That filled out his earlier glance of her reflection nicely. Shouldn’t be too hard to spot. At least it gave him a chance. “ ’Preciate that.”
“Give some thought to my offer.”
“I will.”
“And good luck. You’re sure to qualify for the finals. What piece are you going to recite then?”
“You mean I have to know another poem?”
“Of course. You can’t milk the same performance piece all night long. You must’ve prepared something else, right? I don’t think you can get by with the ‘burly-redneck-who doesn’t understand-poetry’ thing again. I mean, it had a nice, sort of Andy Kaufman quality the first time around—like a nail-hard comic not afraid to take a joke too far. But to try it a second time—that really would be taking the joke too far.”
“Thanks for the tip. And if you see Trudy, please let me know.”
Loving glanced up at the stage, eyes wide, hands already beginning to tremble. There must be hundreds of people in this auditorium. And if he didn’t find Trudy fast, he was going to have to come up with a parodic deconstructionist modernist interpretation for “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.”
Loving searched the entire auditorium, gallery, backstage, balcony, even behind the concession stand; but he never managed to locate anyone who remotely matched Trudy’s description, or anyone who knew where Trudy was. He systematically inspected the entire building, all while trying not to disturb the shouting, crying, wailing, pontificating, and various other modes of performance emanating from the stage. Stealth was for other private eyes; Loving much preferred the in-your-face, tell-me-what-I-want-to-know approach. Perhaps it lacked subtlety, but it worked for him. At least, normally it did.
After about an hour of searching, he decided to call it quits. She just wasn’t there. He hated to abandon the search—he had no other leads—but this was getting him nowhere. He was wasting his time, and worse, if he hung around much longer, he would be forced to take the stage again. That was to be avoided at all costs.
He decided to leave the same way he had come, by the backstage exit. No one seemed to mind him being there; they probably thought he was preparing for another performance. He slipped out and soon found himself back on the street. He wasn’t greeted by another round of gunfire, either from behind or above, and that was a considerable relief. Apparently the bad guys had gone home, at least for now. He cut through a nearby alleyway and headed for his van.
The blow came so swiftly he barely saw it, had no time to duck. Something hard and metal smashed into the back of his skull. Loving fell to his knees, fighting unconsciousness. He held up his hands, trying to block the next blow. Damned if it wasn’t a brick.
He wrestled with the strong arm holding it, fighting to get free. In the dark shadows, he couldn’t make out the face of his assailant. Max? Pretty Boy? He didn’t think it was either, judging by the silhouette. Maybe the sniper had climbed down from his nest. No telling. At the moment, he had to focus on making sure that brick didn’t make contact again with his head.
A sudden swift kick to the groin took the fight out of him but fast. Where had that come from? he wondered, as he felt the strength ooze from his arms. The shoe felt…pointed. As his attacker moved in for the next blow, he spotted the shadowy trace of hair, very long hair, so long the bearer could almost sit on it. Loving tried to grab a handful of it, but he wasn’t nearly fast enough. The brick came down again, this time making contact with the base of his skull.
He fell to the wet, slimy concrete pavement, his head swimming. The pain was immense. He tried to summon some strength somewhere in his body, preferably his feet, but it did not come. Before he could do anything to defend himself, the brick came barreling downward once again, the blackness enveloped him, and he was gone.
30
Ben entered the Senate Caucus Room with an almost unreasonable sense of optimism about what was yet to come. Despite the unmitigated disaster of the last session, he hoped this one would be a pleasant change of pace. The gauntlet of interrogations was over, all eighteen of them; now they called witnesses who had testimony that might be of use to the Senate Committee in the course of its deliberations. The friendly witnesses would be first—co-workers, friends, character witnesses, anyone Ben or Sexton could drum up to say a few nice words in support of Thaddeus Roush. Of course, each would be interrogated not only by the senator who called them but also by any other senator who wished to do so, with no set time limit other than those that might be imposed at the whim of the chairman. In effect, it would be cross-examination, though they didn’t call it that. But there was no reason to believe that would lead to any trouble. No one was being called who was remotely controversial.
After all the friendly witnesses testified, the opposition had the right to call anyone whose testimony might be of use, but so far they had given no indication that they would. Despite the widespread opposition to Roush’s nomination, no one seemed to have unearthed anything negative about him. They couldn’t hang him on his sexual preference. The police had been unable to link the murder to Roush or Eastwick. Besides, the whole procedure—calling witnesses, examining them, cross-examining them—was much closer to what Ben was accustomed to dealing with in the courtroom, and as a result, he hoped he might be somewhat more helpful than he had been so far.
The first witness sworn was a woman named Amelia Haspiel, a judge from the D.C. Circuit who had served on the bench with Roush for the previous eight years. She spoke in glowing terms about his dedication to his work, his fidelity to the law, his relentless work ethic. She called him a driven professional, but also made the point that he was genial and agreeable to work with, not obsessive or insulting, despite his obvious great intelligence.
“I don’t know that I’ve ever had a co-worker whose company I’ve enjoyed more. Or in whom I had greater confidence.”
“But you’re a peer. A co-equal Circuit Court justice,” Senator Dawkins said. “Do you think the same would be true of those who work under him?”
“I know it would,” Haspiel said without hesitation. “I’ve heard Tad’s secretary comment more than once that he was the best boss she ever had. And I know that whenever a clerkship in his chambers came available, there were always more applicants than Tad could begin to fill. He was popular with everyone.”
“Did you ever hear anyone say anything negative about Judge Roush?”
“Never. Not once in eight years. That includes remarks from lawyers who appeared before him, some of whom, of course, lost. Didn’t matter. Even when lawyers or fellow jurists disagreed with him, they always respected his opinion. He’s a man of integrity. I wish our courts had more judges like him.”
Can’t get much better than that, Ben thought, watching from the sidelines. And the best part of it was, neither he nor Tad had to do a thing. They could just sit back and watch.
Senator Potter, R-Ore., took the mike for what Ben knew amounted to cross-examination. He was a potential threat, someone whose devotion to Keyes would never waver. Didn’t matter. As long as it wasn’t Matera, Ben wouldn’t worry about it.
After about ten minutes of hemming and hawing, Potter finally got to what he had obviously wanted to talk about all along. “Judge Haspiel, did you think at any time that Judge Roush’s…sexual preference interfered with the performance of his judicial duties?”
Ben frowned. What could the purpose of this question be? Surely Potter didn’t expect a positive response. Was it just a bit of thinly disguised mudslinging, a chance to remind Middle America that Roush was gay?
“No, sir, there was not. But of course, none of us knew he was gay.”
“Ah. He kept that secret even from the other members of his court.”
Haspiel barely blinked. “Senator, he did not keep it secret. He just didn’t talk about it.”
“And none of you ever had the slightest suspicion?”
She paused. “How do you define suspicion?”
“Did you know or did you not know?�
��
“Sir, anytime you have an attractive man of Tad’s age who is not married and has never been married, there are always going to be people who suspect he is gay. So what? I don’t listen to that kind of gossip. And I’m sure you don’t, either.”
“Do you think there was perhaps…a tendency to go easier on him because he was believed to be a member of a minority group?”
Haspiel stared at him incomprehensibly. “Like someone might cut him slack because he’s gay? Not in this world.”
“I just wondered if it was ever a disruptive factor.”
“Sir, it wasn’t any kind of factor. We didn’t know. We didn’t care!”
“So you think it doesn’t make any difference?”
Her head tilted. “I don’t see—”
“Judge…do you consider yourself a Christian woman?”
“Wait a minute,” Ben said, rising from his chair, careful not to use the word “objection.” “This is inappropriate.”
Senator Potter appeared taken aback. “I am not embarrassed to say that I am a man of faith.”
Ben stared at Chairman Keyes. “Don’t let the hearing degenerate into this, Mister Chairman. Show some spine.”
Keyes drew himself up. “I do tend to think that questions about religion are not necessary to this hearing, although I’m sure the senator from Oregon, being a devout man of faith who observes all the Biblical injunctions, New Testament and Old, is genuine in his concern—as are many of us—regarding a nominee who stands in flagrant disavowal of the articles of faith.”
“And that goes for my constituents as well,” Potter added. “They’ve read the Book of Leviticus.”
“Have they read the First Amendment?” Ben asked. “Specifically, the part about freedom of worship? The separation between church and state?”
Ben managed to shut down the questioning, at least for the present, but Potter had made his point for whatever it was worth. A long succession of friendly witnesses ensued, running late into the day. Ben wasn’t sure any of them were doing Roush much good—certainly they weren’t going to change the minds of the diehards on the committee—but at least they did serve the fundamental purpose of making the proceedings far more boring than they had been before. In his mind’s eye, Ben could see hands all across America reaching for their remotes. By the end of the day he imagined more adults were watching Teletubbies than this confirmation hearing. There wasn’t enough of interest happening to fill a sound bite.
Until Jennifer Tierney took the stand.
She was a perfect character witness, or so they thought, because she had known Roush for decades. They had met in law school and remained friends. She had vacationed with him, worked with him, been with him through fun times and hard times. And she had nothing but the most complimentary praise for him. He remained calm in the face of adversity, but he was strong when strength was required. He loved children, played with her two daughters for hours at a time. He was generous but frugal. Ben was waiting for trustworthy, brave, and reverent, but before they got to that point, the chairman yielded the floor to the senator from Idaho.
Senator Northrop was technically a Democrat, but she was so conservative and had such a right-wing constituency that she usually voted with the Republicans and was expected to do so at the conclusion of this committee hearing. This not only reduced the number of votes upon which Roush could count—already in the minority—but also raised the even more difficult issue of who Hammond and the others backing Roush could trust.
“You’ve been out with Judge Roush on a number of social occasions?”
“Yes, of course. We live barely a block from each other in Montgomery County.”
“And you work in similar arenas?”
“Well, I’m on the state court of criminal appeals, but…yes. We get invited to the same parties.”
“And were you invited to the gathering at Judge Roush’s house the day after his nomination? When he gave the tragedy-tinged press conference?”
Meaning: when the corpse was discovered in his garden. Ben started to rise, then stopped himself. He didn’t have quite enough yet.
“Yes, I was.”
“Did you see what happened?”
“I saw what everyone else saw.”
“Were you surprised?”
“When a woman was discovered dead in the garden? Who wasn’t surprised?”
“Of course.” Senator Northrop pressed her long fingernails against the base of her microphone. “I don’t want to ask you about the murder, ma’am. I know some feel that would be irrelevant to the present proceeding, and I’m sure Mr. Kincaid would protest and none of us would get out of here before the Beltway was packed bumper to bumper.” Like any professional comedian, she paused for the ensuing laughter. “But I wonder if you noticed where Judge Roush was before the press conference began.”
Tierney paused, obviously surprised by the question. “No. I don’t really recall.”
“You didn’t see him?”
“I saw him when I entered the home.”
“And that was…?”
“Perhaps forty-five minutes before the press conference. He was very busy taking meetings with people.”
“You know that for a fact?”
“Well, I know that’s what I was told.”
“That seems to be what everyone was told. But I’ve yet to find anyone who actually saw Judge Roush in the minutes immediately prior to the press conference. And the police are having the same problem.” Ben remained silent but rose to his feet, something he knew Northrop would see out of the corner of her eye. “But let me change the subject. You’ve told us you didn’t see Judge Roush. Did you see his…” She coughed slightly. “…lover, Mr. Eastwick? Do you know where he was or what he was doing?”
“No. I never saw him at all. Not until the press conference, when he was discovered with—”
“Just a minute,” Ben said. “This is improper questioning. It has nothing to do with the nominee’s qualifications for the Supreme Court position.”
Chairman Keyes looked at Ben with a blank expression. “Are you interposing a point of order?”
“You can call it a point of anything you like. This is wrong.”
“And what exactly is it you find so wrong?”
Ben knew how this game was played; he’d seen it done a million times in the courtroom. Keyes wanted him to make a great fuss about discussing the murder—with the unavoidable result that the jury would be left with the impression that Roush was hiding something. Here, the jury was an American viewing audience of several million people. And the tens of millions more who would read about it tomorrow morning or see the clips on the evening news.
“I object to turning this hearing into a murder trial. The police are investigating the murder. We’re here to appoint the next Supreme Court justice.”
“Well, to consider an appointment, at any rate.”
“So leave police matters alone.”
“Mr. Kincaid,” Senator Keyes said slowly, his Texas drawl coming to the forefront, “are you not aware that the Constitution expressly grants Congress certain police powers to investigate matters of national interest?”
“This isn’t the payola scandal, Senator. This is a slimy back-door attempt to impugn the reputation of a distinguished jurist by making constant references to an unexplained death.”
The senator smiled benignly. “If you would allow us to ask our questions without interruption, perhaps the death would cease to be unexplained.”
Ben resisted the temptation to roll his eyes. “I will not permit any more questions relating to that young woman’s death.”
Senator Potter grabbed his mike, showing a rare bit of spine. “What is it you’re afraid of, Mr. Kincaid?”
“I’m afraid of seeing the highest governing body of the nation demeaned by partisan mudslinging. We’re all aware that there are people both pro and con to this nomination, as there are with every nomination. That doesn’t mean we have to sink to this
level.”
“We can’t ignore reality, son,” Keyes said.
“Evidently you can. We expressly asked for a continuance of this matter pending the police investigation and you refused.”
“Well…”
“So we have no choice but to ignore the crime for now and let the police investigate. If they come up with something that relates to Judge Roush, we’ll deal with it at that time. Until then, this is just cheap, petty character assassination—worse, implying guilt by association. And frankly, sir, I’d like to think you’re better than that. I’d like to think we all are.”
Ben resumed his seat. If he had hoped for a round of applause, he was disappointed.
“Well,” Keyes said, “perhaps these matters are best left alone for now. I feel certain there are many other topics we could be discussing. I’ll call the next witness.”
O frabjous day! As impotent as Ben had felt throughout this entire proceeding, apparently his little fuss had been sufficient that Keyes, weighing the benefits of continued trash talk against the detriment of appearing to be engaging in trash talk, decided to let it go. Sexton would be pleased—Ben had been tough, sort of, and it appeared to have accomplished their goal. At least in the short term.
Two things about the exchange still bothered Ben, though. First, he knew that Keyes would never have given up, not under any circumstance, unless he thought he had something better waiting in the wings.
And the second concern was: Throughout the ordeal, Senator Matera had remained silent. Their top attack dog had played no role whatsoever. That made no sense.
Unless they were saving her for the something better that was waiting in the wings.
31
Loving awoke to mixed sensations: his head felt like a rock—but a rock resting on a pillow. Not that the pillow made it throb any less. But it suggested an unusual degree of TLC from a mysterious back-alley brick attacker.
“Is Sleeping Beauty awake at last?” a soft, high-pitched voice asked.
Loving turned his head in the direction from which it came, but the movement hurt so much he decided it wasn’t worth the effort. By this time he had realized that his feet were cuffed to the posts of the bed on which he lay. The knowledge that he wasn’t going anywhere, combined with the knowledge that his head ached every time he moved it, left him with seriously diminished curiosity.
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