The Amendment Killer (Brooks/Lotello Thriller)

by Ronald S. Barak

  “Okay, Ramon. That wasn’t so bad, was it? Barely twenty questions.” Lotello handed Hernandez his card. “If you see or hear from Johnson, you get in touch with me right away. Got that?”

  “You mean Johnston.” Hernandez inspected the card. “Let you know if I hear from Johnston.”

  “See? I do have a sense of humor, Ramon.”

  * * *

  Hirschfeld looked at his colleagues gathered around the conference table. Inner sanctum personified. The process he loved, and realized he’d taken for granted. No more. It was exactly 24 hours ago that his life had changed forever. By those four simple words. We have your granddaughter. Never again would he be just one of their colleagues, enjoying the unencumbered luxury of pondering, debating, meting out right and wrong.

  Then again, was he among them the only one with such dark secrets? Burdens to be carried upon their shoulders, compromising their perfect worlds and decisions?

  Would they soon sit in judgment of him? Understand what he was going through, about to do? Forgive him his sins? Insist that he be expelled forever from their ranks? Will I give them the chance?

  He had to stop these useless digressions, and concentrate. Right now, only two things mattered. He had to follow what they were saying, what their vote would likely be, and what he would have to do to assure the outcome that would bring Cassie back safe and sound. And, in the meantime, he had to figure out how he was somehow going to get her the insulin vials he had with him.

  So far, he was making no progress on either front. Several attempts to text her captors that morning had yielded no response. He might have to wait until Court resumed in the morning, when they would no doubt again be watching him.

  Until then he prayed that Cassie’s onboard insulin would keep her okay.

  As for the meeting, there was nothing helpful. It was clear they were going to find Congress had standing to sue. Some of them really believed it. Some just wanted to make sure the merits of the amendment would be heard. That would only be possible if they first found Congress had standing.

  Beyond that, his colleagues were playing it close to the vest. Keeping their votes to themselves. The one noteworthy discussion so far concerned Brooks’s unanticipated argument that Article V constrained only the government from initiating amendments. The Justices were impressed with how crafty Brooks had been in finessing his theory past Esposito. Cutting Esposito off from any immediate opportunity to parry.

  No thanks to Brooks, the odds were increasing that Hirschfeld would not only have to flip his own vote, but also the votes of one and even possibly two others as well. Absentmindedly, he shook his head, and muttered apprehensively.

  Sitting next to him, Trotter leaned over and said, “Say something, Arnold?”

  “Hmm? Oh, sorry, Sheldon. Just thinking out loud, I guess.”

  CHAPTER 45

  Wednesday, May 7, 11:00 am

  AT THE SOUND of the door again unlocking, Cassie stood up. He entered, wearing that same ridiculous Frankenstein mask. He just stood there, back to the wall, gawking at her.

  Finally, he said, “What’s the smartest state in the country?”

  She silently glared back at him, wondering what was going on. Like most of her friends, she’d known the answer to that silly riddle for years, since she was a little kid. “You came in here just to ask me that?”

  “Didn’t your parents teach you it was impolite to answer a question with another question?”

  “You just answered my question with a question. Didn’t your parents teach you not to do that?” Two could play this game, she thought. If it were a game. “Or to go around kidnapping people?”

  “You’re posturing. You don’t know the answer.”

  “Okay, say I don’t. So what? You win. Big deal.”

  He didn’t answer. Just kept looking at her. The weirdness of it all was getting to her. Frankenstein was staring at her. But what was the man under the mask doing? Or thinking?

  She said, “Well?”

  “Well what?” he replied.

  “There you go again,” she said.

  “Go again what?” he asked.

  “Answering a question with a question,” she clarified. “So, what’s the answer, already?”

  “Alabama,” he said.

  From the tone of his voice she thought he might be smirking. “Okay,” she said. “So?”

  “Aren’t you going to ask me why?” he asked.

  He seemed disappointed, she thought. Perfect. “I know why,” she answered, matter-of-factly.

  “No way,” he declared.

  He was disappointed, she observed. “Way,” she toyed.

  “You’re stalling.”

  She was. For the first time since she’d tried to escape she felt like she might be gaining some kind of an edge. But how could that be? What was with this man? Grown-ups just didn’t behave this way. Of course, grown-ups don’t go around kidnapping kids either.

  She milked the silence a little more, then said, “Because it has four As and a B.”

  She resisted the urge to laugh, sensing that he may actually have wanted to win, to get even with her.

  “Now I have a question. Why did you take off my pump?”

  “Is that what you call it?”

  “Answer the question, Mister. Why did you remove it from me? Were you trying to hurt me?”

  He shrugged. “Not your concern.”

  “How could you say something like that. It’s my pump. It’s important to me.”

  “Why? Is something wrong with you?”

  Should she tell him? “Not your concern.”

  He turned around and opened the door, no longer looking at her. “Right now, everything about you is my concern.”

  She wasn’t sure how much to tell him. “It’s how I get my insulin.”

  He paused. Closed the door. Turned back around and faced her. “How long have you been diabetic?”

  “What’s it to you?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “How long am I going to be here?”

  “I told you before. It’s none of your business.”

  “I don’t have much insulin on me, Mister. Do you know what happens to me when my insulin runs out?”

  “No idea. You get headaches? Don’t feel so well?”

  “In a day or so, I go into a coma. And then I die. Is that what you want?”

  “Nice try, girl. You expect me to fall for that? You’re putting me on. You don’t seem sick.”

  “Not exactly something I kid about.”

  “In a day or so, you said? From when? Now? When your stash runs out?”

  “From when my stash runs out.”

  “And how soon will that be?”

  “In another day.”

  “Can’t I just go to a drugstore and buy you some more?”

  “You need the right kind of insulin. It takes a prescription from a doctor.”

  “What kind of insulin do you use?”

  She knew. Of course she knew. But something told her not to tell him. Not yet, anyway. She also had a little more time than she was letting on. She was beginning to wonder who was in more trouble here. She was obviously in a tough spot, but he seemed to have some problems too.

  How important was she to him? How important was her health to him?

  “I don’t know what kind. My mom takes care of that. I just know how to use it.”

  He crossed the room and sat down, not saying anything. The silence was eerie. Once again, she wondered what the man she couldn’t see was thinking.

  And then he got up without another word, turned away from her, and walked out, locking the door behind him.

  * * *

  Thomas was on the verge of exploding. How could he have messed this up so badly? Again! First the Norman case. Now this plan to make things right. Not discovering in advance that she was diabetic. Not taking into account everything that might require. He hated being behind the curve, rather than out in front of it. The old man had put h
er well-being front and center. Thomas had to keep her calm and healthy—until the Justices decided the case.

  What now? He couldn’t just walk into the nearest drugstore and ask for some insulin. Sure, he could break into a pharmacy tonight and steal some, but what kind? The girl said she didn’t know. If she were playing games, he could get it out of her. But she was showing some real spunk. She was damned stubborn. If they got into a game of chicken, he wasn’t sure who’d win. If he didn’t hurt her to get his way.

  Guess he needed to put another call into Grandpa.

  CHAPTER 46

  Wednesday, May 7, 11:35 am

  LOTELLO FOUND Madison standing outside the entrance to the cafeteria.

  “Not a lot of time until I have to be back in class,” she said. “Let’s get our lunch and sit outside. It’ll be quieter, more private.”

  Listen to her. Growing up way too fast. She’d already turned away before he said, “Don’t I even get a kiss?”

  She turned back, smiled, reached up on her toes, and gave him a peck on the cheek, then took his hand and led him inside. They got in line, filled their trays.

  Lotello said, “Your invite. Your treat.”

  “Very funny.”

  He paid. They took their trays outside and Madison led them beyond the quad to a quiet bench by some trees.

  “Okay, Princess, not that I don’t love your company, but you got me down here on the fly by telling me you had a problem. What’s up? You okay?”

  She glanced around, to make sure, he thought, that no one else was in earshot. “Okay. Cassie was a no-show yesterday, right? Trust me, that’s a major deal. I mean, Supreme Court. Hello? We’d been planning it, talking about it, for weeks. Got school passes and everything. First, she doesn’t meet me in the cafeteria after texting she’d be there in ten minutes. Then she doesn’t show for the trip to the Courthouse.”

  He was becoming uncomfortable. Madison was growing up fast, but she was still only eleven. Still his little girl. “Maybe she just started feeling sick and went home.”

  “Without texting me? Uh-uh. Not a chance.”

  “Madison—”

  “There’s more. After lunch yesterday, I saw you and Judge Brooks whispering. All secret like. Then you didn’t come back to Court like you were planning, to watch the case. You didn’t come home last night until after I was already in bed. And you were gone this morning before I got up. I know all this stuff has something to do with Cassie. Are you seriously going to tell me I’m wrong?”

  Nothing’s gets past her. What happens when she’s a couple years older? “Your imagination’s running wild, honey. Nothing that unusual here. The judge just had a few things he wanted me to look into. Technical stuff. Amendment issues. Nothing worth sharing. Promise.”

  “C’mon, Dad. Cassie’s not answering my texts or returning my calls. Not yesterday. Not today. She wasn’t at school today, either. And her mom hasn’t answered two texts I sent to her.”

  “Madison, I’m sure there’s a good explanation for all of this.”

  That didn’t sound convincing to him. It sure wasn’t going to convince her.

  “Not fair. Do you just expect me to do nothing? How am I supposed to feel about the way you’re treating me? Cassie is my best friend. I’m worried about her. A lot. What’s going on? And what are we going to do about it?”

  We? “Whoa. Slow down, Princess. You’re—”

  “Dad, you can’t shut me out. You have to let me help. I may know things you don’t. I may be able to, I dunno, move in certain ways you can’t.”

  He was not about to let her start playing Nancy Drew. But she had given him an idea.

  “Maybe there is something you can help with.”

  * * *

  Turning down a lunch invitation from two other Justices he really should have accepted, Hirschfeld sequestered himself in his office wondering what he could possibly do next. Suddenly, the text alert on his phone sounded. He froze. His heart started pounding. He couldn’t catch his breath. It was all he could do to open it.

  We have a situation, pops. Will call at 1. Make sure you’re alone.

  Fate had traded him one imponderable for two more. He no longer had to agonize over how to reach the kidnappers sooner than tomorrow. Now he just had to suffer—he looked at the clock—until one to find out what was wrong. And whether to immediately share this latest development with his family. Reluctantly, he ruled out doing that until he had something more specific to report. Good or bad.

  CHAPTER 47

  Wednesday, May 7, 12:15 pm

  AFTER FIRMLY REJECTING Madison’s insistence on joining him, Lotello pulled up in front of the Webber home and approached the front door. He had no idea what was going on inside, or who would be there. He wasn’t about to let Madison walk in on that, not even in his presence. She might have earned the right to a voice, but not a vote, not yet, and not for a long time if he had anything to say about it.

  Still, she’d given him some books and papers, and he had them in hand as he rang the bell. If he couldn’t use that to wangle his way inside, he’d go the other route, head to the station and pound out his argument for probable cause and a search warrant.

  A woman who bore a striking resemblance to Cassie’s mother answered the door. Probably the grandmother.

  “Hello, my name’s Frank Lotello. My daughter, Madison, asked me to drop off Cassie’s school assignments for yesterday and today, and to check up on Cassie, see how she’s doing.”

  The woman just quietly stared at him. She didn’t seem to know what to say.

  “They’re classmates,” he prompted. “Good friends.”

  Still nothing. He held out his hand. “And who might you be?”

  “Forgive me, please. Where are my manners? I’m Linda Hirschfeld, Cassie’s grandmother.”

  “Right. Right. I see the resemblance.”

  “I haven’t met Madison, but I certainly know her name. Cassie talks about her all the time. This was very thoughtful of you, and Madison. Please thank her for us.”

  She reached out to take the materials from Lotello, not inviting him in.

  Lotello pressed: “Cassie was supposed to join us on a field trip to the Court yesterday, to observe her grandfather in action. Is she feeling any better today?”

  The woman’s eyes froze in what seemed a kind of subdued dread. Finally, she said, “That’s so kind of you. Unfortunately, Cassie’s still not feeling very well, I’m afraid. She may be contagious too. I’ll give her the assignments. I’m sure she’ll call Madison in a day or so.”

  She took a quick step back inside the threshold.

  “Mrs. Hirschfeld. Please excuse me. I don’t wish to be rude or make matters worse than perhaps they already are. But this is feeling stranger by the minute. I really must insist on seeing Cassie.”

  She tottered a little on her feet, quickly grabbing the door for balance. She had that same frightened stare, only worse now. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

  “Perhaps I’m the one who should apologize. As your daughter and son-in-law know, it’s Detective Lotello.” Under the circumstances, he decided against using his full title, Homicide Detective.

  “Very well, Detective Lotello. Please wait here and let me get my son-in-law.”

  She gently closed the door. Lotello chose not to interfere.

  A moment later, the door re-opened. Mark Webber stood there. Unlike yesterday, this time he looked angry rather than confused.

  “Detective Lotello. Did you just threaten my mother-in-law?”

  “Threaten? Not at all. Look—”

  “Do you know who she is?”

  “I do. Please understand. I have nothing but Cassie’s best interests at heart.”

  “That’s very kind of you, but Cassie doesn’t need your help. She has her family to take care of her.”

  “Mr. Webber, there’s no point in our belaboring this. If you don’t step aside and let me speak with Cassie without any further delay, I’ll have a
search warrant brought here within the hour, two at the most. And I’ll stay right here to make sure no one leaves or enters your home until the warrant arrives. If you then continue to interfere, I will cuff and place you under arrest. I don’t want things to come to that. I can’t imagine you do either. I just need to know what’s going on. And that Cassie’s okay. Right now.” Getting a warrant under these circumstances may not be quite as sure fire as I just made it out to be. But I’m guessing Webber doesn’t know that.

  Webber’s shoulders sagged. The resolve in his eyes faded. He tried to say something, but then just took a step back and motioned Lotello inside.

  * * *

  Cassie checked the time on her pump. It was 12:15. She wondered if the creep were aware that she knew the time. Probably not. He hadn’t put a clock in the room. Did he think she’d be more frightened, more submissive, if she didn’t know how long she’d been locked up?

  She was trying as hard as she could to remain calm. Being frightened wasn’t getting her anywhere. All it did was raise her blood sugars, which she needed to check again. She opened the kit, pricked her finger, put a drop of blood on the test strip, and waited the few seconds it took for the meter to register the results: 260. Definitely too high.

  Consistent highs were bad, but she’d learned how to behave to keep her blood sugars from climbing too high. Her doctor said she could cheat every once in a while. An occasional date night, he called it. Even if she didn’t date yet.

  Being held in this room didn’t help. The food the man put in here was all high carb. Carbs turned into sugar. She had to “cover” carbs with insulin and with exercise. Her online chat group called exercise a poor man’s insulin. Her insulin supplies were running out. She would have to exercise more to lower the amount of insulin she needed to take.

  She could do that. But not too much. Too much exercise backfired because it caused a form of stress. All stress raised blood sugars. She knew exercise and stress were tricky. Practicing golf was good exercise. It lowered her blood sugar. However, playing in a tournament was stressful and raised her blood sugar. So, she needed to force herself to be calm in tournaments.