Southern Lights: A Novel

“Serial killer, and rapist. He seems to prey on young women between the ages of eighteen and twenty-five. We have nineteen murders we’re trying to link to him, and four almost for sure here in New York. I hope we’ll be able to nail him on the rest, but we don’t know yet.” As she listened, the judge winced. The sign on her desk said Muriel Hamilton. She was Alexa’s mother and the family court judge.

“God, I’m glad I don’t get cases like that. It would make me sick. It’s bad enough watching guys who won’t support their children but go out and buy a new Porsche. I made one of them sell his to give back support to his ex-wife. Sometimes guys can be such jerks. But this sounds ugly.” And Muriel didn’t like it. Not at all.

“Just looking at him, knowing what I do about him, the guy scares me to death,” Alexa admitted. She wouldn’t have said it to anyone but her mother. She didn’t usually have that kind of reaction, but Quentin’s arrogant, invasive glances at her had really gotten under her skin.

“Be careful,” her mother warned her.

“I’m not going to be alone with him, Mom.” Alexa smiled at her. She loved the fact that they could talk about work, among other things. Her mother had saved her life when she got back from Charleston. It had been her idea for Alexa to go to law school, and as usual she’d been right. “They bring him to court in cuffs and shackles,” she reassured her, but her mother still looked worried.

“Sometimes guys like that have friends. As a prosecutor, you’re going to be the focus of all his anger, if you indict him and bring him to trial. If you do, as far as he’s concerned, you’re the reason he’s in jail. And the press will eat you alive on a case like this too.” They both knew she was right about that.

“He doesn’t seem to mind being in jail. And the guy who lost the Porsche was probably pretty pissed at you too.” Once or twice her mother had had to have a deputy sheriff at the house for protection during a tough case. Her mother laughed at what Alexa had said. And then Alexa had an idea. “Do you want to come to dinner tomorrow night?”

Her mother looked mildly embarrassed. “I can’t. I have a date.”

“You and Savannah. I can’t keep up with either of you.”

“No, and you don’t try. When was the last time you had a date?”

“In the stone age. I think people were carrying clubs and wearing fur.” Alexa looked ruefully at her mother. Muriel always brought it up.

“That’s not funny. You need to get out more, and at least have dinner with friends.” Alexa worked, went home to her daughter, and that was it. Her mother worried about her.

“I’m not going to have time to go out for a while now. I have to prepare this case.”

“You always have some excuse,” Muriel chided her. “I hate your having cases like this. Why don’t you get a decent job?” her mother teased. “Like tax law or estate planning, or animal rights or something. I don’t love the idea of you prosecuting serial killers.”

“I’ll be fine,” Alexa said. She didn’t need to ask who her mother’s date was. She knew. She and Judge Schwartzman had been dating for years, since Alexa was in college. Her mother hadn’t gone out much before that. She was too busy with her own work, and raising her daughter. Now she and Stanley Schwartzman went to dinner and movies, and sneaked away for the occasional weekend. Alexa knew that he usually spent the night on Saturdays. Neither of them wanted to get married, and the arrangement had worked for years. He was a lovely man, five years older than her mother and approaching retirement, but he was lively and in good shape. He had two daughters and a son older than Alexa, and sometimes they all got together over the holidays.