Early Tuesday

Early Tuesday, long before anyone arrived at Rush Point, Lazarus parked his pickup truck near the shrine and slowly, methodically began dismantling the junk. He yanked the cross from the ground--there had been several crosses over the years, each larger than the last. He lifted the wax-covered block of granite upon which they stuck the candles. There were four photos of Nicole, two laminated and two framed in glass. A very pretty girl, Lazarus thought as he placed the photos in his truck. A terrible death, but then so was Donte's. He gathered tiny porcelain figures of cheerleaders, clay tablets with printed messages, bronze works with no discernible meanings, baffling works of oil on canvas, and bunches of wilted flowers.
It was a load of trash, in his opinion.
What a waste, Lazarus said to himself as he drove away. Wasted effort, time, tears, emotions, hatred, hope, prayers. The girl had been more than five hours away, buried in the hills of Missouri by someone else. She had never been near Rush Point.
Paul Koffee entered the chambers of Judge Henry on Tuesday at 12:15. Though it was lunchtime, there was no food in sight. Judge Henry stayed behind his desk, and Koffee sat in a deep leather chair, one he knew well.
Koffee had not left his cabin since Friday night. On Monday, he had not called his office, and his staff knew nothing of his whereabouts. His two court appearances, both in front of Judge Henry, had been postponed. He looked gaunt, tired, pale, with even deeper circles under his eyes. His customary prosecutor's swagger had vanished.
"How are you doing these days, Paul?" the judge began pleasantly.
"I've been better."
"I'm sure you have. Are you and your staff still working on the theory that Drumm and Boyette were in cahoots?"
"We're giving that some thought," Koffee said while staring out a window to his left. Eye contact was difficult for Koffee, but not for Judge Henry.
"Perhaps I can help here, Paul. You and I, and the rest of the world at this moment, know full well that such a ridiculous theory is nothing but a sick, lame, desperate attempt to save your ass. Paul, listen to me, your ass cannot be saved. Nothing can save you. And if you trot out this co-defendant theory, you will be laughed out of town. Worse, it will only create more tension. It's not going to fly, Paul. Don't pursue it. Don't file anything, because if you do, I'll dismiss it immediately. Forget about it, Paul. Forget about everything in your office right now."
"Are you telling me to quit?"
"Yes. Immediately. Your career will end in disgrace; get it over with, Paul. Until you step down, the blacks will be in the streets."
"Suppose I don't want to resign?"
"I can't make you, but I can make you wish you had. I'm your judge, Paul, I rule on every motion in every case. I preside over every trial. As long as you are the district attorney, your office gets nothing out of me. Don't even file a motion, because I won't consider it. Don't indict anyone; I'll quash the indictments. Don't ask for a trial, because I'm busy that week. Nothing, Paul, nothing. You and your staff will be able to do nothing."