“So why address the envelope to my daughter?”
“I don’t know. Probably because he’s a psychopath who’s smart as hell. Many of them are.”
Mancuso said, “He’s just having a little fun, huh?”
“Ha, ha.”
The sheriff was not in the mood for conversation. There were too many conflicting thoughts, unanswered questions, and frightening scenarios.
9
The nickname of “Cleopatra” had followed her from the Tourism Council, a much larger state agency where she had worked for a few years as a staff attorney. Before that, there had been brief stints in state offices that dealt in such matters as mental health, air quality, and beach erosion. It would never be known who tagged her as “Cleopatra,” and it wasn’t clear, at least to those laboring at the Board on Judicial Conduct, if Charlotte was even aware what her underlings called her. It stuck because it fit, or because Elizabeth Taylor’s version was somewhat similar. Pitch-black hair, straight and long with obnoxious bangs that tickled her thick eyebrows and must have required constant care; layers of foundation that strove to fill the cracks and wrinkles the Botox couldn’t get to; and enough liner and mascara to doll up a dozen hookers in Vegas. A decade or two earlier, Charlotte might have had a chance at being pretty, but the years of constant work and misguided improvements had robbed her of all possibilities. Any lawyer whose reputation and gossip dwelled on her bad makeup and tight clothing as opposed to her legal skills was doomed to toil in the netherworld of the profession.
She had other physical problems. She liked skirts that were too short that revealed thighs that were too thick. Outside the office she wore six-inch dagger-like heels that would make a stripper blush. They were abnormal and painful to wear, and for that reason she went barefoot at her desk. She had no sense of fashion, which was okay around BJC, where slumming had become the trend. Charlotte’s problem was that she fancied herself a real trendsetter. No one was following.
Lacy was wary from day one, for two reasons. The first was that Cleo had a reputation as a climber who was always on the prowl for a bigger job, something that was hardly unusual among the agencies. The second was related to the first, but far more problematic. Cleo didn’t like women with law degrees and viewed them all as threats. She knew that most hiring was done by men, and since her entire career was predicated on the next move, she had no time for the girls.
“We may have a serious problem,” Lacy said.
Cleo frowned, though the wrinkles in her forehead were well hidden by the bangs. “Okay. Let’s have it.”
It was late on Thursday and most of the others were already gone. The door to Cleo’s large office was closed. “I’m expecting a complaint, one filed with an alias, and one that will be difficult to handle. I’m not sure what to do.”
“The judge?”
“Unidentified as of now. Circuit court, ten years on the bench.”
“Are you going to make me beg for the dirt?”
Cleo fancied herself a tough cookie, a no-nonsense lawyer with little time for small talk or bullshit. Just give her the facts, because she could damned sure handle them.
“The alleged wrongdoing is murder.”
The bangs dangled slightly. “By a sitting judge?”
“I just said that.” Lacy was not an abrupt person, but she entered into every conversation with Cleo with her guard up, her tongue ready to fight back, even to strike first.
“Yes you did. When was the alleged murder?”
“Well, there have been several. Alleged. The last was about two years ago, in Florida.”
“Several?”
“Yes, several. The complainant thinks there may be as many as six, over the past two decades.”
“Do you believe him?”
“I didn’t say it was a him. And I don’t know what I believe right now. But, I do believe that she or he is near the point of filing a complaint with this office.”
Cleo stood, much shorter without those heels, and walked to the window behind her desk. From there she had a splendid view of two other state office buildings. She spoke to the glass: “Well, the obvious question is why not go to the police? I’m sure you’ve asked that, right?”
“It is indeed obvious and it was my first question. His or her reply was that the police cannot be trusted, not at this point. No one can be trusted. And it’s obvious that there isn’t enough evidence to prove anything.”
“Then what does he or she have?”