Harris could call the shots tonight. He was the informant. It was his show.

“There’s Judge Peacham.” The old judge almost chortled as he gestured toward the hall, smiling as if he were in possession of a secret that confirmed his natural superiority. “I knew she’d be here.”

“Why do I care if Judge Peacham is at a charity function?”

“Just wait.”

“Mr. Mayer -”

“Judge,” he corrected with a sniff. “It’s still appropriate to refer to me as Judge Mayer.”

“Seeing Judge Peacham again doesn’t help me.”

“Shh. Patience. We might have to go into the hall. I hope not – I’d prefer Bernadette not see me.”

Bernadette Peacham paused in the hall just outside the bar, her attention focused on something – or someone – behind her. For the past ten years, she’d served as a judge on the U.S. District Court for the District of Columbia. Before that, she’d been a federal prosecutor and a partner in a prestigious Washington law firm. But her roots were in New Hampshire, where she owned a lake house that had been in her family for more than a hundred years. She often told people she planned to die there, as her parents and her grandfather had.

Rook had done research on Judge Peacham, and he’d testified in her courtroom a half-dozen times in the three years since he’d worked out of the Washington Field Office. He didn’t know if she’d recognize him if she walked into the bar, but she’d sure as hell recognize J. Harris Mayer, the old friend who had lured her to Washington thirty years ago.

She’d never win any awards for best-dressed judge, Rook thought with amusement. Tonight’s outfit looked as if she’d pulled it out of a paper bag stuffed under her desk in her chambers. Apart from the obvious wrinkles, the black floor-length dress and brightly colored sequined shawl somehow didn’t go together. Not that Rook had an eye for clothes, but Bernadette Peacham was a train wreck when it came to style. No Botox and face-lifts for her. No hair dye, for that matter. Damn little makeup, either. People tended to notice her because of her presence and her obvious intelligence and grace. At fifty-seven, she was regarded as a firm, fair, articulate trial judge and, despite her generous nature, no one’s fool.