ace detective you hired.”
“I don’t see it,” Wendt agreed with Paige. “The Judge is a much softer target than
Paige. If this guy was gunning for him, why attack her? Why not go straight for him?
He could have had the Judge any time he wanted and with a lot less effort than it
took to go after her.” He made no effort to conceal his contempt for Farrell’s premise.
“What you say makes no sense. The Judge is retired, he’s almost always at home, usually
alone, and not very ambulatory. No offense–”
“None taken,” Callen said, although a frown started at the corners of his mouth.
“If he was after the Judge, why go to all the trouble of messing with Paige?” Wendt
continued. “Besides, we don’t even know this guy is aware of who Paige’s father is.”
He shook his head. “Not to mention, there’s also the ‘whore’ and ‘slut’ thing. The
suspect has called Paige those specific names repeatedly: on the beach, when he phoned
her at work, when he spray-painted them on her walls, and in the note he left on her
car. Those are sexually derogatory terms men use against women, Mister Farrell. I
think you’re reaching. This guy isn’t after the Judge; he’s got radar lock on Paige.
You’re dead wrong.”
“I’d like to hear Mister Farrell out,” the Judge said.
“Maybe I’m wrong,” Farrell conceded. “I’ve been wrong before. But what better way
to hurt a man than through his children? For a detective, you perpetually ignore the
obvious truth that this stalker isn’t simply trying to injure or kill Ms Callen. If
that was his goal, he could have done that any time he wanted. He used a real pistol
this morning; why the toy gun yesterday? And when he broke into her condo, why not
wait inside and attack and kidnap her when she returned, if that was his intent, instead
of torching the place and making a play for her later on the road?”
“Who knows why a psycho does what he does?” the police sergeant said. “The guy’s awhack
job; we may never know what his motive is. And as far as the Judge being his target,
I think you’re off base.”
Farrell took a drag and exhaled through his nose. “You’re looking at what’s happening
to Paige as a series of individual crimes, directed at her. What if they’re not?”
“What else would you call them?”
“A crusade. Not a series of single acts against Paige, but instead a campaign of terror
aimed at her father, using Paige as the means.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Paige blurted. But Farrell could see the wheels of doubt beginning
to turn behind her eyes. The Judge’s, too.
“Maybe the suspect’s objective all along,” Farrell suggested, “isn’t primarily Paige?
Maybe she’s the secondary target, and everything that’s been done to her so far is
intended to terrorize him?” Farrell looked at the other faces in the room. “Maybe
the motive is something in the Judge’s history and not hers?”
“Seeing as how you’re full of maybes,” Wendt said, “I’ve got a ‘maybe’ notion of my
own. Maybe you’re getting paid by the hour to dazzle the Judge with your investigative
prowess; maybe paid a lot. Good for you. Maybe this unsubstantiated idea about the
Judge being the stalker’s target is your way of feeding an already worried parent
a lot of malarkey about him being the reason his daughter’s getting stalked so he’ll
keep paying your extravagant fees?”
“That sounds like a reasonable theory to me,” Paige said.
“At least as reasonable as blaming Judge Callen for his daughter’s troubles,” Wendt
said.
“If insulting me would lead you to the perp,” Farrell said, “he’d already be locked
up.”
“I’m sorry if you feel I’m insulting you, Mister Farrell. But I’ve got better things
to do than entertain your harebrained theories.”
“You’re absolutely certain,” Farrell said, “that you can exclude the Judge as the
primary target?”
“Technically, until I nail this creep, I can’t exclude anyone,” Wendt admitted, “including
the Easter Bunny. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to start chasing rabbits because
you see colored eggs.”
“If you say so. How about you, Your Honor? You think I’m chasing my tail looking into
your possible enemies?”
“I don’t know,” Callen said. “I’ve certainly made a few over the years.” Wendt shot
Farrell a scornful glance.
“What I know,” Wendt said, “is that I’ve got work to do, and it’s not getting done
while I’m here listening to this nonsense.” He turned to Paige. “I can’t tell you
what to do,” he said, “but you may want to lay low here at your father’s for a while.”
“Where else am I going to go?”
“After what happened today, with the suspect getting shot, I don’t think we’re going
to hear from him for a while. He’s probably licking his wounds somewhere. You should
be safe here at the Judge’s home.”
“Should be?” Paige said.
“I’ll have patrol officers drive by at irregular intervals and check the house.”
“I didn’t know the suspect was shot,” Farrell said.
“There’s a lot you don’t know, Mister Farrell.”
Farrell’s face hardened. “I’m getting a little tired of you taking your incompetence
out on me,” he said.
“Are you planning on doing something about it?”
“You’ll be the first to know.”
“Gentleman,” the Judge intervened. “This doesn’t get us anywhere. Mister Farrell’s
associate shot the suspect, you say?”
Wendt nodded. “That’s what witnesses are telling us. Your sidekick, the one who shot
him, isn’t cooperating. He’s invoked his right to remain silent. Without any of the
information he can provide, all we can do is collect witness statements and alert
local hospitals to look out for someone with a gunshot wound meeting the suspect’s
general description.”
“Is my partner being charged?”
“Yeah. Possession of a loaded and concealed handgun without a permit, and reckless
discharge of a firearm within the city limits.”
“What a bogus pile of bullshit,” Farrell spat. “He used that gun to save Ms Callen’s
life, and you’re going to charge him?”
“He broke the law,” Paige said matter-of-factly. “Why wouldn’t he be charged?”
Farrell turned to the Judge.
“If you’ll contact the Alameda County sheriff’s office,” Callen began, “you’ll find
a permit to carry a concealed firearm in the name of Kevin Kearns was issued yesterday
under the sheriff’s signature.”
“You’ve known his name all along,” Wendt accused the Judge.
“Of course,” Callen said. “I always know the names of my clients.”
“You’re representing him?”
“That is correct,” Judge Callen said. “Why so surprised? I may be a retired judge,
Sergeant, but I still have the ability to practice law. And I advise all my clients
to invoke their Fifth Amendment right to remain silent while in police custody until
I can personally meet with them.”
“I don’t believe it,” Wendt said. “You’re actually interfering with the investigation.”
“I don’t see it that way,” Callen said. Paige stood up.
“You all make me sick,” she said. “Playing your little games and changing the rules
when it suits you. Meanwhile, I’m counting the hours until a madman ends my life.”
She looked at Judge Callen. “You know what, Dad?” she said. “There are times I’m ashamed
to admit you’re my father.”
Her words stung the old judge. Paige turned and started to walk from the study.
“That’s far enough,” Farrell called out, grabbing her by the elbow and tossing his
cigarette into the remains of his drink in the same motion. “You’re not going anywhere.”
Paige’s eyes widened. He steered her back to her chair. “Sit your ass down.” She was
too stunned by his unexpected action to do anything but comply.
“Now just a minute–” Wendt took a step forward.
“One word out of you,” Farrell cut him off, “and she won’t be the only person in this
room wearing a black eye.” Wendt halted.
“Young lady,” Farrell began, “you had no call to say that to your father. None at
all.” He leaned down until his face was inches from hers. “You might be Miss High-and-Mighty
Deputy District Attorney today, but this man used to change your diapers. If it wasn’t
for him doing something unorthodox he knew you’d disapprove of and despise him for,
you’d be in the trunk of a car right now.” Farrell’s face got tight. “Or in a shallow
grave.”
Paige looked up at him with her mouth agape. Farrell stood back up.
“Your father did what any good parent would do: whatever it takes to protect his child.
And he did it knowing full well you’d hate him for it. Maybe someday, if you become
a parent, you’ll understand that. Loving your child so much that you’re willing to
risk them turning on you just to do what’s best for them.” He looked down at her.
“Whether they’re mature enough to appreciate it or not.”
Farrell pointed his thumb at Wendt. “The sergeant here is doing his best. He’s a good
man working under a mountain of red tape. I know; I used to toil under that mountain
myself. You think he didn’t want to have you tailed?” Farrell looked at Wendt, who
gave him a weak smile. “He did. He was in the process of assembling a protection detail.
But for bureaucratic reasons beyond his control, it didn’t happen. Your father knew
this, and instead of sitting idly on his hands, he seized the initiative and took
the necessary steps to ensure your safety.”