The Missing Piece by Kevin Egan Page A

to issue a decision in the Roman silver trial. She wanted to give me a heads-up.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œBecause the AD wants a new trial to go forward immediately. And the presiding judge intimated to Sharon that the panel wants the trial assigned to me.”
    Hugh backed off onto another cushion.
    â€œDo you really want to try this case?” he said.
    â€œI want to and I need to.”
    â€œBecause of those pretrial rulings. You were the law clerk, not the judge. You gave him your advice. It was his to accept or reject.”
    â€œI still feel I need to make it right.”
    â€œAnd I don’t know why this is your responsibility,” said Hugh. “I never have.”
    â€œBecause I was there,” said Linda. “Because I should have stood up to him and stuck with my convictions. But I didn’t, I couldn’t. And the fault was not my reasoning or my research or my powers of persuasion. The fact is, I was cowed. I was cowed by his bluster, by his reputation, by his ability to make me feel like a little girl. I hated being cowed, and that feeling has not gone away one iota.”
    â€œI understand all that.”
    â€œNo. I don’t think you do.”
    With an exasperated sigh that signaled an end to the discussion and to any possibility of sex, Hugh stood up.
    â€œFar be it from me to tell you what to do.” He knocked back the rest of the drink. “At least we’ll both be occupied.”

 
    CHAPTER 10
    Foxx left after the pizza was gone. McQueen stayed behind and cleaned the mess in the kitchen, thinking that when they started the renovation he would insist on a heavy-duty dishwasher. He came out to find Gary at the computer.
    â€œI gotta show you something,” said Gary. “Get a stool and sit down. This’ll take a while.”
    The left-hand monitor showed a long-range shot of the sun-splashed front steps of 60 Centre Street with a group of six uniformed court officers standing together midway to the top. The right-hand monitor showed a high-angle view of the steps from the top of the column.
    â€œAre these what I think they are?” said McQueen.
    â€œSecurity camera feeds from that day.”
    â€œHow’d you get them?”
    â€œFelix demanded them as discovery in my case. You’d be surprised how many cameras there are in the courthouse.” Gary minimized the left image to show dozens of file icons on the desktop. “Each of these is a camera. There are forty-three of them.”
    â€œCourtrooms, too?” McQueen leaned forward to read the icons.
    â€œNah,” said Gary. “The judges won’t permit that, but there are enough cameras in the public areas to chart someone’s movements inside the building.”
    McQueen settled back on his stool.
    â€œFelix wanted the feeds to put together a timeline for the trial. I want them for something else.”
    â€œDon’t you care about your case?”
    â€œI never cared about my case. If I cared about my case, I’d have taken the settlement offer instead of letting Felix push for a trial. I have something bigger in mind. We are going to find the missing piece.”
    â€œThe what?” said McQueen.
    â€œThe missing piece. You know, that urn those two bastards stole from the courtroom.”
    â€œAnd why do you want to find it?” said McQueen.
    â€œ We ,” said Gary. “Why do we want to find it? We want to find it because it’s worth a shitload of money.”
    â€œBut it’s been in the wind for three years,” said McQueen.
    â€œAnd that’s where this comes in.” Gary patted the computer tower. “You think I read those blogs and Twitter feeds for my health? You think I read those websites because of my interest in art history? I’m looking for news on the urn, and I haven’t seen the slightest hint that it’s surfaced anywhere.”
    â€œThat doesn’t mean anything,” said