“Oh yeah. Do you like her?”
“Yes, I do. She’s got lots of class; her husband stands behind her like this huge silent power, as if daring anyone to come after her. I personally don’t believe he’s guilty of anything other than not being a Democrat.”
“But if he had been, then the Republicans would have blown a fit.”
“True. Ain’t politics fun?” She grinned over at his profile.
“Yeah, right.”
“Savich,” she said, then frowned, paused.
He arched an eyebrow.
“He’s cute. Whenever I see him, I think of that actor James Denton.”
Ben rolled his eyes. “I’ll be sure to tell him that, it’ll make his day.”
“As for his butt—”
“Get yourself together, Ms. Markham. We’re here at Foxx Farm. Oh yeah, happy birthday.”
She gave him a perfectly blank look.
“You’re twenty-eight today.”
“Oh my, imagine that. Yeah, I guess you’re right. I forgot. Isn’t that something? Thank you.”
CHAPTER
13
SUMMERTON, VIRGINIA
FOXXFARM WAS HUGE, judging by the miles of white fence that bordered it, a score of white paddocks, rolling hills and forests. There was a huge barn, two big stables, all dusted white with snow, looking still and impossibly beautiful on a Sunday morning. It looked magical to Ben, and utterly alien.
A lone media van idled outside a gated entrance.
When Ben pulled up to the intercom, a reporter jumped out of the van and ran over.
“Hey, you FBI? Can you get us in? They won’t even let us through the gate.”
“Sorry,” Ben said. “Why don’t you head back to Washington? I hear it’s really pretty about now, a nice Sunday morning. You can go to a park for a picnic.”
“That’s what we told him,” said a tall man in a thick black wool coat, a federal marshal’s hat on his head. He stood behind the gated driveway, his arms crossed over his chest. Good, they were here protecting Justice Xavier-Foxx. “We figure as long as the media is camped out all over the place, ain’t no assassin going to get to the Justice. All we’ve got to do is protect her from these baboons.”
“Probably true,” Ben said as he handed over his badge. “We’re here to interview the Justice.”
The federal marshal studied the badge, raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything. “Go on through. I’ll keep this charming gentleman out here.”
“Hey, you’re Callie Markham, The Washington Post. What are you doing here? What—”
The gate buzzed open, and Ben gave a small wave to the guy. He ran back toward the van, trying to make it through the open gate after him, despite the fact that two federal marshals were standing in front of the gate, guns at their belts, legs spread. They could hear him shouting after them, probably something about the freedom of the press. The gate closed smoothly behind them. Still, the guy stood there, shaking his fist at the exhaust of the Crown Vic.
Ben parked in front of a sprawling white one-story house with a porch all along the front. He could imagine sitting on this porch in the summer, maybe drinking a beer, listening to his hair grow. Justice Xavier-Foxx answered the front door herself, greeted them politely, gave a cursory look at Ben’s I.D., then ushered them into a long narrow entrance hall, where they removed their coats and scarves. Then she led them into the living room. Ben sighed with pleasure as he paused in the arched doorway. It was a long, deep room with a very old floor-to-ceiling stone fireplace, beamed ceilings, lots of homey, oversized furniture that looked like you’d sink to China when you sat down, and Persian carpets scattered over the shining wide oak-planked floor.
“You have a beautiful home, ma’am.”
“Thank you. Callie, what a pleasure to see you. I’m so very sorry about Stewart.” She pulled Callie into her deep bosom and patted the back of her head. Callie nearly burst into tears. It was close, but she held it in. She felt Justice Xavier-Foxx’s steady strong heartbeat, felt the warmth from her solid body, breathed in her rose scent. She was well into her sixties now, but solid and fit, her hair flat against her head, in her signature tight thick chignon. Callie slowly pulled back in her arms and looked into her beautiful dark eyes, liquid with tears.
“Thank you,” she said, and knew tears were thick in her own voice. “It’s difficult.”
“I know. It is for all of us. This has been such a shock, such a terrible thing. Come along and sit down. We’ll all talk, try to figure something out about this madness.”
She gave them mugs of coffee and pointed to a tray. Ben saw a covered plate on the tray beside the coffee. The Justice made no move to uncover it. It had been a long time since his bowl of Wheaties.
“You’re not an FBI agent. That surprises me, Detective Raven.”
“I’m with Washington, D.C., Metro, working with the FBI. What we need, ma’am, is as much information as you can give us about Justice Califano—his daily routine, his likes, dislikes, how he related to other Justices, and other staff, anything you can think of.”
She sat back and crossed her legs. She took a sip of coffee. “We are a conservative Court, Detective, six to three is the normal voting pattern. However, depending on the case, Stewart and I are the ones who will swing toward the liberal side. There are three Justices who make up the core of the liberal wing—Justice Alto-Thorpe, Justice Bloomberg, and Justice Samuels. Justice Samuels is eighty-two, swears he won’t retire because the President would appoint another conservative. Frankly, he’s getting senile, plus he has a heart condition. Once a law clerk found a Playboy magazine sitting on top of his desk, which has led to a good deal of awe and admiration among the law clerks. I’m telling you about Justice Samuels because he openly detested Stewart’s stand on many issues. He was always accusing him of being a Neanderthal in a black robe, which gave everyone a big laugh, including Stewart.
“On the conservative side are Chief Justice Abrams, Justice Spiros, Justice Gutierrez, Justice Wallace, Justice Califano, and me, although again, Stewart and I were the ones most often seduced by the Dark Side.” This was said with a chuckle, and both Ben and Callie laughed.
Ben said, “It sounds like there’s constant maneuvering, ma’am.”
“Oh yes, always. However, regardless of our political leanings, all of us love to delve into arguments; we love to dissect words, how and why they’re being used, the legal underpinnings and rationales. We’re accused of spending most of our time studying the nuances of our navels, and perhaps this is true, in part. We spend hours alone. There is voluminous reading, studying, and just plain thinking time. We have only two formal meetings a week, Wednesday and Friday. Much of our communication is done through various sorts of memos, my own personal favorite being the ‘I Join’ memo. This means, simply, that one Justice is notifying another Justice that he or she is willing to come onboard in a particular case. Naturally it isn’t usually that clean-cut, but it signals the beginning of negotiations.
“We try to be pleasant to each other, but when there are contentious cases, it can get loud and argumentative. Everyone has an agenda; there are shenanigans pulled by all the Justices, like adjusting parts of a majority opinion without telling anyone. Since there is so much paper flowing in and out of our chambers, it’s up to the law clerks to carefully read all the decisions.
“As for Stewart, he was considered a centrist, which annoyed both sides. He enjoyed being courted, as I suppose I do, because we were able, many times, to bring more compromise to a majority decision.
“Stewart had a keen mind, a way of pulling arguments apart that showed both strengths and weaknesses. But he had certain core beliefs that wouldn’t ever change. He was a good man.” She lowered her head, looking at her clasped hands in her lap.
Ben said, “You told us about Justice Samuels. Are there any other Justices who didn’t particularly care for Justice Califano?”
Justice Xavier-Foxx laughed. “Justice Lydia Alto-Tho
rpe. She’s a dyed-in-the-wool ideologue, Detective. She was happy as a clam in the very liberal Brennan court. She was always pushing her agenda. Unfortunately, Lydia has little grace or tact, so she tends to raise hackles rather than gain consensus for what she wants. She sulks, Detective Raven. She’s very protective of the Court, and all its rules and formality, its sacred majesty. When you speak to her, I imagine she will be very angry that this has happened. When she’s angry, she demonstrates a remarkable vocal range.
“She disliked Justice Califano more than any other Justice. Stewart made the mistake a long time ago of laughing at her. She never forgot. It didn’t matter that he sometimes voted with her, unlike Abrams, Spiros, Wallace, and Gutierrez. The other Justices liked Stewart and respected him.”
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 la
ter 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.”
CHAPTER
14
45 LAWFORD AVENUE N.E.
GEORGETOWN, WASHINGTON, D.C.
SUNDAY MORNING
SAVICH ANDSHERLOCK 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?”
The FBI Thrillers Collection Page 102
