The Advocate's Daughter (18 page)

Sean nodded. Em was starting to resemble his wife again.

“You got Ryan out the door?” asked Sean.

“Bright-eyed as always,” she said.

“And he seemed okay?”

Emily nodded. “We need to trust him.”

“I do,” Sean said, “I really do.”

“Have a great day, Daddy,” Jack said as they left the house.

By the time Sean had showered, shaved, and dressed, Emily was waiting for him in the kitchen. She led him to the dining room. The table was no longer covered with family photos. Instead, there were four small stacks of Internet printouts.

“I couldn't sleep so I did some research on Senator James. I think I found something.”

Sean gave her a puzzled look.

Em gestured to the stacks of research. “James grew up in Leavenworth, Kansas. His dad was a guard at the federal prison there.” Emily handed him a sheaf of papers. On top was a story from the
Kansas City Star.
The headline read
LHS STUDENT MISSING
.

“While he was there a girl from the school went missing. Her name was Melissa Foster. They never found her.”

“Lots of girls go missing every year,” Sean said.

“But he knew her, Sean.” Emily shuffled through the stack and fished out another printout, this one a page from a high school yearbook. It was a dedication page to the missing girl with a montage of photographs of Melissa Foster. In one, she sat on the hood of a car next to a handsome teenager. A young Mason James.

“When he was in high school his family moved to Lee County, Virginia. Apparently his dad took a position at a prison there. That year another girl went missing.”

“Did anyone ever suggest he was involved in the crimes? He's in public office. Someone surely would have—”

“No,” Emily said. “But they probably weren't doing searches of his name with terms like
missing girl
or
murdered.
And think about it, Sean. A missing girl in Kansas, a missing girl in Virginia, then John Chadwick's girlfriend in college. What if when Abby contacted Chadwick at the prison, James or his people found out and were afraid she'd uncover something? James's father worked in corrections, so maybe they had someone keeping an eye on Chadwick's visitors. What if Abby connected the murders to James?”

Sean looked at his wife. She was all caffeine and jitters. She picked up another sheet of paper. “I also found newspaper stories about his career. When he was a prosecutor, James's claim to fame was that he'd never lost a case. There was one trial, though, where everyone thought he was going to lose, but before it went to verdict, the lawyer for the defendant was arrested for drug possession, resulting in a mistrial. Also, James won his first run for attorney general after his opponent was caught having an affair with a staffer. In his Senate run, his opponent withdrew for undisclosed personal reasons. His adversaries always seem to have convenient little mishaps.”

Sean processed it all. Newspaper stories about missing girls and speculation about James sabotaging his adversaries wouldn't pass the laugh test with a prosecutor or the press. But it was no more speculative than the conspiracy theories racing through Sean's mind all week. Had they both succumbed to grief-stricken insanity?

Em must have seen the skepticism in his face, and she retreated to the kitchen. Sean stayed at the table reading through Emily's research.

“You're going to want to see this,” Emily called out to him.

Sean came into the kitchen where Emily was now standing in front of the sink washing the boys' breakfast dishes. Sean eyed the bumper sticker under the magnet on the refrigerator, which seemed to be mocking him:
STAND UP FOR WHAT'S RIGHT, EVEN IF YOU'RE STANDING ALONE
.

Emily pointed a sudsy dish brush at the small television on the counter. The
Today
show anchor, a black woman with high cheek bones, reported, “The president has scheduled a press conference today to announce his nominee for the U.S. Supreme Court to replace Chief Justice Malburg, a thirty-year veteran of the high court who announced her retirement last month. NBC has learned that the nominee will be a member of Congress. Senator Mason James. It will be the first time since Justice Hugo Black was appointed in the nineteen-thirties that a sitting senator would join the country's highest court.”

“I guess I didn't make the cut,” Sean said. “Do you think it was the eye?” Sean gestured to his eye, still swollen from the encounter with Billy Brice. Em turned back to the dishes, unamused.

More from the television: “Before joining the Senate, James gained prominence as a prosecutor and went on to become the attorney general of Virginia, where he was known for his aggressive enforcement of the state's laws, yet still managed to garner support from leaders in both political parties. This will be the president's second chance to fill a vacancy on the court. The Senate recently confirmed Thaddeus Carr as the latest justice to join the high court.” The screen flipped to an image of Justice Carr on the National Mall, throwing a football to one of his law clerks. “Carr, a former federal judge and college football star, was confirmed quickly by the Senate. The administration is hoping for a similarly smooth confirmation this time around, though some are already criticizing the choice of Senator James…”

“What are we going to do?” Emily asked.

“What can we do? It's not like we have proof he's done anything wrong.”

“We have Abby's investigation of him. We have John Chadwick.”

“I don't think having a college roommate convicted of murder disqualifies one from serving on the high court. And even Chadwick doesn't think that James killed Natalie Carlisle. Quite the opposite.”

“You've never been one to believe in coincidences.”

“Life has challenged a lot of my beliefs,” Sean replied, letting it hang there.

Emily turned back to the sink again. The clinks and clanks of the dishes grew louder.

“I worry that we're just trying to make sense of something that's never gonna make sense,” Sean said.

Emily spun around, weariness still etched into her face. “So we just drop it? Pretend that this all doesn't have something to do with Abby?” Emily pursed her lips. “Would she want us to drop it? Would she, Sean? There's something more to all this, I know it. And I think you know it too.”

Sean faced his wife. A long moment of silence passed between them. Then he kissed her. Hard and with longing. And she kissed him back until they were on the floor.

If they were going to chase crazy conspiracies, they'd be doing it together.

 

CHAPTER 45

“So what the fuck was so secret that we couldn't do this over the phone?” Cecilia said as she and Sean walked the gravel path that bordered the National Mall. She wore a silk blouse and flowing slacks and large-framed sunglasses, never mind that the sun was buried behind thick black clouds overhead. “And what's with meeting on the Mall? Only two kinds of people meet on the Mall: agents in bad spy movies and annoying tourists.”

Sean couldn't help but smile. Cecilia was the only person who still treated him the same since Abby's death, and he loved her for it. Sean's eyes roved the promenade. He saw no spies, but they were in fact surrounded by tourists. A Japanese couple taking photos of the Capitol and a heavyset couple studying a map as their three kids ran ahead.

“I've done something really stupid.” He stared off into the distance at the Washington Monument. Organ music from the carousel outside the Smithsonian floated over on the wind.

Cecilia looked at him skeptically. “Oh, I can't wait to hear this. The sordid life of Sean Serrat. Did you get a speeding ticket? No wait, someone found out that you don't recycle and hate people who own Priuses.”

“I killed someone,” Sean said.

Cecilia guffawed. When Sean held her gaze, she removed her sunglasses, her stare boring into him.

“I'm telling you this as my lawyer right now, Cel, so the privilege applies.”

“You're freaking me out, Sean. Quit screwing around.”

Sean told her everything. Well, almost everything. He'd omitted Ryan from the details.

“This drug dealer, Billy Brice, he died from just a single whack on the head?” she asked.

“I didn't think I hit him that hard. It was just a small steel rod, like the ones used in construction. And when I left he was breathing. I thought he'd just got knocked out.”

“I think the prosecutors will believe self-defense. Did they find the gun on him?” Cecilia asked.

“No, I took it with me. That's the problem—it was my gun.”

“You own a gun? And you brought it with you? What were you thinking?”

“I
wasn't
thinking. But I thought he knew something about Abby and his friends had worked me over pretty good earlier that day.” Sean gestured to his eye. “I just brought the gun to protect myself, but things got out of hand.”

“Ya think?” Cecilia scoffed again. “Have you told anyone?”

“Just Emily.”

Cecilia let out an exasperated sigh, and Sean could read her thoughts:
That's all Emily needed.

“Did anyone see you near the school?”

“Two teenagers. They were buying pot from Brice, I think. It was dark, and I don't think they got a good look at me.”

“Anyone else?”

“I can't be sure, but I had a feeling I was being followed.”

“Followed?” She squinted at him, as if this was all just a bit much.

This was tricky. Only Ryan, not Sean, had seen the man following him, the man with a mole on his face. Emily had been firm that they keep Ryan out of this. “There was a guy on a motorcycle I saw a couple times, but I didn't get a good look at him. I would normally chalk it up to paranoia, but when Emily and I went back to search for the rebar someone chased us.”

Cecilia frowned, but stayed quiet, lost in thought, as they veered off the path and onto Twelfth Street. The Old Post Office Pavilion clock tower ahead read eleven a.m. There was a low rumble of thunder in the sky. “I'm not a criminal lawyer, you know that,” she said.

“I know, but I won't go to anyone else.”

“I suppose it won't matter. If no one got a good look at you, hopefully that should be the end of it.”

Sean grimaced. “Actually, the police came by the house and talked to Emily.”

Cecilia snorted. “You might have started the discussion with that little gem. So someone did see you? What did the cops want?”

“The police found Ryan's bike at the school,” Sean said. “His bike was stolen some time back. When the police processed the area around the campus, they found it. They came by to see if Ryan had been there and seen anything.”

“How'd they know it was Ryan's bike?” Cecilia asked, her tone skeptical.

“His name's engraved on the frame.”

“So, you're telling me that Ryan's bike just happened to be at the school. Happened to be there that night?”

Their eyes met.

“And you're going to tell the police you were at Bethesda Sport and Health that night working out at the gym?”

“I'm not sure. That's what Em told them. She also misspoke and said Ryan was with me.”

Cecilia shook her head. She was getting annoyed with the Ryan-wasn't-there game. “When I go to the gym,” she said finally, “they check me in at the front door with a scanner.” Cecilia pulled keys from her handbag and showed him a key fob with a bar code on it. “Does your gym do that?”

Sean nodded.

“So won't there be a record of you not going inside?”

Sean looked at the ground.

“We're not going to say you were at the gym,” Cecilia said.

“No? Where was I?” Raindrops started falling, but Cecilia didn't move.

“You were with me, at my house for a visit. Both you and Ryan were there.”

Sean looked at his old friend and shook his head. “You can't, I can't ask you to—”

“When Helen died,” Cecilia interrupted, “my parents didn't understand why I was catatonic with grief. They were in denial, thought she and I were just roommates. Helen's family didn't invite me to the funeral, and I had no say in her medical decisions.” Cecilia swallowed. “I wouldn't have gotten through it if it wasn't for you and Emily. You were there for me. And you were at my house the night Billy Brice was killed. We ate pasta. End of story.”

 

CHAPTER 46

Sean sat behind his desk at Harrington & Caine reading judicial opinions and briefs a partner in the tax group had sent him.
Routine,
Em had insisted. As if it wasn't hard enough to concentrate on work, he'd been asked to help on an appeal involving an excruciatingly boring corporate tax issue. The office phone rang and he examined the caller ID: “202” and no other number. The same camouflage as when he worked at the Justice Department. He hesitated, then picked up.

“Mr. Serrat?” the voice said. He recognized the Indian accent. Abani Gupta, the lead member of the team vetting Supreme Court justices for the White House.

“Hello, Abani, how are you?” Sean put both elbows on his desk and leaned forward, phone pressed to his right ear.

“I'm well, thank you,” Gupta said, brushing aside the pleasantries. “Look, I know you probably heard the news already that the president decided to nominate Mason James, but he asked me to reach out to you personally.”

“Thanks for the courtesy, but it was unnecessary.”

“Off the record, this was incredibly close. But Senator James had been in the works for months, and the president decided that the country needed to know the nominee sooner rather than later.”

Sean hated that tired D.C. phrase,
sooner rather than later.
“I understand,” he said. “You really don't need to explain.”