her life had turned out well.
"We all wished the best for you," she said. "We've-- I've --thought of you often. It has been what? Eighteen, nineteen years?"
"Twenty this December," Hannah said. "We're coming up on twenty."
After a few more minutes of small talk about their lives, Rock Point, the fact that the younger woman had followed in the footsteps of the woman she had telephoned out of the blue that morning, Hannah explained she had something important to ask.
"What is it, dear?"
"I couldn't think of anyone else to call," Hannah said. "I need some help and I thought of you." She explained about the package she had received and what was inside. Judge Paine was stunned into silence, then anger hit. The very idea of someone picking at a scar healed so long ago was such a cruel prank.
"What is wrong with this world these days?" she asked. "Why on earth do some people feel compelled to engage in this kind of nonsensical harassment?"
"I don't know and that doesn't concern me right now. Two things do. Who sent the shoes to me and how did they get them? They look like the ones you might have used in court. They look very genuine."
Paine processed the information and remained resolute. "They can't be. That evidence is in a vault. No one can get in there...we bought the vault because of your--your mother's-- case," she said. "You know, souvenir hunters and other ghouls who think they can make some money by selling stuff to the tabloids or some Japanese collector of criminal memorabilia."
"I guess," Hannah said, realizing for the first time there could be someone out there collecting artifacts from her mother's case. "They appear to be Erik's and Danny's," Hannah said, referring to the shoes. "They have your identification number written inside--in one shoe of both pairs. State's Exhibit Number 25."
Paine hated being wrong, and it was a good thing that she seldom was. "I can't imagine who would take something like that from the vault," she said, feeling for a cigarette and her silver-plated lighter, etched with her name and LAWYER OF THE YEAR . She rolled the flint-striking gear against the callused edge of her right thumb. The flame came and she drew on a cigarette, talking all the while.
"This breach of security is very troubling," she added.
"I'm concerned," Hannah said, "not so much because the evidence vault was violated, but that someone could find me after all these years. I thought I'd faded off the radar screen for good."
"I'll go down to the courthouse myself if I have to. I'll get to the bottom of this."
Hannah thanked the judge and gave her her office telephone number.
"Unfortunately, it isn't a direct line," she said. "Please don't tell anyone we spoke. If you miss me, don't leave a message, other than that you've called."
It felt very strange, very unsettling, to hear Veronica Paine say her mother's name. After all the notoriety, all the infamy , that had attached to her mother, the name Claire Logan seldom came from Hannah's own lips. It was curious and she knew it. God knew that Claire Logan had been a Jeopardy answer and a Trivial Pursuit question more than a time or two. Yet it was peculiar to hear "Claire Logan" uttered by someone who actually knew her. Hannah had certainly heard her mother's name mentioned countless times, but when others had spoken of her, she'd seemed a figment, a bedtime story, and a ghost story.
Most who knew Hannah assumed that she'd been orphaned as a little girl, which was only partially true. Her father had indeed died when she was in grade school. Her mother? That was the subject of great debate. Hannah wasn't quite sure.
Not an hour later, Hannah's phone rang. It was Judge Paine, and she sounded slightly unhinged.
"Hannah," she said, "I'm terribly sorry. This is very, very bad. I truly am at a loss for what has happened."
"Just what has happened?"
Paine chose her words carefully. "It turns out the evidence vault has indeed been compromised. Can you imagine that? It
"We all wished the best for you," she said. "We've-- I've --thought of you often. It has been what? Eighteen, nineteen years?"
"Twenty this December," Hannah said. "We're coming up on twenty."
After a few more minutes of small talk about their lives, Rock Point, the fact that the younger woman had followed in the footsteps of the woman she had telephoned out of the blue that morning, Hannah explained she had something important to ask.
"What is it, dear?"
"I couldn't think of anyone else to call," Hannah said. "I need some help and I thought of you." She explained about the package she had received and what was inside. Judge Paine was stunned into silence, then anger hit. The very idea of someone picking at a scar healed so long ago was such a cruel prank.
"What is wrong with this world these days?" she asked. "Why on earth do some people feel compelled to engage in this kind of nonsensical harassment?"
"I don't know and that doesn't concern me right now. Two things do. Who sent the shoes to me and how did they get them? They look like the ones you might have used in court. They look very genuine."
Paine processed the information and remained resolute. "They can't be. That evidence is in a vault. No one can get in there...we bought the vault because of your--your mother's-- case," she said. "You know, souvenir hunters and other ghouls who think they can make some money by selling stuff to the tabloids or some Japanese collector of criminal memorabilia."
"I guess," Hannah said, realizing for the first time there could be someone out there collecting artifacts from her mother's case. "They appear to be Erik's and Danny's," Hannah said, referring to the shoes. "They have your identification number written inside--in one shoe of both pairs. State's Exhibit Number 25."
Paine hated being wrong, and it was a good thing that she seldom was. "I can't imagine who would take something like that from the vault," she said, feeling for a cigarette and her silver-plated lighter, etched with her name and LAWYER OF THE YEAR . She rolled the flint-striking gear against the callused edge of her right thumb. The flame came and she drew on a cigarette, talking all the while.
"This breach of security is very troubling," she added.
"I'm concerned," Hannah said, "not so much because the evidence vault was violated, but that someone could find me after all these years. I thought I'd faded off the radar screen for good."
"I'll go down to the courthouse myself if I have to. I'll get to the bottom of this."
Hannah thanked the judge and gave her her office telephone number.
"Unfortunately, it isn't a direct line," she said. "Please don't tell anyone we spoke. If you miss me, don't leave a message, other than that you've called."
It felt very strange, very unsettling, to hear Veronica Paine say her mother's name. After all the notoriety, all the infamy , that had attached to her mother, the name Claire Logan seldom came from Hannah's own lips. It was curious and she knew it. God knew that Claire Logan had been a Jeopardy answer and a Trivial Pursuit question more than a time or two. Yet it was peculiar to hear "Claire Logan" uttered by someone who actually knew her. Hannah had certainly heard her mother's name mentioned countless times, but when others had spoken of her, she'd seemed a figment, a bedtime story, and a ghost story.
Most who knew Hannah assumed that she'd been orphaned as a little girl, which was only partially true. Her father had indeed died when she was in grade school. Her mother? That was the subject of great debate. Hannah wasn't quite sure.
Not an hour later, Hannah's phone rang. It was Judge Paine, and she sounded slightly unhinged.
"Hannah," she said, "I'm terribly sorry. This is very, very bad. I truly am at a loss for what has happened."
"Just what has happened?"
Paine chose her words carefully. "It turns out the evidence vault has indeed been compromised. Can you imagine that? It
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