Chapter3

Wilde gave a low whistle as they cruised up the drive at Gull's Way. "This is your place, huh, Judge?"

Hardcastle grinned as he glanced at his passenger. Did all kids have that same reaction to his house? "You're not going to tell me anything about studying psychology with Charlie Manson, are you?" he asked, remembering McCormick's comments the first time he had arrived at the estate.

"What?"

"Forget it." Trying to explain McCormick's rather warped sense of humor would definitely lose something in the translation. He parked the car in the drive for the moment and climbed out. He retrieved Wilde's duffel bag from the trunk and tossed it to the officer.

"C'mon, I'll open up the gatehouse. I'm sure McCormick left his keys in there."

"Gatehouse?" Wilde asked as he followed the judge. "McCormick gets his own house?" The disbelief was evident in his tone, and he was only half joking when he asked, "Whatever happened to crime doesn't pay?"

Hardcastle stopped suddenly and whirled on the officer. "Something you want to say, Wilde?" His tone was unexpectedly low with an undisguised fury, his face carved in stone, and every muscle in his body was tensed.

"No, sir," Wilde replied, immediately all business. He had only transferred to L.A. a few years earlier, but Hardcastle was practically a legend…and the legendary tales rarely had happy endings for anyone who crossed him. Having never met the judge personally, Wilde had been inclined to believe that the stories had been exaggerated. Feeling the weight of the cold stare on him now, however, he wondered if maybe some of the more gruesome parts hadn't actually been edited out. "No, sir," he repeated, "nothing at all. Sorry, sir." He breathed a silent sigh of relief when the judge turned and resumed his approach to the gatehouse. As he followed the stomping jurist, Wilde could hear him muttering under his breath—something about kids needing their butts kicked from here down to Seagull Beach—and wondered briefly if McCormick might not be better off in prison.

In his anger, Hardcastle had hurried away from the young officer, but he stopped suddenly, holding up a warning hand, and Wilde came to an immediate stop at his side.

"Got your weapon?" Hardcastle whispered, as he pointed at the gatehouse door standing wide open.

Wilde nodded, and pulled the gun from its holster.

Hardcastle was cursing himself for being unarmed when he knew good and well something strange was going on, but he had been unwilling to carry a gun when he drove McCormick to the station. He hadn't really understood the feeling, but he had heeded it. And he was regretting it now.

With a mental shrug, the judge motioned for Wilde to stay alert, and he peered cautiously through the open door. Seeing nothing in the living area, he led the way over the threshold. He started toward the stairway, trying to be as stealthy as possible, though he realized the wide-open floor plan didn't really lend itself to remaining inconspicuous.

Hardcastle had reached the bottom step when he felt something drop over him, shutting out the lights. "What the hell?" Immediately, there was activity coming from both sides, and he struggled to free himself from the cloth draping over his head. He heard Wilde's identification and warning from behind him and the startled gasp coming from above him. "Hold it!" he shouted, understanding the situation immediately.

"Wilde, put your gun down!" Hardcastle finally managed to free himself from the tangle of bed sheets. "And, Sarah, get down here!" He retreated to the main living area and waited for the others to join him.

When they were gathered, Hardcastle introduced them. "Wilde, this is my friend, Sarah Wicks; she holds this place together for me. Sarah, this is Officer Bill Wilde; he's going to be staying here in the gatehouse for a while." The two exchanged their greetings, and Hardcastle turned his attention back to his housekeeper.

"Sarah, what are you doing here, anyway? I wasn't expecting you back until tomorrow."

"The weather reports said there was a storm blowing in late tonight, Your Honor, and it's not expected to move out until mid-day tomorrow. I didn't want to make the trip in the weather. Anyway," Sarah continued, "since I'm here, I'll go ahead and set up the fold-out bed for Mr. Wilde."

"Don't bother," Hardcastle instructed, "he can use the bed upstairs. Apparently, it's getting fresh sheets anyway, though I'm pretty sure I told you just last week not to be coming over here babying McCormick. If he wants his sheets washed, he can sure as hell drag them over to the house himself."

Sarah glanced quickly at Wilde, suspicion dawning in her eyes. "Where is Mark?" she asked, ignoring Hardcastle's laundry instructions much as she had ignored them the previous week. She was surprised to see the discomfort that suddenly came over the judge.

"He's not here right now, Sarah. We'll talk about it later at the house."

"Is he all right?" Sarah didn't mind waiting for other details, but she wanted that answer immediately.

"He's fine, Sarah," Hardcastle replied. "I'll be over in just a bit and explain everything."

"Very well, Judge. It will just take me a minute to finish the bed." The seriousness in her tone made it clear she wasn't pleased with the task, even though she had been willingly doing it for McCormick just moments before.

"Never mind, Sarah, we'll take care of it."

"Yes," Wilde chimed in, "I can get it."

Sarah looked at the newcomer severely. "That's fine, Mr. Wilde. You'll find everything you need upstairs, and I've already replaced the linens in the bathroom."

"Thank you," the officer answered. "I'll be careful with McCormick's things," he added, somehow feeling that might be important to this woman.

Sarah just sniffed and left the gatehouse without further comment.

Hardcastle turned to Wilde with a grin. "I don't think she likes you."

"No," the younger man agreed, "I don't think so. Is she close with McCormick?"

"Not exactly," the judge replied, not bothering to offer further explanation. He clapped his hands together suddenly. "Now here's the plan," he said eagerly. "You get settled in here for a bit, maybe wander around the grounds, you know, just get to know your way around. Come on over to the house about six and we'll have dinner. Then maybe you can go out for a while tonight. If we get lucky, maybe this will be over by tomorrow."

Wilde nodded. Hardcastle had filled him in on the situation as they made the drive to Malibu. He didn't understand why the judge seemed to have trouble believing the ex-convict was really guilty of the crimes, but this little decoy assignment looked to be shaping up into a pretty cushy gig, so he could certainly go along. Besides, he seemed to have gotten off on the wrong foot with Hardcastle, and that didn't feel like a good place to be. So if he could help the man work this out, Wilde would feel much, much better.

00000

Hardcastle entered the house and headed directly for the basement to drop off the linens he had carried over from the gatehouse. Then he returned upstairs, wondering how best to explain about McCormick. Sarah was one of the few people allowed to speak her mind entirely to the judge and, consequently, one of the few people who could make him really question his own behavior. He was doing enough of that already without someone else adding to it. But he was a firm believer in taking responsibility for your own actions, so he walked into the kitchen.

Sarah was standing at the counter, cutting vegetables for the stew that was already smoldering on the stovetop. "I've got cornbread in the oven," she commented as Hardcastle sniffed the stew pot. "I thought something warm might be nice since it's cooling off a bit. And," she added pointedly, "when I started, I had thought Mark might enjoy it." She looked at Hardcastle sadly.

"Have we lost him already?"

Hardcastle stood across the island counter and patted her hand. "No, Sarah, we haven't lost him. At least, I don't think so. But I had to put him back in jail for a little while."

Sarah looked at him in confusion. "You're not making any sense. Why don't you tell me what happened this weekend?"

Hardcastle briefly elaborated on the phone calls he had received, as well as giving a synopsis of McCormick's own explanations, or lack thereof. He ended by explaining why there was a stranger living in the gatehouse temporarily. "I'm hoping that Wilde will make a passable substitute for McCormick so that the accusations will continue even while he's in jail. That way, I will know for sure."

Sarah carried the last of the vegetables to the stove, and turned back to face her employer. "Do you really think there's a chance Mark's guilty?"

He met her gaze. "A chance? Absolutely. But I think it's a slim one."

Sarah's eyes flared with sudden anger. "Then you're being foolish, Milton Hardcastle. Don't you know how hard he's been trying? If he were going to continue being a criminal—which I don't think he would—this is not the way he would do it. As long as he's in this house, Your Honor, he's going to be doing exactly as you ask."

Hardcastle sighed deeply. "That's mostly what I think, too, Sarah, but I have to be sure. You know, it's easy for you: you simply get to know him and decide he's a good kid, and make your decisions based on your emotions. I almost envy you.

"But I've seen too much, Sarah. Too many kids just like him with their bright smiles and easy laughs, only to find out that it was all an act." He hesitated, then continued, hating to make the admission, but needing her to understand. "Even the ones who've come here, Sarah…most of them fooled me. He's a likeable kid, Sarah; I'm not denying it. And he seems so sincere, but…." His voice trailed off, his uncertainty written on his face.

The housekeeper softened immediately. "They didn't fool you, Your Honor. You just tried to give them a chance, even when you knew they probably didn't deserve it. But Mark is different, Judge, and you know it. You're trying to be cautious because you think that you should, but deep down, you know that you don't have to be this time. This time, it will work." She paused for a moment to let her words sink in, then made her argument. "It will work," she repeated, "if you let it. Don't turn your back on him, Judge Hardcastle. You need to go bring him home."

Hardcastle studied her intently, knowing she meant the best, but still amazed by her defense of McCormick. Sarah had never been overly fond of his rehabilitation project, and she had been dead set against his plan to continue working after retirement. And the night he had brought McCormick home and insisted he be put up in the gatehouse rather than the gardener's trailer…he knew Sarah believed then that he had completely lost his mind. And yet, somehow McCormick had gotten to her almost immediately, and not a month later, here she was defending the kid. Telling him flat out to his face that he was wrong. She was rarely so blunt, so Hardcastle knew he must have screwed up royally. Even so….

"Not yet, Sarah," he said firmly. "Besides, McCormick understands."

She sniffed at his rationalization. "Understands that you don't trust him? That's a great way to start a partnership."

Hardcastle smiled slightly. "No, Sarah, it isn't, but it will be okay. I'll make it up to the kid later. Now, I'll set the table and you can tell me all about your weekend, okay?"

Understanding that the discussion was closed—and knowing she could re-open it at another time—she returned his smile. "Well, you know, we had great weather…"

00000

McCormick sat on the bed, his arms circled around his legs pulled up to his chest, and his head resting on his knees. He had already done enough pacing for one day, and he had resigned himself to sitting several hours ago. Really, he would have liked to just go to sleep and forget it all for a while, but he knew it would be late in the night before he was exhausted enough to sleep in the cell. And even though he had dismissed Hardcastle's concern over the isolation stand point, he would have vastly preferred the cell block to this holding room; at least there would've been someone to talk to. Oh, well. This isn't forever, he kept reminding himself. Even so, hadn't he started this day knowing that this was the last place on earth he wanted to be? Someday he would learn when to keep his mouth shut.

When he heard the door open without warning, he raised his head, but knew better than to surprise his visitor by jumping to his feet. He felt his hopes fall just a bit when he realized it was Lieutenant Harper entering the room, but he brushed the feeling aside. He knew it was too soon for Hardcastle to be back, and just sitting here waiting and hoping wasn't going to do one bit of good for his sanity. Seeing that the lieutenant had his hands full, he rose slowly.

"Let me give you a hand, Lieutenant."

"How are you doing, Mr. McCormick?" Harper greeted as he handed McCormick a stack of denim clothing and a small bag of personal toiletries. "I brought you some basic necessities."

McCormick smiled slightly as he took the items, still impressed with the detective. "I'm okay, Lieutenant, thanks for asking. And thanks for the stuff…though I'm hoping I won't need a lot of it."

Harper grinned at him. "I'm not making assumptions, I just figured as long as I was grabbing supplies, I'd get enough to last a while. It wouldn't bother me at all to have to take them back."

After McCormick had placed the clothing neatly on the foot of the bed, Harper held out a small sack and a paper cup. "Milt said you liked Burger Man, and the beauty of these multi-purpose rooms is that you even get a table to eat at."

"Yeah," McCormick laughed as he took the offered meal, "it's a regular Ritz Carlton." He glanced quickly at the lieutenant. "Sorry," he mumbled, feeling his face redden; he hadn't meant to run his mouth to this man.

"It's okay," Harper assured him. "I certainly understand the limitations of the accommodations."

McCormick relaxed and placed the food on the table in the interrogation area of the small room. He grabbed a fry from the bag and folded it into his mouth. "Almost like home," he grinned.

"Okay," Harper said, "do you need anything else before I go?"

McCormick resisted the impulse to ask for a key to the door. "Nope. Thanks again."

"Then I'll see you tomorrow, Mr. McCormick."

McCormick nodded, and moved further away from the door. "Good night, Lieutenant." The words reminded him of something. "By the way," he continued before Harper turned away, "what time is it, anyway?"

"About 7:40," the officer replied with a glance at his watch.

"Okay, thanks. You kinda lose track in here, ya know? I try to keep a rough idea, though. Keeps you from going too loopy."

Harper hadn't really thought about that before, but he could understand. He nodded, and wished McCormick a good night as he walked out the door.

McCormick watched him go, and then turned immediately to his dinner, grateful that Hardcastle had apparently instructed Harper to bring double everything. A bologna sandwich could only carry you so far, after all.

00000

"Okay, Milt," Harper's voice said through the phone receiver, "he's all tucked in for the night."

"Is he doing all right?" Hardcastle asked.

The police officer snorted. "If he can handle a couple of years in maximum security, I'm pretty sure he's not gonna fall apart after a few hours here."

"Of course not," Hardcastle replied indignantly. "I just meant, is he behaving? I don't want him to make things worse for himself while he's there."

"Oh, okay," Harper said in his most conciliatory tone, "I guess I misunderstood your meaning." He grinned, knowing that Hardcastle didn't expect him to believe the cover story. "And, yes, he is behaving himself. He's a pretty well-mannered kid, really. You sure you found him in Quentin?"

"Well-mannered?" The judge was incredulous. "McCormick? Are you sure you didn't end up with another decoy in your cell, Frank?"

Frank laughed. "Well, you know how kids are…always the angel when they're away from home. And speaking of which…how's my little angel doing out there?"

Hardcastle gave a brief laugh. "He's feeling a little bit brought down to size right now, but I think he'll be fine."

"What did you do to him, Milt?"

"It wasn't me," the judge replied, pretending to be hurt. "I only asked him to drive down the highway for a while to make his presence known, but that car of McCormick's is something of a monster. Wilde had to take it for a few spins around the driveway before he got over the bunny hopping. I don't think it did much for his ego, but he'll survive." He smiled to himself, replaying the image in his head. It served the young man right, really, considering his earlier comment about McCormick's arrangements at Gull's Way.

Harper laughed lightly. "Well, okay. I guess it sounds like both our boys can take care of themselves, so I'm gonna head out of here for the night. I'll talk to you tomorrow, Milt."

Hardcastle hung up the phone, then leaned back in his chair, listening to the wind pick up outside. He hoped Wilde would remember his instructions to only be out a couple of hours; he didn't think the officer's driving skills were up to the challenge of the Coyote in a rainstorm just yet. He was laughing again as he headed to the other room for popcorn.

00000

Mark McCormick stood at the small metal sink and splashed the cold water on his face again. It wasn't that he really wanted to be awake, but he knew he was going to be, anyway, so he would prefer to look a little better than he felt. He looked closely at his reflection in the mirror—thankful that Harper had smuggled him a decent razor—and decided the bags weren't too bad yet.

After the morning ritual, he pulled on one of the jail-issued denim shirts. He would have preferred his own clothes, but he had known it would be better to save those for returning home. Since it had already been a day and a half—and two very long nights—he was glad he had decided to go ahead and change. Feeling as refreshed as he was likely to get, McCormick decided to start his day in the chair at the table. He rested his face in his hands, wondering if he would get to go home today.

The first day in the cell had been hard, mostly because he had been so upset by the whole idea of it, but it had only been a few hours. And, of course, the long night. But the second day had seemed eternal. Frank Harper had been by three times to bring him food from the cafeteria, but other than that, he had been alone. Each time the detective had visited the room, McCormick had checked the time, and he had been discouraged to find that his guesses had gotten further from the truth as the day wore on. At this point, he had no idea how long he had actually been in the small room, and it scared him just a little bit. All in all, he was beginning to wish he'd taken his chances with general population and the parole board.

McCormick was at the table for a long time—though he wouldn't be able to say how long—then moved back to the cot. Feeling tired, he had stretched out, hoping that he would be able to rest, but so far that wasn't happening. Now, he heard the doorknob beginning to turn, but he didn't have the energy to get up, and he figured Harper wouldn't care one way or the other, anyway.

"Mr. McCormick?"

"Yeah, Lieutenant?" McCormick didn't even open his eyes.

"There's someone here who'd like to see you."

McCormick sat up then, anxious. He looked at Harper quizzically, then saw a small gray head poking from behind the officer.

"Sarah!" McCormick was so excited to see the housekeeper that he jumped off the bed and rushed to her. He grabbed her up—causing her to give a small yelp of surprise—and swung her around joyfully before he placed her safely back on the floor.

"McCormick!" Harper's stern voice cut through his short-lived happiness.

Looking around to determine what had suddenly upset the lieutenant, McCormick realized that he had whirled himself right into the open doorway. Too bad it had never been so easy to break out of any of the other cells he'd found himself in over the years.

Wearing an embarrassed grin, he stepped purposefully back into the room. "Sorry, Lieutenant, it was an accident." He moved back to the small table and seated himself. "I'm not going anywhere." Only then did he see Harper relax, and only then did he notice that Sarah was very tense. He slowly got back on his feet and moved to stand next to her.

"It's okay, Sarah," he said gently. "Come sit down with me; it will make Lieutenant Harper much happier." He threw a quick grin at the lieutenant to prove that no offense was intended.

Harper smiled as he watched McCormick hold a chair for the woman. "I'll be back in about half an hour, Sarah. McCormick…."

The prisoner held up his hands in mock surrender. "I know, I know. I'll behave. Can't have you sending bad reports back home to the judge."

Harper laughed slightly. "Good to know." He started out the door, then stopped again. "Oh, I almost forgot. I got you a little present." He reached into his pocket, pulled out a small square, and tossed it over to McCormick.

McCormick grabbed the small box out of the air, and looked at it uncertainly. He examined it a second, then pulled it open to reveal a tiny travel clock. He looked back up at Harper sharply, a deep gratitude in his eyes. "Thank you, Lieutenant," he said simply.

"Can't have you getting 'loopy' on me," Harper said with a grin. "Hardcastle says it's my job to take care of you." With those words, he disappeared out the door.

McCormick dropped into the chair across from Sarah, stunned. He looked at the clock, and shook his head. Such a simple thing, but in many ways such a grand gesture. He looked up at Sarah. "The judge said Harper was one of the good guys," he said softly.

"He is," Sarah confirmed. She looked at the clock, then patted McCormick's hand. "I don't know what that was all about, Mark, but it obviously was important to you, and I am not at all surprised that Lieutenant Harper understood that. You know, he and Judge Hardcastle are very similar in many ways."

"Hah!" McCormick grunted. "Don't know who you're trying to fool with that load of malarkey, Sarah, but I'm not buying." He paused then, and met her eyes. "I appreciate you coming, Sarah. Really."

She smiled gently at the young man. "We were worried about you."

"You mean you were worried, Sarah, and you're just trying to make the judge look good by association. Sorry, but still no sale."

"He really has been worried, Mark."

McCormick shook his head. "He may be worried about his project. And he might be concerned that he'll have to haul his butt back down to the parole board to find someone else to shanghai. And…he might even be feeling just a little bit guilty about this whole thing. Maybe. But he absolutely is not worried about me."

He spoke with confidence, though the tiniest of voices whispered disagreement in his mind. He couldn't deny that Hardcastle had demonstrated a few moments of compassion, but he didn't have to dwell on those few moments, either. Honestly, it had been much simpler when he could keep the judge in a nice dark corner of his mind and just take him out and spit on him once in a while.

Sarah looked at him disapprovingly. "I was going to give you the breakfast I brought, young man, but with that kind of an attitude, I might just let you do without. Honestly, Mark, sometimes I don't know which one of you is more stubborn."

McCormick smirked. "If you really think it's even close to a contest, Sarah, you haven't been living in the same house I have. At my most hardheaded, I am running a distant second to Hardcase Hardcastle. That man needs an outfit with a cape and a capital 'D'. Super Donkey to the rescue." He stopped himself before he could really get rolling. "But…did you really bring me breakfast?"

She laughed at his sudden change in subject. "Yes, I did. I don't imagine it's quite as good as new, but Lieutenant Harper did let me use a microwave to heat it up again." She opened her large purse and brought out two sealed plastic containers, a small thermos, a fork, and napkins.

McCormick grinned as he pulled the items toward him greedily. He opened the containers and found scrambled eggs and sausage in one and a couple of homemade biscuits in the other. He grabbed the fork and took an eager bite, then reminded himself not to rush. As he worked on the eggs, Sarah opened the thermos and poured a cup of coffee.

"Sarah, you are the best," McCormick commented between bites. "What did I ever do to deserve you?"

"Hard time?" she suggested mildly.

McCormick almost let his coffee spurt across the room at the woman's dry response.

"Sarah! Did you just make a joke?" He giggled at her innocent face. "You're killin' me here." He took another drink of coffee, then spoke again. It was good to have someone to talk to.

"How was your trip last weekend? The judge said you were visiting friends."

"Yes. One of my dearest friends lives up in Santa Maria, and we needed a girl's weekend." She paused before speaking again. "But I'm sure my weekend isn't really the most important thing on your mind, Mark."

"You might be surprised," he replied. "I do have a lot of interests." He placed one of the sausage patties into a biscuit and took a bite of his sandwich before asking the question that was really weighing on his mind.

"Has the judge found out anything yet?"

Sarah shook her head sadly. "Not really. He tried to talk to your girlfriend, but she's apparently out of town. He went to that pawn shop, and the house that was burglarized. And he's spoken to every police officer involved in both investigations, as well as some of your friends down at the racetrack, but he says there's no lead anywhere. He did say, though, that there really isn't anything to connect the two crimes together, either, and he thinks that's a good thing."

"Have there been any more phone calls?"

"No, Mark, there haven't. I'm sorry."

He shrugged. "It really hasn't been that long, but still…I wonder how long he'll wait?"

"What do you mean?" Sarah was confused.

"The calls could just stop forever," McCormick explained. "If someone was trying to set me up, they've already done enough damage. If they don't call again, Hardcastle will send me back to Quentin for sure. I just don't know how long he'll wait before he makes that decision."

Sarah looked at the young man sharply. "Judge Hardcastle does not send innocent people to prison, Mark," she replied indignantly.

McCormick looked at her levelly. "We might have to agree to disagree on that topic, Sarah. Besides, what about right now? Are you telling me you think I pulled those robberies?"

"Of course not, but this is hardly San Quentin, and I notice the judge is trying to make this situation as bearable as possible."

He smiled slightly as he ate the last of his biscuit. "I suppose. At least he let you come visit me."

"My visit was the second choice; I wanted him to come and bring you home."

McCormick reached across the table and took the woman's hand. "He has to do this, Sarah; he has to be sure. I need him to be sure." He tried to explain. "You know, this isn't like the occasional restless night when he wonders if I'm gonna take off down the PCH and never come back; not like the mild distrust that I know stays in the back of his mind just because he doesn't know me yet. We could both live with that kind of vague uncertainty for a while, and it serves him right, anyway, for dragging me into this crazy scheme of his.

"But this is different, Sarah. He's got specific doubts about me now, specific crimes he thinks I committed. Or might've committed, or could've committed, or whatever it is that he thinks. I can't live with that any more than he can. If I'm really going to work with him, he has to know that he can at least trust me not to be running around breaking all sorts of laws. I just hope this plan of his works."

Sarah smiled up at him. "The judge said you understood."

"I do," McCormick answered, returning her smile. "I don't like it, but I do understand it. So," he said cheerfully, quickly changing the subject, "how's that cop treating my car?"

"He's treating the car just fine," Sarah replied with a laugh, "but I'm not sure the car is doing much for him."

"I should've warned him," McCormick said sheepishly, "and given him a few pointers." He grinned at the housekeeper. "But I was annoyed that Hardcastle didn't tell me about his plan, so I didn't want to make it easy on anyone."

"He'll survive," Sarah assured him. "Besides, Judge Hardcastle seems to find it rather amusing."

"Glad somebody could get some entertainment out of this situation," McCormick muttered as he ate the last of his breakfast. "I'd hate for the judge to be bored."

He replaced the lids on the containers, and wiped the fork with the napkin, then leaned back in the chair, sipping on his coffee. "That was great, Sarah. You should get a job in the kitchen here; you'd make a lot of guys very happy."

"And just who would take care of you and the judge if I did that?"

He grinned. "Okay, you got a point there."

They sat for a while in companionable silence while McCormick enjoyed the warm coffee, wishing he had a way to make the visit last. It was completely unfair, he thought, that the hours alone dragged on forever, but this half hour with Sarah was flying by at the speed of light.

Sarah caught him looking wistfully at the clock and knew McCormick was counting down the minutes. "I can come back anytime," she told him.

McCormick looked at her with a small, lop-sided grin. "That's okay, Sarah. It's a long drive. Besides, I don't think I'll be here all that much longer…one way or the other."

"You'll be home soon, Mark; I'm sure of it. Judge Hardcastle is not going to let you go back to prison for something you didn't do."

"If you say so, Sarah." Clearly, McCormick was not convinced, but he smiled at the sincere woman. "You just keep reminding him of that, would you?"

"He doesn't need reminding, Mark," Sarah said as she began packing up the dishes, "but I'll keep it up, anyway."

They lapsed into another moment of silence, and McCormick started when he heard the doorknob turning. "Looks like time is up," he commented unnecessarily. He grinned at Sarah, not wanting her to worry. "I'll try not to worry the lieutenant this time around."

"The lieutenant would appreciate that," came the response from the door as Harper entered the room.

McCormick rose slowly with Sarah, and gave her a quick hug. "Thanks so much, Sarah."

She smiled at him. "Is there anything you want me to tell the judge?"

A million responses leapt immediately into McCormick's mind, but none of them were appropriate for relaying through Sarah, so he clamped his mouth shut tightly.

The woman saw the merriment dancing in the ex-con's eyes, and slapped his arm playfully. "Mark! You should be ashamed of yourself!"

"Hey," he said defensively, "at least I didn't say anything! A guy's still allowed to think, isn't he?"

Harper laughed at the exchange. "I think he's got you there, Sarah. Even Milt couldn't make a case against him for thinking."

Sarah smiled, and clarified her question. "Do you have any messages I would be willing to give the judge?"

"Actually, yeah," McCormick replied finally. "Tell him not to forget about Billy Joel." With those final words, he stepped away from Sarah, and watched as Harper escorted her from the room.

00000

"Hah!" Hardcastle snorted as Sarah relayed the message. "He's been singing that same song as long as I've known him. He should work out some new material."

"What are you talking about?" Sarah asked. She had not questioned McCormick about his unusual message, but Hardcastle's response had piqued her curiosity.

Hardcastle waved his hand dismissively. "Oh, the kid says he's innocent."

"I thought you believed that?" The housekeeper was becoming confused.

"Not just now, Sarah," the judge explained, "but even before, when I sentenced him to prison. It's why he resents me so much."

The housekeeper examined him thoughtfully. "He'll get over the resentment, Your Honor. But was he? Innocent?"

"Not legally."

"That's a very precise answer, Judge Hardcastle." She thought for a moment. "What about morally? Was he morally innocent?"

Hardcastle met her eyes. "Probably."

Sarah was shocked. "And that doesn't bother you?"

"I don't make the rules, Sarah. McCormick made some wrong choices that landed him on the wrong side of the law. The jury had to convict, and I had to pass sentence; that's the way the system works."

"The system works by putting innocent men in prison?"

"He broke the law, Sarah," Hardcastle said strongly. "That doesn't make him innocent."

"It doesn't make him a criminal, either," Sarah shot back.

Hardcastle shook his head. "You don't understand. Laws were broken and a price had to be paid. Besides, it's not like he came up before me on his very first offense, you know. He'd done a lot of stupid things in his life that snowballed on him and rolled him right into San Quentin. If you can ever catch him when he's not wallowing in his self-pity, he'll probably even tell you that himself. Anyway, neither one of you has to agree with my decision, Sarah, but I don't want to keep defending myself to you. It's bad enough I have to hear the 'poor me' crap from McCormick all the time."

"Of course," Sarah answered, contrite. "If there wasn't a choice, there wasn't a choice. It's just unfortunate, is all."

"I won't argue with you there," the judge said with a heavy sigh. "I just hope history isn't trying to repeat itself."

"Me, too," Sarah whispered as she left Hardcastle alone in the den. "Me, too."

"Now," the judge muttered as he rummaged through his desk drawers, "what did I do with that tape?"