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Sanford was coroner because his regular practice was limited to those not afraid of the Callahan contingent. When he had turned seventy, the hospital board had revoked his surgical privileges, limiting his practice even further.
    Brandy liked Doc Sanford a lot, and he was a damn fine forensic pathologist. She wasn't sure how he stayed in that office, except that Judge Callahan probably considered him harmless there. Rory Sanford was Troy Sanford's grandson.
    “No, Ma'am,” Judge Callahan responded to Brandy's remark with perfect civility. “I want Rory Sanford to serve out his term ‘cause he owes a debt to innocent people. That money was to help our schools. I wish the law allowed me to sentence him to hard labor until he told where he stashed it, so it could go back to the people he stole it from!"
    In the abstract, Brandy agreed. However, she suspected that Rory Sanford had no more idea where the money he supposedly embezzled had gone than she did. And Callahan appeared to have forgotten the question of Sanford's plea. Rory Sanford had been treasurer of the school system's booster fund when more than a thousand dollars had turned up missing. So had receipts and other records. Sanford had agreed to plead guilty to one count of misfeasance, claiming he felt responsible for not keeping better records.
    Neither the money nor the missing records had ever been recovered, and as Brandy remembered it there had been no absolute proof that the fund had received as much money as was supposed to be missing. Sanford should never have gone for the plea, but it had been one of those spells when the court docket was immensely overcrowded, and everyone was pressured to plead. When Sanford appeared in court, however, Judge Callahan had insisted on taking his plea on one count as a plea on all counts, and Sanford's court-appointed lawyer had had no luck arguing otherwise.
    “Well,” said Brandy, “I don't have anything new to add. I haven't seen Rory Sanford since his hearing."
    Callahan gave her his politician's smile, wide enough to reveal gold crowns on his molars. “Good. Good. The board won't listen to them bleedin’ heart social workers and psycho therapists.” He separated the words, turning “psycho” into a modifier. Brandy gave a reflexive smile at the lame joke, then wished she had not dignified it with a response.
    “Saw your mamma at church yesterday,” Callahan went on. Suddenly he had Brandy's attention. Her mother had not gone to church until she took up with Harry Davis, owner of a local radio station. Was it really getting that serious?
    “Whatever makes her happy,” said Brandy. And keeps her out of my hair.
    “She seems happy with Mr. Davis. But you, Brandy—how come your mother has more of a social life than you do?"
    That's none of your business, Brandy wanted to retort, but held it to, “Because I'm working and she's retired."
    “You should get out more. You're a very lovely woman.” He turned on his best political smile.
    What the hell? Brandy could not think of a polite response before Callahan filled the awkward silence himself. “There's a ball at the university on Saturday night for scholarship contributors. Would you like to go with me?"
    “You're asking me out on a date?” Brandy blurted in astonishment. Church, get back here and rescue me!
    The smile almost showed warmth, although it didn't reach Callahan's eyes. “You can put it that way, yes."
    You bastard—you sexually harassing bastard! Church is right about you! But what Brandy said was, “Much as I might enjoy going to a ball, I don't think it would be—appropriate—for us to go out together, Judge Callahan."
    “L. J.,” he corrected. “Why not?"
    Don't play ignorant! You didn't get to be a judge by acting stupid. “Because as a police officer, I must frequently give testimony in your courtroom. I don't think it would be wise to undermine my credibility as a witness—or yours as an unbiased judge."
    “Oh, I don't