Blowout (14 page)

Ben took a sip of the sinfully rich coffee. “Justice Califano was in the Supreme Court Library on Friday night, near midnight, something obviously on his mind, something that made him want to be alone, to think. Can you think of anything in particular that was bothering him?”

Justice Xavier-Foxx frowned, looking down at her brown suede flats. “You know, Stewart was somewhat distracted, I remember thinking that during our Friday meeting, but then some of the Justices got into an argument about the upcoming death penalty case. Lydia knew Stewart hadn’t made up his mind yet about overturning the 1989 death penalty decision, but still, she couldn’t help herself. She sniped at him. Then the meeting was over and I got busy and it dropped out of my mind.” She turned to Callie. “I’m very sorry I didn’t pursue it, my dear. Maybe he would have said something, but I just went about my business. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Callie said.

Justice Xavier-Foxx bowed her head, but when she looked up, she was smiling. “Just smell those brioches. Let’s have one before they get cold.” She whisked off the napkin that covered the plate. “My husband makes them every Sunday morning, ever since he became a
cordon bleu
chef over fifteen years ago.”

It was hard, but Ben didn’t grab the plate itself and clutch it protectively to his chest. He took a bite of a brioche, felt it melt in his mouth, and began to wonder if Wheaties was the only breakfast option he should consider.

“Can you think of anyone who hated Justice Califano enough to hire someone to kill him?”

“Goodness, no! Why, there is no one I can imagine capable of such a brutal crime.”

Callie said, “The Supreme Court is a very closed society, ma’am. Some have likened you to the nine princes and princesses. Three hundred–plus people spend hour upon hour together in that one building, seeing to the Justices’ needs. Close proximity can lead to conflict. Can you think of anyone, ma’am, anyone at all you observed who might have disliked my stepfather, other than Justice Alto-Thorpe?”

“Stewart was a nice man, Callie. No one I ever saw or heard about disliked him.”

Ben said, “Any spouses or other family members who might not have cared for Justice Califano?”

Justice Xavier-Foxx shook her head. “No. There is, however, one interesting spouse, Lydia Alto-Thorpe’s second husband, Harry Thorpe. Her first husband died in a yachting accident, and Lydia, already nearing sixty, married Harry within six months. It was something of a scandal at the time, given she was a Supreme Court Justice, but soon forgotten. I have to tell you that I feel rather sorry for Harry even though he’s a very successful businessman, owns Harry’s. The flagship restaurant is in the Inner Harbor in Baltimore.”

“I’ve eaten there. It’s excellent,” Callie said. “I had no idea Justice Alto-Thorpe’s husband owned it.”

“Yes, well, Lydia overwhelms him when they’re together in public. I’ve seen her occasionally put him down, or, more often, ignore him. But marriages work for a multitude of different reasons. The few times the Justices and their families have all been together, I’ve seen Harry Thorpe staring at Stewart with anger. Because of what Lydia had said? Probably. I’m sorry, this can’t possibly have anything to do with Stewart’s murder.”

“I can’t remember ever having too much information, ma’am,” Ben said, then added without pause, “Was Justice Wallace ever inappropriate with any of the female employees in the Supreme Court?”

Justice Xavier-Foxx was unruffled. She said matter-of-factly, “There was occasional gossip to that effect, yes. Evidently this is an adult-long habit with Sumner.”

Callie cleared her throat. “How about my stepfather, ma’am? Were there any female employees he liked more than he should?”

Ben kept his head down. He simply hadn’t thought along those lines. He didn’t think anyone had. He said nothing, waited.

To his astonishment, Justice Xavier-Foxx slowly nodded. “Perhaps not on Stewart’s part, I don’t know. Eliza Vickers, his senior law clerk, was in love with Stewart, if I’m not mistaken. A tough situation. She was more than thirty years his junior, in addition to Stewart being happily married to your mother, Callie. Eliza was in her second year with him, very unusual since most law clerks stay only a year. Did Stewart return her affection? All I can tell you is that Stewart was getting quite frantic that her second year was coming to an end in July. He didn’t want to lose her. Very bright lawyer, is Eliza Vickers.”

Callie hadn’t expected to hear this, both Ben and Justice Xavier-Foxx saw it, but she kept it together. “You really think Eliza Vickers was in love with my stepfather? With Stewart? A man old enough to be her father?”

“I’ve learned over the years that a person’s age becomes less and less important. It’s the other things that matter, like respect, brains, kindness. Was she in love with him? I’d say so, yes. It’s just my opinion, mind you, Callie.”

Callie had to know. “Please, be honest with me. Do you think Stewart was in love with her?”

“I can’t say, Callie. I never saw any sort of inappropriate emotion when they were together. It’s just that once I happened to look at Eliza when Stewart was speaking. It was crystal clear to me, another woman, that she loved him. Don’t get me wrong. She never acted silly or smitten. She was tough, and those who didn’t recognize her brilliance fell victim to it. I enjoyed watching her. By the time she hits thirty-five, she’ll be formidable. She might be a Justice on the Supreme Court herself someday.

“I realize you all believe Stewart was killed by someone who knew him. That it was a personal act, not a terrorist act, and that is why I’ve told you this. I very much want you to catch Stewart’s murderer. This information is more than likely a dead end, but I knew I had to tell you anything that might help.”

Ben eyed another brioche but exercised control. “What do you think of Justice Califano’s other two law clerks and his two secretaries, ma’am?”

Justice Xavier-Foxx smiled. “Stewart’s law clerks, like all our law clerks, have their own beliefs, their own biases, their own core values. Sure they’re young, still changing, evolving. You can hear arguments all over the Court. The lunchroom downstairs is a hotbed of controversy, argument, brutal insults. Do our law clerks sway us? Yes, sometimes. Young people are so passionate, so idealistic. It’s difficult to resist them sometimes even when you know they don’t have the ability to grasp the long view, the consequences of a decision.”

Callie asked, “Do you think Justice Sumner Wallace could have behaved inappropriately with my mother?”

Again, Justice Xavier-Foxx was unruffled. “It wouldn’t surprise me. He was always testing. As I said, everyone knows that Sumner has always had a roving eye. He’ll never see himself as too old to follow through when he sees a woman he wants.”

“Do you believe that Justice Wallace and my stepfather were best friends?”

“If Sumner did behave inappropriately with your mother and Stewart found out about it, I would certainly doubt it. However, I hope Sumner managed to hold himself in check with Margaret.” She rose, looked at one, then the other of them. “Both of you are very young. Try to enjoy this special time. Detective, find the person who did this.”

They left a few minutes later beneath a noon-high sun that shone brilliantly on the melting snow. Ben waved to the two federal marshals guarding the residence as he drove through the open gate. He said as he turned onto the highway, “Mr. Foxx stayed close throughout the interview, probably right outside the living room.”

“How do you know that?”

“I smelled his aftershave. Old Spice.”

“I wonder why he didn’t come in, at least to meet us. We could have thanked him for the coffee and those marvelous brioches.”

“Good question. That was well done of you, out of the blue asking her about, well, your stepfather messing around. I confess I never even thought of that.”

“I certainly didn’t get the answer I expected, that’s for sure.”

45 LAWFORD AVENUE N.E.

GEORGETOWN, WASHINGTON, D.C.

SUNDAY MORNING

S
AVICH AND
S
HERLOCK
stood a moment on the icy front steps of Justice Lydia Alto-Thorpe’s house, staring at the recently slammed door. The door was still shuddering.

Sherlock said, “Should I arrest her?”

“For rudeness? For telling us we’re incompetent?”

“That’s a start. Goodness, Dillon, I feel like I’ve been bludgeoned. Can she harangue, or what? She slammed the door right in our faces,” Sherlock said. Then she laughed. “She actually slammed the door in two FBI agents’ faces. Isn’t that a kick?”

“I’m still deciding what it was,” Savich said.

The Justice had opened the door herself and blocked them, even though she knew who they were since they’d called out their names through the closed front door. She stood there, arms crossed over her chest. “Well, what have we here? More reporters?”

Sherlock had given her a sweet smile, pulled out her I.D., flipped it open, and said, “As you see, Justice Alto-Thorpe, we’re FBI agents. May we come in?”

Justice Alto-Thorpe had said out of a mouth so tightly seamed they could barely see it, “This is ridiculous. I’ve already spoken to everyone. I know nothing about any of this except that you’re all incompetent idiots. A madman invaded the Supreme Court of the United States of America and murdered a Supreme Court Justice! This is ludicrous, unforgivable, and disgraceful! You allowed it to happen. All of you should be fired, beginning with the Marshal of the Supreme Court, Alice Halpern. The Attorney General should be shot. The President should resign.”

And that had been only her opening salvo.

They walked back to Savich’s Porsche. Savich waved to the two federal marshals who were sitting in their car across the street. He would swear there was a look of commiseration on their faces.

As they drove away, Sherlock said, “Well, even though I feel bruised all over, and we didn’t learn a single thing except the Justice is extraordinarily pissed off, there is an upside to this.”

“Yeah?”

“We have lots of time now for Eliza Vickers. She lives in McLean?”

Savich nodded, as he carefully negotiated a corner. “I guess you could say she is royally pissed.”

“Bludgeoned, we’ve been bludgeoned by an expert.” She sighed. “After we speak with Ms. Vickers we’ll go home for lunch and see Sean and Lily. Hopefully everyone will be smiling and glad to see us. That will bolster our egos. Isn’t Simon coming down from New York today to see Lily?”

“You bet. He’s trying to talk my sister into marrying him sooner rather than later. What do you think?”

“I guess we’ll see,” Sherlock said, and settled back for the drive to McLean. “Simon’s a pretty good talker.”

E
LIZA
V
ICKERS OPENED
the front door of her condo as soon as Savich’s Porsche pulled into the driveway. The condo complex—The Oaks—looked lovely under a pristine blanket of snow. The individual condos were good-sized, modern, and well maintained. The grounds were nicely kept, the sidewalks well shoveled. The complex backed up against a maple and oak forest. Sherlock heard Dillon say, “Remind me to review the financials on her later. Nice buildings, nice setting. I wonder how much law clerks at the Supreme Court make?”

“Probably not all that much. It’s such a prestige thing, I imagine. Sort of like being a Rhodes scholar.”

Eliza Vickers was a surprise. She was tall, about five-foot-ten, full-figured, big-breasted, with long, straight dark brown hair. She wore white socks, jeans, and a huge creamy knit sweater. Big glasses distorted her eyes a bit, then she gave them a smile, and Sherlock saw a wealth of beauty on her face. The smile was brief, though, and it was clear she’d been crying. She rubbed her fists over her cheeks, trying to keep control, and whispered, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. Come in, let me get myself together.”

The living room was good-sized, filled with light from a dozen windows that looked onto the woods, a modern fireplace, and a white sofa and chairs with a dozen accent pillows scattered artfully about. The carpet was white. Sherlock automatically took off her shoes, Savich followed suit.

“Yes, I know—why ever did I choose white? I guess it was during my off-guys phase, you know, back to virginal for a while. It’s a pain now. Please come in. Can I get you coffee or tea?”

“Tea would be marvelous,” Sherlock said. “Straight.” That made Eliza smile a bit, that beautiful smile, and her eyes cleared behind those big glasses. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

“I smell him,” Sherlock said.

“Who?”

“Justice Califano. I smell him. The same smell in his inner office at the Supreme Court Building.”

“So it was an affair, then, not just Eliza Vickers worshiping Justice Califano from afar. He came here.”

“Yes. And it was recent.”

When Eliza Vickers walked back into the living room, she was carrying two mugs that each said UVA. “A good school,” Savich said. “With one of the best law schools in the country, I understand. I thought you went to Harvard Law.”

“I did. My younger brother goes to UVA.” She gave them each a mug. “It’s plain old Lipton. I hope you don’t mind.”

“It’s excellent,” Sherlock said, taking a sip.

Eliza wasn’t a lightweight, nor was she fat. She was simply solid, statuesque. She took off her glasses a moment, and wiped them on the hem of her big sweater. Savich looked at her eyes. There was grief there, and confusion, but obvious intelligence as well. He felt immediate respect for her.

He said matter-of-factly, “Everyone tells us you’re a real ballbuster, Ms. Vickers.”

“Call me Eliza, please, Agent Savich. Goodness, yes, I suppose I am. Someone has to do it, or things don’t get done quickly enough, and believe me, speed is of the essence. So much paperwork comes into a Justice’s chambers, and all of it has to be reviewed, responded to. I keep things going, have from the day I walked into Stew—Justice Califano’s chambers. I don’t think anyone particularly dislikes me for it, but who knows? Who cares? We accomplish what needs to be accomplished.”