“Are you all right, Judge? You look—”
“Oh, spare me the phony concern and take off that ridiculous coat.”
The borrowed black puffer was bulky enough to conceal a wire. That was why Judge Conroy had fixated on it. Madison shucked the coat. The judge looked her up and down skeptically.
“Now the rest of it.”
“What?”
“Take off your clothes.”
“Are you kidding?”
“This is no joke. I know where you’ve been, and I’m not taking any chances.”
“Where I’ve been?”
“Don’t lie. You’ll just make me angry and destroy what’s left of our friendship. I know you went to DC. You met with the feds. You turned on me. And I know how that goes. You’re wearing a wire.”
“It’s not true.”
“Prove it, then. Take off your clothes.”
“That’s absurd. I refuse.”
Judge Conroy sighed and leaned sideways, reaching for something hidden in the murk, outside the circle of lamplight. She stood up with the gun in her hand, leveling the barrel at Madison’s chest.
“You wouldn’t shoot me. You couldn’t,” Madison said, but she was shaking.
“You have no idea what I am capable of when pushed. Do it.”
When Madison returned to the conference room after meeting with Danny, Brooke Lee told her that Judge Conroy had murdered Douglas Kessler. The prosecutors showed her evidence, but it was all circumstantial. A text from Kessler to the judge arranging to meet. Photos of Kessler’s car in a parking garage with the windows shot out. A woman they claimed was the judge in a dark wig, at what they said was the same garage. Madison hadn’t believed them then because the Kathryn Conroy she knew was no killer. Maybe it was time to reevaluate that.
Kicking off her sneakers, she stepped out of her jeans, and pulled the sweater over her head. She stood in her underwear, numb with disbelief that it had come to this.
“Turn around,” the judge said, gesturing with the gun.
She pirouetted. There was no visible wire taped to her chest or back.
“I suppose they think they’re clever,” the judge said, picking up the puffer coat and checking the pockets, patting down the fabric for anything concealed in the lining.
She clicked her teeth impatiently.
“You’re making this harder than it needs to be. Tell me where it is.”
“If you mean a wire, I’m not wearing one.”
“You’re not wearing it. Okay. Hand me your backpack.”
Madison retrieved the backpack, which she’d dumped in the hall, and advanced on the judge.
“Stop there,” she said, brandishing the gun. “Slide it over and back up.”
Madison propelled the backpack across the smooth parquet floor. The judge turned it upside down and shook everything out onto the coffee table. Her phone, papers, notebooks, pens, a hat, an empty water bottle.
The judge picked up the phone, which Olivia had returned to her before she left DC.
“Is this it? It’s set to record?”
“No.”
“What’s your passcode?”
She said it. The judge unlocked the screen, checking to see if the voice note function was enabled. It wasn’t.
“What is it, some special software you downloaded?”
“There’s nothing.”
She was telling the truth. Not believing her, the judge took the phone and smashed it against the corner of the coffee table. The screen cracked. Madison winced, but Judge Conroy wasn’t satisfied. Slipping past Madison, she opened the door to the powder room and tossed the phone into the toilet.
“My phone. No.”
It was her most prized possession. Her life was on that thing.
“The FBI can buy you a new one,” the judge said.
“You destroyed it for nothing. It wasn’t recording.”
“Well, then, I’d better keep looking.”
The judge was relentless. She went through pockets and compartments, throwing anything else she found on the pile and then examining everything meticulously, including looking inside the Kleenex pack and the earbuds case, the ChapStick and tin of breath mints.
Nothing.
“Hand me your clothes.”
Madison tossed her jeans and sweater onto the sofa. The judge went over them with equal zeal, coming up empty.
“Your underwear.”
“Judge. No.”
“I’m not giving up till I find the damn thing. If you don’t want to strip down, just tell me where it is.”