“And the other reason?”
“You’re fast, Agent Sherlock. My aunt Marie, her sister, married a second time only to have her new husband sexually abuse her twelve-year-old daughter, my cousin, Moira. I’ve never asked her, but I think that was the other big reason why she waited.”
“So,” Ben said, “she waited until you were out of the house.”
“She was careful,” Callie said. “My mom’s always been very careful with me. So, no matter how much she believed in her second husband, I guess she wouldn’t take a chance.”
“Is she that careful about everything?”
“She’s brilliant herself, Agent Savich. She came from a rich family, it’s true, but she didn’t sit back and let servants pop peeled grapes into her mouth. She started her own business, and now she owns four high-end boutiques in the metropolitan area, all of them doing quite well indeed. I think she’s a little too driven, but that’s just the way she is. To answer your question, she’s careful about money. She has hers and, I suppose, my stepfather kept his own accounts. She earns the money, and she’s always protected it. That, and her reputation, it’s very important to her, and it’s not got anything to do with her family name. It’s because of her own pride in what she’s accomplished, in what she is. I liked to see the two of them debate something, anything.” A sob caught in her throat again, and she stared down at her feet. “Yeah, she’s careful about everything.”
Savich took a sip of tea before saying, “What did your stepfather think about her financial attitudes? The separate accounts and all that? Since he was an older man, wouldn’t he have expected joint accounts, expect perhaps to manage his wife’s money?”
Callie shrugged. “I wasn’t at home enough to form an opinion. When I visited, neither of them ever raised any contentious subjects. I remember only one real argument I walked in on and that was five years ago.”
“Do you remember what the argument was about?” Sherlock said.
“She was angry about something he’d done, something she’d found out about. I don’t know what it was, but my mom was nearly in orbit. Then they both saw me and clamped a lid on it. Again, this was five years ago, hardly relevant to anything.”
Detective Raven said, “Are you aware if your stepfather was ever involved with anyone other than your mother? Did he ever make a pass at you?”
She shook her head at him. “That’s such a strange question to ask about my stepfather. He simply wasn’t like that.”
Savich said, “So, from what you heard five years ago, do you think your mom was winning the argument?”
“This is quite a round robin you’ve got going here, and all of you fall into it so smoothly. My mother could argue with the devil, Agent Savich. If she and my stepfather ever got into it other than that one time, my nickel would be on her, mainly for persistence. She’s strong, my mother. This horrible murder has flattened her, but she’ll rebound, you’ll see.”
Sherlock asked, “Do you think she loved her husband?”
“Yes, I believe it. As I said, around me, they rarely argued, never questioned what the other chose to do. When they were alone? Sure, why not? I assume all married folk argue from time to time. Why all these questions? Do you think my mother killed him?”
Savich said, “Of course not. All these questions help us get a handle on how Justice Califano lived his life, how he dealt with the people close to him. The more we know, the faster we’ll find your stepfather’s killer. Do you know of any possible enemies Justice Califano had? Anyone he disliked?”
She thought a moment, cupping her hand around the still-warm coffee cup. “There were a number of politicians he didn’t care for, and there were some lawyers he believed were scum, but who doesn’t? Anyone close to him—sorry, but I can’t think of anyone right now.”
“How was your relationship with your stepfather recently?” Detective Raven asked.
“It was fine. The truth is I was well aware of who my stepfather was—impossible not to realize that your mother’s husband is a Justice of the Supreme Court of the United States. Everyone who knew was completely bowled over—there are a lot of sycophants out there—but truth be told, he was just my stepfather, nothing more, nothing less.”
“You said you admired his brilliance.”
“Detective Raven, he could have chewed you up for breakfast and still enjoyed his croissant.”
Officer Kreider laughed, then coughed into her hand. “Sorry, the coffee went down the wrong way.”
“I did some debating in college myself.” Was there a bit of a snit in Detective Raven’s voice?
Sherlock said, “Ms. Markham—”
“Please call me Callie since I have this feeling we’re going to get quite chummy.”
“That’s fine. Call me Sherlock. My husband is Dillon.”
“You two are married?”
“Nearly forever,” Savich said. “Ever since she shot me dead in Hogan’s Alley. That’s a dummy town down at Quantico that has the world’s highest crime rate. Agents-in-training catch bad guys there. She caught me and brought me down.”
“And my name is Ben,” said Detective Raven. He eyed Callie a moment, saw that she seemed to have it together, but that could change. “Now, Callie, when did you last see Justice Califano?”
“Last weekend, our usual Saturday-morning brunch.” Her voice caught and she fell silent. She swallowed. “I was coming over this morning for brunch. It was a surprise since they thought I was in New York.”
“What did he think of this Jonah character you were hanging out with?”
“The Jonah character happens to be on staff at The New York Times, Detective Raven. My stepfather once said he only had to read the first two lines of Jonah’s supposed hard news, and the bias smacked him in the face. But he also said if anyone wanted to have objective news, he’d have to go to Mars. There was no such thing here on earth. The truth was, he thought Jonah Blazer was an opportunist. I did hear him say that once when he didn’t know I was listening.”
Savich said, “And what did your stepfather think of your reporting, Callie?”
“As I said, my stepfather was a very smart man. When one of my investigative pieces impressed him, and it did happen twice, he told me. Otherwise, he stayed out of it. We made a deal after I started with The Washington Post—get that look off your face, Detective Raven, he didn’t help me get the job at the Post. I got it on my own merits.” She paused, drew in a deep breath. “Okay, they probably hoped I’d dish up insider news to them on the Supreme Court, but I never did. I never would. It worked well.”
“I thought it was going to be ‘Ben.’ ”
“Not when you’re obnoxious. Just get that look off your face, he did not get me my job.”
Sherlock raised a hand. “All right, children, enough insults. Now, Callie, what did your mom think of this reporter in New York?”
“She despised him, although she tried hard not to show it.”
Ben said, “So your mom and your stepfather couldn’t stand this guy and yet you still had him on your A list?”
“I’m young. I’m stupid. I thought Jonah was a deep thinker.”
“You’re not that young,” Ben said.
“Thank you for the diplomatic correction.”
“Hey, it’s why I’ll never be the police commissioner. And about your reporter—after all this deep thinking, it turns out he was just horny like most of the guys on the planet.”
“That’s exactly right, Detective Raven.”
Sherlock said, “Why the strong emotion on their parts? Did they think you were going to marry the guy?”
Callie frowned down at the dregs in the bottom of her coffee cup, then leaned down to pull her boots back on. When she sat up again, she said, “You know, I really don’t know why she couldn’t stand him. I asked her once, but she slicked right out of answering. As for my stepfather, he never really said anything about Jonah other than that one comment I overheard.”
Savich said, “A
ll right. If everyone is done for now, I think it’s a good idea for Captain Halloway to get you and your mom to Colfax.”
Sherlock nodded. “Thank you very much, Callie, for your assistance. If you think of anything that might help, call us immediately. I know this is very difficult for you, but I have a favor to ask. Please don’t report this to your newspaper or give anyone an exclusive. We really need to get a handle on all of this, and it would be helpful if you could hang back, help us keep the lid on things.”
“I would never do that.” Callie thought for a minute. “I’ll bet my editor, Jed Coombes, is jumping up and down with excitement. But I’ll deal with him. I’ll drop out of sight for a while. I just hope he won’t fire me.”
“Nah, he’ll keep thinking he can talk you around,” Ben said.
“At least until the funeral,” Sherlock said. “That’ll be toward the end of next week.”
Callie stared at her. “The funeral. I hadn’t thought about that. I need to take care of things. My mother’s friends can help me.” She wrapped her scarf around her neck and headed for the door.
“Your coat, Callie,” Ben said. “You forgot your coat.”
CHAPTER
6
THE FLAMBOYANT WHITE marble columns of the Supreme Court Building were festooned with both yellow police tape and blue FBI tape. Savich thought it looked rather like a madly decorated Greek mausoleum. The first of the forensic teams had already come and gone. Marshal Alice Halpern, flanked by two Supreme Court police officers, was first to greet them. She seemed alternatively reserved, shocked, and defensive. Savich wondered if Marshal Halpern would be forced to resign. Already she was being beaten up by politicians and the media for allowing a Supreme Court Justice to be killed on their turf. Given the large security budget, the criticism was fierce and continuous.
The snow was still coming down, thin and floaty as a bride’s veil. The wind was quiet, but as the afternoon wore on, Savich knew the temperature would drop. He stood with Sherlock and Detective Ben Raven in the third-floor library, their voices lowered out of some strange sense of reverence.
Savich slipped his cell back into his jacket pocket and looked at the two of them. “The President, the FBI director, and the Attorney General announced the death of Justice Stewart Quinn Califano to the world a few minutes ago. As you can imagine, the media are in full twenty-four-hour-coverage mode. We got Mrs. Califano out just in time. This is going to be a huge investigation, bigger than anything we’ve been involved with, coordinated by the FBI, under the control of the FBI, but with the help of Washington Metro. I’ve been assigned to report directly to my boss, DAD Maitland, and you’ll be the point person at Metro, Ben. It’ll be your job to keep all the Metro brass in the loop, all the way up to Police Commissioner Holt. Metro will have its own group interfacing with ours. You need any assistance at all, you let me know. Our first big meeting is this afternoon at FBI headquarters. Sherlock, you’ve been studying the room. What do you think?”
Sherlock pointed to the chair at the end of the beautifully carved table. “He took off his coat, pulled off his gloves, unwound his cashmere scarf, and neatly laid the lot on the back of this chair. He’s sitting in the next chair, at ease since he’s comfortable here. He’s alone, but protected. What are there—a dozen guards patrolling the building on a Friday night? And a sophisticated communication system connecting everything in the building.”
“So he’s not at all worried about being alone,” Ben said.
“Right. Okay. It seems strange to me that a Justice would spend his whole week here and then come in on a Friday night for the fun of it. So he’s obviously here for a reason. Maybe he’s got some papers to review, something he doesn’t want to commit to his computer or share with his wife, and we know he was a computer buff. What he wants is privacy. So what are these papers? He pulls them out of his coat since he didn’t bring his briefcase—”
“Unless the killer took the briefcase,” Ben said.
“The guards said he didn’t have one,” Savich said. “Said he pulled out a sheaf of papers along with other stuff to go through security. He didn’t have to do this, naturally, but it was one of his habits. So he’s sitting here reading, relaxed, and then he hears something.”
“Yes,” Sherlock said. “He hears something, and it pulls him out of his reading. He looks up, maybe he calls out, then maybe he’s suddenly scared, wants to call for help. He gets out of the chair to use the wall phone.”
Savich picked it up. “Since there was no warning, no fight, it was probably at that moment that his killer came up behind him and looped the garrote around his neck.”
Sherlock said, “And it was a man. The M.E. says there’s no way a woman could have gotten the leverage to do the job. Remember, he had to loosen the loop at some point to get the shirt collar out of the way, and he had to be strong.”
Savich said, “There were two cuts on the Justice’s neck, which means the killer started pulling it tight but Califano’s shirt was in the way. And so he loosened it, gave the Justice a chance to slip his fingers underneath it, and then he finished it off.”
Sherlock said, “The pressure was so great, the wire so sharp, that it cut right through the bones of his fingers. The killer must have worn gloves. This was brutal, almost gleefully brutal.”
Ben said, “Why do you say that?”
Sherlock shook her head. “I don’t know, really, it just feels that way to me.”
Ben said, “I wonder if Justice Califano knew who the man was. I wonder if the man said anything to him before he choked him to death, or did he come up behind him and do the job without a word.”
Sherlock said, her head cocked to one side, “I think this guy talked to Justice Califano, taunted him after he had that wire around his neck, after he was sure he had control. We’ve got a good-sized ego here. This is a guy who’s full of himself, strong enough to take down a man like Califano, a good-sized, fit man for his age.
“The guy took huge risks here, knocking out that guard, coming back into the building wearing the guard’s clothes, assuming he’d blend in so he could roam free in the building. Since it was late at night, there was a good chance he could slip up to the third-floor library unnoticed, unless one of the other guards spoke directly to him.”
Ben stared at the two of them. “You know what, guys? There were far easier ways to do this if all he wanted was to kill Justice Califano. Why would he choose to kill him right here in the Supreme Court Building, ostensibly terrorist-proof, heavily guarded? Was he making a point? Is he just crazy? Sherlock said the murderer was gleefully brutal. This guy sounds like a professional, but he didn’t behave like one.”
“If he is a professional,” Sherlock said, “there must be a huge paycheck at the end of it.”
Savich said quietly. “And if he is a professional, he enjoys his work. Could be the money’s secondary.”
“Again,” Sherlock said, “we get back to Ben’s point. Why take all those unnecessary risks to murder Justice Califano?”
“If we find that out, we’ve got him,” Savich said.
Ben looked from one to the other and back again, his eyes finally resting on Savich’s face. “Maybe it was some sort of test, some sort of a challenge.”
“Maybe,” Savich said. “But it could also have been someone who hated Justice Califano’s guts to such an extent that he wanted not only to hurt him badly before he killed him, he also wanted to humiliate him, and maybe the Supreme Court itself, and that’s why he chose to do it here.”
Sherlock lightly touched her fingers to the glossy library table, the rich wood glowing in the dim early afternoon light. “I think the killer had to be a professional. Otherwise, if it was someone who knew him, someone who hated him deeply, then I’ll bet he would have been smart and gotten him someplace private and killed him with as little risk as possible.”
“So this was for enjoyment because it’s the way the guy gets his jollies,” Ben said. “For Feds,” he continued afte
r a moment, looking back and forth between them as they both nodded, “you guys are making some sense. So you’re thinking professional regardless of the risks he took?”
Sherlock nodded. “We’ll check on the whereabouts of all the professional assassins with anything like this M.O.—using a garrote, liking big risks. Think that might track?”
“Yeah, I do,” said Ben. “No terrorists at all in this scenario then.”
Savich said, “We’ll cover all the bases. The CIA is already deep into it. So far, there’s nothing, and no one has claimed any responsibility. Revenge sounds good to me, something up close and personal.”
“Not a random madman or an extremist of some persuasion?”
“Could be, but it doesn’t feel right.”
As they walked from the Supreme Court Building on East Capitol Street, Ben said, “You want to know the truth about something? If someone wants you dead, you’re dead. You can have the Praetorian Guard, motion sensors, a gazillion alarm systems, it wouldn’t matter.”
Savich said, “You’re right, of course, but no one is willing to accept that. Now, we’ve got a murdered Supreme Court Justice, so that means endless and exhaustive media attention from every talking head who’s ever been a cop, or just thinks he’s smart, and the President will likely get twice-a-day briefings on our progress. Everyone will focus on the murder for maybe a day and a half, then turn their attention to who the President will nominate to take Justice Califano’s place on the Court.
“In the meantime, we’ll have unlimited resources, both federal and local, and huge expectations to live up to.”
Sherlock said, “It all comes down to the fact that our Justice Califano made a big-time enemy, so this gives us another starting place, the money behind the murder.”
“So alibis don’t mean diddly squat,” Ben said, “if this big-time enemy didn’t want to get blood on his own hands.”
The FBI Thrillers Collection Page 96
