Tom Hudson had just turned off the lights in his office when the phone rang. He dropped his briefcase and stumbled back into the dark room knocking over the wastepaper basket next to his desk. Was Karen still tied up at the courthouse? It was hard enough getting tickets at Christmas time. She really had to get going or they’d miss their flight to Denver.

“Tom. It’s Al.” The voice on the other end of the line was uncharacteristically shaky. “Karen’s been taken to the E.R. I’m on the way to your office to pick you up. Get downstairs.”

“What happened? How bad is she hurt?”

“Get downstairs now,” said Chief of Detectives Alan Blake.

“When did you talk with her last?” asked Alan as his black Ford sedan tried to push through the heavy downtown Miami traffic, the detective’s flashing blue light on the roof having little effect on the sea of idling cars and trucks.

“She called a little before five-thirty,” said Tom. “Both sides had just wrapped up their cases. She’s going to write her opinion while we’re on vacation. She had a few things to do in her office, then she was going to pack her briefcase and drive home.”

“A patrol car found her a few minutes after six on the pavement next to her car in the parking lot,” said Alan. “She’d been stabbed in the chest. She was bleeding heavily. The patrol car took her straight to the E. R. at Jackson.”

A Chevy Suburban, with oversized tires and black tinted windows, cut in front of them, barely missing the bumper. Alan hit his horn and blinked his headlights. “Idiot! What does he think the light on top of the car means?”

Tom’s hands were trembling. “What about her ring?” he asked.

For generations the simple platinum band circled by dark blue diamonds had been the symbol of life for the women of Karen’s family. Her grandmother would not wear it to the fancy balls or formal dinners of pre-Anschluss Vienna. For generations it was only brought from the safe when the continuity of the family was affirmed in sacred ceremonies.

“Her ring finger was mangled,” said Alan. “Her assailant cut it off.”

Alan held the horn down and pulled out past the huge Suburban into on-coming traffic. Cars scattered. The Suburban made a vague attempt to get out of the way. Alan pressed down hard on the accelerator and shot across the drawbridge over the Miami River, past the courthouse where Judge Karen Rachael Delaney Hudson sat and raced towards the hospital.

“I told her not to wear the ring but the shelter wanted pictures. She went over to the photographer’s at lunch. They’re doing a coffee-table book about unique jewelry as a fundraiser. I didn’t think it was safe.” Tom let out a mirthless laugh. “She told me not to worry.”

Alan stopped while the gate to the Emergency Room parking lot slowly swung back. Tom opened the car door and bolted out, running the last few yards. Alan left his police car in the ambulance bay and hurried into the waiting room after Tom.

Tom had grabbed the first nurse he’d seen. “My wife’s been brought in. Karen Hudson. I have to see her. Judge Hudson.”

Alan caught the startled woman’s eye and flashed his gold chief’s badge. The nurse tried to calm Tom and went to find the surgeon. A few moments later a doctor came out, splatters of blood on his surgical scrubs. “Mr. Hudson. Could you follow me into that room over there? We need to talk.”