Blowout (17 page)

But she wasn’t ready, and said instead, “Danny’s mom, dad, and three brothers live in New Jersey.”

“Yes, they’ve been notified.”

“You didn’t tell them why you think he was murdered, did you?”

“No,” Savich said. “They’d spoken to him yesterday when the news of Justice Califano’s murder hit the airwaves. They wanted to make sure Danny was all right. He reassured them and told them not to worry. Now, it’s time, Eliza. We need you. Danny needs you. You’ve been thinking about Friday for the last three hours. Talk to us.”

“I have, yes,” she said, still distracted. But Eliza Vickers was smart. She turned her eyes to Savich. Sherlock knew what she was seeing—dark fathomless eyes, eyes that held no threat at all, but an invitation to trust, and the unspoken promise of understanding. Sherlock recognized the concentration on Eliza’s face. She sat forward a bit, all her own attention on Justice Califano’s lover and senior law clerk, a woman she wished she could have met under different circumstances, a woman who could have been a friend.

Eliza spoke slowly, her voice cool and steady now. “Friday morning, all the Justices meet alone in the Chief Justice’s conference room, at exactly ten-thirty. Like clockwork. But Stewart seemed to have forgotten about it. I reminded him. He went flying out of his chambers at exactly ten-thirty a.m.”

“When did he arrive that morning?”

“At a quarter of eight. Always the same time. Stewart was very punctual. On Friday, we arrived at the same time, as usual, and had coffee together. He ate his morning sesame bagel while we reviewed several cases before the Eighth Circuit. Every Justice is responsible for supervising one or more of the thirteen Federal Appellate Courts. Stewart supervised the Eighth. We went over the majority opinion Fleurette had drafted for
Winters v. Kentucky,
reviewed several bench memos Danny had prepared and a postoral argument memo I’d written. Stewart moved through all of this very quickly. Then he said he had some things he needed to do and wanted to be alone for a while.”

“This was unusual?”

“No, not at all. That’s why I didn’t mention it to you this morning. I left him about a quarter to nine.”

“What sort of things, in your experience, would occupy him in the mornings? Matters of the Court, personal things, outside business?”

Eliza’s eyes remained locked on Savich’s. “All of those things. The Court was revisiting the death penalty in the upcoming case on Tuesday. I knew he was chewing on that one, trying to determine if they should overturn the opinion they rendered in 1989.

“Now that I think of it, since we’d been talking about this case for several days, I don’t think he needed more private thinking time about it. No, this had to be something else. Maybe it was about the party Margaret gives every year. She invites all the A-list people, and Stewart has to approve the list. The A-list gets turned on its head whenever there’s a change of party after an election. As both of you know, it’s a crazy town. Only the Justices get to be carried out in coffins, or choose to retire, depending on their personal political leanings, and who is in office at the time.

“Most of the Justices don’t socialize much with politicians, or with the big society hostesses in Washington. They tend to be private. Those who are like-minded or enjoy each other’s company spend some time together socially, but not all that often. They have such different interests, like Justice Xavier-Foxx’s family horse farm. Justice Gutierrez has this incredible instinct for finance. Rich and very private, is Justice Gutierrez. Happily married, lots of kids and grandkids. Good man. Good brain. He loves sailing and crabbing, knows every square inch of the Chesapeake.”

Savich drew her back. “So Justice Califano is in his office thinking about something. From a quarter of nine until ten-thirty a.m.—that’s a long time for him to be alone, isn’t it?”

“Yes, now that I think about it. Usually I’d be in and out, as would Danny and Fleurette, or the secretaries, but no, the door to his inner office was shut tight.”

“Why, Eliza? You knew him well, what could it be?”

She paused, stared down at the thick gray socks on her feet, and said finally, “I would never mention such a private thing to anyone, but I suspect you already know. I think it could have involved Justice Sumner Wallace. Stewart wasn’t happy about having Justice Wallace in his home, even though he knew Margaret had to invite both him and his wife to this party, but you see, Justice Wallace hit on Margaret, and she finally told Stewart about it last week. It pissed Stewart off, which, when you think about it, is pretty ironic since he was sleeping with me.” Eliza shrugged, looked away from Savich a moment—was it out of guilt, embarrassment, resentment? “The fact is that Stewart loved his wife, loved his stepdaughter, Callie Markham. I was in third place, and I knew it, but it didn’t matter.”

“You sound very philosophical about this, Eliza. You loved him, he loved you, but there was no future for you.”

She shrugged, her eyes still on Savich’s face. “I think he loved my brain as much as my youth, if you would know the truth. Did I love him? A man old enough to be my father? Well, there was an allure in sleeping with a Justice of the Supreme Court, at least I know myself well enough to have realized that from the beginning. He was a powerful man, it nearly came out of his pores. And confidence, he was loaded with it. But yes, I did love him. I tried to help him, to protect him, to smooth things out for him. Did he love me enough to leave Margaret? There was no way that would happen. No, it would have ended when I left. In my saner moments, I realized it, accepted it. I love the high-pressure life in the Court, and I loved learning from him. He helped me see the law as a tool of the nation. I hope to God that I gave him my best in return.”

“Back up to Friday morning, Eliza. You haven’t gotten him off to the meeting yet. Okay, his door was closed, and that was pretty rare, having the door closed that long, right?”

“Well, at some point he stuck his head out, asked Fleurette something. I know, it was an ‘I Join’ memo from Justice Spiros. It was a bussing issue in Alabama, and Justice Spiros wanted Stewart on board. Then he just nodded to us and went back into his inner office. He didn’t close the door all the way this time. He must have left it cracked open, like he did most of the time, because I heard him speaking on the phone. It was after ten, must have been. I don’t know who he was talking to. He didn’t ask either of the secretaries to call anyone for him.

“The doors are pretty solid, so even if the door is open a bit, it’s still private enough inside the office. Of course there are people all over the place outside. There are the tours, not that they come all that close, but you can usually hear people talking. And the Supreme Court Police are everywhere. Always noise, but in his inner office, with the door completely closed, you’d feel like you were in another world. Several dark leather sofas and chairs arranged in small groupings. Of course, there’s a big conference table for himself and the three law clerks. Also, Margaret had given him a lovely Georgian silver set and he really got a kick out of serving coffee to any visitors. But you’ve seen his office, I’m sorry. You know exactly what it looks like.”

Savich said, “True, but I didn’t live there, not like you did. Now, Eliza, keep going. His door is nearly completely closed. What are you doing? What is Danny doing?”

“Agent Savich, part of my brain was always on Stewart, if he could possibly need me. I remember I was speaking to one of Justice Alto-Thorpe’s law clerks—Bobby Fisher—yeah, like that chess player. Bobby was Justice Alto-Thorpe’s clone, at least that’s the image he projected. I suppose he was serious and not just kissing up, and that’s why she loved him. It was really rather pathetic, and the other law clerks weren’t shy about showing their contempt for him. Anyway, Bobby was in our office, chewing the fat. Actually, he does that a lot, visits a good five minutes with the secretaries before coming to me, and all I could think about was how to get rid of the little jerk. He was usually after a date when he came visiting, but I always blew him off. I remember Danny was there, drafting a concurrence—that’s an opinion that agrees with the result reached by the majority but for different reasons. He was hunched over his desk, concentrating. Then Bobby looked down at his watch, yelped, and bolted out of the chambers. He didn’t bother to tell me why, the dork, probably because I turned him down again. But I looked up at our big clock right behind Fleurette’s desk and saw it was one minute until ten-thirty—time for the Friday meeting in the Chief Justice’s chambers. So I gave a fast knock on Stewart’s door and opened it.

“He had the phone in his hand. He hung it up pretty fast when he looked at me and saw my urgency. ‘What?’ he asked, and I said in my usual shorthand to him, ‘Friday meeting, conference room,’ and he shook his head like who cared? He sat there, tapping his pen on the leather top of his beautiful desk, and he was frowning, looking off somewhere. Then he shook his head again, as if he still couldn’t decide on something, and got up. He didn’t say another word, just gave this big sigh, and walked off to that meeting.

“I didn’t see him until I was eating a sandwich at my desk at a little after noon. Danny and Fleurette went out to a café down the street, anything to get out of the pressure cooker for a while, they said, and Stewart walked in, nodded, and went right back into his office. He shut the door this time, all the way.”

Savich said, “Why didn’t you tell us this morning, Eliza?”

“I didn’t think it was odd or out of character, just business as usual. When he was really thinking about something, he’d stay in his office by himself. When he wanted to discuss a topic, or he was ready for a good argument about it, he’d call me in.

“Sometimes we liked to leave the building to talk. Walk up into the residential neighborhood behind us. Check out the construction, just to be outside. It helped him to focus his mind.”

“But on Friday, it’s still lunchtime. What did he eat?”

“I brought him a pita sandwich, roast lamb, his favorite.”

“He ate alone? In his office?”

She nodded.

“He didn’t ask you to join him?”

She shook her head.

“Was this unusual?”

“No, not really.”

“Where’s Danny?”

“Danny got back about a quarter of one and Fleurette a little after one. Danny fritzed around a bit, not really doing anything useful that I could see, then he said he had to ask Justice Califano something. I was busy so I didn’t ask him what it was, specifically, just tossed off something like, ‘It better be important. He’s got his brain wrapped around something.’ ”

“And what did Danny say to that?”

“He said, ‘Oh, he’ll make time for this, Eliza, he’ll give me a few minutes.’ Oh God, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, it seemed like business as usual, but now it looks so different. What did he mean by that? Danny already knew something, didn’t he?”

Sherlock said, “Probably. You’re doing great. Okay, Danny knocks on the door?”

“Yes.”

“Did Justice Califano say anything you could hear?”

“Something like, ‘Yes, Danny? Come on in, but not for long, I’m really busy.’ Something like that.”

“How long was Danny with Justice Califano?”

“I’m not sure, not long, maybe ten minutes. But I’m not sure. I got a call from a lawyer about procedure, then another call from the Solicitor General’s office, more procedural questions. People were in and out, a good half-dozen.

“When Danny came out, he was quiet,” Eliza continued. “He sat down at his desk, and he was quiet. I told you he wasn’t stand-offish, maybe a little reserved with people he didn’t know well, but with Fleurette and me, he’d usually yak up a storm. But Danny sat there, not saying a word. I remember that I started to ask him about a cert. Justice Califano was concerned about. Oh, that’s a formal request that the Supremes hear a case. I can see Danny sitting there, and now I can see something was on his mind. Then I got busy again, and ended up not saying anything. The rest of the day passed like all Fridays do. Everyone talked about their weekend plans. I think there was some sort of children’s book festival going on over at Dupont Circle.”

“Danny interested in books?”

“Yes. He said he was going to go see the storytellers with his girlfriend.”

“Did he mention that he and his girlfriend were going to the movies Friday night?”

“I don’t remember. I just don’t.”

Sherlock said, “When was the party Mrs. Califano was planning?”

“Not until next weekend. Poor Margaret.”

“She’ll be all right. She’s got lots of friends with her, and her daughter.”

“Yes, the famous five friends. I always thought that was wonderful—five women staying together all those years, sharing their lives, always there for each other.”

Sherlock said, “Was Justice Califano carrying anything around with him on Friday—papers, anything like that?”

“He did have a habit of keeping some papers with him inside his breast pocket, usually whatever he was working on. Agent Sherlock, I can see him now, patting his chest to be sure he’d remembered, to be sure whatever he wanted was safe and sound with him. But I can’t be sure if that meant he had any papers with him on Friday. Poor Danny, do you think he knew? Oh, Annie Harper. I’ve got to call her.”

She was starting to lose focus, but that was all right. Savich rose. “You probably can’t reach Ann Harper for a while, Eliza. After you’ve rested, I want you to go for a walk. I want you to review the day again, every moment of it, starting at the time you walked into your office. If you think of anything, doesn’t matter if you think it has any importance at all, call me immediately.”

Savich gave her his card with his cell number on it. “Keep Danny O’Malley at the front of your mind. Follow his footsteps. Sherlock and I are going to speak with Fleurette.”

“So you’ll tell her about Danny. Fleurette called me this morning, devastated, in shock really, about Justice Califano. At least her dad is flying in. He’ll probably take her home, after Justice Califano’s funeral. Now Danny’s dead too. He’ll be here for both funerals. Oh God. This is all so horrible.”