Blowout (9 page)

Slowly, Justice Wallace rose, walked to Callie, and took her in his arms. She was nearly as tall as he was. He felt strong as an ox, she thought as she hugged him tightly. “Stewart was a fine man, a fine Justice,” he said, his voice choking. “Dear God, I will miss him.” He hugged her more tightly.

Callie wanted to cry; it was odd, but what held her back was the thought that this man had actually made a pass at her mother, the wife of another Justice who was supposed to be his best friend. So she merely comforted him as best she could, wondering if he was bitterly sorry now for what he’d done.

After a few more moments, Justice Wallace straightened. His shoulders went back. His bearing was once again that of a Justice of the Supreme Court, strong and in control.

He turned to Ben. “Won’t you sit down, Detective? Beth, would you please get us coffee?”

Callie didn’t want any coffee, but Mrs. Wallace had already turned away.

“Why are you here, Detective? Where is the FBI? As you saw, we already have two federal marshals to guard us. From a murder attempt or to protect us from the media, I don’t know. Do you?”

“I would say both, sir,” Ben said. “As for the FBI, they’ll be here to talk to you, Justice Wallace. I’m part of the team put together by the Bureau. I really appreciate you seeing me. If you don’t mind, sir, any information you could give me about Justice Califano would be helpful.”

Justice Wallace sighed. “So many guards, so much security assigned to keep us safe. How could this have happened? In the Supreme Court Building, the bedrock of the rule of law in our nation, the symbol of freedom and balance in our government?”

Now that was eloquent, Ben thought, a lot more statesmanlike than hitting on Margaret Califano. Ben decided there was no reason for him not to tell him. “It appears that the killer knew one of the guards would go outside for a smoke. He hit him on the head, took his uniform, and came right back in. It was after midnight, quiet, and unfortunately he succeeded.” It was a lousy excuse, Ben knew, but it was the truth. “Justice Wallace, I understand you were Justice Califano’s closest friend. Did you notice anything different about him on Friday? Or during the past week? Did Justice Califano appear distracted, perhaps worried about something?”

“No, not at all. Stewart appeared the same as always on Friday, and throughout the week as well. I knew he didn’t want to revisit the death penalty in the upcoming case, but then again, neither did I.”

“Why would that be, sir?”

“He believed it wasn’t a good case for the anti-death-penalty people to use since this sixteen-year-old boy had murdered three people in a particularly brutal manner. Still, he hadn’t made up his mind about overturning the ruling they’d made in 1989. The liberal Justices wanted to swing him around to their way of thinking to gain a plurality. There was lots of maneuvering. I don’t know what Stewart would have ended up deciding to do.”

“But you don’t believe he was in the Supreme Court Library to think about this particular case?”

“It’s possible. Whenever Stewart wanted to be alone to think, to study a case or a contentious issue like this one, he went to the library. He simply felt an affinity for it. He enjoyed being among those thousands of books that give us the roots of what we are as a people. They helped focus his mind, he said, on the meaning of his work.”

“Do you have any idea who could have killed him?”

Justice Wallace began rubbing his hands together, like Lady MacBeth, Callie thought, and wasn’t that a strange image to appear in her mind? He said finally, his voice slow and thoughtful, very much like a Justice rendering an opinion, “No, there was no one, either in his past or in the present, that I know of.”

“Do you know of anything on a more personal level that was bothering Justice Califano? Some disagreement he’d recently had? Some argument?”

“No, naturally not. Stewart was very well liked. He was happily married. He had a stepdaughter everybody likes.” He sent something close to a smile in Callie’s direction.

“You were his best friend, sir?”

“For many years. We both went to Harvard Law. In those years, we drank too much, spent too much time in clubs.” He fell silent, sighed.

For the good old days? Ben had to remind himself that the Justices of the Supreme Court had once been young and that meant doing stupid things, but it was still tough to believe. Justice Wallace was one of the Supremes, so high up he could call the President by his first name.

It was time to move on, time to go to the meat of the matter. He thought of what Savich had said to him. “Remember, Ben, any of the Justices could probably have you taken out and shot, so be diplomatic, be respectful.” Well, this wasn’t going to be respectful at all. Ben could almost hear the firing squad readying their rifles, but he formed the words in his mind and managed to get them out of his mouth. “Would you tell me, sir, whether you’ve been personally involved with Margaret Califano?”

Justice Wallace’s eyes flashed. What? Rage? Embarrassment? No, not embarrassment, but what? Astonishment that he’d been observed and was being called on it? That was probably it. His face paled a bit as he drew in a long, slow breath. Ben prepared himself to be lambasted, possibly threatened. He was aware that Callie was staring intently at Justice Wallace.

But all the Justice said was, “That’s ridiculous.”

“Yes, of course it’s ridiculous,” said Mrs. Wallace from the door. “How dare you, young man, intimate such a thing? You are speaking to a Justice of the Supreme Court of the United States.”

Ben wanted to apologize, but he held himself still. He looked briefly at Callie. She was still staring at Justice Wallace’s face, not moving.

Beth Wallace wasn’t through. “The thought that Sumner would ever do anything like that, it’s nonsense. Both Stewart and Margaret were our friends, both of them. It is also an insult to me, Detective. My husband is faithful to me, always has been. And to ask such a thing at this time, in the context of Stewart’s death—it’s reprehensible.” The silver tray she carried trembled in her hands. Callie quickly jumped to her feet and took the tray.

Ben wished Mrs. Wallace could have remained out of sight for two minutes more. Well, damn. Her timing couldn’t have been worse. And that was all he was going to get—a denial. He nodded as he said, “Please let me apologize to both of you. There are some questions a policeman is forced to ask even though he doesn’t want to. To return to Justice Califano’s professional career. Can you think of anyone who hated Justice Califano enough to kill him?”

“Of course not,” Justice Wallace said without hesitation. “If there were ever such a question, any threatening correspondence, for example, it was forwarded to the FBI immediately. They always follow through on such things. Of all the Justices, Stewart was least likely to receive hate mail. Realize, Detective, that the nine of us spend most of our time in the Supreme Court Building. We’re not out haranguing defense lawyers or sentencing criminals, haven’t been for many years.”

There was a moment of tense silence, then Justice Wallace said, “You don’t believe this was a terrorist act, do you, Detective?”

“I don’t know, sir. And since we don’t know, that’s why you have two federal marshals assigned to guard you. They will remain until we’ve solved this case. Now, sir, for our information, and with my apologies, would you please tell me where you were last night?”

Justice Wallace raised an eyebrow and said, “Both my wife and I were home last night, playing bridge with our next-door neighbors, the Blairs. They left at around midnight. Isn’t that right, Beth?”

Beth Wallace nodded. “Then we went to bed.” She looked down at the beautiful silver coffeepot no one had touched. “It does occur to me to mention Eliza Vickers. She was Stewart’s senior law clerk. She isn’t a very nice woman.”

Justice Wallace frowned at his wife. “There’s nothing to say about her, Beth.” When she attempted to open her mouth again, he said over her, “Eliza is one of the most effective law clerks at the Court. She was always locking horns with Stewart, always debating, especially when she really cared about something. She would nearly hold him prisoner in his office when she wanted to bring him around to her way of thinking.” He sighed. “She was with him nearly a year and a half. He could speak of nothing but keeping her on with him beyond two years, something that’s very rare.”

Beth Wallace said, venom in her voice, “She disliked him, I know it for a fact.”

Now this exchange was peculiar, Callie thought. She said, “Mrs. Wallace, why do you think that?”

“It’s nonsense,” Justice Wallace said, before his wife could speak. “You rarely visited the Court. How would you know?”

“Tai Curtis, one of your own law clerks, told me, Sumner.”

Justice Wallace looked embarrassed, but he managed a dry laugh, waved his hand in dismissal. “Ah, Tai dislikes her because she’s a better law clerk than he is. Forget her, Beth.”

Mrs. Wallace looked at the coffeepot. She said nothing more.

They took a respectful leave of Justice Sumner Wallace and his wife, and shook hands with the federal marshals who were still standing near the front door. Ben was already plotting when he could speak to Mrs. Wallace alone. The reporters were still outside when they left, shouting questions, but all they got for it was a quickly pressed-together snowball that Callie hurled at one of the reporters. She hit him in the head.

“I always say to make use of what’s available to you,” Ben said. “Not a bad shot.”

Callie gave a quick bow to the laughing reporters, and got into the car. “Where are we going now?” She was staring through the veil of snow at the face of Bob Simpson of Fox, a man she’d turned down some months before, which hadn’t made him very happy. She gave him a little finger wave. “Others will come to interview Justice Wallace?”

“Oh yeah,” he said, carefully easing the Crown Vic onto the street.

Callie hung on to the chicken strap, and watched the world slide by. Fortunately there weren’t many cars out, Washingtonians evidently living up to their reputations for self-preservation.

“I’m taking you back to Colfax. Then I’m going to the Hoover Building. We’re having our first big organizational meeting. I’ve never been involved in something this explosive, but—”

He shut up like a spigot.

“But what?”

“You’re a civilian, Callie. You shouldn’t even be in this car with me.”

“Get a grip here, Detective Raven—”

“Ben,” he said mildly. “You don’t want to be formal after you’ve told me I have sexy hair.”

She wasn’t even tempted to laugh. “Ben, we’ve already been through this with Agent Savich. Get used to it. It doesn’t matter that you have sexy hair. I want to go with you to this meeting.”

He turned the Crown Vic toward Virginia.

Ben waited until Callie stomped into the Kettering house before he headed back to the Hoover Building. He wondered if Savich would ever tell her the main reason he’d let a civilian tag along on an official investigation was that, bottom line, he believed her threat to investigate on her own, and he knew that might put her in the sights of the murderer. He wanted her to keep safe. So, on top of everything else, Ben was a bodyguard for a big-mouthed reporter.

BETHESDA NAVAL HOSPITAL

MARYLAND

S
AVICH LOOKED DOWN
at the flaccid skin and grayish pallor of Supreme Court Police Officer Henry Biggs. His head was wrapped in a wide white bandage. Savich knew he was fifty, married, with three grown children. He was a man with a long stable career, a man who, unfortunately, hadn’t kicked the smoking habit. He was lying perfectly still on his back, an IV drip in his arm, his eyes closed, his breathing a bit labored. He looked pretty bad, but Savich could see the rise and fall of his chest through the heating bag they’d put him in to regulate his temperature after he’d been left outside in the snow for so long. He could have frozen to death. Then his eyelashes fluttered as he became aware someone was there. He slowly opened his eyes. From behind Savich, Dr. Faraday said, “Mr. Biggs, two FBI agents are here to speak to you, but only for a moment. Do you feel up to it?”

“Track the bastard down,” Officer Biggs whispered. “Fry him.”

Sherlock touched her fingertips to his forearm. “You can count on that, Officer Biggs. We’ll fry him to a crisp.”

Officer Biggs tried to smile, but couldn’t quite manage it. “You FBI?”

“Yes, sir,” Sherlock said. “Both of us. We’d like to go over what happened to you, have you give us every detail you can remember. If you become too tired, we’ll let you rest. But we do need your help as quickly as we can get it, Officer.” She heard the doctor move restlessly behind her. She turned, gave him a sunny smile, and said, “We’re not going to put him on the rack. When he tires, Doctor, we will go. May we ask you to leave now?”

No one, Savich thought, bucked Sherlock when she used that sweet iron voice.

Officer Biggs studied Savich for a moment. “You heading this investigation, Agent Savich?”

“The FBI is heading it, Officer Biggs.”

“So the marshal of the Supreme Court Police isn’t coordinating everything?”

How could Biggs ever have thought that, Savich wondered. “Marshal Alice Halpern and her people will be involved, certainly. You’re really a lucky man, Officer Biggs. One of your friends, Officer Clendenning, wondered about you, and went looking. The man who struck you down had thrown a tarp over you, left you right there beside the wall.”

“And nobody realized when he came in that he wasn’t me.”

Savich said, “No, but we’re still speaking to all of the officers on that shift. Maybe someone noticed something, felt something wasn’t right. By the time the alarm was raised, the killer was gone.

“All right now, Officer Biggs.” Savich leaned close to his gray face, where so much pain and rage flickered in his faded eyes. “I need you to think back to this past week, particularly yesterday. Did you notice anyone who seemed to be hanging around, watching, waiting, perhaps leaving, then returning, anyone who didn’t look right, who gave you pause?”