Kill All the Lawyers by William Deverell

Author:William Deverell
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: murder mystery, legal thriller
Publisher: William Deverell

Chapter 26. Popping the Question

At nine o'clock Friday night Augustina jumped when her phone rang, an odd reaction given that she had been sitting by it all evening waiting for her lover's promised call. She would punish him. With coolness.

"Hello," she said, too pleasantly.

"I intended to make contact when the fog lifts and I can see my way clear to flying out of here. But it's not looking good."

"You're at an airport?"

"No, the courthouse."

Augustina laughed, much too politely.

"You sound a little peeved at me."

"Not at all."

"Listen, I did want to get together tonight, but I'm writing some reasons for Monday and I want to clear the weekend for you. The judgment is so far making no sense whatsoever. I don't know whether I'm creating a precedent that will open the floodgates to sin for all eternity. What I'm saying is, I'm going to be here until midnight."

"In your chambers."

"No less a prisoner than any man I have sentenced."

"I'll bring up a bottle of wine at midnight."

"Call me just before you come, I'll clear it with security." Augustina arrived in Russell's chambers just after midnight to find he hadn't yet finished his judgment. Tie askew, sleeves rolled up, he was struggling over sheets of paper, writing in longhand. Spread across his wide desk were casebooks and statutes. She caught a musty smell, maybe from the books, or from him, the pungent odour of brain work.

"Two minutes more," he said. "Then I can put Anvil Engineering versus Saanich to bed."

"Don't let me distract you," she said.

She wiggled her bum onto the top of his desk, busied herself with bottle and corkscrew, poured two glasses of wine, and lit a Player's Light.

Russell scribbled and grumbled. "Zoning bylaw—is it valid? Who knows? So what you do is bury yourself under a pile of obscure precedent. Everything I write is being scrutinized these days by the people in Ottawa. They want fuzzy thinkers. If I make my judgments too lucid and coherent, I won't get the job."

"You really want to move to Ottawa?"

He looked up. "I don't have to be out there all the time. In fact, I can spend about six months of the year right here. If you'd like."

"If I'd like?"

"I had better finish this." But he didn't; he kept staring at her. "It's down to a couple of finalists: Max Mac Two and me."

"How do you know?"

"Friends in high places." He leaned back in his chair, hands clasped behind his head. "Darling, I have run twice for Parliament. I carefully picked my ridings, mind you, to avert any chance of winning. I've been policy chairman for the Conservative Party. The P.M. and I used to get drunk together. I know stories about him that would make your hair stand on end. I advise the Justice Minister; I've been her campaign manager. That, in short, is why I'm on the short list. It really hasn't much to do, frankly, with my exceptional brilliance as a legal thinker."

"So modest."

"I am suspect, however, in some quarters.

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