The Last Justice (6 page)

Holding the mug with both hands, she took a sip of coffee. "I can't think of anyone. I mean, he wasn't all that well liked at the court, but that's just because he made the other clerks look bad. He worked around the clock and was one of the judge's favorites. Petrov's a'feeder' to the Supreme Court, so there's a lot of competition."

"Feeder?" Milstein asked, lightly bouncing a pen on the notepad in her hand.

"'There's a handful of appellate judges the justices turn to when interviewing for clerks. Every year, at least one of Petrov's clerks moves up to the Supreme Court. At least that's how it used to be before Black Wednesday."

"You're hoping for a spot?" Assad said, pointing his chin at the books on her table.

"Any clerk who said they weren't would be lying. But there's no telling what's going to happen until new justices are confirmed. Mind if I get some more coffee?" she said getting up and walking toward the drab kitchen off the living room.

"Of course not," Assad said, watching as she carefully filled her mug from a pot perched in a coffeemaker.

When she came back, she sat a little closer to Assad and seemed to forget Milstein was in the room.

Assad asked, "Was there anyone in particular at the office who didn't care for Parker or had issues with him?"

"Not really. Nothing overt, anyway-more passive-aggressive, petty stuff."

"Like what? Can you think of any examples?"

"Like not including him when other clerks went out to lunch or drinks-that kind of stuff."

"He have a girlfriend?" Milstein asked.

"Not that I know of," Dakota answered, still looking at Assad. After a moment she said, "We dated a little." She fussed with her hair again.

"Dated," Milstein said. "Past tense?"

"Yeah, Parker and I decided we were better as friends."

Holding Dakota's gaze, Assad gently asked where she was last night. She replied that she was working late; the other clerks could verify.

"Did you know Parker's plans for last night?"

"No. He left the office earlier than usual. I asked where he was going, but he avoided answering, so I backed off. I thought it might be a date."

"He actually went to a function at Columbia. His old boss, Solicitor General McKenna, was giving a speech. Apparently Parker invited him to dinner afterwards."

"That's a little surprising," Dakota said.

"Why?"

"I thought he and McKenna had a falling-out, so having dinner together just isn't something I would expect, though I guess Parker wasn't one to burn a bridge."

"A falling-out?" Milstein said, "About what?"

"Parker wouldn't say. All he'd ever tell me was that McKenna changed when his son got sick. His four-year-old was diagnosed with a terminal illness toward the end of Parker's clerkship, shortly before McKenna was confirmed as solicitor general. Something happened that made Parker think less of him."

"He didn't tell you what it was?" Assad asked.

"No," Dakota said. "Parker hated gossip and was a tight-lipped kind of guy generally."

"Do you recall the last time you two discussed McKenna?"

Dakota lifted her gaze to the ceiling as she considered the question. "I know we talked about all the press McKenna was getting after he was shot, but I don't remember anything specific. Before that, I kinda remember discussing him when McKenna's wife got killed in a car wreck last year. I remember because it was so sad that McKenna lost his only kid and his wife, too, in such a short time. Parker went to the funeral in D.C."

"He went even though they had a falling-out?"

"All McKenna's former clerks went-it would have looked bad if Parker didn't make an appearance. And like I said, Parker had high aspirations, and he would have seen it as a chance to possibly network with D.C.'s legal elite who were there."

"Do you have any idea what Parker's problem with McKenna was?" Milstein asked.

"Rumors, innuendo-we'll take anything," Assad added with a soft smile.

Dakota sank back into the coach, and put a finger on her chin. "In the insular appellate bar, there's no shortage of rumors about McKenna, but nothing, I think, that would relate to Parker."

"What type of rumors?"

"Well, it's not too hard to find them if you just Google McKenna-there's a lot of talk about why the president nominated him to the bench and then for SG."

"I thought McKenna worked for President Winter when Winter was governor of Ohio?" Assad asked.

"Yeah, that might explain the Ohio judicial appointment. But solicitor general is different. the SG is essentially the dean of the Supreme Court and appellate bar, and McKenna wasn't part of the `club.' Lots of people wondered if the appointments were a quid pro quo for keeping quiet about the intern." Dakota didn't have to explain what she meant by "the intern"; stories about the alleged affair had dogged the president since his campaign. "The intern had worked for Winter and McKenna back in Ohio, and there's a lot of speculation that if anyone could corroborate the claims about the affair, it was McKenna. It's all just gossip, though. Partisan stuff."

"You don't have any idea why Parker would ask McKenna to dinner?" Assad asked.

"Really, no clue."

"Could Parker have been meeting McKenna about Judge Petrov's Supreme Court nomination?"

Dakota tensed.

"Don't worry, Dakota, the judge already told us," Assad added.

"I can't imagine why he'd do that. But I will say that Parker's been acting a little funny the last few days."

"What do you mean?"

"Nothing I can pinpoint. He just seemed ... off."

"Any idea why Parker might be talking with a reporter?" Milstein asked, not mentioning the business card she had found in Sinclair's desk.

"No idea," Dakota replied quickly. "That doesn't sound like him at all."

Milstein's cell phone rang, and she moved to the other side of the room, out of earshot, while Assad continued to question Dakota. It was the medical examiner. As she listened to the ME'S report on the preliminary examination of Parker Sinclair's body, she noticed Dakota inch closer to Assad on the couch and touch his arm. Milstein rolled her eyes and turned away from them to concentrate on the report. It revealed no forensic evidence to connect anyone to the murder. Sinclair had been stabbed repeatedly, and the initial cuts were clean. He was standing close to his killer-someone familiar, perhaps. It would have been bloody; the perp's clothes would have been soaked. Milstein recalled McKenna in his running shorts last night, saying his street clothes had disappeared from the hotel gym ...

Midtown North Precinct, West 54th Street, Manhattan

y early afternoon, Milstein and Assad were at their station house desks, which faced each other, eating sandwiches from a neighborhood deli. Milstein talked on the phone while Assad did Web searches on Solicitor General McKenna.

"You need to rest, Dad," Milstein said into the phone, "and listen to your doctors." In just a year, she had seen her vibrant, gregarious dad become wheelchair-bound, hunched and haggard beyond his years from his battle with cancer. She paused from lecturing him to look over at Assad. "Yes. He's sitting right here," she said, then cupped the receiver. "My dad wants to know when you're gonna get me under control."

Assad peered at her over the top of the computer monitor and smiled. He then got up and stood by the printer that sat on a table immediately behind Milstein's desk, close enough to the phone so her father could hear him. "Tell Harry to go to the window and look up ... Any pigs flying up there?"

Her dad laughed, which triggered a coughing fit. When Assad returned to his desk, Milstein was off the phone, eyes welling up.

"How's he doing?" Assad asked.

"He's so stubborn."

"A stubborn Milstein-imagine that," Assad said. In a softer tone, he added, "He'll be okay, Em."

She was spared further discussion by the phone's ring.

"Milstein," she said in her brisk, official voice.

"Hello, Detective, this is Tucker lhornberry from the Washington Post. I got a message you were trying to reach me?"

"Yes, hello. Thanks for calling me back," Milstein said. "We're investigating the murder of a man named Parker Sinclair, and we have reason to believe that he may have been in contact with you."

Silence.

"Mr. lhornberry?"

"Yes-sorry," the voice finally said. "I was just taken by surprise. I had no idea Parker had been killed. When did this happen?"

Milstein heard the soft clicking of computer keys in the background.

"How about we start with my questions," Milstein said. "How'd you know Parker?"

"I'm not really comfortable discussing that,"lhornberry said.

"He was a source?"

"Detective, you know I can't reveal information about sources."

"He's dead," Milstein shot back. "I don't think he'll mind."

Another pause. "Can I ask you one question, Detective?"

"You can ask."

"Do you plan to speak with the solicitor general about Parker?"

Milstein felt a little surge of adrenaline. "Why do you ask?"

"Please answer my question, Detective."

"Answer mine." The discussion was starting to sound like something she might overhear in a school yard.

"Tell you what,"Thornberry said. "How'bout we compare notes?"

La Guardia Airport, New York

cKenna sat at the gate as he waited to board the shuttle to D.C. He was reading the Supreme Court Commission briefing book and periodically glancing up at a cable news program on the television that hung from the ceiling. He had left the meeting before it adjourned, and managed to sneak by the reporters staking out the front of the MetLife Building. He looked up when he heard something about Black Wednesday.' he commission's spokesman appeared on the screen with several microphones pushed near his face.

"The Supreme Court Commission had a very productive meeting today," he said. "The full commission met until early this afternoon, and the law enforcement task force will meet throughout the rest of the day. Everyone involved feels that progress is being made. To avoid compromising the process, however, I'm not going to discuss any specifics about the meeting or the ongoing investigation."