Chapter 48
FORTY-EIGHT
Amanda and Trent walked up the front path toward Judge Anderson’s house.
It was beautiful and regal and set on a sizable parcel of land in Woodbridge.
They briefed Malone before coming here and said they wanted to face Anderson in person for the warrants.
While Malone wasn’t completely on board, he conceded with a word of caution. “Don’t level any accusations. Not one.”
She told him she wouldn’t, but she’d replayed this conversation a few times in the last hour. Living up to her promise was going to be challenging because she felt personally wronged by Anderson.
Trent knocked, disregarding the bell.
Footsteps approached the door, and it swung open. Anderson was standing there, grinning, but the expression didn’t reach his eyes. “What brings you two here? I’m sure my office would have told you I’m not on call at the moment. I’m—”
“Gene, have you seen my pearl neck… lace?” A mature woman with platinum hair appeared startled at the sight of visitors on her doorstep. “Sorry for the interruption. I didn’t realize we had company.”
“Not exactly company, but…” The judge stepped back and motioned for them to come inside.
“I assume you’re Mrs. Anderson?” Amanda said. In all these years, they’d never met.
“Yes. Robin.”
“And I’m Amanda Steele, a detective with Homicide for the PWCPD.”
“I’m Trent Stenson, her partner.”
“Nice to meet you both.” Her pleasantry came out feeling forced, and she turned to her husband as if she were seeking an explanation for their presence.
“We shouldn’t take up much of your husband’s time,” Amanda told her.
“Good. Our plane leaves in a few hours.” She gave Gene a side-glance, her eyes narrowed.
“How lovely. You’re taking a vacation?” She drew her gaze back to Anderson and was proud of her performance. Her insides were jumping and her instinct screaming he was fleeing the country.
“It’s nothing really. Just a last-minute thing.”
“Our youngest is going through a crisis,” Robin offered.
“Where are they?” Trent asked.
“Elise is in Maine.”
“It should be nice there this time of year. Not too cool yet.” Amanda had never been to Maine, but she knew enough about the area to see the appeal of visiting. Their bitter cold winters would keep her from ever moving there. But was Maine their actual destination?
“Yes, well, you’ll need to excuse me. I need to finish packing.” Robin waved a hand over her head as she walked off into the house.
“Let’s go to my office.” Gene looked over his shoulder as he led them down a hallway. “I trust this must be an urgent matter for you to come here. And any later, you might have missed me.”
“It is an urgent matter,” Amanda confirmed. “Trent and I are used to working with you, and we know you might have an interest in this one.” The next steps would take finesse if she wasn’t going to cross the line that Malone had also stipulated. Don’t let on you suspect him of being corrupt.
Gene entered an office and sat behind an enormous mahogany desk. “Sorry that I don’t have any chairs for visitors, so you’ll need to stand. Tell me, what is this about? You said I’d have an interest in it?”
“Abigail McGee, she’s a local, married to a PWCPD detective from Missing Persons, Lloyd McGee.
You might remember the name? She was put into WITSEC eight years ago after overhearing Lucas Hernandez say something on the phone.
” Amanda was impressed she maintained a neutral tone given her jumpy nerves.
“Ah, yes, I remember the case.”
That’s all he has to say? A foreboding slithered through her body. “Well, Abigail was murdered this week. Trent and I figured you might want to see justice for her. You know, given she’s a local and the wife of a cop.”
“I might have heard something about that. That’s tragic.”
She imagined the PWCPD’s Public Information Office would have issued a statement of some sort by now.
“It is. Well, Trent and I are here with a request for a few warrants. One is for Hernandez’s arrest.” She paused there as his eyes dilated a fraction.
“Another is to apprehend Antonina Martini. And the third is for the authorization to search Hernandez’s residence for the weapons used in the murders of Abigail McGee and Paul Archer. ”
“And the supporting documentation for this?”
Trent handed over a folder that held what they had gathered together.
Amanda pulled out her phone and emailed the video to him. “And I just sent you a video that shows Hernandez and Martini with Abigail McGee moments before her death.”
Anderson opened his email and watched that first. Afterward, he said, “Tell me what I’m looking at here.”
“You can see that she’s bound and being forced to go along with them. The direction they are leading her is behind the barn where she was shot and her body was found,” Amanda said matter-of-factly.
“I see.”
“The house you just saw Hernandez and Martini walk out of belongs to Hernandez,” Trent began.
“The house in Haymarket,” Anderson put in.
“That’s right. In the documentation I just handed you”—Trent pointed at it—“you’ll see the lab can place not only Abigail McGee on the property, but also the Archer family.”
Anderson sat back in his chair and swiveled as he studied the contents of the folder.
Amanda’s heart was pounding while they waited to hear his response.
“The search warrant on Hernandez’s residence was previously denied.”
They had disclosed that in the paperwork. It niggled that Anderson made it sound as if he had no hand in that. “It was.”
A few more minutes passed.
Anderson closed the folder, took a deep breath, and didn’t meet their eyes when he spoke. “Yes, I can approve all of the warrants you’ve requested. I’m glad you could bring fresh evidence that allowed for this.”
Is he, though? His mouth was saying one thing while his agitated energy said another. Amanda had come here wanting to be mistaken about Judge Anderson, but was leaving with a very different feeling.