Chapter2
It was a beautiful Sunday afternoon, and McCormick could think of a hundred things he'd rather be doing than trimming hedges. But since being in a jail cell wasn't one of them, he kept clipping. He and the judge had spent an uneventful day yesterday, and they had completely avoided discussing the incident from Friday night. McCormick wanted to believe that meant Hardcastle was satisfied that the issue was closed, but deep down, he knew better. He still wasn't sure exactly what had triggered the judge's suspicions, but he was certain he would hear more about it eventually. The fact that Hardcastle had absolutely nothing to worry about was unlikely to figure into the old guy's thinking.
Even so, the jurist had done a pretty good job yesterday at keeping things normal…if they had actually established a "normal" yet. They had talked about some files the judge had at the top of his most wanted list, played some basketball, watched the Yankees on TV, and gone to Santa Monica for pizza on the pier before returning home to watch Rooster Cogburn on the nine o'clock movie.All in all, it was a pretty decent day. If it hadn't been for the times McCormick had caught the judge looking at him out of the corner of his eye, things might have been great. But the judge had been looking, and each time, his eyes had been filled with uncertainty. Oh, he had covered it up well, but McCormick had seen, and now he was left to wait and wonder just when Hardcastle would let the other shoe drop.
It might not have been so difficult to deal with if the questioning looks weren't continuing even today. At breakfast, Hardcastle had seemed almost his usual self, and McCormick had dared to hope that maybe they were going to be able to move on. But later in the morning the judge had grown distant, and had buried himself first in his newspaper, and then in his files. Only occasionally had he poked his head out to stare silently as McCormick worked around the yard, and he would disappear back into his reading anytime the young man looked his way. And still McCormick didn't understand any of it. But he knew that he was rapidly losing any amount of control he had ever had over this situation, and since he had never gotten a handle on it to begin with, he certainly didn't know how to go about fixing it now.
Fixing it. McCormick paused as he lingered over the thought. What, exactly, did he think he needed to fix? In many ways, he had it made. Martin Cody was in jail and he wasn't. Hadn't that been the whole reason for going along with Hardcastle's crazy scheme in the first place? He had never expected to be happy about the arrangement; it was simply the means to an end. And he had certainly never expected to care about the judge or his opinions.
So why had he been so pleased to discover Hardcastle's faith in him? And, more importantly, why did he now feel the loss of that faith like a physical blow? Realistically, of course, if the judge truly doubted him, McCormick knew it was just a matter of time until he was back behind bars, and that was an outcome he couldn't bear to consider. But he was honest enough with himself to know that incarceration was not the only thing bothering him, though he was damned if he knew why anything else mattered.
"Dammit!" he yelled, as he threw the clippers to the ground in frustration.
"McCormick?" Hardcastle was on his feet instantly. "Are you okay?"
"Would you care?" McCormick shouted as he stomped toward the patio, suddenly determined to confront Hardcastle with the anger growing from his confusion.
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" the judge sputtered.
"I want to know what's going on, Judge." McCormick had made it to the concrete and continued toward Hardcastle. "Tell me what's bothering you." He reached the table where the judge had been working. "What do you want to ask me?" He took the last step and planted himself directly in front of an astounded Hardcastle. "What is it you think I've done?" he shouted into the judge's face.
Hardcastle locked his eyes on those glowering just inches in front of him, and stood his ground. After a moment, he trusted himself to speak rationally. "I think you better step back, kid."
McCormick simply continued to glare down into the ice blue eyes for a long, long moment. Finally, Hardcastle's words sank in, and he realized this was not the way to deal with his frustration. He lowered his eyes and deliberately backed away. He knew he should explain.
"Judge…" he began.
"Sit down," Hardcastle directed coldly.
McCormick tried again. "Look, Judge—"
"I said, sit down. Now."
McCormick swallowed tightly and dropped into the nearest chair. His initial burst of anger had disappeared, leaving only an inexplicable sadness. And now, a new fear. He had gone too far, and he knew it. If Hardcastle hadn't been considering sending him back before, he sure as hell would be now.
Hardcastle stood over the dejected form. "Apparently we need to get some things straight, McCormick. When I said I wanted us to be partners, I never meant equal partners. You're out on the Milton C. Hardcastle charity wagon, you know, kid. It would serve you well to remember who's in charge around here."
"Yes, sir," McCormick replied almost inaudibly.
The response was so unexpected that Hardcastle simply stared. Though the curly head was lowered as McCormick sat slumped in the chair, he didn't need the eyes this time; he understood the emotion driving the response. All the contrition in the world wouldn't make McCormick address him in that fashion, but fear would. Only fear. Well, good. Hadn't that been his intention? Yes. But… But what? He wanted the kid to be afraid of prison; sometimes that was the only thing that kept people in line.
But I don't want him to be afraid of me. The thought came unbidden into Hardcastle's mind. He shook his head, as if he could dislodge the wayward idea; he didn't have time to even try to figure out what it meant.
He grabbed his chair and dragged it around the table, seating himself directly in front of McCormick. "Talk," he commanded gruffly.
McCormick looked up at the judge, his face betraying his fear and confusion. He shook his head. "I'm not the one with something to say, Judge." He waited for some kind of response from the older man, but Hardcastle only sat silently, looking at him expectantly. He took a deep breath, and searched for the right words.
"Okay. Judge…I don't know what's going on the last couple of days, but something is obviously wrong. Something has made you suspicious of me, and I'll be damned if I know what it is. I mean, I'm pretty sure it's more than an illegal drive to Windsor Hills. You're kind of hard-nosed about things sometimes, Judge, but I think that would be overkill, even for you. Besides, unless I'm completely off base, all this started before my date with Valerie. You had something on your mind when I came home Friday afternoon, and it wasn't an update on my love life.
"But," he continued, working it out as he spoke, "you couldn't have been all that worried earlier in the day, or you would never have let me leave the estate. So something must have happened while I was out Friday. I'm not sure how I could cause something to go so wrong when I wasn't even here, but I do have a talent for trouble sometimes." He grinned slightly, but wasn't particularly surprised when Hardcastle didn't respond.
"Anyway, Judge, all I know for sure is that something is bothering you, and it's something about me. I swear, I haven't done anything wrong, so whatever it is that's on your mind, I wish you would just spit it out so we can get past this. In retrospect, I know that you tried to ask me about it twice on Friday, but both times you let me off the hook. I appreciated it at the time, but now I wish you would just ask your questions. I can't fix it if I don't know what's wrong." He finally met Hardcastle's eyes. "I know you're worried, Judge, and I know what that could mean. At least give me a chance to defend myself before you send me back to prison."
"Well," Hardcastle said after a moment, "I'm glad you didn't have anything to say, kid." He examined McCormick closely, relieved by the sincerity shining in the eyes. The key would be how long the sincerity remained after their conversation.
"So, if I'm understanding you correctly, McCormick, you're telling me that you haven't broken any laws since you've been here? Is that a fair statement?"
"Yes, Judge, that's a fair statement."
"In the interest of honesty, I'm going to tell you that your little lesson from Convict 101 makes me wonder about the veracity of that answer."
McCormick didn't flinch, and his eyes didn't waver. "Can't say that I blame you. But that doesn't change the fact that it's true. All things considered, Judge, it occurs to me that a lot of the truths I tell you might backfire on me. But…when I said I'd never lie to you, I didn't mean just as long as the truth was convenient. I meant never."
Hardcastle contemplated the statement, but didn't offer a reply. Instead, he offered an explanation.
"I've gotten some phone calls this weekend. The caller implied that you were involved in a couple of burglaries. The first call came Friday while you were out, and he directed me to a newspaper article about a job at a pawnshop that had happened Thursday night. And you're right, I was going to ask you about it when you got home, but I backed off, and I can't really tell you why.
"Then, Friday night, they called again to alert me that you were not where you belonged. That's why I was looking for you to begin with, and waited for you in the gatehouse. But I have to admit, you seemed so sincere in your explanation, and I didn't have any kind of proof, so I let it go again. But they called again yesterday and the story they told me to read was about a burglary in a house in Beverly Hills. The owner had been out most of Friday night, and when he returned home about 3:30, he found his brand new Mercedes gone and a couple of thousand dollars missing from his safe.
"The newspaper just had it listed as part of the police log, so I called downtown yesterday afternoon and got some more of the details. They don't really have any real leads on the perpetrator, but they did find the car almost right away. It was down at the racetrack. There were no prints, but they're going on the idea that it might be someone affiliated with the track because the car was found in one of the restricted lots." Hardcastle still watched McCormick closely, seeing the realization of the implication sink in, bringing with it a greater fear, but there was still no guilt evident in the eyes.
"Anything else, Judge?" McCormick asked in a low tone.
Hardcastle nodded. "Someone called this morning while I was in the shower, but it wasn't the same guy, and this one wasn't calling for me, but for you. They left a message." He saw the question written on the young face, and absolutely believed the puzzlement was genuine. He knew that he had to be careful—after all, he had been wrong before—but every instinct he possessed said the kid wasn't involved in whatever was going on. Still, it would be interesting to know what the smart mouth—and the eyes—would have to say about this.
"He wanted you to know he wasn't happy that you missed your appointment yesterday. He said you still had work to do before he would help you with your early release program." He paused, and then added, "Was there someplace you were supposed to be yesterday, kid? Or someplace that you're planning on going?"
"No," McCormick replied forcefully as the blue eyes blazed with controlled anger, "absolutely not. Judge, I don't know what any of that is about, honest. I didn't pull those jobs, and I'm not working with anybody to stage any kind of escape. I wouldn't do that, and I think you know it, at least on some level. If you didn't, we wouldn't be here now. I know I told you this was weird, but I am trying to make it work. Besides, you've been pretty lax in the security department, Hardcase; if I had wanted to run, I wouldn't have needed anyone's help. Hell, if that had been my plan, I would've headed east out of Vegas instead of west, and this would've all been over weeks ago."
Hardcastle didn't comment, though he knew the kid was right. In fact, even though things had gone pretty well while working in Vegas, the solo drive home really had been his first test for McCormick, and the young man had passed with flying colors. It was even possible that the moment he had truly felt trust beginning was the moment he had returned from Nevada himself and found the Coyote sitting in the driveway. Finally, he spoke again.
"Maybe you should go ahead and give me a better idea of where you were when you weren't here; and the more details you have, the better."
McCormick nodded his head. "Yeah, okay, anything you want. First of all, I can't explain Thursday night. I didn't leave this property, Judge, but I don't have a way to prove it. Whatever time I left you and went to the gatehouse is the time I was in for the night. I listened to some music and watched some TV, and then I went to bed. Whoever ripped off that pawnshop, it wasn't me. Besides," he added as a thought hit him, "you were in the gatehouse just the other day. Did you see any hot property lying around anywhere?"
Hardcastle laughed slightly. "Are you telling me you don't know anyone who could fence the stuff?"
"Well…." McCormick fidgeted in his chair. "No, I guess not. I'm sure I could get it done," he admitted. "But, jeez, Judge, let's be realistic about this: how much stuff could I fit into the Coyote, anyway? It's not exactly the right vehicle for carting off a shop full of electronics, you know. But, anyway, the point is, I was here Thursday night, not anywhere else.
"As for Friday afternoon…the first thing I did was stop at the bank; I guess that was just before noon. Then I went to the mall to browse the music shop." He grinned briefly. "My date with destiny, you know. I really wasn't at the mall all that long, a half hour or so. I made a quick trip to the market to pick up stuff for the picnic, and then…" McCormick broke off suddenly and his face clouded.
"And then what, McCormick?" Hardcastle demanded.
McCormick took a breath, his promise of 'I'll never lie to you' at war with his rule of 'never admit to anything'. The promise had to win.
"Then I went out to the track for a little while." He glanced at the judge. "I just wanted to touch base with some friends, see how everyone was doing. I couldn't stay long, and they…they invited me back, and…God…this is going to sound bad, Judge."
Hardcastle didn't like the sound of that. "Whatever it is, hearing it from someone else would make it sound worse," he pointed out. "So they invited you back, and what?"
McCormick plunged ahead. "And they gave me a crew pass and a key to one of the side gates so I could come and go without paying admission every time."
He watched Hardcastle struggle with that piece of information. "I told you it would sound bad," he said softly.
"And have you been back?" the judge asked levelly.
"No, Judge, I haven't; I swear. I mean, I know, I've got the whole Convict 101 thing working against me still—remind me not to tell you things like that again, by the way—but still…I haven't been back, and I certainly didn't stash a stolen car there."
"So, that was Friday afternoon," Hardcastle said non-committally. "What about Friday night?"
McCormick shrugged. "I don't really have much to say that you haven't heard already. I left here about one. Valerie and I drove down the coast a ways. We stopped at Marina del Rey for a while and sat on the beach. We got to her house at maybe 2:30 or a little later; she invited me inside for a drink. And don't worry," he added quickly, "I settled for coffee. I left her house about 3:30 or 3:45 and came straight home. I didn't make a trip to Beverly Hills, and I didn't break into any houses. And I sure as hell didn't set up any deals with some goon to help me run out on you." He looked at Hardcastle, depression carved into his features. "I don't have proof to offer you, Judge. I don't know what else to say."
Hardcastle examined him thoughtfully. "If I assume that everything you're saying is absolutely true," he said slowly, "then that means someone is trying to set you up. Can you think of anyone who would want to do that?"
McCormick considered the phrasing of the question. Not really a resounding vote of confidence, but it was a start. "No," he answered sadly, "I really don't. I wish I could give you a list of people to consider, but, honestly, Judge, I haven't made all that many enemies." Again he flashed the quick grin. "Believe it or not, I'm a pretty likable guy."
Hardcastle felt his own grin forming in response. "That's really not that much of a stretch," he admitted. "Besides, I have to say that your file pretty much supports your answer. I didn't find anything that indicated any type of ongoing animosity with anyone."
That was another interesting comment, McCormick thought. He decided to pursue what he considered the most important point. "You keep a file on me?"
The judge's grin spread over his face. "That surprises you, kid? What is it you think we're doing here?"
"I thought your files were all the bad guys, Hardcase. It didn't really occur to me you might have one on me."
"Bothers you, does it?"
"Well…yeah, a little bit," McCormick admitted. "It's just another reminder that—" He broke off, realizing he was about to divulge more of his inner turmoil than he intended. He wasn't about to confess his confusion over this relationship. "Never mind."
"Another reminder that what, McCormick?" Hardcastle asked.
"Nothing," McCormick answered with a small shake of his head. "It doesn't matter; just kind of caught me off guard, that's all."
"I thought you were supposed to be coming clean with me," the judge reminded him.
"I've told you everything you need to know, Judge. Or at least everything I can think of that might be important. Let's not dwell on the other thing." The eyes were suddenly dull and empty, revealing nothing.
Hardcastle filed away that small insight: the eyes might not be able to lie, but they could shut down, effectively locking out the world. It occurred to him that a similar emptiness had undoubtedly been in his own eyes for much of the last ten years, and for many of the same reasons: sharing too much with others was a clear path to pain. Whatever McCormick was feeling about the file—or what the file represented—he would let it go. Besides, he didn't need the kid using him as a sounding board for his emotions; it wasn't like he was looking for them to be buddies.
"So," Hardcastle said finally, "what am I gonna do with you, McCormick? I can't have someone running around committing crimes while they're in my custody, you know."
McCormick responded to the light tone. "I can see where that would be a problem, Judge." He smiled his most engaging smile. "Tell me what I can do to make it better and I'll do it."
Hardcastle instinctively believed him, but he needed one last test. "What I think I need, kid, is to know that you are somewhere safely out of the way of any further manipulation…or maybe temptation."
The color drained from McCormick's face as he understood Hardcastle's comment. For just a moment he had been unprepared for the other shoe to drop, which only made it worse. "For how—how long?" he asked quietly.
"I don't know," Hardcastle admitted. "A lot of that depends on how the investigation goes."
"Will you be doing the investigating?"
The hopeful tone stopped Hardcastle, but he recovered quickly. "Of course," he replied. "You're in my custody, so that makes you my responsibility. I'll figure out what's going on."
"And when you find out it's not me, can I…can I come back?" McCormick hated to ask, knew he sounded weak, but he couldn't let pride keep him from the one thing that might actually help him get his life going in the right direction.
Hardcastle couldn't trust himself to look in the eyes now, knowing that one look would make it impossible for him to finish what he had started, and it had to be finished. He had to have proof, one way or the other. But, dammit, how could this be so hard? It hadn't even been a full month yet, so how could he feel so connected to this kid already? Besides, he was a hired assistant; it wasn't supposed to be more than that. And yet…
Can I come back? The words rang in the judge's ears, and he knew how difficult it would have been for McCormick to pose the question.
Hardcastle briefly considered one of the other things that had been keeping him up nights lately: even though bitterness and resentment were never far from the surface with McCormick, the kid was so willing to risk honesty, it was hard to harbor suspicions.
"Of course you can come back," he finally answered gruffly, unwilling to reveal any of his own emotions at the moment. "I told you, you don't get off so easy. Indefinitely usually means longer than a month you know, kiddo."
"Okay," McCormick replied softly. He glanced down at his tank top and shorts. "I need to shower and change first, if that's all right."
Hardcastle hated the dullness that came from McCormick now, but he pushed that thought aside. "Yeah, kid, it's all right. Do you want to have lunch before we go?"
McCormick shook his head. "I'm not really hungry." He started to rise from the chair, and then remembered why he had been directed to sit in the first place. He paused, and allowed his eyes to meet Hardcastle's.
"I'm sorry I yelled at you like that, Judge," he said simply, then stood and walked slowly toward the gatehouse.
Hardcastle watched the receding figure for a moment, but as soon as McCormick was out of earshot, he grabbed the phone. He had plans to make. He sure as hell didn't intend for the kid to be locked up long.
00000
They drove toward the police station in an uncomfortable silence. The judge was behind the wheel of his prized Corvette, and McCormick was turned away, staring at the passing scenery.
When he had first emerged from the gatehouse, McCormick had seemed almost normal. A bit subdued, but still engaged. He had asked to listen to the recorded message on the answering machine in the hopes of recognizing the voice, but he had not. Then, with a vicious complaint about jail food, he had decided maybe he should have a sandwich before leaving. He had carried his plate into the den and found a football game on television, but he had promised to only take a few minutes. Hardcastle had offered to let him stay and watch the entire game, but the young man had declined, muttering something about delaying the inevitable. Finally, he had excused himself to go back to the gatehouse for a minute, saying he couldn't go to jail with bologna breath.
Hardcastle had watched discreetly from the den window, and saw McCormick pause at the Coyote in the driveway. He had seen the longing in the young features as McCormick contemplated the freedom the car represented. He had gotten a little worried when McCormick pulled the keys out of his pocket and propped himself on the window opening of the sports car. And he had almost run from the house when he saw the ex-con actually slide completely into the driver's seat, but he had forced himself to wait. After a tense minute or two, he was relieved when he watched McCormick pull himself slowly back out of the car and resume his walk toward the gatehouse.
But when the young man returned that time and announced that he was ready to go, he had withdrawn into a protective shell. Hardcastle had made a couple of attempts at conversation as they first drove away from the estate, but the one word answers that still managed to be filled with complete misery were more than he could deal with, so he had decided to just keep quiet. It wasn't like he could really make this better for the kid, anyway, so they rode in silence.
By the time he pulled into the parking lot of the police station, Hardcastle thought that if McCormick got any more tense the kid might literally explode, but he still didn't have a way to make the situation easier. He climbed out of the 'Vette and had taken a few steps toward the building before he realized that McCormick hadn't moved. He sighed, and turned back to the car.
"McCormick, this isn't forever," he said as he squatted down beside the car.
"No," McCormick agreed sullenly, as he stared through the windshield. "I imagine it's only about three to ten. I figure I can be out in five with good behavior."
"McCormick," Hardcastle said forcefully, "look at me." He waited silently until the young man grudgingly turned his head.
"I don't need a pep talk, Judge."
"Good," Hardcastle growled, "'cause you're sure as hell not gonna get one."
McCormick felt a small smile forming in spite of his mood. "Okay, then what?"
The judge became serious. "Have you known me to sugar coat many things, kid?"
"Hardly," McCormick snorted.
"And I'm not now, either. If I was throwing in the towel, I'd tell you. I'm not sandbagging you here, McCormick. If everything you've told me is true, this will be a very temporary situation."
McCormick thought about that, and then nodded slowly. "Yeah, okay." He took a breath. "Okay, I'm ready. Sorry, didn't mean to get all weird on you."
The judge grinned and slapped McCormick's arm as he stood up. "Not a problem, kid. We'll make this up as we go along."
McCormick followed the judge into the building, trying to hold on to the relative calm he had found in their brief conversation, but he knew he was fighting a losing battle. This was wrong. How could he just allow himself to be led here so easily? He should have taken the Coyote when he had the chance. In fact, maybe it still wasn't too late. If he didn't take another step forward, he could probably make it back to the Corvette before Hardcastle could round up enough cops to stop him.
But even as the thought crossed his mind, McCormick knew he wouldn't do it. No matter what happened, he couldn't betray the man who walked in front of him, so confident that he was being followed. He wasn't quite certain why that was, but he knew it was true. He shook his head as he hurried to catch up with the judge. It was crazy, but somehow it was the only thing to do.
As they reached the junction in the corridor, McCormick turned left as Hardcastle started to the right. "Hey, Hardcase," McCormick called after him, "I'm sorry to have to be the tour guide here, but this is the way to booking and the cell block."
"Yes, but this is the way to the temporary holding cells," Hardcastle replied.
"I—I don't understand," McCormick said as he closed the distance between himself and the judge.
Hardcastle turned to face him. "McCormick," he explained patiently, "I told you I wasn't ready to throw in the towel just yet. If I run you through central booking, there's going to be all sorts of questions down at the parole board, and I don't have answers to those questions yet. I just need you contained for a while; I don't need a lot of bureaucrats telling me how I should be running my life. Or yours, for that matter."
McCormick flashed a genuine grin. "So let me get this straight. You're putting me in jail, but you're still trying to protect me?" He paused as he considered the other man thoughtfully. "You are definitely something else, Hardcase."
"Now you're cookin'." Hardcastle grinned, and led him down the hall.
The judge continued the conversation as they walked. "I've got a lot of friends here, kid, and one of 'em is going to help us out for a while; you can trust him."
"Friends here, huh?" McCormick replied. "Well, that makes one of us." He stopped suddenly, just barely managing to avoid running into Hardcastle, who had stopped at one of the office doors. He read the name on the doorplate. "This Lieutenant Harper the guy we're here to see?"
"Yep. Now, listen…about this holding cell. I told you why I don't want to process you through channels, but this could take a while, and you're gonna be in there all alone. You gonna be okay with that?"
McCormick glanced sideways at him. "If I say no, will you take me back home?" For just a moment, he thought he saw a flash of guilt in the judge's eyes, but it was quickly replaced with the silent stubbornness of one accustomed to getting what he wants. "All right," he went on, "in that case, yeah, I'll be fine with it. It's not like jail is exactly a social scene, anyway, Judge. One cell is really about the same as another."
"I don't know about that, McCormick," Hardcastle contradicted. "You ever spent any time in solitary?"
The usually friendly face hardened suddenly, and emptiness settled into the blue eyes.
"Once or twice," McCormick answered, his wooden tone forbidding further discussion.
Hardcastle nodded somberly. "Okay, then you have some idea what to expect. That usually makes it a little easier. It won't be nearly that bad, of course, because Frank will stop in to see you now and again. And, of course, the room isn't exactly the same either; bigger, and much more comfortable, I would assume. Mostly, I just wanted you to be prepared."
McCormick found that he appreciated Hardcastle's concern. Someday, he might even tell him that. But for now, "I'll be fine, Hardcase. I'm pretty sure I can take anything you can dish out."
"Yeah, whatever you say, kid," Hardcastle harrumphed as he knocked on the office door. Hearing the answering voice, the judge issued a single command. "Behave yourself, hotshot. Harper's one of the good guys." He opened the door and led the way inside, not seeing McCormick's rolling eyes behind him, but knowing they were there, just the same.
00000
"Frank, this is Mark McCormick. McCormick, Frank Harper," Hardcastle performed the introductions.
McCormick was sizing up the detective behind the desk, and he was immediately astonished when Harper rose from his chair and offered his hand. "Good to meet you, Mr. McCormick," Harper said.
McCormick extended his own hand. "You, too, Lieutenant," he replied. "The judge tells me you're going to be helping us out, so I guess a thank you is in order." He saw Hardcastle's quiet look of approval, and smiled to himself.
Harper seemed surprised. "I wouldn't have expected you to consider it much of a help," he stated, "but you're welcome all the same."
McCormick shrugged fractionally. "I know it could be worse," he said truthfully.
"So, Frank, did you find someone like I asked?" Hardcastle broke in. He dropped into a chair in front of the desk, as Harper re-seated himself. He motioned at the other empty chair, but McCormick waved it off, and leaned himself against the wall next to the file cabinet.
"Yes, Milt," Harper replied affably, "I found someone. Let me get him down here."
As the lieutenant picked up the phone and made a quick call, McCormick took the opportunity to observe him further. The man was shorter than the judge, a bit younger, and considerably more amiable. His round face seemed to have been lined with frequent laughter, and he was obviously comfortable in his position. He made his call to summon someone else to the office, and then engaged in companionable conversation with Hardcastle. He didn't seem at all concerned with an ex-convict hanging out in his office, and McCormick was still impressed with the basic decency of the handshake. In his experience, most cops didn't take the time to be polite to cons, ex or otherwise. Typically, you were lucky to get civil; polite was really beyond expectation. It occurred to him that he shouldn't be surprised. Hardcastle was nowhere near a typical jurist; why would he befriend a typical cop?
He was still evaluating the lieutenant when he heard the knock on the door. Harper invited the visitor in, and McCormick was startled by what he saw walking through the door. Clad in jeans and a tee shirt, the man entering the room could have been his brother. About his age and his height, but a bit stockier—more muscular, really, he admitted to himself—curly brown hair, blue eyes, and a decent tan. He focused in on Harper's voice; he wanted to know what was going on.
"This is Officer Bill Wilde," the lieutenant introduced. "Bill, this is Judge Hardcastle and Mark McCormick."
"Good to meet you both," Wilde replied. He glanced at the judge. "Lieutenant Harper says you've got some work for me?"
Hardcastle nodded. "I just need you around my place for a while. I need someone to stand in for McCormick over there."
Wilde simply nodded. "Okay." He was too good an officer to ask why.
Mark McCormick had no such restrictions, however. "What's up, Judge?"
"If you expect someone to keep telling me about all your misdeeds, don't you think it would be helpful if they believed you were still free to perform them?" Hardcastle asked logically.
"You think someone's watching me?" McCormick didn't seem to consider the idea very likely.
Hardcastle faced the younger man squarely. "I figure we've only got two options, kiddo. Either someone is watching you so they will know when—and when not—to accuse you, or…" he trailed off, letting McCormick figure out the second option.
"Yeah, yeah," McCormick responded bitterly, "I got it. It's either that or they can accuse me because they really know when I actually committed the crimes. All right…someone must be watching me."
"Thought you might see it my way," the judge said as he turned his attention back to the two police officers. "So, Wilde, I just need you to hang around my house, do a few minor chores to keep up appearances," he ignored the sarcastic snort from behind him, "and occasionally run some errands so that you can be seen around town." He grinned maliciously as he dropped the last bomb: "I think you'll really like the sports car."
McCormick glanced up sharply. "Judge…"
"Something to say, McCormick?" Hardcastle asked, the tone almost daring the ex-con to object to the plan.
McCormick slumped back against the wall, his cold eyes drilling into the judge. "No, Hardcase, not a thing." He saw the quick grin exchanged between Hardcastle and the lieutenant, and just shook his head. He knew he was being unreasonable; it wasn't like they were going to hurt the car, after all. And he knew without being told that it was probably the car that was actually being watched; the physical similarities with his stand-in were just the finishing touches on the plan. But he didn't like the judge having such fun at his expense. Someday he might tell him that, too.
McCormick forced his mind to focus on the conversation that was continuing without him. He heard Wilde telling the judge that he could be ready within the hour, and he felt his tension rising again. Not much longer now. He allowed the conversation to drift to the background again and focused instead on maintaining enough control to stay put rather than bolting from the office. After a few more minutes, he realized that the others were rising from their chairs. That was undoubtedly his cue, too, but he would wait for specific instructions.
Wilde left the room, and McCormick felt Hardcastle's attention on him again. He glanced over at the judge, and was surprised at the concern in the eyes. He forced a calmness he didn't feel into his voice. "I'm fine, Judge. I just hope this works."
"No reason it shouldn't," Hardcastle assured him. "So you ready?"
McCormick nodded and pushed himself away from the wall.
Emerging from behind his desk, Harper addressed the young man. "I know this is a bit unofficial, Mr. McCormick," he began, "but there are still some rules for the holding cells. Are you wearing any jewelry?"
"No."
"McCormick," Hardcastle growled a low warning, "that includes the medallion."
Without looking at the judge, McCormick tugged on the collar of his shirt, revealing a bare neck; the ever-present Saint Jude medallion had been safely packed away back at the gatehouse.
"This isn't the first time you've invited me to this slumber party, Judge," he said. "I know the drill."
Hardcastle grimaced at the bitterness in the tone, but Harper spoke again before the judge could be baited into an argument. "What about your pockets? Anything?"
"No," McCormick answered again, "but I'm sure you'd like to check that out for yourself." He raised his arms away from his body and allowed Harper to do a quick pat down.
"Okay," the lieutenant said, "if you guys will come with me…." He led them from the office and down the corridor to the nearest temporary cell. He opened the door inward, and stepped aside.
McCormick paused, seeing the interior of the small room from the hallway. The dull grayness that emanated from inside the doorway sent a chill to his soul. He flinched as he felt a hand on his shoulder.
"This is what I'm dishing out, kiddo," Hardcastle said, a quiet challenge in his tone.
With a glare at the judge, McCormick jerked away and stepped deliberately into the cell.
"Okay, McCormick, I'll be back as soon as I can," the judge told him.
"I'll be here," McCormick answered. He saw the door being closed, and knew he had to ask the question that raged in his mind. "Judge? What if they don't call?"
Hardcastle stopped the door momentarily. "Then I'll be disappointed," he said, surprising them both with the simple honesty of the answer. "And for what it's worth…I'll be very surprised." He saw McCormick's eyes widen in surprise as he pulled the door closed behind him.
"It's worth more than you know, Hardcase," McCormick whispered to the empty room, "but I'll be damned if I know why."
00000
As McCormick was settling into his new—but familiar—surroundings, Hardcastle and Harper were in the detective's office waiting for Wilde to return.
"I am not getting soft!" Hardcastle was insisting indignantly. "All I said was I wanted you to take care of him. We do still take care of prisoners in our custody, don't we? Or has something changed since I retired?"
Harper grinned. "Nothing's changed around here, but I'm not so sure about you." He ignored the glare from Hardcastle and continued. "The kid was throwing a lot of attitude your direction, and you just let him get away with it. Never thought I'd see the day when old Hardcase got taken in by a pair of puppy dog eyes."
"Look," the judge tried to explain, "he's in my custody. I'm supposed to be watching after him; it's part of my judicial responsibility."
"Whatever you say, Milt," Harper laughed at the other man's obvious discomfort.
"Frank." The suddenly serious tone of Hardcastle's voice got Harper's attention immediately. But other than the single word, the judge was strangely silent.
After a moment, Harper spoke. "Milt? What is it?"
"I don't know," Hardcastle admitted. "I'm pretty sure he's innocent…."
"Which is why he's over here instead of at the other end of the building," Harper reminded him. He observed his old friend closely. "You're not feeling guilty about this?"
Hardcastle met his eyes. "It's not my job to put innocent guys in jail, Frank. Though McCormick, of course, has a different view of things."
Frank laughed slightly, then sobered immediately. "Milt, listen to me. The kid's only on parole for six months when he's out stealing cars again. Then, a month after you arrange the best break he's ever gonna get, you've got someone telling you he's out burglarizing a variety of places and planning to skip out on you. And, finally, when you ask him about it, the only explanations he can come up with just corroborate his guilt. Honestly, anyone else would've had him back inside so fast his head would still be spinning. You've got a right to be more than 'pretty sure,' Milt, and we both know it."
"Yeah, I know," Hardcastle agreed softly. "And I think he knows it, too, whatever that's all about. Kid makes me crazy." He gave a brief laugh. "Maybe I am getting soft, but take care of him for me, anyway, will ya, Frank? No sense teaching someone else how to clean the pool and all if I don't have to."