"WILHELM, KATE - JUSTICE FOR SOME" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wilhelm Kate)

knew. She looked away. I "We don't want you to do a thing you're not
already doing," he said. he drained his glass and put it down. "You just
say yes, and we'll take care of the rest."

"We again. Who? Judges are supposed to be nonpartisan, I thought."

"And you will be, too. A committee, Sarah, of your peers, if we can find
anyone who qualifies. We'll form a committee and take care of it, the
ballot statement, the bio stuff, all of it." He laughed suddenly.

"No one's going to run against you, you realize. A sitting judge is as
automatic a shoo-in as you can get."

He stood up and stretched. Daddy Longlegs, she thought; he could touch
the ceiling if he chose. He looked at her appraisingly, then smiled.

"I'm afraid you've missed your appointment with the beauty shop, but
like I said, you look fine the way you are. How long will you be at your
father's place?"

"Two weeks."

"Okay. Think about this, and I'll give you a call a week from Monday,
see what you've decided." He regarded her thoughtfully for another
moment. "You're so suspicious of politics, aren't you? It's endemic, I'm
afraid. But it isn't a dirty word, and it doesn't have to be a dirty
business. If we wanted a corrupt judge, we'd go buy one.

There's no shortage of candidates. If I offered Bartles two hundred,
he'd agree to be a lap dog; for three hundred he'd poop on command."

He laughed.

"And, Sarah, while you're thinking about all this, remember that Blaine
came to us, but this time we've come to you. It makes all the difference
who does the asking. All the difference in the world." He walked toward
the door. "I'll call a week from Monday, in the afternoon. Say hello to
the old man for me."

She stood at the wide window for a long time, no longer seeing the town
or the river, thinking, three years and six weeks. Blaine had gone
skiing in April with half a dozen others, and the group had been caught
in an avalanche. Three of them died, and one should have been left in
the snow a few hours longer. He was in a permanent vegetative stage.

Someone had come to tell her, and she had never been able to remember
who it had been. A shadow against the white wall, evil shadow, evil
words. She had not wept then, and for weeks she had not wept, but then
one day, the tears had come, unexpected, out of place. And after that
she had found herself weeping again and again at inappropriate times;