Mr. Justice (10 page)

Westfall continued his march toward the president’s desk. He stopped directly in front of it. “I asked Cheryl Richards to prepare a list of replacements for Peter McDonald. I thought you should see it.”

President Jackson shot up from his chair like a pilot from an ejection seat. “Who told you to do that?! Who told you to look for a replacement?!”

Luckily for Westfall, he had known Jackson for years. Consequently, he wasn’t as taken aback by the president’s outburst as he otherwise might have been. Although Jackson came across in public as laid-back and unflappable, Westfall knew that in private the president was capable of erupting like a volcano.

“Nobody told me to do it, Mr. President. But after talking to Morris Tanenbaum at the hospital, I thought it needed to be done. As you know, it’s the chief of staff’s job to try and anticipate what the president might need.”

Jackson was circling the room. For once, it made sense that the Oval Office was round; pacing in large circles gave the most powerful man in the world a chance to cool down. The president collapsed onto a couch that Laura Bush had selected when she had refurbished the White House during her husband’s second term. Jackson said, his voice dripping with concern, “What did Morris say about Professor McDonald’s prospects?”

Westfall hadn’t budged an inch during the entire time the president had been circling the Oval. However, when the president sat, Westfall sat. “He said that the professor’s prospects aren’t good. In fact, it was Morris who recommended that I start working on a list of possible substitutes.” Westfall rubbed his hand across his whiskered chin. He was exhausted, and he knew he looked that way. “Morris is doing all he can to save Professor McDonald, Mr. President. But the gunshot wound went pretty deep.”

The president studied the face of his chief of staff and longtime friend. He had known Westfall since college. They had been fraternity brothers at Yale. They had also played on the rugby team together. They had become best friends during countless hours in the whirlpool soothing their bruised bodies after rough matches. Most important of all, it was Jim Westfall who had devised the strategy that had turned the charismatic governor of a small New England state into the first African American president of the United States. Finally, the president said, “Let me see it.”

Westfall stood up, walked to the couch, and handed the president the list. He felt like a jury foreman delivering a verdict form to a judge.

The president studied the list. Three of the names were typed. He smiled when he noticed that a fourth name had been penciled in. “You finally managed to twist Cheryl’s arm, huh?”

Westfall returned the president’s smile. It felt good to smile under the circumstances. Strange, but good. “Yeah. It wasn’t easy, but she finally agreed to let me throw her hat into the ring. I think she’d make a terrific choice.”

The president folded the list and placed it in his pocket. “So do I. But not as terrific as Peter McDonald… . Pray for him, will you Jim?”

“Certainly, Mr. President.”

The two old friends dropped to their knees and asked for God’s mercy.

CHAPTER 34

Clay Smith had been tailing Kelsi Shelton for the better part of three miles. He had always liked Kelsi. Every first-year student at UVA law school was assigned an upper-class mentor—a more experienced classmate who could explain the ropes and who was available for questions during the daunting 1L experience—and Kelsi was his. Talk about serendipity, Clay said to himself as he made a left turn onto University Avenue. He knew the person that his uncle had told him to kill.

It wouldn’t be easy. It wouldn’t be easy for a couple of reasons. First, Clay had never killed a white person before. A nigger, yes. Clay had killed two niggers in his young life. But whites and niggers were different. Niggers weren’t people. Every klansman knew that. Clay certainly did.

The second reason that he would have trouble killing Kelsi was because he liked her, and not merely in the sense that a new student liked a mentor. No, Clay had romantic feelings for Kelsi. He had had them for a long time.

Kelsi pulled onto Rugby Road and maneuvered her VW Beetle into a vacant parking space.

Clay whizzed past her and found a spot about two blocks down the street. He switched off the ignition, popped his keys into his pocket, and started to jog in Kelsi’s direction.

Like most pretty girls, Kelsi walked quickly. It was almost as if she knew someone was after her.

Clay got to within a hundred yards of her. He said, “Kelsi! Hey, Kelsi!”

Kelsi stopped. She turned to identify the source of the interruption. A brief smile spread across her beautiful face. She waved and then waited for Clay to catch up with her.

“Hi,” Clay said when he finally did. “I thought it was you.” He was breathing heavily from the hundred-yard dash.

Kelsi glanced at her watch. “Don’t you have Civil Procedure now?”

Clay grinned. “Always the big sister, huh?”

“Mentor,” Kelsi said, smiling again. “Always the mentor. It’s my job to give you grief.”

They shared a laugh.

Clay said, “Where are you off to?”

Kelsi said, “I wanted to get Professor McDonald something from Mincer’s.”

Mincer’s was one of Charlottesville’s many souvenir shops. It sold almost every UVA memento imaginable; from sweatshirts to key chains, all manner of memorabilia was available for purchase at grossly inflated prices.

“Why?” Clay asked. He wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. “I would’ve thought that he already owns more than his fair share of UVA stuff.”

Kelsi brushed a loose strand of hair from her face. “Believe it or not, he doesn’t. And I was thinking that it might make him feel better if he could drink his juice or coffee from a UVA mug. You know, it might remind him of home… . Hospitals are lonely places.”

Clay waved at a friend who rode by on a bicycle. His attention returned to Kelsi. “So he’s feeling better? The dean didn’t make it sound like he was doing too well.”

“He’s not.” The color rushed from Kelsi’s face. “But I thought a UVA mug might help.”

“It might,” Clay said, trying to sound supportive. He knew it wouldn’t, though. And if it did, he knew his uncle would have something to say about it. “Would you like some help picking one out? I’ve got a pretty good eye for crap. You should see my collection of UVA stuff.” He tugged on his UVA sweatshirt. “Besides, it’ll give me an excuse for missing Torts.”

The smile returned to Kelsi’s beautiful face. “As your mentor, I shouldn’t be contributing to your truancy. But, hey, I’d enjoy the company.”

The problem was, so would Clay.

CHAPTER 35

Kelsi found a UVA mug that she liked. Actually, Clay was the one who discovered it. Much to Clay’s surprise, the souvenir shops didn’t only sell crap. This particular mug was made of bone china, and the UVA logo affixed to it didn’t assault the senses like a neon sign on a skid row tavern.

Clay waited patiently at the front of the store while the cashier wrapped the mug in tissue paper and tied an orange and blue ribbon around it.

Kelsi signed the card that hung from the ribbon and then said, “Do you have time for lunch?”

Clay spun around to make sure that Kelsi was talking to him. “Me?”

Kelsi giggled. “Of course, you. I’ll even pay. It’s the least I can do after you spotted the perfect mug… . Professor McDonald will love it.”

Clay recommended The White Spot for lunch. It wasn’t a racial thing this time. He loved greasy spoons. That said, dining at a restaurant with “white” in the name wasn’t lost on the young klansman.

Their orders arrived quickly.

Kelsi asked, “Where do you plan to practice when you’re done?” She nibbled on a crouton.

Clay answered, “Charleston, I hope. But it all depends on whether I get an offer.” He bit into his house special: a quarter-pound hamburger topped with cheese, chopped onions, and a fried egg called a Gusburger. Frequent connoisseurs of this artery-clogging delicacy were lucky that UVA hospital was located across the street.

“Why wouldn’t you get an offer? UVA’s the best law school in the South, and as far as I can tell, most of our classmates are interested in working in D.C. or New York. Charleston should be wide open for you.”

Clay wiped grease from his chin. “I hope so. My family’s counting on it.”

“Why? Is your dad a lawyer? My granduncle is, and he keeps dropping hints about wanting me to go back to Wisconsin when I graduate.” Kelsi smiled. “They’re not subtle hints, either. He sent me a mock set of business cards for my birthday that read, ‘Shelton and Shelton, Attorneys-at-Law.’”

“That’s funny.” Clay popped a piece of stray egg into his mouth. “But my dad’s not a lawyer. No one in my family is. In fact, I’m the first one to graduate from college, let alone go to law school.”

Kelsi took a sip of Diet Pepsi and then plunged her fork into her tossed salad. She was trying her best to avoid the caloric train wreck that constituted The White Spot’s menu. “Why do you have to go home then? With your grades and a UVA law degree, you can go pretty much wherever you want.”

Clay fidgeted with a paper napkin. Clearly, he couldn’t tell Kelsi the real reason he needed to go home: to continue his work with the Charleston den of the Ku Klux Klan. Instead, he chose, “Because my mom is sick.”

Kelsi’s eyes became as wide as the onion rings on Clay’s plate. “That’s terrible. Is she going to be OK?”

“We don’t know yet. That’s why I need to go home.”

“What’s wrong with her?”

“Cancer.”

Clay Smith’s sob story about his mother’s illness had an unintended consequence: he ended up at Kelsi Shelton’s apartment.

CHAPTER 36

After the third beer, Clay had convinced Kelsi to turn on some music. It had been Kelsi’s idea to turn down the lights. It wasn’t long afterward that the make-out session began.

“I feel like I’m in high school,” Kelsi said as she came up for air. “Either that or in an episode of
Desperate Housewives
… . You should know that I usually don’t make-out with my mentees.”

Clay placed his hand on Kelsi’s breast, French kissed her for what must have been the tenth time in the past twenty minutes, and then said, “I’m glad it’s a standard, not a rule.”

They both laughed. Law students were beaten over the head with the distinction between a “bright line rule” and a “flexible standard.” The former permitted no exceptions. The latter was essentially nothing but exceptions.

“Can I see your bedroom?” Clay’s hand slid to the inside of Kelsi’s thigh.

“OK.” Kelsi grabbed Clay’s other hand and led him to the back of her apartment.

They stepped over a pile of casebooks. They maneuvered their way around a stack of commercial outlines. Kelsi was the first to drop to the bed. She unbuttoned Clay’s shirt and ran her fingers across his chest. It was easy to see that he spent a fair amount of time working out at the North Grounds Recreation Center.

Clay sat on the bed. It was his turn to unbutton her shirt. For most guys, unbuttoning a woman’s shirt for the first time was one of life’s great experiences. This time was no different. Kelsi was wearing a black lace bra. Clay admired her breasts, moved his eyes from her chest to her face, and kissed her deeply yet again.

They rolled around the bed like animals during mating season. Kelsi pulled Clay on top of her. She tore at the zipper of his pants. He tugged on the waistband of hers. His pants came off first. Hers quickly followed. She reached for his penis and placed it inside of her. Yet another one of life’s great experiences for a man: when the woman placed him inside of her.

The sex was fast and rough. Clay was working off instinct. Kelsi was trying to forget. He said he was about ready. She climaxed first. He immediately followed. They lay back on the bed and tried to catch their breath.

“Wow,” Kelsi said.

“Ditto,” Clay said. “And I thought Nancy Ellsworth was good.”

Kelsi elbowed Clay in the ribs. “Nancy Ellsworth, huh? I knew there was something going on between you two.”

Clay rolled onto his side and pinched Kelsi’s button nose. It was his favorite part of her perfect face. “I’m just kidding. I’ve never been with Nancy Ellsworth… . She only dates law review types.”

“OK. I guess I believe you… .
Not
.” Kelsi giggled and then said, “Would you like something to drink? There’s more beer, and I’ve also got 7UP and Dr. Pepper.”

“A 7UP would be great, thanks.”

Kelsi pecked Clay on the cheek, shot up from the bed, and headed for the refrigerator.

“Are you coming?” Kelsi shouted from the kitchen. She placed two cans of 7UP on the counter. She popped the tab on one and took a long drink. “Hey, lazybones, are you coming or not?” She opened a cabinet and scavenged for some chips. Sex always made her hungry, especially good sex. She spun around and saw Clay standing in front of her. “You scared me half to death,” she said.

Clay said, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to. I guess I’m just light on my feet.”

They both laughed again.

“Here… . Your 7UP.” Kelsi tried to hand Clay the can. “Take it, lazybones. Take it.”

But the reason Clay wouldn’t take the soda can wasn’t because he was lazy. It was because he was holding a knife.

CHAPTER 37

A fiery summons had been issued. The brothers had once again gathered around a bonfire deep in the woods on the outskirts of Charleston. The burning cross signified that there was a konklave underway. This time, there hadn’t been time to string a nigger from a tree. This was an emergency meeting called on an hour’s notice.

Billy Joe Collier was the one who had called it. That wasn’t unusual. The Charleston den often met on short notice. What was unusual was that Collier had called the meeting on his own initiative rather than at the behest of Earl Smith, the grand dragon of South Carolina. The explanation for this breach of protocol? The meeting was
about
Earl Smith.