Free Secret of the White Rose by Stefanie Pintoff Page B

floor-cabinet Victor-Victrola phonograph, its horn folded down into a cupboard below that Alistair used to control the player’s volume: open for loud music, closed for muted sound. Next to it was a bookshelf containing numerous Victor phonograph records and an extra supply of spear-shaped needles for playing them. I knew no one else with such a machine—but Alistair made a practice of acquiring the latest inventions. Today, the soft baritone of Enrico Caruso was just audible from behind closed doors. I recognized his voice; he was Alistair’s favorite opera singer.
    “Join us for a glass of sherry, Ziele?” Alistair asked as I helped myself to a scone. He added ice to their glasses before refilling them with a pale amber liquid. “Harveys Bristol Cream.” He sniffed its aroma with satisfaction. “Unlike other sherries, it’s best enjoyed chilled, on the rocks.”
    “No, thanks. I’ve got another late night.” Though I wouldn’t have minded a glass of Alistair’s favorite sherry, I needed to be alert for tonight’s visit to the Strupps.
    Alistair took a sip from his glass, then poured me a cup of the hot tea Mrs. Mellown had brought in with the scones. “Then we should get down to business. I asked Angus here today because he knew Hugo Jackson so well. In fact, he was Hugo’s confidant on matters relating to the Drayson trial.”
    Following Alistair’s train of thought, I turned to Judge Porter. “Why did Judge Jackson want your advice?”
    “To ensure he was being fair.” Judge Porter spread his hands wide. “It was tough with the Drayson case. Hugo bent over backward to be impartial, but he hated Drayson. It wasn’t just what Drayson had done, killing innocent people, especially the child.” He leaned toward us confidentially. “He had nightmares because he believed Drayson was threatening him.”
    “ Threatening him?” I raised an eyebrow.
    The judge nodded sagely. “No matter what testimony was presented at trial—no matter who was being questioned—Drayson’s eyes never left Judge Jackson. Hugo found it tremendously unsettling. He’d even begun to dream about those eyes watching him from behind wire-rimmed spectacles.”
    I could well imagine. I recalled from this morning’s interview how Drayson had a penetrating gaze—the kind that seemed to see through you and past you, all at once.
    “Did he have other reasons to believe that Drayson meant him harm?” I asked.
    The judge shook his head. “No. Not physical harm, at least. He thought it was a strategy on Drayson’s part to unnerve him.”
    “Did Drayson seem to be in communication with anyone in the courtroom?”
    The judge shrugged. “Nothing that Drayson initiated. But his sweetheart tried to pass him messages in court. The judge intercepted a number of them: love notes, really—not anything sinister.”
    I put down my cup of tea and pulled my small leather-bound journal and pencil out of my breast pocket. “I didn’t know he was sweet on any girl. Do you know her name?”
    “Of course.” His eyes flickered with amusement. “China Rose.”
    “Not her real name, I presume.”
    “No, her real name is Guo Mei Lin.”
    “Where can I find her?”
    “She works in her parents’ Chinese restaurant on Mott Street.”
    “Any idea how long he’s known her?”
    The judge’s mouth curved into a wry smile. “You give me too much credit. I’m just repeating what Hugo told me about disruptions in his courtroom.”
    “So he mentioned nothing else that was significant?”
    “Only the usual crowd who assembled each morning outside. Over half were citizens hoping to tear Drayson limb from limb. The others were anarchists spouting their drivel about reform and workers’ rights. Emotions ran high at court, every day, and if your downtown policemen hadn’t done their part to maintain order, the crowds would’ve torn each other apart.”
    I’d heard something similar from within the ranks.
    Alistair had been sitting back for this