Bearing Witness by Michael A. Kahn Read Free Book Online

sat against the edge of his desk, facing him with a boozy, carnal smile. He stood there, immobilized.
    â€œIt’s party time, Counselor,” she told him, her voice somewhere between a purr and a growl. “How ’bout a party favor?” She lifted her right leg and planted her high-heeled foot on the armrest of the chair in front of the desk. As she did so, her skirt slid all the way up her parted thighs. “How ’bout you come over here and fuck me till it hurts.”
    I giggled in amazement. It was a scene out of a trashy novel. I couldn’t imagine Judge Wagner doing that. I couldn’t imagine any woman doing that. “What happened?”
    We were standing under a streetlight outside Cardwell’s. He shrugged. “I tried to act responsibly. I told her I was married, that she’d had too much to drink, that she was too fine a person to have a one-night stand. I told her I’d be happy to get her a cab or find someone to drive her home.”
    I winced. “Oh, Jonathan, she must have been mortified.” I slipped my arm under his as we walked up Maryland toward the parking lot behind the church. “She must have been furious.”
    â€œShe was a little upset.” He shook his head ruefully. “Our relationship has been somewhat strained ever since.”
    I laughed. “I bet it has. Oy, as if I didn’t already have enough problems in that lawsuit.”
    â€œI don’t think she’ll hold that against you.”
    â€œOh, come on, Jonathan, she’s a woman, too.” I shook my head and groaned. “She’s already got an anti-plaintiff reputation, especially where the defendant is a corporation. Now she’ll have an added reason—Oh, my God.”
    I stopped, dismayed by what I saw. I turned to him. “Is that your car?”
    Without answering, he left my side and headed toward the car, moving with grim resolve.
    Someone had bashed in the windshield and side windows. As I approached the car, I could see broken glass scattered on the asphalt. In the dim light from a distant streetlamp I could make out what appeared to be white streaks of paint on the car hood. As I got closer, the pattern became clear.
    â€œOh, no,” I said.
    Spray-painted on the hood of Jonathan’s car was a swastika. He stared down at it, his face implacable. I said nothing, waiting. I could see his jaw muscle flexing. His eyes shifted from the hood to the interior of the car, which was strewn with broken glass. He surveyed the seats and carpet, moving slowly along the side of the car toward the rear and then back to the front.
    At last he turned to me, his eyes cold. “Do you have a phone in your car?”
    I glanced toward my car, which was a parked a few spaces over, and then I looked back at him. “I do.”
    He reached into his suit jacket, removed his wallet, and took out a card. “Do me a favor,” he said, his voice calm. He handed me the card. “Call this number.”
    I squinted at the card. It was for a Lieutenant Hendricks of the state police. I looked at Jonathan.
    â€œTell them where I am,” he said. “Explain what happened, and ask them to find Hendricks. Tell them to send someone from Forensics over here.”
    I nodded. “Okay.”
    He turned to his car.
    â€œJonathan.”
    He looked back at me. His utter composure was almost eerie.
    â€œThis is”—I gestured toward his car, struggling for words—“this is terrible.”
    He nodded.
    I gestured helplessly. “I’m sorry.”
    He mumbled a “Thanks” and turned back to his car.

Chapter Four
    I was never supposed to represent Ruth Alpert.
    When I reluctantly agreed to meet with her a year ago last November, I warned my mother in advance that I wasn’t going to take her case, regardless of its merits. Age discrimination cases against large companies are hard enough to prove without the complicating factor