Free Casting Bones by Don Bruns

remembered the song from Gilbert and Sullivan’s
The Mikado
. ‘Let the Punishment Fit the Crime’.
    â€˜Some of us? You must be someone who believes in harsh penalties. You must be one of the good guys.’
    Warren wet his lips with his tongue.
    â€˜I am a fair judge, Detective. That is what I believe.’
    â€˜Judge Warren, I sincerely hope that whoever committed this crime isn’t thinking about killing more judges.’
    â€˜What?’ Rearing back, Warren stared at Archer’s face. ‘Is that a threat?’ He threw his arms out, an expression of bewilderment on his face. ‘What are you saying? Are you suggesting—?’
    â€˜A threat? No, I—’ Archer had said it as a thought, a warning. The man’s life could be in danger. Didn’t he get that? Maybe even the judges in New Orleans were suspicious of the police and questioned their motives. ‘Definitely not. I’m not in a position to threaten you. It’s a sincere warning. As of this moment, we don’t know who killed Judge Lerner, or why, but if I were you, I’d be watching my back.’
    Warren walked from behind the desk and forced Archer into the hall. ‘Detective Archer, if you want to file a grievance about the way I handle
my
business, you can take it up with the state board. Judge Lerner isn’t around to explain the way
he
did things.’
    Archer nodded. The guy was very touchy. As if Archer had touched a nerve.
    â€˜I don’t understand your business, Judge. But, you need to understand it may be possible someone doesn’t like the way you
do things. Be careful, Mr Warren. I’m serious.’
    â€˜Fuck you, Detective. I’m serious as well.’

12
    I t was mid-afternoon when he left the building. Three judges, the Waronker lady, and he wasn’t much further ahead than he had been. The judges were closed-mouthed, a brotherhood and all that. Judge Traci Hall, who worked in the next office, admitted that the punishment David Lerner handed down often seemed excessive, but that was the most she would say. She was guarded in her comments and Q quickly understood that brotherhood, sisterhood, was paramount. No one wanted to be the snitch. Much like the Detroit Police Department, and he assumed with the NOPD as well.
    Archer guessed none of Lerner’s fellow judges would venture a reason why someone would gun down the man. Richard Warren had been sullen and defensive and would probably rate another interview.
    Sue Waronker, on the other hand, gave him several reasons. None that he took too seriously, although a lead was a lead. She seemed to have some issues with a couple of offenders the judge had sentenced, and she had suggested he talk with the secretary who had claimed sexual harassment. Archer intended to follow up on her immediately as he walked to traffic court on Broad Street.
    The detective was starting to have a better understanding of the murdered judge. Twice divorced, twenty years on the bench, drove a Jaguar convertible and seemed well off, supposedly because of good investments. Then there were the rumors that he’d thrown cases for money. It was going to be hard to prove those stories.
    He had a daughter named Alison, who, by Lerner’s own admission to his colleagues, never talked to him. The judge apparently hadn’t seen her in over ten years. No inquiries from either of the wives or the daughter. Nobody cared about this guy.
    Walking over to the traffic court, Archer found the maligned secretary in a small office buried in the back of the building. One metal desk, a laptop Dell computer, a couple of file cabinets and two chairs. The name on the desk plate said Brandy Lane. To him, it sounded like a stripper’s name.
    When he made his introduction she said, ‘I thought you’d be visiting.’ Brandy had a soft face, expressive eyes and short brown hair. Not a raving beauty, but not totally