Jasmine caught her at the door. "Were you scared when they handcuffed you?"
"Yes. I still am."
"I thought judges didn't get scared."
"A robe doesn't change your pulse," Audrey said. "You learn to do the right thing while your hands aren't quite steady."
The following morning, at eight sharp, Audrey entered Chief Judge Rosalind Eckert's chambers in Baltimore. Eckert had hired Audrey years earlier as a clerk and had watched her rise through litigation and public service. She was a woman of exact habits, known for keeping a small clock on her desk because she believed a judge who wasted other people's time quietly stole from them. That morning the clock stood beside a color printout of the sheriff's photograph.
"Close the door," Eckert said. "Sheriff Rusk filed a misconduct complaint at seven. Open container, unexplained cash, and use of your judicial title to intimidate officers. His photograph is attached."
"I wrote my title once," Audrey said. "I put it on the form where I was refusing to sign away money that wasn't contraband. I didn't threaten anybody."
"I believe you. But the complaint is now part of an official process, and I have to protect the administration of the court while it is assessed."
Eckert explained that Audrey's forty-two active matters would be temporarily reassigned or held as appropriate while the judicial review proceeded. Two trials were in progress, and the inconvenience to witnesses troubled Audrey more than the loss of her own access. She asked whether the parties could be spared having to present evidence again. Eckert promised to protect the existing records and minimize repeat testimony, but she would not promise an outcome before the review.
"You could end a great deal of this with one call," Eckert said quietly.
"To whom, Rosalind?"
"You know very well. People in federal law enforcement who won't mistake your credentials for something printed at a gift shop."
"If I call because I am a judge, I resolve my case. I don't resolve what happened to Mr. Langford, or the nurse, or the brothers who never got an officer to check a single receipt."
Eckert removed her glasses. "That could be wisdom, or it could be stubbornness on a scale even your mother would have questioned."
"She would've made me count it twice."
Audrey left the key to her courtroom and the judges' parking badge on the desk, though Eckert said she was not obliged to surrender them. She wanted to keep the boundary clear while her own conduct was being scrutinized. Outside, a clerk she greeted every morning lowered his eyes rather than meeting hers. Audrey said good morning anyway and walked to the elevator, the empty place in her handbag feeling heavier than anything inside it.