“He’s running late,” Augustus Smith said. “He’ll be here shortly.”
Poulson couldn’t hide his annoyance at Childs’s absence. He slapped a pencil on the table and looked at his watch.
“How’s Justice Conover?” Justice Fine asked.
“The same, I suppose,” Poulson said. “One of his clerks is at the hospital and is keeping in touch. I’m afraid it doesn’t look too good.”
“He’s survived them before,” Smith said. “He comes from hardy stock. And we certainly can’t afford to lose him.” Smith meant lose a liberal’s vote on the Court, and Poulson knew what he meant.
Poulson looked sharply at him, then at Tilling-Masters. “Have you had a chance to go over my memo?” he asked.
“I’ll need another day.”
The door opened and Morgan Childs entered the room. “Sorry,” he said as he took his seat and opened a folder.
“Well, we can begin,” Poulson said. “Naturally, we all share grief over what has happened to Justice Conover, and we pray that his recovery will be swift and complete.”
No one in the room said what he, or she, was thinking. It wasn’t a matter of doubting the Chief Justice’s sincerity about Temple Conover. Despite what some considered his inadequacies on the bench, he was not without compassion… There were no formal rules to deal with the sudden and complete incapacitation of a justice. It was up to the remaining eight justices to decide the disposition of cases that were pending before the condition. Were Conover to recover sufficiently to be able to communicate his thoughts, his final vote on the abortion issue could be cast from the hospital by phone, through a clerk or another justice. But he was in a coma, and the prognosis was not good.
“We might as well address the immediate issue,” Poulson said. “Justice Conover is not in a position to vote on pending cases. I think we agree that of all the cases before this court, Nidel v. Illinois is the most pressing. I wonder whether—”
“I’m not certain that’s true,” Justice Fine said. “Sorry to interrupt, Mr. Chief Justice, but because Nidel v. Illinois does have importance as a precedent-setting decision that will influence social programs in this nation for generations to come, it might be prudent to hold it over until Justice Conover has recovered.”
“If he recovers,” Justice Tilling-Masters said. “And what if he doesn’t?”
“We could hold over the case for next term,” Augustus Smith said. An action he personally did not favor. Smith’s problem as a liberal was that if Conover was unable to return to the bench, President Jorgens would appoint a more conservative replacement. Any stalemated vote held over for the arrival of the new justice would, in all likelihood, mirror the administration’s views. As for the abortion issue, well, he wasn’t sure…
“I’m against that,” said Poulson. “The nation is waiting for this Court’s decision on abortion. To delay will only indicate indecision on our part.” He didn’t state the real reason for wanting to push forward on a vote. His personal lobbying efforts had resulted in what he perceived as a wavering on Augustus Smith’s part. Smith had voted in favor of Nidel during the initial vote. Now, with the vote four to four, if he had a change of heart it would make it five to three in favor of Illinois and against abortion.
There was more discussion about what to do in Conover’s absence. Finally Poulson suggested another preliminary vote.
“Are we really ready for that?” Smith asked.
“I think so,” said Poulson. “Let’s see where we stand.”
Tilling-Masters said, “It seems to me that we know where we stand. It obviously still falls four-to-four, now that Justice Conover can’t vote. Perhaps we should hold the case over until the next term.”
Poulson knew that holding it over until the President could appoint a conservative to the bench was, on the face of it, safer. But one could never be sure. Judges sometimes changed stripes once they got to the Supreme Court… look at Black, a Klu Kluxer turned liberal, and Eisenhower surely never expected Earl Warren to lead the fight to strike down the “separate but equal” doctrine… And if his instincts about Smith were right, Nidel v. Illinois could be settled quickly, and the way he wanted. The Poulson Court would have acted, the nation would have clear guidelines on a nasty, divisive issue, the administration’s pledge would be fulfilled and he, Poulson, would have delivered what he’d promised.
“Let’s vote,” Justice Fine said, removing wire spectacles and rubbing his eyes. “If there’s been a change, we might as well find out.”
Morgan Childs cleared his throat, held up a finger. “I think another vote is premature,” he said.
“Why?” Poulson asked.
“I’m not ready, Mr. Chief Justice.”
“Not ready?” Poulson couldn’t help but smile. Childs’s conservative views were well known, solid. Certainly, Poulson reasoned, Childs couldn’t be considering changing his vote in favor of the plaintiff Nidel.
Childs went on, “I’ve read every position paper that’s been generated since the last vote, along with a stack of related materials. This is the sort of issue that naturally stirs up very personal feelings that tend to influence sound legal reasoning. I’d be less than honest if I didn’t admit that this has happened to me, but when I strip away my private views, I keep coming back to a very narrow and clearly defined legal issue. I haven’t reached a firm decision as yet, but my reaction to the legal aspects of this case is different from what it was earlier.”
“I’m surprised,” said Poulson. It was the mildest reaction he could manage.
“Well,” Childs said, “surprised or not, that’s where I stand at this moment.”
Justice Smith, a wry smile on his face, asked, “What if you had to vote right now, Justice Childs? What would it be?”
“Hypothetical votes don’t interest me,” Childs said.
“They don’t count, but they’re interesting,” Smith said, still smiling.
They spent another half-hour discussing other pending cases and deciding what to do in light of Conover’s situation. Eventually it was decided to table voting on all cases until a clearer picture of the senior justice’s physical condition could be determined.
Poulson went to his chambers and slumped in his chair, his stomach a knot, his nerve ends alive. He tried to calm down, took deep breaths, considered having a drink.
It was inconceivable to him that Childs might vote for Nidel. How many times had they sat together over lunch or dinner and discussed their views on life, not as Supreme Court justices but as men, husbands and fathers, observers of society and of the moral deterioration it had suffered at the hands of liberal gurus? A man doesn’t change that much, he told himself, and if he did, it would surely be to become even more concerned about the shredding of the American fabric, to become even more conservative. He refused to acknowledge, even to himself, that Childs’s narrow legal focus on the case might be sound. It didn’t matter what the legal technicalities were. There was a greater issue at stake, one beyond strict legal considerations. There was decency to be upheld, moral leadership to be exercised… and a President in the White House who had appointed him and expected him to live up to his commitments.
Anger displaced anxiety. He picked up the phone and dialed a number in the White House. It rang in the office of Craig Lauderman, special assistant to the President. A secretary answered, told Poulson to hold and entered Lauderman’s private office. “Sir, the Chief Justice wishes to speak with you.”
Lauderman, thirty-five years old, thick brown hair neatly combed over a thin, patrician face and wearing tortoiseshell glasses, raised his eyebrows, and then his patrician face. “Thank you, I’ll take it.”
“Mr. Lauderman,” Poulson said when he came on the line, “I hope I’m not interrupting some important affair of state.” He laughed a tentative laugh.
Lauderman did not laugh, or smile. “Is there something I can do for you, Mr. Chief Justice?”
His coldness was not lost on Poulson, who hesitat
ed before saying, “I’d like to speak to the President.”
“He won’t be available to anyone until tomorrow afternoon.”
“That’s a shame.”
“Is it urgent?”
“Yes.”
“Perhaps I can help.”
“I don’t think so, Mr. Lauderman.”
“Try me, Mr. Chief Justice.”
Poulson resented the tone used by the younger man. Who the hell was he, just another middling bright and over-weeningly ambitious young man with a position of influence in Jorgens’s administration, lording it over everyone in Washington—senators and congressmen, cabinet officials and even Supreme Court justices. He wanted to tell him what he thought of him and his kind. Instead he said, “It has to do with Nidel v. Illinois.”
“I suspected that was the purpose of your call, Mr. Chief Justice. The President is on top of it and is taking steps he considers appropriate—”
“I don’t think you understand, Mr. Lauderman. There have been developments that—”
“How is Justice Conover?”
“The last we heard, he was still in a coma and the prognosis is guarded.”
“It was a shock… Well, perhaps the President could get back to you, Mr. Chief Justice. As I said, he’s quite up to date on the case, and so am I.”
Poulson’s voice now filled up with anger. “Perhaps you’d better tell the President, Mr. Lauderman, that it seems Justice Childs is considering changing his vote. Perhaps you could suggest that thought be given to Justice Childs and his vote—”
“I will, Mr. Chief Justice. Thank you for calling.”
The line went dead. Poulson took his coat from a closet and headed into the hallway. He needed time to think. Maybe a walk would help. As he proceeded down the corridor Laurie Rawls came around a corner. “Good morning, Mr. Chief Justice,” she said.
“Good morning, Miss Rawls.”
“Any word on Justice Conover?” she asked.
“Nothing new,” Poulson said. “We’re all hoping. Good day,” and he walked past her.
***
Laurie Rawls left the building and drove home, where, after rummaging through closets, she chose a tailored brown tweed suit, taupe blouse with a button-down collar, stockings and plain brown pumps. She checked herself in a mirror, playing with her hair and makeup. Finally, apparently satisfied, she returned to her car and drove slowly toward the center of Washington, checking her watch every few minutes and varying her speed accordingly. She parked in a garage on Eighteenth Street near the General Services Building and walked toward the White House. She’d been told to enter through the south portico, which she did. A guard took her name and checked a list, then called Craig Lauderman’s office. “Yes, Miss Rawls, you’re expected,” the guard said. “Someone will be here to escort you in a minute.”
Lauderman’s office was large, free of clutter. He was in shirt sleeves. He stood up and offered his hand. “Nice of you to stop by, Miss Rawls.”
“I appreciate your finding the time for me—”
“Don’t be modest. The President is impressed with you and what you’ve offered us.”
She seemed almost embarrassed. “Thank you, that’s very flattering.”
“Yes, well, I know what you mean. I sit close to the most powerful leader in the Free World. Few people have that opportunity. Right here is where the buck stops.”
Well, almost, she thought. Like more than one top presidential aide, Lauderman tended to so identify himself with the top man that he began to think he was the man. No question, though, that he had the President’s confidence, and that no one had access to Jorgens unless cleared by the Jorgens Militia, a cadre of arrogant, aloof young men with ambition in their veins and steel in their hearts. This one tended to frighten her, as he did so many others… but he also attracted her. Montesquieu said power corrupts… well, it also seduces, she thought…
“I want you to know, Miss Rawls, that I speak for the President when I say to you we appreciate the information you have offered us about Dr. Chester Sutherland’s research files. I don’t think I overstate it when I say that those files, were they to end up in the wrong hands, would have posed a grave threat to national security.”
“Well, Mr. Lauderman, when I learned… through his son… that such files existed, I knew something needed to be done. It wasn’t an easy decision. Clarence Sutherland was a friend and… and close colleague. Were he still alive, I would not, to be perfectly honest with you, have informed the White House of the existence of the files. But once he was gone I did what I thought was right. I hope I made the right decision.”
“You did, Miss Rawls. One must follow one’s best instincts in these things… Tell me about yourself, Miss Rawls.”
“What would you like to know?”
He smiled. It was not really much of a smile. Tight-lipped. She wondered whether he ever let go, laughed out loud.
“Tell me about the essential Laurie Rawls, the Laurie Rawls who might end up working with me every day and who, in that event, would work at the right hand of the President of the United States.”
She shifted in her chair, organized her thoughts. Be precise, she told herself, and she was. He listened impassively, his eyes never leaving hers, his mind like a computer taking in her words and committing them to chips to be instantly replayed when and if needed.
“Very impressive,” he said when she was through.
“Thank you.” Good, he’d been impressed with her performance. She felt more in control now and actually felt his peer, every bit as bright, and calculating, as he was. An even match.
He offered her a glass of water. She declined. He poured himself a glass from a crystal pitcher wrapped in glove leather. “Do you drink?”
“Drink? Alcohol?”
“Yes.”
“I like wine.” And quickly added, “with meals.”
“Drugs? Smoke pot?”
“No.”
“Never?”
“Well, I did once or twice a long time ago but…”
“Any skeletons in the Rawls closet? Sordid romances, insanity in the family, cheating on college exams, unpaid parking tickets or college loans, people holding something over your head…”
“No.”
“Good.” He leafed through a file folder, looked up and said, “You do know, Miss Rawls, that this job can be yours if things progress as we hope they will.”
“I’m not sure I understand exactly what you mean, Mr. Lauderman. Clarence Sutherland and I were close. He told me about your interest in having him come to work here at the White House and—”
“How close were you?”
“Will honesty ruin my chances?”
“Honesty will help insure them.”
“We were very close. Very…”
“And you’re understandably upset by his death… but you still have your priorities in order. I like that, Miss Rawls. You’re a pragmatist.” He leaned on his elbows as he said, “Your late friend, Clarence Sutherland, was close to being named to our team here at the White House. At first I balked at the suggestion. After all, what could he offer us that any bright law graduate couldn’t offer? Bright law school graduates are a dime a dozen, and being a clerk in the Supreme Court doesn’t mean all that much. We know how he got the appointment, which, I might add, is no crime. His father, because of his close relationship with Justice Poulson, did what any caring father might have done, used a delicate relationship to benefit a son. I would do the same thing. Would you?”
“I think so.”
“Well, the important thing is that Clarence Sutherland had certain information, because of his father’s profession, that was valuable to this administration. Does that offend you?”
“Why should it?”
“It would some. I’m glad it doesn’t you.”
“As you said, I’m a pragmatist.”
“And ambitious.”
“Yes. I would imagine you would understand that.”
He a
llowed a grin. “Yes, I do. When you first came here with the information about Dr. Sutherland’s files, I was skeptical of you. I asked myself what you wanted, what your game was, what your price was. That’s what I’m paid for.”
“Was it because I’m a woman?”
“Why should it be? I’m no sexist. Just a realist. Miss Rawls, you want the job Clarence was being considered for and I admire you for that. You say you have the same information he had because of your—”
“Because I was very close to him. Yes. When you’re that close to someone, you tend to share everything…”
“Yes… well, I’m aware of that. But can you stop the sharing if necessary. I’m speaking of what you would learn here at the White House?”
“Absolutely.” She looked directly at him when she said it.
“Good. Now… we need a… continuing factor inside the Court. Mr. Sutherland held that out to us. Now, he’s no longer in a position to provide it. Perhaps you are.”
“I think I am.”
“As I said, I’m a realist, Miss Rawls. Give me some results to convince me.”
“Such as?” Actually she knew the answer.
“Help insure that the vote on Nidel v. Illinois goes the way it should. The way the administration, and the American people believe it should.”
“That isn’t easy—”
“Sutherland said it was.”
“I’m not Clarence Sutherland.”
“But you’re peddling the same thing.”
“I’m not peddling anything.”
“Sorry, Miss Rawls. I’m afraid I’m not as good at the legal niceties as you are. Let me put it this way. Justice Childs may be a problem. I understand you might know something about him to help moderate his perhaps overly rigid legal principles.”
“I might.”
“If you want this job, Miss Rawls, you’d better.”
“It comes down to that?”
He nodded.
“Well, there are certain inconsistencies in Justice Childs’s background that might be helpful in persuading him to—”
“See the light?”
“Yes.”
“You know what they are?”
Murder in the Supreme Court (Capital Crimes Series Book 3) Page 18
