That night, Mr. Justice Reginald Forfar brought home the Dinnick file. The judge, a widower, lived with his housekeeper on South Drive in Rosedale, surrounded by wooded ravines. With his wife dead almost five years, his union with the law was complete and undisturbed.

After dinner, the judge squeezed into his desk chair and switched on a single lamp in his study. One glance at the file told him it was an important case. He was proud of his record of thirty years on the bench. Almost one hundred of his cases had been published in the law digests. Perhaps this one might become another precedent for the courts to follow.

Holy Mother of God! Harold Jenkins had taken on George Pappas. Almost nothing ever stuck to Pappas.

The judge knew Jenkins only slightly. A good, solid lawyer, but his practice was mostly solicitor’s deskwork with few court appearances. Well did he remember his deceased law partner, Richard Crawford. “Old goat!” he chuckled. “An unrepentant womanizer.”

The Statement of Claim and supporting affidavit showed that Jenkins possessed a fine appreciation of the law. Perhaps the law of tracing money in and out of trusts could be clarified. Even if Jenkins were successful, he would never find the assets in Pappas’ hands. The man had the resources to set up schemes devious enough to hide Mount Olympus.

Forfar worked through the file. Brinks had filed a lengthy affidavit, but there was no response from Pappas. Brinks was well known on Bay Street as fast and lucky. But someday the Securities Commission would catch up with him, thought the judge.

But what on earth was he doing with this Dinnick woman? Brinks’ response to the allegations of drugging, isolating, and starving her, his response was predictable: have the woman declared incompetent.

His housekeeper knocked on the door. “An urgent call for you, Judge Forfar.”

Because Reginald abhorred interruptions while working, the telephone was in the back hallway. In the narrow passage, he picked up the phone. “Yes. Reginald Forfar speaking.”

A hearty voice boomed in his ear. “Reg! Sorry to disturb you at home. It’s Dennis Latham.”

Dennis Latham? The deputy attorney general?” Reginald Forfar stood up from his stool. Could this be the call to the Appellate Court?

“Yes, Mr. Latham. No trouble at all. Good to hear from you.”

The Deputy Attorney’s tone dropped to a confidential level. “Wanted to speak with you, old chap. Strictly between the two of us, you understand.”

“Yes, of course. I understand.” Reginald began to gnaw a thumbnail. Although the back hallway was chilly, he dabbed his forehead with his handkerchief.” “Is it about the court, Dennis?

“Yes, Reg.”

“If I am to be considered …”

The deputy attorney general rushed on in low tones. “There is a matter on you docket in the morning.”

Forfar had to strain to hear. “I would be most honored …”

“It’s the Dinnick matter, Reg.” The voice became soft and sibilant. “Once you’ve read the material—and, of course, heard the arguments—I’m sure you’ll agree it should be dismissed very quickly.”

Reginald Forfar began to breathe heavily. Had he heard the name ‘Dinnick’? The Deputy Attorney General must know what was on his docket.

“Dennis, are you calling about the vacancy on the Appeals Court?”

There was a lengthy pause. “Appeals?” The telephone receiver was briefly covered, but he could hear a muffled voice exclaim, “Christ! Is that his price?” Latham came back on the line. His voice was hearty. “Reg, old man. Let’s talk about that appointment soon, but in the meantime, just glance through that Dinnick matter. Lots of interest in the case. You catch my drift, of course?”

Standing stiffly at attention, Mr. Justice Forfar grasped the windowsill. As he spoke, he clearly enunciated each syllable. “Mr. Latham? Are you, as the deputy attorney general of this province, attempting to influence me?”

The laugh was high-pitched and angry. “Of course not! We’ll have lunch soon. I think I heard you’re short-listed.” The line went dead.

Mr. Justice Forfar was suffused with fury. How dare they tamper with the judiciary!

Back in his study, his anger subsided slowly as he lost himself in the file. The case would get the most fair and considered hearing possible. By midnight, he was finished. Pouring himself a cognac, he permitted his thoughts to stray to Mr. Dennis Latham, the corrupt deputy attorney general.

By the way, if you'd like to see what Osgoode Hall, where the hearing will take place in the morning and where a murder takes place, visit www.osgoodehall.com  [It is a truly beautiful building.] At this site, you can see both the exterior and the interior of the courtrooms and the library. Of course, the trilogy is named after this place.