The Advocate's Daughter (14 page)

“I'm not trying to make things difficult for you, Patti.”

“Of course not. And I understand that this isn't easy for you. I just hope you understand that there are agents investigating the facts, that we know how to win cases.”

“I understand all of that. And I'm not trying to be a meddler. But
you
need to understand that this is my daughter. And I'm not interested in winning. I'm only interested in the truth.”

Sean disconnected the line. He didn't appreciate being handled, treated like he was a nuisance. At the same time, he probably shouldn't have been so curt with Fallon. She was a pro and just making her case.

“The prosecutor didn't seem too interested in the e-mail, huh, Dad?” Ryan said. He was listening after all.

“I think she's just tired. There's a big hearing coming up. And she probably has to tell Malik's defense lawyer about the draft e-mail, and I suspect she doesn't want to.”

“Why's she have to tell the defense lawyer?”

“There's a rule about it. It's not like on TV where the prosecution can sandbag the defense. The government has to give the other side anything exculpatory—anything that might help the defendant.”

Ryan gazed out the SUV's window. “Is that why you didn't tell her about what happened with the man from Chipotle? Because she'd have to tell the defense?”

“No. I'm still just trying to figure out what to do. I shouldn't have brought the gun…”

“What's Mom think?”

“I'm working on that, too—how to tell her.”

Ryan furrowed his brow, but didn't inquire further. “You know what I don't get?”

“What's that?”

“I don't get why Abby's files had no notes. You ever see her school notebooks? She'd jam them full with notes. She tried to teach me note-taking, and I couldn't keep up—she would write down everything. And she typed like crazy on her computer. But those files you have, they don't have any notes. That can't be all her work.”

His son was right. Since elementary school Abby had been a fervent note-taker. She'd once told Sean that to learn something she needed to write it down, in longhand. The notebook they'd found in the library that night, her notes from Tax class, were jammed full with single-spaced notes. Sean thought of his friend Jonathan Tweed's reluctance to give him Abby's files.

“Did you check her laptop?” Ryan asked.

“It's missing,” Sean said. “Whoever broke into her apartment probably has it.” Sean spared his son an alternative theory: Abby had the computer with her that night in the library and the killer took it.

“Even if she used the computer, she'd still have some handwritten notes,” Ryan said.

Sean pulled behind the procession of yellow school buses slowly making their way up the hill to the front of the middle school.

“Hey, Ryan.”

“Yeah?”

Sean gave his son a crooked smile. “Wanna miss school and help me with something today?”

 

CHAPTER 35

Sean gazed up at the massive portico of the Supreme Court as the morning sun reflected off the white marble steps. Even under his Ray-Bans, which he wore to conceal his bruised eye, it was blinding. He was one of the few lawyers at OSG who liked to enter the building through the 1,300-pound bronze doors—until the court closed the front entrance for security reasons. It made him feel patriotic, American, to trudge up the forty-four steps, through the iconic doors, and into the marble palace where the country solved its problems, not through rioting in the streets, but through the opinions of nine justices declaring the law of the land. Now, the building was just a crime scene. A place of horribles.

Sean followed Ryan's gaze to a homeless man who sat on the sidewalk jingling coins in a cup. Ryan. Predictable, wonderful Ryan. On cue, Ryan dug into the pocket of his jeans for whatever balled-up bills or stray coins he had. His son walked past the small crowd of protesters who seemed to have taken up permanent residence on the sidewalk in front of the building and dropped the money into the homeless man's cup. Ryan said something to the man, prompting a toothless grin.

When he returned, Ryan let out a loud sneeze. It was May in the District, which meant an oppressive pollen count. Sean had called Jonathan Tweed's office. Tweed's secretary, always friendly with Sean, told him that Tweed had just left to take a group of students on a field trip to the Supreme Court. The school was just down the street from the court, so Sean gambled that he might catch them on their way.

Sure enough, Sean saw a parade of law students led by Tweed marching down First Street. As Tweed reached the sidewalk in front of the court, he noticed Sean and waved. He said something to his students and pointed for them to assemble on the court's plaza.

“Another surprise visit,” Tweed said. “Nice to see you. I'd heard through the grapevine that your face looked like you'd been in a bar fight, but you don't look so bad. Though reportedly the president was disappointed you wouldn't be suitable for a television appearance.”

“Not that it matters,” Sean said. “He pretty much told me that I'm not ready for prime time.”

“I don't know, I heard you made an impression. And not just for your messed-up face. You might want to keep your phone nearby. I get the sense they're deciding on the nominee soon.”

Sean drew his mobile from his pocket and displayed it to Tweed. “I turn this on only when I need to make a call. I deleted all of my messages last night and already the voice mail is full—all reporters.”

“I'd keep it turned on,” Tweed said. He then shifted his gaze to Ryan. “Shouldn't you be in school, mister?”

Ryan smiled.

Tweed looked back at his students, who were all whispers and stares. “Justice Carr is doing me a favor and agreed to meet with them. He's walking over to the Supreme Court Historical Society with us and then to lunch.”

“He sure seems generous with his time, particularly at the end of the term.” The Supreme Court issued all of its decisions from the term no later than the end of June, so May was usually a busy period at the high court.

“The man shouldn't play poker. I come out of our regular game with more free court visits for my students than I know what to do with. I'm surprised he has time to write his opinions. I suppose that's what law clerks are for. You two want to tag along?”

“I'm not sure I'm up for that today,” Sean said.

“Aw, come on, it will be educational.” Tweed turned to Ryan. “It might even justify you playing hooky.”

Ryan grinned, but his attention was now fixed on a motorcade of Segway-riding tourists moving down the street.

“So, I assume you didn't track me down just to say hello?” Tweed said.

“I just had a couple questions. About Abby.”

Tweed nodded.

“Did she mention any problems she was having? Come to you for help?” Sean thought of Chipotle Man's remark about the man who'd bought Abby's necklace.
He was some rich dude in a suit, like you.

Tweed crumpled his brow. “Problems? No. Is there something I should know about?”

“She apparently was getting hassled by a drug dealer. It's a long story, but I wondered if she came to you for help?”

“If she'd come to me, you'd know about it. I wouldn't keep that from you. And I'm sure Abby knew that coming to me with something serious, for better or worse, was as good as telling you herself.”

Sean scrutinized his friend's face, deciding to believe him. And Tweed was right, Abby would assume that anything she said to Tweed would get back to Sean.

Tweed pointed to his students, who were now huddled around Justice Carr, who'd come outside to meet the group. The broad-shouldered Carr, in slacks and button-down shirt, held court near one of the fountains, the students staring admiringly at him. Sean thought of what it must have been like two decades before, post-game at Notre Dame Stadium, Carr surrounded by coeds, signing autographs for fans.

“I've got to get up there before they embarrass me,” Tweed said. “So, want to come along?”

Sean caught Ryan's eye. Sean nudged his head away from the building, silently asking if Ryan wanted to ditch the meeting with Justice Carr. He knew the answer. For an eighth-grader, nothing could ruin a surprise day off from school more than a history lesson. Even one from a Supreme Court justice. Ryan's eyes widened and he gave the slightest nod. Abby had always been fascinated by the court and awestruck by the justices. But not Ryan. When Sean had arranged for Ryan's sixth-grade class to attend an argument and meet with a justice afterward, Ryan fell asleep at the long table in the Nan Rehnquist dining room as the justice was speaking to the kids.

“I think we're gonna skip out, but I appreciate the offer.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, you remember the last time Ryan met a justice,” Sean said.

Ryan blushed.

“Of course, the famous cat nap.” Tweed slapped Ryan on the back. “Don't worry, I've done much worse. Ask your father. On second thought, ask him when you're eighteen.” Tweed flashed another smile.

“Yeah, I'll hold off until you're old enough to get into R-rated movies,” Sean said. He was only half kidding. Tweed had left OSG under an ugly cloud after getting caught on a conference room table with one of the Bristow Fellows, the interns at the office.

Tweed continued, “Well, call me if you need anything and I'll—”

“Just one more thing,” Sean said.

“Yeah?”

“The files you gave me. Abby's vetting files. They didn't have any of her notes. Do you have them?”

Tweed's eyes swept the area. “The students followed strict guidelines,” he said quietly. “All research was done only at the school, all notes in paper, not electronic form, and they turned everything in to me. Nothing left our research area next to my office. And I locked up all research and notes. Only I have access to the files, and I gave you what I had.”

“So her notes wouldn't have been on her laptop?”

“They shouldn't have been. I didn't want anyone leaving something on an unsecure computer or accidentally printing something or e-mailing the wrong file. I'm old-school about vetting. Only paper files, code names for the nominees, everything locked in my safe. The only file is the one I gave you.”

Sean said, “It's impossible Abby didn't take any notes, Jon.”

“Unless my secretary screwed up when she made you a copy, or some superspy broke into my safe, that's all there is.”

Sean arched a brow.

Tweed blew out a sigh. “I'll check when I get back to the office.”

They said their good-byes, and Sean and Ryan were making their way toward the street when a voice called out to them.

Sean turned and saw Justice Carr heading their way. He had a confident gait for a man with a noticeable limp, and Sean was reminded of seeing Carr during the Senate confirmation process. The media had loved Carr. Beyond his good looks, he was one of those rare brain-and-brawn guys. There was endless footage of him making the courtesy rounds with the senators; scenes of the young, vibrant Carr walking the halls of the Hart Senate Building, his limp ever the reminder of his glory days with the Fighting Irish. The YouTube clip of the tackle that ended his football career had more than a million hits. The only criticism he'd faced during the entire confirmation process was a senator's quip that Carr's limp seemed to grow more prominent as the date of the confirmation hearing drew closer.

Sean knew what was next: more awkward condolences. They always seemed to bring Ryan down rather than help. “Why don't you wait here, buddy. I'll be just a minute.”

Sean approached the justice on the plaza and they shook hands.

“I just wanted to say how sorry I am about your daughter.”

“That's very kind, and I appreciate it.”

“She was an amazing young woman.”

Sean lapsed into silence. Next to the well-meaning but misguided comments (“she's in a better place,” “at least you have other children,” “time heals all wounds,” and other such nonsense), what bothered him the most was the deification of Abby, particularly from people who didn't have the foggiest idea who she really was. On the very day they'd discovered Abby's body, Sean had met Justice Carr for the first time at the Georgetown event. Sean had mentioned that Abby had met Carr, but the justice had no recollection of her. Yet now, Carr thought she was “amazing.” Why do people feel the need to say these things?

“I trust you'll let me know if there's anything I can do?” Carr continued.

Sean just nodded and walked away.

 

CHAPTER 36

Abby's apartment was only a few blocks from the bustle of the Capitol, Senate buildings, and Supreme Court, but on a weekday morning it was as tranquil as the burbs. The denizens of the Hill rose early and left behind only the sound of the old trees rattling in the morning breeze. Sean and Ryan plodded down the stairwell to Abby's basement apartment.

The crime scene tape was gone from the door. Sean pushed it open and a pile of mail fanned across the hardwood. Neither he nor Emily had notified Abby's credit card companies, utilities, Internet, or phone providers of her death. Her lease was paid up until summer, so there was no rush to empty the apartment. Agents had already searched the place, yet here he was. The desperation was not lost on him.

“Okay, I'll check out her room and you search in here,” he said to Ryan. “If you find any of her notebooks, please come get me before you touch anything.”

Ryan nodded and Sean walked the narrow hall to Abby's room. Inside, there were stuffed animals from when she was a girl and photos of her family taped on a mirror above the dresser. There was one shot of Ryan playing his guitar and another of Jack making one of his famous funny faces. One of Emily bundled up in a hat and scarf, cheeks rosy, on the grounds of the Homestead resort, and another of Sean on Nauset Beach. A chill traveled through him at the sight of their last sunrise escape.