“I’m protecting my client, that’s all. And I learned hardball suing Exxon and DuPont. Quit now, Your Honor, before this story becomes something much larger. You can handle the damage now, but maybe not tomorrow. You’re up for reelection next year.”
“Don’t you dare bring politics into this, Steven. I don’t count votes before I decide a case.”
“Of course not. But the voters may take a dim view of a judge with a substantial conflict of interest. And an ethics complaint. Panther Cay is unpopular around here. You enjoy a sterling reputation. Why risk it?”
She removed her reading glasses and wiped her tired eyes with a tissue. She gave up, and asked, “Was Tidal Breeze the original developer of Old Dunes?”
“No. The company wormed its way in back in September. It was a trap, Your Honor. An elaborate scheme to use your son to put pressure on you. Panther Cay will be worth a lot more to Tidal Breeze than Old Dunes. Why not have both of them?”
“My son has done nothing wrong.”
“I have not said nor have I implied that he has.”
“I want him protected.”
“Then recuse yourself.”
“Let me think about this. It’s all rather sudden.”
“I’ll wait twenty-four hours, Your Honor, then file a recusal motion.”
“You’re being quite heavy-handed, Steven.”
“I learned in the trenches.”
“I won’t forget this.”
“Neither will I.”
At noon the following day, Judge Salazar filed a notice with the clerk and sent copies to all of the attorneys. Without stating a reason, she was recusing herself from the case and asking the Supreme Court to appoint a special master to hear it. Since the filing was a public record, she did not bother to notify the press. By the time Sid Larramore at
To get away from the voters who’d turned him out of office, Clifton Burch and his wife moved away from the sprawl of Orlando and retired to the much quieter town of St. Augustine, on the Atlantic. He’d had the honor of serving as a circuit court judge for fourteen years and was highly regarded by his peers and the lawyers who appeared before him. In his final campaign, he’d been blindsided by an unknown right-winger who flooded the internet and television with attack ads claiming Judge Burch was “soft on crime.” He was not, and his record spoke for itself. But attack ads work brilliantly when they are dumbed down and frighten voters. His sudden and unplanned retirement was at first traumatic, but he soon realized he could stay just as busy pinch-hitting in cases all over the state. The Supreme Court was constantly searching for retired judges to referee hot cases where the locals were running for cover. Judge Burch, at seventy-six and fit as a fiddle, quickly became known in legal circles as the go-to guy who was organized, efficient, unbiased, and eager to resolve even the thorniest of disputes. He knew nothing about the case and had never heard of Dark Isle, Panther Cay, Tidal Breeze, or the Barrier Island Legal Defense Fund. He took a call from the clerk of the Florida Supreme Court at 9:30 a.m. on a Tuesday, April 21, and by noon had spoken to all of the lawyers and was plowing through the pleadings. He promised to read the depositions, review all discovery, and be up to speed by the weekend. In the past three years, he had handled two title disputes and knew the law well. It wasn’t that complicated. The trial was set for May 18 and there would be no delays.
Steven was delighted with the appointment of Judge Burch. He liked Lydia Salazar but she had been compromised, and he had no regrets in scheming to remove her. He called Gifford Knox in Charleston and thanked him again for getting injured. Gifford howled with laughter and vowed to sail down immediately to celebrate.
They had another discussion about the money for the expedition. Gifford committed $5,000 more, bringing his total to $15,000. Steven had passed the hat among the “greenies” and their nonprofits, and he had collected $25,000. Bruce Cable pledged $10,000.
Mercer added another $5,000 and was brooding about the possibility that her little “Lovely Project” might be turning into a money pit.
The idea had been Diane’s. Initially, the goal was to visit Dark Isle with a group of experts, find the cemetery that Lovely described, find the graves, dig up some bones, and test for DNA.
Tidal Breeze had chosen the scorched-earth defense that Lovely’s story was fiction, that she had never lived on the island. And, so far, the good guys had produced no hard evidence to the contrary. A DNA link to the Jackson ancestors would destroy the corporation’s claims and severely damage its credibility.
