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"I managed to get ahold of someone over in the magistrate's office, Inspector, and they told me that I was out of luck for the night unless I was looking for a warrant," Sylvester said over the car's speakers.

The drive back into the city always took longer than he was expecting, and Corbett had gotten the call about the time he hit the city proper.

"I take it that you didn't let a little thing like that stop you?" he chided.

"Not on your life, Inspector. I tracked through the system and I found the magistrate's home number. I haven't called it yet, though."

"Waiting for me to do the dirty work?"

"Well, you are the senior officer. I think it should be you who does the honor."

"Fine, but you get to dial. I'm driving."

"Standby," Sylvester said. There was a click on the line and the speakers went silent, then a second later, they came back on to the sound of the phone ringing.

"All yours, Inspector. I'll be listening."

Corbett grumbled something about Sylvester being a coward, but low enough that the microphone couldn't pick it up. He wouldn't be surprised if the other officer heard it anyway.

"This is Lanza," a voice answered after only two rings.

"Magistrate Lanza?" Corbett asked. Might as well make sure that he was speaking to the right person.

"Who's this?" Lanza asked. Corbett could hear the gruff temper in his voice.

Magistrate Edward Lanza had the reputation of being one of the harsher magistrates in the justice system, but he also was impeccably fair minded. He was the one that the inspectors wanted to get when their case was rock solid, because he was the one that would throw everything that he possibly could at the guilty party. But he was also the one that none of the inspectors wanted if there was even a hint of a hole in their evidence, because they'd find themselves right in front of his desk trying to defend themselves while he poked the hole bigger and bigger.

"Magistrate, this is Richard Corbett," Corbett answered.

Lanza was silent for a moment, and Corbett watched the road as it turned the final corner to merge with the freeway that would take him directly to the city center. He was almost at the point that he would have to pull over or risk a wreck in the always-heavy traffic on the freeway.

"Corbett," Lanza repeated, "You were on the Kincaid case."

"That's right, sir."

"Damn fine job getting everything in so quickly. Smoothest case we've had in a while."

Corbett flinched when he said that and he gathered his thoughts. He didn't want to come off sounding the least bit weak in what he needed to say next.

"Actually, sir, that's what I'm calling to talk to you about. There's new evidence."

Another pause on the line met the declaration and Corbett finally decided to pull over rather than risk splitting his attention.

"What new evidence, Corbett? The case is closed," Lanza finally said.

Despite the finality of the words, Corbett could hear the curiosity in the magistrate's voice.

"It's going to be easier to show you than to tell you over the phone, sir. Can I come to the justice center?"

"No, I'm not there. I'm at home. Can it wait until morning?"

"I don't think so, sir. I think you're going to want to see this as soon as you can."

Corbett looked at the clock on the display. He hadn't realized how late it was. In only a few more minutes, it wouldn't be evening any more, but morning.

"Kincaid's a career maker, Corbett. With everything else you did for the case, I'd have to say that you've earned a meeting. I'll put some coffee on and we can talk. 430 Headland Drive."

Corbett did a quick calculation. The magistrate lived on the far side of the city, out along the other growth boundary, almost exactly opposite the Brightons' house. It would take him over half an hour of driving if traffic even cooperated.

"I'll be there as quick as I can. Forty minutes, give or take," Corbett said.

"Perfect time for coffee and scotch. Better be worth it, Corbett."

The line clicked and Sylvester's voice came back on.

"That really wasn't what I was expecting," Sylvester said.

"He's probably used to people waking him up in the middle of the night for search warrants. It's not like they have time to wait," Corbett replied.

"Yeah, you think he's going to listen?"

"The one thing everyone has to say about his is that he's fair. He's the last magistrate in the state that I'd ever expect Lewis to get to," Corbett said. "He'd have done something much more apparent."

"This is the Lewis kid we're talking about. Do you really think that Lewis didn't lean on him?"

"Only one way to find out."

Corbett pulled back onto the road and a few minutes later was driving down the freeway across the town. Traffic was lighter than normal this time of night, and he made good time. It helped that he didn't have to take any complicated routes. About halfway there, the phone rang again. The readout on the car dashboard read all zeroes, and his heart thumped heavily in his chest. He suspected it wouldn't take all that long for Lewis' bought-off officers to notice that his wife and daughter weren't where they were supposed to be. He was surprised that it took them this long to call him.

There wasn't anything to be gained by answering the phone, and he risked giving away more than he wanted if he started talking, so he let it ring until the call was forwarded to his voicemail. A few seconds later the message light in the corner of his screen lit up and a polite tone informed him that he had a message.

He kept driving and tightened his grip on the steering wheel, hoping that Sylvester did a better job of rewiring the bugs in the car. The gun on his hip was starting to become a more welcome presence by the minute. Lewis couldn't know what he was doing, though he might already know about Hunter's fate.

It didn't take Corbett much time to find the magistrate's house, tucked up in a gated neighborhood with its back porch abutting one of the city's finer golf courses.

When he pulled into the driveway, the porch light came on and the door opened. Even out of his official dress and relaxed in his home, the magistrate was an imposing figure standing in the door. Corbett turned off the engine and got out of the car, trying to still his breathing. Coming off as an eager rookie wouldn't be in his best interest.

As calmly as he could manage, with carefully measured steps that he hoped conveyed confidence that he didn't feel, he walked to the front door. Magistrate Lanza was just an inch or two taller than Corbett, but he was a few inches wider at the shoulders, and he had physique that said he was as interested in his health as he was in justice.

"Magistrate," Corbett said in greeting with an outstretched hand.

"Corbett, it's past midnight and this is my house. You call me Ed, and I'll call you Richard. Unless you prefer 'Dick,'" Lanza said with a friendly smile.

"Ed, then, and Richard is fine. Thank you for seeing me, and I'm sorry about the hour."

"Don't worry about it, Richard. I'm usually up later than this. The wife thinks that I should go see a doctor about insomnia or something."

Lanza stepped away from the door and motioned Corbett inside.

"I think it's just a hazard of the job," Lanza continued, shutting the door behind him when Corbett crossed into the house.

"When I made inspector, my training officer told me that if you don't lose sleep on some of your cases, you're doing something wrong, or you were dead inside and you needed to call it quits," Corbett said as he followed Lanza into the living room.

The room was done in tasteful colors and had the warmth of a room well used. A small fireplace in the corner added to the dim illumination with its own warm, flickering light, and it gave off the smell of burning pine along with the light. Along the walls, Corbett could see framed photos of Lanza with different important people. The chief of police, the mayor, the governor; almost all the higher ups in the state.

"He was a wise man," Lanza said with a smile.

He motioned Corbett to take a seat on one of the two leather sofas in the living room. There was a coffee service sitting on the coffee table with two steaming cups of coffee sitting on the tray. Beside the coffee pot was a glass decanter filled most of the way with an amber liquid.

"I didn't know how you took your coffee, Richard, so doctor away."

Corbett smiled and took the nearest cup. He didn't add anything, just drank the hot, dark and bitter coffee black.

"I kind of figured you for the black coffee kind of guy. Most of the inspectors are, but there are a few that put more sugar than you'd ever think possible in their drinks. I worry about them sometimes."

Lanza chuckled and picked up his own cup. Corbett noticed that he didn't put anything in his either.

"It's just simpler black," Corbett responded.

"Well said," Lanza said with a tilt of his head. "Simplicity is very rarely overrated."

Lanza took a drink of his coffee and then leaned back against the sofa.

"So what's got you losing sleep over the Kincaid case, Corbett?" he asked after a moment.

Corbett took a deep breath.

"I need to recant my investigatory report, Magistrate," he said finally, bracing himself for what he knew was coming.

But Lanza didn't explode as Corbett feared. The magistrate merely looked at him over the rim of his coffee cup as he took another sip of his coffee. For a time, he didn't speak, just regarded the inspector with deep green eyes, and as Corbett looked at the man, he realized just how wizened he really looked, especially here in his home.

"I see," Lanza finally said. He paused again and put his cup back on the tray.

"Let me tell you something, Richard," Lanza said as he leaned back against the chair back again. "You're not the first person to sit here and tell me that. Every single inspector that's ever had a case in front of me sits right there where you are at some point and he tells me the same thing."

Corbett must have looked shocked because Lanza laughed and continued, "Yes, every single one, unless they're new."

Lanza laughed again, the quiet sound sounding louder than it probably was in the darkened quiet of the house.

"I have to admit that I was starting to wonder when you were going to end up here. You've made it the longest of any of the other inspectors. I've seen enough of your reports cross my desk that I'm pretty sure I know why you haven't been here before."

"I'm not sure I know what you mean, Mag- Ed," Corbett caught himself at the last minute, trying to adhere to Lanza's wishes.

"You've never been the kind of person that puts what you suspect in a report and then gives me only the facts that support what you want to have happen, Richard. I know if it has your name on it, it's a full report. Even the facts that are inconvenient, you put in there. You're as dedicated to justice as I am."

Corbett couldn't say how much those words hurt him, hearing them come from the magistrate. When he looked back on his time as an inspector, he was one of the few inspectors that didn't mind pulling Lanza. He never worried about being torn apart by the man because he'd done all the tearing apart already. He'd taken the scalpel to his own reports and made sure that they were as complete, detailed, and accurate as he could make them. If he was completely honest with himself, he had to admit that he looked up to Lanza.

"That means a lot, sir," Corbett said quietly.

"I knew you'd be here eventually, though, Richard. It's human nature to want to be right, and eventually everyone succumbs to it."

Corbett shook his head and lowered his eyes to his cup.

"That's not the problem, sir," he said. "This isn't about me, not directly."

"Tell me what it's about then," Lanza prodded.

"I need to know something, first, Ed," Corbett said as he lifted his eyes from the coffee cup again. "I need to know how well you know Senator Lewis."

Lanza frowned and Corbett couldn't help but prepare himself for a tirade. He didn't want to come right out and ask if Lewis had bribed him, or if he was on the senator's payroll, but he had to know before he started laying things out.

"It's interesting that you mention Lewis, Richard. He's been pestering my office for copies of everything relating to the Kincaid case. I understand that his son was one of the kids at the party that night, and that he left early."

Corbett considered for a moment how to answer. Either Lanza really wasn't on the senator's payroll, or he was being very coy about it. He hadn't come this far, though, to back down at the last minute, so with a breath, he started in.

"Yes, Hunter Lewis was one of the visitors at the Brighton residence," Corbett said. "But he didn't leave early."

"Something tells me this is going to be a long conversation that I don't want to have, Richard," Lanza said.

"I can't let Kincaid die to avoid an uncomfortable situation, sir," Corbett said as he pulled his tablet from his coat.

"Senator Lewis approached me at the beginning of my investigation and told me to make sure Kincaid was convicted. He threatened to kill my family if I didn't. The report that was filed with your office was false. I wrote it so that everything would point to her. But I can't live with myself knowing that I did that, and knowing that Caitlin Kincaid is going to die for my mistake."

Lanza listened with calm interest, letting Corbett speak, and when he stopped, the magistrate took the time to pour two glasses of scotch from the decanter on the table. Corbett felt a little strange sitting there silently waiting for Lanza to respond.

The magistrate handed a glass to Corbett and took one for himself.

"I can tell you're waiting for me to ream you up the wall, Corbett, and you can relax. You're a smart man, and you've thought about this. I'm just going to tell you this because I feel I have to. You know that I can't do anything about the shit storm you're going to bring down on yourself, right?"

"I know that, sir. My family's out of the line of fire, and there's nothing else that I can do to mitigate it."

"As long as you understand that," Lanza said. Then he sat up and held out his hand. "Let's see what you've got."

Corbett handed over the tablet. Sylvester had queued up the surveillance footage from the hospital first, showing the doctor with his stepdaughter.

"I've been trying to find a way to bust Amine for a year now, Corbett. Some of his lab reports just didn't mesh, but there wasn't anything I could find."

"The real lab results are here, along with a signed confession of what he did," Corbett said, handing the envelope to Lanza.

The magistrate took the envelope and looked through the papers, reading every word of the confession and looking through all of the corrected results.

"No C," he remarked. "But it looks like she was drugged. That would be why she doesn't remember what happened."

"Hunter Lewis drugged her and raped her, sir."

Lanza shook his head and then flipped through to the next video on the tablet, showing what transpired at the Brighton house. He watched it all the way through, not even flinching when the gunshot sounded.

"I see," was all he said before he laid the tablet on his lap.

"You've got me convinced, Corbett," Lanza said after a minute. "I'm going to need a sworn statement from you saying that you falsified the police report. I'll file that and the evidence here and then I'll vacate the charges on Kincaid."

Lanza took another gulp of the scotch and then looked across the table to Corbett once again.

"A word of advice, though, Richard, if you'll take it. Lewis is not someone to cross lightly. My advice to you is to put your badge on my table here with your confession. You'll have some time before it all gets made public, and you can take that time to get as far away from the city as you can."

Corbett nodded.

"If you don't mind waiting just a few minutes for that statement, sir, I'll arrange my ride."

Lanza smiled and nodded back.

"Corbett, for the stuff you just gave me, you can take all the time you need. I'm going to go over there for a while, just come get me when you're ready."

Lanza stood up and walked out of the room, leaving Corbett alone in the living room.

"Get ahold of the two three, my friend," he said when he'd dialed and connected to Sylvester. He was careful not to put any names in the conversation for fear that even the magistrate's house was bugged.

"You got it," Sylvester answered. "What's the plan?"

"The senator was nice enough to give us a fast car, so I say we use it. The tools in the trunk might come in handy later, too. I'll be at the house when I'm done, and we can take a road trip."

"See you soon, inspector."

Corbett frowned at the smug and pleased note in Sylvester's voice and he was about to call the other officer on it, but the click on the other end beat him to it and all he could do was growl into the phone.

With calm and controlled hands, he set the phone down on the coffee table, then pulled the tablet Lanza had left behind towards him. It took all his composure to write the statement that he knew he needed to write.

When it was finally done, he read it again, and then for a third time, until the words were etched into his brain. These were the words that were going to end his career and have him looking over his shoulder for the rest of his life. These were the words that were going to make him a hunted man. With a deep sigh, he reached down to the screen and pressed his finger against the reader, signing the letter with his fingerprint. It was an indelible way of saying that he was no longer trustworthy enough to be a cop.

And then it was done. He laid the tablet on the table next to the phone and then pulled his badge off his belt. He held it in his hand, feeling the cold metal against his fingers, remembering how proud he was when he'd earned that badge. He'd worked so hard for the one word, 'Inspector,' that was emblazoned across the top of the badge. He frowned and then set it softly beside the other two pieces of equipment. The last thing to be left was his sidearm. The department had issued it, and he didn't want to be an actual fugitive for stealing it, when he was so careful to leave everything just so. He didn't want even the slightest hint that he was unscrupulous to taint the case.

Quietly, he stood and walked through the door he saw Lanza walking through. On the other side, he found himself in a tastefully decorated kitchen, and at the far end, Lanza stood, staring out the window into the precisely manicured back lawn. He turned when he heard the door opening and met Corbett's eyes.

"Thank you, Corbett. You have more balls than anyone I've ever met."

"I still fucked up, sir."

"Yes, but you had every reason to do what you had to do. The police need someone like you on the force, and it's a shame that you pulled this case, but I admire what you're doing. There's not many people who would do what you're doing in your shoes."

"Most people don't have my friends, sir," Corbett said quietly.

"I don't want to know more, Richard. This is deep enough as it is. You left your stuff?"

"Yes, sir. It's all on the table."

"Then get out of here. Tell Lenny to watch his back." A ghost of a smile lit the magistrate's face at the look of surprise on Corbett's.

Corbett wanted to say something, but Lanza just shook his head. Without another word, the former inspector turned and walked out of the kitchen and then out of the house, leaving behind everything that had so consumed his life for as long as he could remember.

When he slid behind the wheel of the car again, though, there was a light to his thoughts. There was hope that he and his wife and his daughter might be able to live a halfway normal life, and that he would be able to continue on.

With that hope in mind, he pulled out of the driveway and headed for the house where Sylvester, his partner, was waiting for him. When he got there, Sylvester was waiting for him at the front door with two large range bags in his hands.

Sylvester threw the bags in the trunk and then hopped in beside Corbett with a smile.

"Let's go, then," he said. Corbett could hear the excitement in his voice.

"Just like that, huh? Don't you have to resign or something?" Corbett asked.

"I left my badge and my gun on my desk before I left. I knew I wasn't coming back, inspector."

"I'm not an inspector any more, Sylvester," Corbett said in his gruff voice.

"Then I'll call you Ricky."

"Only if I can call you Lenny," Corbett said, letting the smile finally reach his lips.

"Deal. Drive us out of here, Ricky."

Corbett laughed and hit the gas, driving towards the freeway. From there, it was open road out of the city and out to the mountains where his family was waiting for him. He couldn't stop himself from checking the rear view mirror, nor could he help the adrenaline reaction every time he saw the same car more than once. It would be a while before he would be able to look around without suspicion, without paranoia.

He took comfort in watching Sylvester doing the same thing as they drove.