Equal Judge

JULIAN RUCK

Description

On her way to the top, Her Honour, Judge Charlotte Treharne seeks truth at every turn but dangerous forces combined with lethal intent are determined to stop her no matter what the cost. Will her ability to endure be enough to survive?Meanwhile Charlotte's mother Lise Treharne, maintains her iron grip on the family home, Ragged Cliffs, but even her strength of will begins to falter in the face of such deadly acts of attrition and threats to her family's future.From London and Vienna to the beautiful coast of the Gower Peninsula, the story twists and turns through the memories of a broken past and the loving foibles of a fragile future.Unpredictable and shocking, the climax explodes into an ending as unforeseen as the beginning.

Sujets

• Political
• Politics

Informations

• Publié par: eBookPartnership.com
• Date de parution: 20 juin 2013
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781783011544
• Langue: English

Extrait

An Equal Judge
An Equal Judge
Julian Ruck
CONTENTS
COVER
HALF TITLE
TITLE PAGE
COPYRIGHT
DEDICATION
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
EXTRACT
CHAPTER - 1
CHAPTER - 2
CHAPTER - 3
CHAPTER - 4
CHAPTER - 5
CHAPTER - 6
CHAPTER - 7
CHAPTER - 8
CHAPTER - 9
CHAPTER - 10
CHAPTER - 11
CHAPTER - 12
CHAPTER - 13
CHAPTER - 14
CHAPTER - 15
CHAPTER - 16
CHAPTER - 17
CHAPTER - 18
CHAPTER - 19
CHAPTER - 20
CHAPTER - 21
CHAPTER - 22
CHAPTER - 23
CHAPTER - 24
CHAPTER - 25
CHAPTER - 26
CHAPTER - 27
CHAPTER - 28
CHAPTER - 29
CHAPTER - 30
CHAPTER - 31
CHAPTER - 32
CHAPTER - 33
CHAPTER - 34
CHAPTER - 35
CHAPTER - 36
CHAPTER - 37
CHAPTER - 38
CHAPTER - 39
CHAPTER - 40
CHAPTER - 41
CHAPTER - 42
CHAPTER - 43
CHAPTER - 44
CHAPTER - 45
CHAPTER - 46
CHAPTER - 47
CHAPTER - 48
CHAPTER - 49
CHAPTER - 50
CHAPTER - 51
CHAPTER - 52
CHAPTER - 53
EPILOGUE
Also by the same author . . .
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Copyright © Julian Ruck, 2010
First published 2010 in the United Kingdom by Dinefwr Publishers Rawlings Road, Llandybie Carmarthenshire, SA18 3YD
First Kindle E-edition 2011 Published by Palamedes Publishing
The right of Julian Ruck to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner.
The author would like to stress that this is a work of fiction and no resemblance to any actual individual or institution is intended or implied.
A catalogue record for this book is available from The British Library.
ISBN 978-1-904323-20-4 (Print edition) ISBN 978-0-9567961-3-4  (Kindle E-edition)
Cover illustration: Jeff Kirkhouse
For Lynney, thank you.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
My thanks to my editor, Andrew Maxwell-Hyslop – the ‘lovely lovely’ legs will keep on dancing, no matter what you say! My thanks again to my literary agent, Sarah Nundy of Andrew Nurnberg Associates, London – you can run but you can’t hide! And last but not least, my appreciation to all the patient efforts of those who toil in dark rooms and beyond at Dinefwr Publishers.You and me, but we got there in the end!
If woman had no existence save in the fiction written by men, one would imagine her a person of the utmost importance; very various; heroic and mean; splendid and sordid, infinitely beautiful and hideous in the extreme; as great as any man, some think even better.
—Virginia Woolf
CHAPTER 1
Central Criminal Court, The Old Bailey, London.
Sleep confounded things.
It abused energy and was such a hellish inconvenience. At least as far as Her Honour, Judge Charlotte Treharne was concerned.
At the moment she was struggling to keep sleep at bay as her eyelids kept closing and her mind insisted on racing back to the night before. The man had been amusing enough, there had been the odd moments of incisive intellect even intelligent charm, but these hadn't lasted long. Fortunately, the man's sexual staying power had been less transitory, and indeed he had also observed her strict but necessary protocols. As for satisfaction or God forbid, love? Oh dear. Not now. There were more important things to consider.
The bundles of pink-ribboned documents that lurked on her desk kept blurring and demanding her attention but sleep, in its usual inconsiderate way, had other ideas. Even though sleep and the law sometimes enjoyed each other's company, Charlotte (or Lottie as she was sometimes called by close friends and family) was immediately reminded of insipid law lectures and droning Counsel, but right now both had to be kept firmly in their place. Justice demanded nothing less.
Her eyelids refused to open yet again as thoughts of getting too old for twenty-four hour male attention were interrupted by the urgent nudging of her shoulder.
"Judge! Judge! The jury is out. Come on now." Charlotte's eyes opened and glanced upwards. Her clerk, the formidable Doris Dobbs (or 'Double D' as she was called by some on account of her eye-shattering bosom), hovered over her, the hazel eyes staring down at her as brutish and uncompromising as ever. Doris, Charlotte quickly thought, amazed that women were still called that these days, but then Doris was in a class all of her own, so perhaps in her case the name was appropriate.
The 'Merry Widow', as Charlotte often called her had been with her for many years. The old battleaxe had seen off two husbands and was on the lookout for another. Well, maybe not another 'husband', but certainly a part-time lover. Into her sixties now and still full of hell with an unrestrained mouth to go with it, the woman could still see and conquer when she put her mind to it. The blond curls and slim build still prompted the odd Judge to leer and even try a grapple from time to time; indeed it was not unknown for Doris to courteously oblige if she was in the right mood – she was post-menopausal after all, and life was far less complicated. There had been times in chambers so the gossip went when Doris's enthusiasm for legal nannying had made even the All England Law Reports blush.
"Yes, yes, Doris. All right." Charlotte gave in to the bullying just as she always did. She lifted her petite but admirably curved frame up from the chair and tried to collect her thoughts. Heavens above, she thought, these nocturnal adventures wouldn't do at all. Even so, she couldn't help the persistent tingling that ran through her body every time she recalled her antics of the night before. The riddle of 'satisfaction' returned, but only for a moment.
"Help me with my robe, Doris, will you? Oh, and do stop fussing! I'm the Judge, so theirs is to wait – not the other way around."
"If you say so, Judge," Doris replied in that superior way of hers as she pushed Charlotte's arms through the violet, red and black of legal authority. Doris always knew better than the Judge.
"I do say so, Doris. Now, pass me that . . . that . . . infernal lump of horse hair, will you please?"
Doris sniffed as she passed the short hair wig. Her Judge, close to some unacceptable expletive, had exercised restraint, but the same couldn't be said about some of the other Judges. Doris didn't like bad language, particularly from a Judge: it wasn't right, was it?
As Charlotte placed the objectionable item on her head Doris waited for the usual tirade. For once it didn't come. Her Honour must be tired, men again no doubt. She knew her Judge. Lucky woman.
"Right, how do I look?" Charlotte asked as she stood upright in front of a dressing mirror. "Suitably learned I hope . . . and masculine of course. Can't have lady judges looking feminine now, can we? Damned wigs! My male brethren are fools. Complete idiots. They think female judges should look like their wives . . . or their horses. God help us. And as for those of us who can still turn a head or two – well, just maybe before you say anything, Doris – that really is beyond the pale."
Perhaps her Judge wasn't that tired after all, Doris thought as her fingers pushed some auburn curls back under the wig. She had to admit though that Her Honour could 'still turn a head or two', and she didn't even have to try either. The Judge was a beautiful woman, no doubt about it. Her auburn hair shone or flared depending on the light and her temper, while her pale skin clashed with huge, blue-spotted hazel eyes that missed nothing. A few dainty creases had started to appear around her middle- aged eye sockets, but these merely served to add a gentle maturity, a unique loveliness to a face that could both implore and resist in equal measure.
"You'll do, Judge."
"How gratifying, Doris," Charlotte said as she tightened the red sash that ran across her left shoulder and then charged across her violet robe. Her full bosom could be seen but not heard. "Your enthusiasm is a lesson to us all."
In a moment the tiredness that had impaled her eyes was replaced by an intense and profound respect for law and justice. Charlotte Treharne was a Senior Circuit Judge and never ever treated murder lightly. "Right, let's go and see what one of our great democratic institutions has to say for itself then."
Doris opened the heavy oak door to her Judge's chambers and stood back. An indulgent smile briefly crossed her red lips as Charlotte wafted passed her in a swirl of determination and purpose. The Judge was never truly asleep, and God help the vicious low life in the dock if a 'Guilty' verdict was returned.
CHAPTER 2
Charlotte leaned forward as she placed her arms on her legal notepad, all memories of the night before extinguished the moment she sat down. The bright colours of her robes complimented the dour and serious complexion of ancient oak and varnish. Light and dark, just like the law.
As with any serious criminal trial she could rely on the jury to reach factual conclusions, but the responsibility for sentence was all hers. There were times when even she felt daunted by the burden, as its weight could be unbearable, even insidious. She quickly cast these thoughts aside as the austerity and history of the courtroom reminded her of why she was here. The older, more traditional courtrooms always had this effect on her. It was not a bad thing. She was alone now, high up and elevated, and for a moment she felt small and irrelevant. The chair she sat in was huge, fit for a queen. All these things never ceased to trap and subdue any wanton arrogance or delusions of power. The courtroom could chastise and humiliate much more than a nefarious defendant. It certainly kept Charlotte in line – most of the time anyway.
While the jury was being herded into their rightful place Charlotte looked at the parents of the murdered girl. They too were seated in an elevated position, highe