Corrupted by Lisa Scottoline

would’ve easily qualified for a defender.”
    The woman bristled, flicking back her hair again. “I wasn’t the one who said that and I don’t know why it was said.”
    â€œThanks. I’d love a call back, from whoever knows.” Bennie pulled a business card from her wallet, left the building, and headed back to the courthouse. She had boxes to check and enemies to make.
    Nobody becomes a lawyer to be liked.

 
    CHAPTER TWELVE
    â€œGood morning, may I help you?” asked an older court stenographer, who appeared at the Transcription Services counter. She had a narrow face framed with close-cropped silvery-gray hair and she wore a prim blue suit and earrings shaped like Christmas trees.
    â€œYes, I’d like to order a transcript.” Bennie fished her bar card from her wallet, pulled out another copy of her petition, and set both on the counter.
    â€œI’ve never seen an ‘Emergency Petition for Readjudication’ before.” The court stenographer skimmed the petition, then looked up. “What’s the emergency?”
    â€œA twelve-year-old was wrongly sent to River Street and I’d like to get him out as soon as possible.”
    â€œTwelve years old?” The court stenographer lifted a graying eyebrow. “That’s quite young to be misbehaving.”
    â€œHe wasn’t, it was just a minor fight at school.”
    â€œI see.” The court stenographer pursed her lips. “The judge doesn’t tolerate any sort of misbehavior in school. Somebody has to keep the schools safe.”
    â€œMy client was being bullied by another boy. That’s how the fight started, it wasn’t his fault.” Bennie had spent enough time in courthouses to know that everybody talked about the cases, and a good word could travel.
    â€œBut it takes two to tango, and you can’t be too careful these days. My sister lives in Windber, near Shanksville. You know, where Flight 93 crashed.”
    â€œIs that near here?”
    â€œOnly three hours west. The poor souls on that airplane, my heart breaks for them, and I hate to think what would’ve happened if they crashed into a neighborhood. These terrorists, they’re inhuman.”
    â€œI agree with you, but my client isn’t a terrorist. He’s a child.”
    â€œHmph. If you’re in the right, you should prevail.”
    Bennie let it go. If only that were true. “How long will it take to get the transcript?”
    â€œFifteen minutes. It will be easy to transcribe because the juvenile judge doesn’t waste any words.”
    â€œSo I hear.” Bennie realized that the court stenographer could have some behind-the-scenes information. “Have you worked in the judge’s courtroom as a stenographer, when he hears juvenile cases?”
    â€œYes, he’s very intelligent, and he’s tough but he’s fair.”
    â€œThat’s good.” Bennie kept her tone casual. “When you’ve been in his courtroom, have you noticed how often the juveniles are represented?”
    â€œRarely, if ever. Now, come back in a few minutes, I’ll have the transcript ready.”
    â€œTerrific, thanks.” Bennie took off for the stairwell, reached the third floor, and approached the crowd in front of Courtroom 302, the double murder trial. Reporters with notepads and spectators in heavy coats packed the balcony, mingling with local police in black insulated jackets and thick gun belts. She wedged her way toward one of the cops, who stood in front of a set of long metal tables by a metal detector.
    â€œOfficer, I’d like to go in and observe the judge. I have a case before him and I want to see how he operates.”
    â€œI get it, like recon.” The cop smiled in a knowing way. “Wish I could admit you, but I can’t. We got a full house. Nobody’s getting in unless somebody comes out.”
    â€œWhat about standing