She pulled on jeans and a fleece sweatshirt and went down into the kitchen to make coffee and tea for Agent Savich and her mother. She found some croissants on the counter, stuck them in the oven to heat up, and stood there in the bright kitchen, watching the snow sheet down outside the window.
When she carried the big silver tray into the living room, her mother was weeping, Detective Raven looked acutely uncomfortable, and Agent Sherlock was gently stroking her mother’s arm.
Callie had never in her life seen her mother so wrecked. She looked up then, and gently pulled away from Anna Clifford and Agent Sherlock. She tried a smile. It wasn’t much of one, but it was a start. “Callie, I would love some tea and then—and then we need to talk.”
Her voice was suddenly calm. Callie smiled at her mother, served everyone, then sat down with her own cup of coffee. She realized soon enough that Agent Savich and Agent Sherlock were taking time with their coffee and tea, nibbling on the croissants, giving her mother time to collect herself. Detective Raven, however, seemed impatient, prickling with nervous energy. She watched him pick up his second croissant. He looked over at her and grinned. “It’s true, you know, that all we ever have at the station is jelly donuts, all sugar and lard, not like the pure butter that holds these delicious things together.”
Margaret Califano said, “Everyone is acting normally, and I suppose that’s a relief. Do you worry about your cholesterol, Detective Raven?”
“I’m genetically blessed, Mrs. Califano.”
“You’re also very young.”
Callie looked at his long solid athlete’s body and laughed. “Yeah, I bet you just gorge yourself on donuts.”
Margaret sipped her oolong tea, shuddering at the delicious dark flavor.
Savich said, “I’m sorry we have to ask you questions at a time like this, Mrs. Califano, but a murder investigation requires it. Do you feel up to talking to us now?”
“Yes, Agent Savich, of course.”
He said, “Did your husband behave differently in the days before he was killed? Did he seem concerned about something or someone?”
“No, he was the same as always, even yesterday. At least I didn’t notice anything different. Oh God, maybe there was something that I simply didn’t see because I was in a rush to get to one of my stores.”
“No, Mrs. Califano, don’t blame yourself. I need you here with me, now.”
Margaret drew a deep breath. “Yes, of course you’re right. I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right. Now, did your husband tell you why he was going to the Supreme Court Building last night?”
“No, he didn’t. And I didn’t ask. Everyone knew he went there whenever the spirit moved him. Even Anna knew, didn’t you?”
Anna nodded. “Oh yes. It was Stewart’s refuge.”
Margaret said, “He told me once that it was the only place he could hear himself think.” Her voice quavered. She quickly lowered her head and sipped more tea. Then she straightened her shoulders. “If he was studying something specific, I don’t know what it would have been. Perhaps in their weekly Friday meeting, a minority of Justices wanted to grant a cert. that Stewart didn’t believed warranted a hearing.”
“A cert.?” Savich’s eyebrow went up.
“I’m sorry. A cert., as it’s called, stands for certiorari. It’s a formal request that the Court hear a case. If four Justices vote to grant the petition, then the case is scheduled for argument. If the four votes aren’t there, the cert. is denied.” She studied the dark stain of tea in the bottom of her cup. “As I said, it’s possible. As to anything else on his mind, I couldn’t say. When he walked through the front door, he might be brooding, but he wouldn’t speak of it, if it was work-related.”
“Were you and Justice Califano having any personal problems, Mrs. Califano?”
Callie hissed quietly through her teeth, but Margaret merely patted her arm. “No, Agent Savich, no problems. Yes, we disagreed sometimes like every married couple does, but in the nine years we’ve been married, I’ve never thought about killing him. Surely you don’t think our personal life had anything to do with this. Terrorists, or some sort of extremists, must have killed Stewart.”
Sherlock said, “Did he express any concerns about terrorists?”
“No, he didn’t. Stewart was quite moderate, not at all controversial. To the best of my knowledge he didn’t overly offend either side. That’s why it would be so strange if some sort of fringe madman did kill him. Why, for heaven’s sake? Why not Chief Justice Abrams? Why not Justice Alto-Thorpe, who’s far to the left, or Justice Alden Spiros, who’s far to the right? Both held very strong opinions on all the hot-button issues, like abortion, the death penalty, affirmative action, that sort of thing. That makes more sense, doesn’t it?”
“Perhaps it does,” Savich said.
Ben Raven said, “Did he ever speak to you about someone he was having a conflict with? Someone he didn’t approve of? Someone who hated him?”
“Detective Raven, Stewart was a very private man. His best friend was Justice Sumner Wallace. Perhaps he would know if there was something troubling Stewart or if he was having a major problem with someone, particularly someone out of his past.” She fanned her hands in front of her. “Everyone pictures the Justices sitting around a big mahogany table, wearing their robes, sober and stately, spouting big words and discussing esoteric legal precedents. The truth is they spend very little time together. They usually work alone, reading, or meeting with their law clerks.
“Their weekly meetings are Wednesday and Friday, and it always sounded to me like it was all business. That doesn’t mean, naturally, that they don’t argue and yell and be furious with each other when they’re in conference. No one but the Justices are allowed in that conference room on Fridays, so they can be rancorous without fear of anyone gossiping or leaking information to the media.
“Politics plays a bigger role than Stewart liked. Every Justice has an agenda very strongly colored by his or her political beliefs, more so now than say thirty years ago, before Watergate.
“Stewart would laugh about some of the really nasty comments everyone knew would not be written down. There’s still a tinge of sexism among some of the Justices—remember we’re talking about nine people who are all from the older generation—even though the men try to control their feelings, for example, if one of the female Justices has disagreed strongly with them. Also, both Democrat and Republican Justices have historically selected men as law clerks. Even today, out of the thirty-six law clerks, only ten are women. Stewart had two female law clerks.
“Now, if you want the raw truth about the Justices, you go to the law clerks. They’re the ones who really keep the Court running. They write opinions, lobby the Justices about cases they care about, and so much more. The clerks know about most everything going on in that faux Greek temple—that’s what I call it.” She paused, looked blindly at Savich. “I still can’t believe anyone would want to kill my husband, actually take the life of a Supreme Court Justice. It simply makes no sense. It’s got to be a madman, it’s got to be.”
Savich said, “Perhaps. Mrs. Califano, everyone who is as successful as your husband makes enemies along the way. Before President Reagan appointed him to the Supreme Court in 1987, Justice Califano was the Deputy Attorney General, the Attorney General, and an Associate Justice of the Superior Court, all of New York. He was a judge of the United States Court of Appeals for the First Circuit. He was sixty-four years old, and that means a long professional life, more than long enough to make enemies. Please think, Mrs. Califano.”
“He did have a long professional life, Agent Savich. Do you think an enemy would wait that long before exacting revenge? I can’t think that’s very likely.”
Ben said, “When I was a rookie, ma’am, my trainer was shot by a man he’d put away twenty years before. There’s no statute of limitations on revenge.”
“No, I suppose you’re right. But it’s rather frightening to think that d
ecisions you made years ago could come back and kill you. No, I really can’t think of anyone, at least he never mentioned anyone he was worried about.”
“What was your husband’s relationship with his senior law clerk?”
“That would be Eliza Vickers, graduated the top of her class at Harvard Law School. I’ve met her, of course, spoken to her at social functions and occasionally on the phone. Stewart said she’s an emotional liberal, from a social welfare point of view, but a firm legal conservative, is horrified at the thought of social engineering. He liked that. She’s smart, well organized, and the other two law clerks are under her control. He has three clerks, not four like most of the Justices. Stewart admired her and trusted her, I believe. I liked her too. Unlike most law clerks who spend only a year working for a Justice, she was in her second year with him.”
Ben said, “I wonder what will happen to the three of them now?”
Margaret shrugged.
“Three more lawyers will be turned loose on society a little early,” Sherlock said. “That’s a thought to curl your toes.”
Margaret smiled, just for a brief moment.
Sherlock said, “With your permission, Mrs. Califano, we would like to go through your address book as well as Justice Califano’s to compile a list of your friends and anyone with whom your husband had ongoing contact.”
“Certainly.” She looked down at the delicate Rolex on her right wrist. “Janette, Bitsy, and Juliette should be here soon. Anna, you did call them, didn’t you?”
Anna nodded, and went with Margaret to get her address book.
Thirty minutes later, Callie walked agents Sherlock and Savich and Detective Raven to the front door. “Are you going to see the other Justices now?”
“Yes, they knew Justice Califano best. And the law clerks, naturally. We need all the information on him they can provide us. We need to form a clear picture of your stepfather, what he was really like—his likes, dislikes, people who rubbed him the wrong way and vice versa, and especially, if his behavior was different in any way on Friday.”
When they reached the door, Callie looked straight at Ben Raven and said, “You’re going to split up, right?” At their nods, Callie said, “I’ve known the Justices since I was sixteen years old, and I know more about the law clerks than my mom. For example, Eliza is a major league ballbuster. She ruled my stepfather’s chambers with an iron fist. Why don’t I go with Detective Raven? I can fill him in, maybe give him an introduction that will help you guys.”
Savich shook his head. “No, Ms. Markham, that isn’t possible. We would certainly like to hear everything you know about any of them, but you cannot be a part of the official investigation.”
She dug in her heels. “Look, Agent Savich, I want to help. I’m not about to go running to the Post with a big inside story. Stewart was prissy, he was rather rigid, and he could never tell a joke right, but he was a good man, and he had a brilliant legal mind. The thought that someone murdered him enrages me.”
“Forget it, Ms. Markham,” Ben said. “Go home and have a cup of tea. Write your gossip columns.”
“I don’t write gossip columns, you jerk.” She paused, pointed a teacher’s finger at him. “Let me put it this way, Detective, agents, either you let me help or I might go back to work, all the way back. I already have lots of good inside information, enough for the first page, don’t you agree?”
“That’s blackmail,” Sherlock said, eyebrow arched, and gave Callie a look of respect. “That’s ugly.”
“I know, Sherlock, but please listen to me. I’m not stupid, and I know these people, and I know how to keep my mouth shut. I’m only pushy when I’m in my reporter mode, and even that could be useful. I took time off from the Post, much to my editor’s annoyance. Please, let me help.”
Ben said, “I could put you in jail for the attempted blackmail, Ms. Markham. Give it up. You’re not a cop, you don’t know anything. We’re the professionals, let us do our job.”
Callie struck a pose, tapped her fingertips against her chin. “Hmm, you know, I can see the headline right now in my head. FBI and Metro Police Flummoxed. If you don’t let me work with you, I will investigate on my own. My mother, our friends, the Justices, the clerks, they will talk to me, more easily than they’ll talk to you.
“Use some brain cells here, Detective Raven. Do you think they’re more likely to tell a cop what’s going on, or me, someone they know, someone they trust?”
“Has anyone ever decked you, Ms. Markham?”
She gave him a cocky grin. “There have been those who’ve tried. Don’t you even think about it, Detective.” She looked him up and down. “I could take you down without breaking a sweat.”
“All right, enough,” Savich said. He turned to Sherlock, who was eyeing Callie with amusement.
Callie, scenting victory, pushed hard. “Actually I have a black belt in karate. I can take care of myself. I could probably protect Detective Raven too, if it came down to it. The only one I’d be worried about in this group is Agent Sherlock.”
Savich laughed. “You’re probably right about that.” He heaved a sigh. “There are going to be lots and lots of interviews happening during the next three days. Probably a good fifty agents and local police working the case. What’s one reporter added to the mix? Ben, would you mind keeping Ms. Markham in tow?”
“Yes, I mind,” Ben Raven said. “I’m not going to be saddled with a reporter—a reporter—Savich. For God’s sake, not even your garden-variety sort of reporter, but an investigative reporter who thinks she’s smart and in reality doesn’t know squat.
“As for you, Ms. Markham, and your big mouth, if you could take me down, I’d hang it up, leave the force, go find me an isolated cabin in Montana. Savich, you’re worried about blackmail, you take her with you. No damned way is she getting within six feet of me and any suspect. It ain’t going to happen.”
CHAPTER
8
C ALLIE M ARKHAM SAID to Detective Ben Raven as he drove to Justice Sumner Wallace’s house in Chevy Chase, “Okay, now I’m going to come through as promised. Here’s something I doubt you could have found out. My mother told you that Stewart’s best friend on the court was Justice Sumner Wallace. Maybe that was true at one time, but not recently. This may shock you, but Justice Wallace has a bit of a reputation with women. I think he was inappropriate with my mother and that Stewart was aware of it. He wasn’t happy with his old golf buddy.”
Ben was shocked and he tried not to show it, but Callie laughed. “I know, it just doesn’t fit the image. Now, I guess Mom didn’t realize my stepfather knew. She likes to keep the peace, so she wouldn’t have said anything, just ignored it, or handled it herself if it got bad.”
Ben was still trying to come to grips with something he never would have imagined. “So this Justice of the Supreme Court of the United States, this guy who’s older than my dad, was putting the moves on your mother? Are you absolutely sure about this?”
“Yes. Listen up. Justice Wallace is about sixty-five, not yet ready for the grave, Detective Raven. My mom was talking on the phone about him once to one of her friends, Bitsy, I think it was. Mom only smiled, and said now wasn’t he a frisky one. I think she knew I was listening, and so she finished her call up fast.”
“You were eavesdropping?”
“Sure. It’s my stock in trade. She never said a thing to me, but she did acknowledge me after she hung up the phone, so I’m sure she knew I was there. Right about that time, Stewart stopped speaking with Justice Wallace.”
“So, not only is he old, he’s married, and he was lusting after your mother?”
“My mom is very pretty, Detective Raven. I’m not surprised that any man would be interested in her. I’m more shocked that he would actually act on it.”
“I didn’t mean to insult your mother, it was the incredulity speaking. When did this happen?” Before she could answer, Ben’s cell phone rang. He listened for some time, frowned, and punched off. “Tha
t was Savich. He spoke to the medical examiner, Dr. Conrad. He said TV vans are all around the morgue, but he’s trying to keep a lid on things. He’s threatened to lock any of the staff who dares whisper a word to anyone, including spouses, in the morgue freezer. Also, something unexpected. Dr. Conrad said Justice Califano had about six months to live. It appears he had pancreatic cancer. He doesn’t think Justice Califano knew it yet, since he’d probably not had any pain. Said he’d only lost about six months of life, and even with that, this cancer can be really bad once it gets rolling.”
“Oh no,” Callie said. “Oh no. Stewart was damned either way. I guess I’m glad he didn’t know. Can you imagine what it would be like to know you were dying of cancer, that you’d be gone in six months?”
“Agents will be speaking to his doctors, see if he did know, but kept it to himself.”
Callie leaned her head against the seat back. “Poor poor Stewart.” She started crying, silently, tears rolling down her face. The dreadful irony of it. It was like losing him all over again.
B EN R AVEN LOOKED around at the TV vans in front of Justice Sumner Wallace’s 1960s single-level home, and the three cars parked at the curb. “I wonder where the federal marshals are. Would you look at all the media.” He pulled his white Ford Crown Victoria, sedate on the outside, lots of muscle under the hood, in front of the house. Reporters jumped out of the cars and ran toward them.
Ben ignored them, looked over at the sprawling brick-and-wood house set back in the woods. “Even if you yelled, the neighbors wouldn’t hear you. It feels like we’re in the sticks somewhere, not in a corner of Chevy Chase.”
Ben and Callie climbed out of the car, trudged through the snow-covered sidewalk toward the front door, still ignoring the reporters. By the time they were halfway up the walk, the reporters had swarmed. Ben didn’t stop walking, just pulled out his badge, held it high, waved it in their faces, and shouted, “We have no comment at this time. We don’t have any news for you.”
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