Brown, Sandra-Friction

He placed his right hand over his heart. “Lady justice is nothing if not fair.”
With obvious vexation, she took a firmer stance, which was hard to pull off with bare feet.
“Precisely. I am fair. I wouldn’t want to make a decision that could possibly damage your daughter’s
—”
“Her name is Georgia.”
“Georgia’s welfare. She is my main concern. Not you, not her grandparents. Georgia. My hope is
that your relationship with the Gilroys will remain amicable, that both parties will graciously accept
the outcome of the proceedings. Any resultant animosity could have an adverse effect on Georgia.
Everyone, especially the court, wants to avoid that. Which is why arguments for both sides should be
carefully weighed, looked at from every angle, and deliberated long and hard before a ruling is
handed down.”
He didn’t say anything for a time. Then, “Rousing speech, judge. A real rah-rah. You should save
it for a campaign fund-raiser. But I’m not buying a damn word of it, especially the part about
deliberating long and hard. You had made up your mind about my petition before you came into that
courtroom today, hadn’t you?”
“No.”
He made a skeptical sound.
“Fine. Believe what you want.” She pointed toward the door. “But do it somewhere else. Please
go.”
“Or what?”
“Or I’ll call the police.”
Technically, he was the police, but he huffed a laugh. “Not a chance. Bad publicity. Bad for your
campaign. More negative attention drawn to you after today?” He shook his head. “Un-huh. Your rival
Sanders, Governor Hutchins, people in general are already speculating on whether or not the shooting
was your fault.”
As though he’d literally struck her below the belt, she protectively crossed her arms over her
middle and tucked her hands beneath her elbows. “Don’t say that.”
Clearly she’d already considered the possibility that she was somehow responsible, and it
bothered her greatly. But he couldn’t soft-soap this to spare her feelings. The stakes for him were too
high. When the investigation into the shooting incident was laid to rest, he wanted there to be no
misgivings about the action he’d taken today. If there were, he didn’t have a chance in hell of getting
Georgia back.
So he pressed. “Did Jorge Rodriguez have a beef with you?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
“Come on, judge. It’s just you and me now.”
“You’re suggesting that I lied to the police?”
“Everybody lies to the police.”
“I don’t. I had never heard of Jorge Rodriguez until tonight. Why would I lie about it?”
“That’s easy. In November you want to be elected on merit. If there’s something really ugly—”
“Get—”
“—you wouldn’t want it exposed when we’re coming up on voting season.”
“—out!”
“No scandal involving an illegal, then?”