10Chapter Twenty-Two: It's All Over Now
"Judge Crandall," Blake began. He cleared his throat. "Judge Crandall, there's something I need to tell you."
"What's on your mind, son?" The tall, slim, silver-haired judge gave his fresh-faced young law clerk a warm and friendly smile. The two men were having a late breakfast at a little country diner about halfway between Raleigh and Asheville.
"It's about the money you gave me for Billie Birch." Blake tossed a stained and tattered manila envelope on the polished wooden table. "She didn't want it."
The judge rapidly counted the bills. His countenance darkened. "Most of what I gave you is missing, Blake. What happened?"
Blake squirmed in his seat. "It's all my fault, judge. I was pretty shook up when Billie threw the whole wad of money back in my face. It was unreal, the way she attacked me for working for you. The names she called me. People were watching and it felt so humiliating! Anyway, I tried picking up all the bills as best I could, but my hands were shaking and it was dark and I just couldn't . . ."
"Are you telling me you lost my money, son?" Disappointment was written clearly in every line on the judge's stern, weathered face.
"No, no!" Blake shot his powerful boss a pleading look. Tears shimmered in his big blue eyes. "I know where the money is! I mean I know who has it. You know Marco Maselli, the masseur at the country club. He happened to be at the bar and he saw Billie throw the money back in my face. He was great! He told Bille you were a good man and to leave me alone. Afterwards we gathered up the money together, but I was still pretty upset." Blake fluttered his long lashes at the judge. "I'm so sorry. I guess Marco must have kept some of the money by mistake! But I'm certain he'll give it back if you call him. The whole thing is just one big misunderstanding!"
"I see." Judge Crandall beckoned to a big-haired older woman in a tight waitress uniform, who strolled over to the table at once. "Estelle, some more coffee for me. And for this good-looking young fellow, how about some of your delicious buttermilk pancakes?"
"Coming right up, judge." The busty bleach-blonde snapped her gum, her heavily made up eyes twinkling with mischief. "Coffee for you and a stack of pancakes for your friend. Say, he really is a mighty good-looking young fella! What's your name, beautiful?"
"Blake." A vivid wave of crimson colored the young man's cheeks. "A little more coffee for me, too."
"Sure thing, baby doll. You'll need it to keep up with this old rascal! Robbing the cradle again, judge?" Estelle and Judge Crandall both laughed while Blake squirmed and blushed.
"Does everyone in the world automatically assume we're sleeping together?" Blake whispered, as soon as big-haired, wise-cracking, gum-chewing Estelle had strolled out of hearing distance.
"Don't mind Estelle," Judge Crandall soothed, his low voice comforting and kind. "She's a survivor, and has been through some mighty rough times. She was walking the streets of Atlanta when I first met her."
"You're kidding!" What would it be like to have no home but the streets, and be pawed by an endless parade of men? When he closed his eyes, Blake could almost picture himself in Estelle's place. A street walker in tight dresses and high heels. Shameless, endlessly flirting, coupling with total strangers night after night.
" . . . and she's at church every Sunday. Estelle's turned her whole life around." The judge's warm voice was full of respect.
"Huh?" Blake had been lost in his own lurid thoughts. He frowned, pushing them away. "Judge, I don't know if I'm cut out for the law."
"What makes you say that, son?"
"Well, when we interviewed that serial killer, I was terrified. And when you gave me the money for Billie, I lost half of it. And everyone we meet seems to know I'm not qualified. They think you hired me for my looks, and because we're sleeping together!"
"But we're not sleeping together," the judge pointed out. "You have potential, Blake. But you'll never achieve anything until you believe in yourself."
"I believe in myself," Blake muttered, feeling defensive. "But I don't think I could make a living just . . . hunting people down."
"Some people deserve to be in jail," Judge Crandall said primly. "Lemuel Hackett is a killer. He's locked up now, but only because someone had the guts to put him behind bars. But he got away with plenty before he got caught. Even now, we don't know how many more bodies are out there. That's why the case is still active."
Blake shuddered. "I know, but it's not Hackett I was talking about. I just don't like going after people like me . . . people who made a mistake."
"Ah," the silver-haired judge said, leaning back in his seat. "People like Marco Maselli."
"Here you go, handsome. Breakfast for you and the judge!" Estelle's loud voice nearly made Blake jump out of his seat.
"Estelle, honey, what did I say to you the night we met?" The judge was smiling, but Blake could tell that his question touched on something raw and painful in the woman's past.
"You said I was just a hooker, a cheap tramp," Estelle stated flatly. "You gave me money, but you wouldn't sleep with me. You said I had the potential to be something more than what I was."
Blake felt like all this was about him. Was starting over really a crime? Would it be wrong to turn his back on Marco, and let the judge put him on a proper path?
"It took a lot of guts to come clean like you did, son." Judge Crandall paid for the expensive meal and gave Estelle a huge tip. The cheerful waitress hung around their table for a while, chatting about this and that, but the judge waited till she was gone before putting his hand over Blake's.
"I'm counting on you, Blake. Together we can bring Lemuel Hackett to justice."
"But what about Marco?" Blake's shrill voice was almost pleading.
The judge squeezed his hand. "We'll make sure Marco pays back what he owes, without going to jail. I know you're sweet on him, Blake honey. I saw that the first time I came to Sweet Meadow. You were relaxing by the pool and Marco was giving you a massage, remember?"
"Mm." Blake didn't want to remember everything. The judge was sweet on him. The judge trusted him. But the judge's money had slipped through his fingers because Marco had been making love to him. That lazy day by the pool had just been the first mistake of many. Before long Marco became an obsession. The muscular masseur made Blake want it, crave it, beg for it. Wanting Marco was like a drug. But that was all over. Starting now!