“You’re doing this for entertainment now.”
“What?”
“The sweater.”
“I like sweaters.”
“You own seventeen suits.”
“Court starts at nine.”
Kathleen set down her coffee.
“You’re waiting for another security officer to challenge you.”
“That would be unethical.”
“So yes.”
Elijah smiled.
A newly hired courthouse deputy entered at 7:44.
He was twenty-seven, Latino, and looked nervous enough that Elijah guessed he had worked there less than a month.
The deputy saw him.
Paused.
Then approached.
“Good morning, sir.”
“Morning.”
“This courtroom is restricted until eight.”
“I know.”
“Are you authorized to be behind the bench?”
Elijah looked toward Kathleen.
Her lips tightened because she was fighting laughter.
“Yes.”
The deputy nodded.
“Can I see identification?”
Elijah opened the drawer beside him.
He handed over the judicial credential.
The deputy checked the photograph.
Then straightened.
“Judge Warren.”
“Yes.”
“I apologize, Your Honor.”
Elijah reached for the credential.
“No.”
The deputy looked confused.
“Sir?”
“Don’t apologize.”
“I—”
“You saw something you needed to verify.”
“Yes.”
“You asked.”
“Yes.”
“You verified.”
“Yes.”
Elijah took back the credential.
“That is the job.”
The deputy smiled.
“Understood.”
He continued checking the courtroom.
Kathleen waited until he reached the hallway.
Then she laughed so loudly Maribel heard from outside.
Elijah reopened his file.
“What?”
“You enjoyed that.”
“I enjoyed watching procedure work.”
“That may be the most judicial sentence you’ve ever said.”
“It was satisfying.”
At nine, the courtroom filled.
Elijah put on the robe.
The first case involved a twenty-one-year-old man accused of violating probation.
The prosecutor argued that he had deliberately ignored a reporting requirement.
Elijah lifted one hand.
“What evidence tells me the failure was deliberate?”
The prosecutor stopped.
Then looked through the file.
Elijah waited.
Not impatiently.
Long enough for evidence to arrive before conclusion.
The phrase became part of his courtroom style.
Attorneys learned quickly.
“Your Honor, obviously the defendant intended—”
“What evidence establishes that?”
“Clearly the landlord knew—”
“What document shows that?”
“The company must have understood—”
“What testimony supports that?”
Sometimes the evidence existed.
Sometimes it did not.
Elijah never forgot how expensive assumptions became when the person making them had power.
A neighbor’s assumption might become gossip.
A manager’s might become termination.
A bailiff’s might become handcuffs.
A prosecutor’s might become criminal charges.
A judge’s might become an order affecting somebody’s life.