The Last Justice (27 page)

"One of her trusted law clerks, perhaps," Pacini said, taking a bite of pepperoni and watching Pratt on the television monitor. The guy had his head down on the table, looking more like a high school kid in detention than a person of interest in a murder investigation. It was time to take another crack at him.

Pratt looked up when Pacini and Assad entered the interrogation room. His eyes were red, and he had obviously been crying.

"I've told you five times now, I want a lawyer," he whined.

"Yeah, and we want some information," Pacini replied.

"You can't deny me a lawyer."

"You sure about that, Doug? You're a smart, young lawyer-you must've heard of the Patriot Act."

Pratt put his head down again and gave a little whimper.

According to plan, it was time for Assad to speak. "Look, Doug," he said. "We don't think you had anything to do with Black Wednesday. Or, at least, you didn't intend to." Assad pulled his chair next to Pratt so they were at eye level. "But we can't help you if you don't tell us your side of things."

"Give me immunity, and I'll tell you what I know."

"That may be something we can discuss," Pacini replied, "but first we need to know that you have something worth making a deal for."

Pratt was about to break when the door burst open, and a portly man with a brown beard and a tailored suit walked in.

"Stop. Stop now. Mr. Pratt, I've been retained to represent you. Do not say another word." The lawyer looked at Pacini and Assad. "You two know better. This won't be the last either of you hear about this."

Pacini didn't argue, and just smiled at the lawyer as he and Assad left the room. An agent approached them.

"How the hell did Blake Hellstrom know we had Pratt here?" Pacini asked her. "And who authorized him to even get in the building?"

"I don't know, sir," the agent replied.

"Well, find out."

As the agent hurried off, Assad said, "Blake Hellstrom-someone I should know?"

"Remember I told you about the investigation into the chief justice's widow and how she hired a big-shot lawyer?" Pacini said. "That's him."

7:50p.m. Northwest, Washington, D.C.

cKenna and Kate spent nearly an hour under McKenna's bed, waiting for the visitors to leave. They could not make out what the visitors were saying, but they could hear distorted commands coming from what they assumed were police radios. After hearing the door slam and no further movement in the house, they slid out from under the bed.

"We need to get out of here," McKenna said. He led Kate out the backdoor and to the alley behind his backyard fence.

"Where are we going?" Kate asked.

"I think it's time we spoke to Liddy Kincaid. She lives not too far from here."

Kate started to speak, but stopped, realizing that protesting would be futile.

Ten minutes later, they both lurked behind a privet hedge alongside Liddy Kincaid's home.

"I think we should leave, Jefferson," Kate whispered.

"And go where?"

Kate looked at McKenna intently. "What do you think talking to Liddy Kincaid is going to accomplish?"

"I'm going to ask her to explain the man she met with at the horse stable," he replied.

Before they could debate the point further, headlights approached, and Mrs. Kincaid's Mercedes pulled into the circular gravel driveway in front of the colonial mansion.

"Maybe you should talk first," he said. "I'll just scare her if she recognizes me."

"Fine," Kate said, and gave him an exasperated look.

They walked up to the car with Kate in the lead. "Mrs. Kincaid?"

Liddy Kincaid looked up, startled, as she got out of her Mercedes. She clutched her Louis Vuitton handbag and looked wide-eyed at the two visitors standing before her.

"Can I help you?" She looked uneasily from Kate to McKenna.

"We need to speak with you about your husband," Kate said.

"I'm afraid I don't understand." She walked decisively to the front door and put her key in the lock. "I'm rather busy. Perhaps you can call my attorney."

"We're not going anywhere until you talk with us," McKenna said.

"I beg your pardon! Leave or I'm calling the police," Liddy said, holding up a cell phone.

"Good. We can talk with them about your husband's affair with Justice Carmichael," McKenna said. "I've even got some pictures I think they'll be interested in."

At first, she said nothing, and just gave McKenna a hard stare. Then, with a defeated sigh, she opened the door and gestured for them to come in, as if a day she had long dreaded had finally arrived. She led them to a lavishly decorated sitting room with a big fireplace; a portrait of her late husband hung over the mantel.

"Please, sit down," she said.

McKenna and Kate sat in two Georgian wing chairs facing Mrs. Kincaid, who perched on a matching settee.

"Do you know who I am, Mrs. Kincaid?" McKenna asked.

She gave him the same cold stare.

"I saw you at the stables last night," McKenna said. "Who was the man you met with? Did he know about your husband and Justice Carmichael?"

"Who are you to ask me anything!" Liddy hissed. "I'm not the one running from the authorities."

Before McKenna could reply, Kate said, "Mrs. Kincaid, I can understand that you're upset. But if you have nothing to hide, surely speaking with us can only help lead to the truth about your husband's murder."

"I have nothing to hide, young lady. And I don't appreciate you insinuating that I had any hand in my husband's death," Liddy said. She unexpectedly started tearing up. "If anything, I loved him too much. That's what makes this so hard. In the end he was with her."

Kate nodded, and in a softer voice she asked, "Please, who was the man last night? It could be very important."

"The biggest mistake of my life, that's who," Liddy said.

"Does he have a name?" McKenna pressed.

Mrs. Kincaid sat back and stared into the fireplace. "In the months before his murder, I suspected my husband was having an affair. Then they came to me out of nowhere and said they knew somethingwouldn't say what until I paid up front."

"Who were `they'?" Kate asked.

"A private investigation firm. I looked them up and they seemed legitimate."

"Their name?" McKenna said impatiently.

"They're called TFI, the Task Force Investigator Group. They had some horrible pictures, and I paid them. I confronted Thomas about it. He swore to me that he would end the affair with that wretched woman. Said the same men had already come to him for money. He said they were playing me for a fool."

Kate looked at Mrs. Kincaid. If she was acting, she was very good. "Did he end the affair?"

"He said he did and that she took it badly. He said he loved me and that the affair meant nothing to him. I believed him." She brushed a tear from her cheek. "After his murder, an Arab man, the man you saw at the stables, approached me and threatened to expose the pictures if I didn't pay. I don't know his name and I assumed he worked for TFI."

"Why didn't you go to the authorities?" Kate asked.

"Young lady, why do you think?" She paused and composed herself. "I paid him fifty thousand dollars to destroy the pictures. After I paid, two months later he came back again and said the pictures were not destroyed. He said if the pictures got out, people would suspect I had something to do with the murders. So I paid. But he kept coming back for more. I told my lawyer, and he suggested we try and secretly videotape the next instance. But he said that had risks, too. I just wanted to let it die, hoping the next payment would be the last. But the Arab called again and wanted more. I had to borrow money from my sister ... It was humiliating."

"Do you know a man named Doug Pratt?" McKenna asked.

"Why?" Mrs. Kincaid said. In an instant, her teary eyes turned cold and dark.

"He was working with the man with the mustache you call `the Arab,"' McKenna replied, watching her closely. "I saw them."

Mrs. Kincaid looked unsettled. "I've got nothing more to say to you, either of you."

"Mrs. Kincaid, please," Kate said.

"Go, or I'm calling the police."

8:30p.m. Home ofJustice Carmichael, McLean, Virginia

n another affluent D.C. suburb, another stately woman in her sixties was being questioned. Justice Gillian Carmichael sat looking at Pacini and Assad, mortified by the pictures she had just seen, when her husband returned home from dinner at their country club.

"Hello," Mr. Carmichael said, clearly surprised at the presence of the unexpected guests. Pacini and Assad stood to shake hands. Justice Carmichael's eyes darted toward the manila envelope filled with the photographs that sat on the coffee table.

"What's-"

"They're here about Thomas," Gillian Carmichael blurted. "They are investigators with the commission."

Mr. Carmichael's friendly demeanor turned icy. "We have to do this now?"

Pacini looked at him sympathetically. "I know this is difficult, Mr. Carmichael, but I'm afraid so."

"Fine," he snapped. "I'll be upstairs. Good evening, gentlemen." Pacini waited until he was safely out of earshot before continuing the conversation.

"My apologies," Justice Carmichael said. "He only recently learned about my relationship with Thomas."

"No apologies needed," Pacini said. He brought a teacup to his lips and blew on it before taking a sip. "Did anyone approach you about the pictures? Try and use them against you?"

"You mean blackmail?" Carmichael said.

"Yes," Pacini said.

"No, I had no idea about the photos-or that anyone knew about the affair, other than Thomas's wife. We were very discreet."

"How about Chief Justice Kincaid? Was he concerned about anyone learning of your relationship?"

"His only concern was his unstable wife. Liddy was taking it hard, but Thomas never mentioned any pictures. She called here and threatened me-I couldn't believe it."

"When you say `threatened' ..."

"the way one old lady threatens another," Carmichael replied. "I didn't take it as a physical threat. I assumed she meant she'd go public about the affair."

"What were you going to do?" Pacini continued to press.

Carmichael stared into the middle of the room. "I honestly didn't know what I was going to do. Thomas told me that although he loved me, I was not the reason for his plans for a divorce. He and Liddy had grown apart. She had spent every dollar he earned and thrived on his position. He didn't think she'd let him go, at least not without first ruining him-and me, for that matter."