“Miriam?”
“Yes. She’s in Florida. Enjoying the sun and sea.”
“Give me an address.”
“No need. I believe at this point it would be a waste of your time. I confirmed she was the one who gave Douglas your location the day of the attack on Mercedes. She also told him about her allergy.” There’s a pause, and I think I hear her in the background. “Tell me what you want me to do. I can go through legal channels.” There’s a silence. “Or not.”
“Not,” I tell him, angry but somehow calm. “A limp, I think. Something that will remind her of what she did for the rest of her life.”
“Understood,” he says darkly. There’s a moment of silence, then something clattering to the ground as a woman, Miriam, lets out an ear-piercing scream before I hear the clicking of a door and silence again. He is efficient and trustworthy, Ezra. Miriam will pay a dear price. “Oh,” Ezra casually starts. “I spoke with Theron. He really is looking forward to a visit.”
“I’ll go at the end of the week,” I assure him and disconnect the call to find Santiago’s eyes still on me. He raises his eyebrows. “One down. One to go. Plus Hildebrand.” I check the time and stand.
“You’re sure you don’t want me to go with you?” Santiago asks, standing too.
“No. Hildebrand has the idea I’ll one day sit on The Tribunal. Let me use that. I’ll let you know what I learn.”
He extends his hand, and I take it. “Thank you, Judge. For everything you’re doing for my family.”
Guilt creeps in, but I nod because I don’t trust myself to speak. And then I head toward the compound.
Predictably, Hildebrand is sitting in his office well into the evening. He is divorced, has no family in the New Orleans faction, and rarely visits his adult children or brothers on the East Coast. Which is why he’s so fucking committed to the letter of the law.
“Judge. I wasn’t expecting you,” he says as I’m shown into his office.
“I realize it’s late, but I was passing by and thought I’d drop in. We have something to discuss, after all.”
He looks at me like he doesn’t quite follow, which is a ruse, but I play along.
“Ms. De La Rosa. I am her guardian, and as a law man myself, I will represent her if need be.”
“Well, that is beneath your standing. You are a judge.”
I shrug a shoulder. “I am not bothered by appearances or standing.”
“What would Carlisle say about that, I wonder?” He and my grandfather were good friends. As far as men like that can be friends.
“I guess he’d turn over in his grave.” I set my briefcase down and take a seat. “The Tribunal has called Ms. De La Rosa to appear based on the words of a convicted and executed killer.”
“We’d like her to answer some questions. That’s all. In fact, her staying away raises some eyebrows I can tell you.”
“That hasn’t been her choice. She is unaware of the summons. I’ve kept it from her.”
“Why?”
I tilt my head, take a moment to study him, then lean forward a little. “I’m going to be very honest with you. I feel she’s more delicate than she lets on. And in my opinion, the matter being as inconsequential as I know it to be, it may behoove us all to allow me to mete out an appropriate punishment and move forward without dragging the De La Rosa name through the mud. It is after all a woman’s game she played out of jealousy.”
His eyebrows furrow. “A game?”
“The poisoning wasn’t Mercedes’s doing. We all know that. In hiring the courtesan, Mercedes simply wanted to make Ivy jealous. That’s where her involvement ended.”
“Ah.” He leans back in his seat.
I do too. Crossing an ankle over my knee. But the sinking feeling in my gut grows the longer the silence drags on.
“Am I missing something, Councilor?”
“Well, yes, you are, Judge. And I’m not sure it’s appropriate for you to be here.”
“What is it that I am not aware of?”
“Nor is it appropriate for you to ask these questions outside of the space of The Tribunal.” He stands.
I do too. But I don’t leave. “Councilor, pardon my language, but what the hell is going on?”
He exhales, sets his jaw, and nods to the guard behind me to leave. And I know this is for show. He will do me a favor now. One he’ll hold over my head for years to come.
Once the guard is gone and the door closes, he opens a desk drawer and takes out a folder. He opens it. Inside are several printed pages of minutes. He turns it around so I can see it, and when I read the name of the interviewee, the ground drops out from beneath me.
Vincent Douglas.
“Lana Douglas’s brother has been to see me. You know who she is. Or was, I should say.”