The Advocate's Daughter (23 page)

Sean spoke first. “Abani Gupta asked that I come by so we can discuss how you want to proceed with the prep sessions.” It came out forced. “I thought the most productive route would be for me to give you some suggested reading and excerpts from past confirmation hearings where the committee raised constitutional law questions. We could then schedule a prep session before the formal murder boards.”

Senator James narrowed his eyes, still studying Sean. “Or,” the senator said, “we can cut the bullshit and talk about your visit to Sussex prison. And perhaps you can explain why you'd have your daughter investigating my background. Did you really think you could steal
my
nomination by digging up dirt on
me?
”

Sean didn't flinch. He'd spent his career training himself to remain calm under tough questioning—oral arguments with nine Supreme Court justices. He sat back in his chair and took in a controlled breath. “I think the real question is how
you
knew anything about what my daughter was doing and where
you
and your friend here were the night she was killed.”

Senator James scoffed. “You can't be serious.” He glanced up at the man with the mole, who was still standing behind Sean's chair. “I'm sorry about your daughter, I am, Serrat. But you're delusional if you think I was involved. For one, we were at a fund-raiser in St. Louis the night she was murdered. Check it out if you want. And two, why would I kill her?”

“Because she knew something about you that could tank your nomination and probably end your career in the Senate, if not worse. That's why you followed her.” Sean twisted around and looked at Mole Face. “That's why you threatened her.”

“All she
knew,
Serrat,” the senator said, “was that a convicted murderer was a friend of mine in college. That's not worth killing for.”

“But it was worth having someone follow her, worth scaring her?” His tone had a sharp, desperate edge.

“You need to take a deep breath, Serrat.” The senator was calm, cool almost.

“Fuck you,” Sean spat out.

The senator gave an exasperated shake of the head.

“And I don't know where the hell you found Kenny,” Sean said, “but whatever it is you think you have on me, I don't give a shit. Tell the world for all I care.”

“I have no idea what you're talking about.”

“Liar.” Sean stood to leave.

The senator nodded at Mole Face, and Sean felt the crushing grip on his shoulders, forcing him back into the chair. Sean started to struggle, but the senator shook his head and the man with the mole released his hold.

Through gritted teeth, James said, “I need you to listen to me here. I had nothing to do with your daughter's death. I had no reason to hurt her. John Chadwick is guilty, and, anyway, your daughter agreed that it didn't make sense to keep talking to him.”

“Because she thought she needed to protect me?”

Senator James's eyes narrowed. “No, not to protect
you.
”

Sean just looked at the man. The way he said the word
you
suggested Abby was trying to protect someone else.

“I don't know who Kenny is or what the hell kind of crazy nonsense is going through your head, but your daughter had no intention of wasting her time with John Chadwick's rumors. And, really, of all your children, is it your daughter you should be worried about right now, Serrat?” Senator James nodded again to the man with the mole. The man tossed a manila folder over Sean's shoulder and onto the coffee table.

The senator cocked his chin, gesturing for Sean to open the file. Sean waited a few seconds, but his curiosity won out. He leaned forward and slowly opened the folder, which held several photographs. The first was a shot of Ryan under a cone of light from a street lamp. He was on his bicycle at Bethesda–Chevy Chase High School. Sean flipped to the next photo and just stared at it in silence. He knew what crippling despair felt like, but this was something different: crippling defeat.

Senator James leaned forward and tapped his finger on the photograph of a steel bar that appeared to have blood and hair on its end. “Let it go, Serrat. Let it go.”

 

CHAPTER 60

Sean tried to let it go. Senator James was probably guilty of a lot of things, but Sean confirmed that he was out of town at the time of Abby's death. Newspapers reported on his visit to St. Louis, complete with photos of James at several events, his henchman with the mole by his side. Had James hired Kenny? Sean had his doubts. If James knew about Japan, Sean didn't think James would keep that nugget to himself. Kenny couldn't have killed Abby. There was no evidence he'd been anywhere near the Supreme Court the night of Abby's murder. And Kenny didn't fit in with the high court crowd, so he would have been noticed.

But if it wasn't the senator, his henchman, or Kenny who killed Abby, then who? All roads led back to Malik Montgomery. Beyond the Occam's Razor logic of it all, the Supreme Court Police, FBI, and the top prosecutors in the country believed they had their man. Sure, questions existed. Who hired Kenny to mess with Sean? And who killed him? Kenny, a violent drug-addled criminal, could have been delusional, or just trying to play him, and his murder may have nothing to do with Abby. Sean doubted that Kenny was the first person ever shot dead in the parking lot of the Marbury Motel. So, after the confrontation with Senator James, Sean resolved to stop playing detective. To let it go.

Emily disagreed. She was sure the senator was involved in Abby's death somehow. But the pieces didn't fit and Sean felt they had to try to move forward and let the professionals do their jobs.

Emily still wasn't ready to talk more about Japan, but she at least wasn't spending her days in bed. And they'd just made it over the latest hurdle: Mother's Day. Ryan was a bit trickier. They'd told their son that Sean had delivered the fatal blow to Billy Brice, but Sean didn't think he believed it.

So here Sean was back at work. He'd just finished up an excruciatingly boring meeting with the general counsels of four chemical companies about petitioning the Supreme Court to review a massive jury verdict against them. He'd told them it was a lost cause, and it wasn't the answer they'd wanted to hear. After the meeting, he was pleasantly surprised to have a message from Emily. She wanted to meet for lunch at a place in Dupont Circle. An unusual choice, and a bit of a pain since he'd have to cab or Metro it, but of course he'd come.

On his way out of the building, a woman approached him in the lobby.

“Mr. Serrat?” She held out a slender hand.

“Yes,” Sean said. “Can I help you?” Sean's mind searched for how he might know the woman, but he drew a blank.

“I'm Eleanor Chadwick—John's mother.” She pushed a strand of gray hair behind her ear.

Sean's face flushed. He'd avoided several calls and ignored e-mails from this woman.

“Yes, hello. I'm running late for a lunch meeting, but would be happy to talk if you could make an appointment with my—”

“Please, Mr. Serrat.” She clutched his forearm. Sean looked around. Lunchgoers, in groups of two or three, ambled about the lobby. He hesitated, but then gestured for Ms. Chadwick to join him in a small anteroom off the lobby.

Ms. Chadwick had the weary look of someone who had not slept in weeks. No makeup, dark crescents under the eyes. Her clothes and handbag, elegant and refined from a distance, were frayed.

“We need you, Mr. Serrat.”

“I'm sorry, but I reviewed the case and I don't think there's a good faith post-conviction motion here. All I told your son was that I'd take a look.”

“Your daughter thought his case had merit, that we could get the DNA tested.”

Sean sighed. “My daughter was a law student. She just didn't have the experience yet to make that call.” His stomach turned at debasing Abby's abilities.

Ms. Chadwick fixed her gaze on Sean. “You've lost a child,” she said. Her voice quivered now. “You know how it feels. Imagine you could get her back, imagine it. You can do this for me. I've lost everything else. My marriage. My home. You could at least get my Johnny back.”

Sean swallowed, but he tried to show no emotion. The photo of the bloodied steel rod that probably had Ryan's prints or DNA on it flew through his head along with the echo of Senator James's voice:
Let it go, Serrat.

Sean steadied himself and said, “I sympathize, I do. But I can't take this on. Has John sought out other counsel? If not, I can make some referrals.”

“Johnny hasn't been able to do anything since you visited him.”

“If they're restricting his phone access, I'm sure you can—”

“It's not his phone access,” she said bitterly. “Johnny was attacked the day after your visit. He's in the prison infirmary.”

 

CHAPTER 61

Sean looked about the restaurant and saw Emily at a cramped two-seater along the wall. Her gaze was empty. Sean walked over and slipped into the chair across from her. After sweeping the area for eavesdroppers or reporters, he filled in Emily on the visit from John Chadwick's mother.

Emily leaned in and whispered, “So we're just going to do nothing? You know he's in the hospital because of Mason James. You have to know that, Sean.”

“What am I supposed to do, Em? As long as James has the—” He stopped and twisted around to confirm again that no one was close enough to hear. “As long as he has the evidence on Ryan, we can't risk it.”

“What if we got the steel bar and photos back?” Emily said. Her long lashes didn't flutter as she held his gaze.

“How would you propose we do that? Break in to his Senate office?”

Emily gave the slight arch of a brow.

He gave her a
what the fuck
expression: hands held up, eyes wide.

“I'm going to tell you something, but you have to promise not to get mad,” Emily said.

He held her gaze, not responding.

“Promise?” she repeated, her green eyes steady.

Sean pursed his lips and gave a clipped nod.

“I think I know where James keeps the file on Ryan. And I think we can get it.”

At this, Sean opened his mouth to speak, but closed it. He took a gulp of water, his eyes not drifting from Emily's.

“I've been following him.”

Sean nearly choked on the water. “Following who? Tell me you're not referring to Mason James?”

“No, he's too risky. Since his nomination I can't get near him—too many reporters staking him out, and I think he has extra security now. I've been following his henchman. Mole Face.” The man's name was Sebastian Finkle, but they still referred to him by the nickname Abby had given him. The guy just didn't look like a Sebastian Finkle. It was a strange name that reminded Sean of a line from a C. S. Lewis novel:
There was a boy called Eustace Clarence Scrubb, and he almost deserved it.

It had started out innocuously enough, Emily explained. She'd gone to Abby's apartment on the Hill to sort through their daughter's things and afterward strolled to the Capitol. She wandered about the building to see if she could get near the hideaway office where Senator James had shown Sean the file on their son. She couldn't. She'd then found herself outside the Hart building. She didn't have a plan, but was there when the senator and Mole Face walked out of the building. When the two parted ways, she'd trailed Mole Face to the subway station.

“He took the train to Dupont Circle, and I followed him to a condo building. It was the middle of the afternoon so I just hung out in the circle for a little while and, sure enough, he came out. He was wearing a ball cap and sunglasses, like he was trying to hide his face. And he was carrying a large envelope. I followed him as he took the subway to Cleveland Park and he pushed the envelope through the mail slot of a house near the Metro station there.”

“So he delivered some mail, I don't see the—”

“You don't understand,” Emily said. “I came back to Hart the next day. He followed the same routine. Mole Face left Hart, got to his condo building at around three o'clock, changed from a suit into the ball cap and glasses, and left with an envelope. This time, though, he got on a motorcycle so I couldn't follow.”

Sean raised a finger and started to speak until Emily cut him off with a shake of the head.

“Yesterday—three o'clock on the nose—but this time I followed in the SUV. He rode to a home in Arlington. Same drill. Envelope in the mailbox. Three days, three deliveries. Each time he wore glasses and a hat that made it difficult to see his face. And the two times I saw, he wiped down the envelopes before giving them up.”

“Did you write down the addresses?” Sean asked.

“Yes,” Emily said, a hint of hope in her voice. “I Googled the addresses, but couldn't find anything.”

“There could be some valid explanation,” Sean said.

“Like what?”

“I don't know,” Sean said. “A payoff or something for the senator.”

“Politicians usually are on the receiving end of envelopes full of money, not delivering them,” Emily said.

“Unless they're not getting a bribe, but giving one—or more likely blackmailing someone,” Sean said. He thought of that moment in James's hideaway office when James and Mole Face slapped the folder on the table threatening Sean with evidence against Ryan.

“There's one way to find out,” Emily said.

Sean gazed at his wife.

She said, “It's quarter to three and Mole Face's condo is just down the street from here.”

That explained why his wife had wanted to meet in Dupont Circle. Whatever Emily had in mind, he owed her this.

 

CHAPTER 62

The wind pushed a mist of water out from the fountain at Dupont Circle. Several homeless men and women, some holding signs, others with garbage bags stuffed with their belongings, monopolized the benches that ran along the perimeter. Closer to the fountain were children dipping their hands in the water or watching the jugglers, bucket drummers, and other street performers. Tourists from nearby hotels wandered around, taking it all in. The place was as close to bohemian New York as D.C. could manage. Sean and Emily lingered near the chess tables where street prodigies were known to checkmate Ivy League grads.