The Washington Lawyer (20 page)

Paul cleared his throat.

“Okay,” Martin said. “Let's talk about the television decency case.”

Paul gave Martin a PowerPoint presentation, outlining the brief, pointing out the difficult issues, and describing the most relevant judicial precedents. Martin felt as if he was grasping only about half of what Paul was saying.

At the end, Martin told Paul, “What this means is that in the next week you have a shit load of work to do. Get on top of every aspect of this case. And I'll need binders with all the important precedents. Also your synopsis for each.”

Paul was scribbling. “When do you need them?”

“As soon as possible. Now let's turn to the fact issues. What's the strongest evidence for our argument on the lack of objective standards?”

Paul glanced at one of his pads. “We can point to testimony at the hearing from …”

The cell phone on Martin's desk rang. He picked it up and checked caller ID. Gorton in Anguilla. He flipped up the lid, “I'll be with you in a minute.” Martin looked pointedly at Paul. “Sorry, I have to take this.”

“I'll look through my papers.”

“Do it outside the office.”

When Paul was gone and the door closed, Martin turned back to Gorton. “What happened?”

“Allison Boyd, Vanessa's twin sister, is coming down here. She's arriving tomorrow and staying at the Corinthian, where the body was moved to Sunday night.”

“What's she planning to do?”

“Nobody knows. I heard about it from John Burt, the manager of the Corinthian. He got a call from the sister, who questioned him aggressively. John stuck with the story.”

“How'd she respond?”

“She said she was doing it because Vanessa was her twin. And she wants to stay in the same room her sister had. Weird, isn't it?”

“I don't want her to learn anything.”

“You don't have to worry. I've got this sealed tight as a drum. John Burt, the policemen involved, and the medical examiner are all old friends of mine. Fortunately, Har Stevens, the police commissioner, was off island when this happened. I wouldn't have been able to control him. I'll have a couple of my guys keeping tabs on Allison from the time she arrives.”

Martin recalled that some of those island people played rough. Alarmed he said, “Listen, no violence. We don't want to harm Allison.”

“I'll pass the word.”

“You better drive it home.”

“Don't worry, Mr. Martin. I'll do it.”

Martin was worried that Gorton wouldn't be able to control his men.

“If you have any expenses, I want to reimburse you.”

“Oh, don't worry, Mr. Martin, my friends all love you.”

Martin's mind flashed on his relationship with Gorton over the last two decades—his investing in Gorton's steel band that played at hotels and the man's charter fishing boat service. Then at Gorton's urging, his contributing to a tennis center for Anguilla kids. He'd never imagined any returns from those. But now …

“Well, please keep me informed.”

Putting down the phone, Martin felt moisture forming under his arms. He recalled what Paul had said in the car about Allison. Damn it, this is getting worse. Who could figure this?

He felt flustered and didn't know what to do. Leave it? Take some initiative? Find some way of heading off this woman? Then, he decided. He picked up his cell phone and called Jasper's office.

“Delores, I have to speak with the senator.”

“He's in a hearing now, Mr. Martin. If it's important, I'll send in a note.”

“I think you better.”

What a miserable fucking complication. Allison must be planning to play private eye. “Always expect the unexpected,” Martin recalled Chief Justice Hall telling him when he clerked for the chief. Well, here it was. But he wouldn't just sit back. He was an activist. He'd damn well determine his own fate.

“What's up?” Jasper asked.

“We have to talk in person and ASAP.”

“I'm in a hearing now.”

“When's it over?”

“Four o'clock.”

“I'll come to your office then.”

Jasper gave a loud sigh. “Meet me at Camelot at five.”

* * *

Sitting next to the secretary's desk while she typed, Paul wondered what the hell was happening with Martin. He'd never before asked Paul to leave when he took a call. Even when Arthur Larkin phoned from the White House. It had to be something big. Was the chief justice selection at a critical point?

While waiting to be summoned back into Martin's office, Paul checked his iPad. He had an e-mail from Diane, the associate he asked to help on Jenson's brief. “I'm making good progress,” she said. “I will positively have a draft by close of business next Wednesday…Perhaps earlier.”

That was good news, Paul thought. It would give him two days to revise it and make Jenson's Friday deadline.

The intercom rang. The secretary turned to Paul. “He's ready for you now.”

“Thanks,” Paul felt anxious.

Martin, he saw, looked markedly different than the man he'd just been conversing with. Now he seemed tense. His expression was grim, his mouth drawn shut. Beads of perspiration dotted his forehead.

“Are you okay?”

“I'm fine,” Martin snapped back. “Now tell me about the evidence linking violence on television with criminal acts in the real world.”

Before, Paul remembered, they were on a different issue. Martin must have forgotten. No big deal. He was ready to respond.

“In the hearing, the committee for a Safer America brought in Willie Jones, a prisoner in Maryland. He testified that he'd spent an evening watching violent television shows. And that gave him the idea of robbing somebody at an ATM machine.”

“Did his testimony have any credibility?”

“Unfortunately, yes. They fed Jones some good lines. For example—”

Martin interrupted. “Okay. Move on.”

Paul was taken aback by this curtness from Martin. Jesus, he's now wound tighter than piano wire.

“There was also testimony from a psychiatrist at the Harvard Medical School. He said that—”

Martin interrupted again. “We better break this off now. I've got something else I have to do. Summarize the evidence on each of the three factual issues. Send it to me by e-mail. I'll study it. Then we'll talk.”

Paul hustled out, relieved to away from Martin.

On the way to his office, he thought of how different his life would be if Martin left to be chief justice. Despite the bravado he had shown with Allison at dinner, he was worried his chances of becoming partner would be diminished if Martin left.

Somehow, it would work out, he hoped.

* * *

Martin buzzed his secretary, “Google Allison Boyd.” He recalled what Paul had told him. “She's a professor of archeology at Brown University. Print what you get and put it in an envelope.”

In the cab in a light rain on the way to Camelot Martin opened the envelope. Allison Boyd's academic awards and articles were impressive. She made a real name for herself at a young age. Must be damn smart. Just what I don't need, he thought.

Even worse, she had tenacity. After several years of effort on her part, she had recently received funding to try to uncover a town from the time of King Solomon.

And on top of all that, she had been on the US Olympic team that won a bronze medal for field hockey, scoring a goal in the Barcelona Olympics. So she was physically tough.

Her bio convinced him he had to be firm with Jasper. Not like Tuesday when he'd wimped out because of Jasper's tears.

Martin didn't like Camelot and went there only when someone else selected it. A seedy joint, four blocks from the Capitol, it had opened during the Kennedy Administration. Then and now it was a hangout for lobbyists and congressmen to cut secret deals. And it was used as a rendezvous for men carrying on clandestine affairs to meet their lovers for dinner and dancing.

Entering the octopus-like structure, with alcoves branching out in several directions, Martin looked around, adjusting his eyes to the dim light. Coats of armor, spears, and other medieval paraphernalia were scattered on display. Above the bar, he noticed a painting of a large reclining nude with thick brown pubic hair, a Rubenesque figure extending her arms out toward two helmeted warriors. One of her hands held a red rose, the other a white rose. Next to it was a large painting of a ship partially submerged. A caption underneath said “
LOOSE LIPS SINK SHIPS
.”

He spotted Jasper in a purple velvet booth across the room and hurried over. As soon as he sat down a young blonde waitress, scantily clad in a white diaphanous costume, appeared. She leaned over to place a coaster in front of him, exposing her breasts, nipples and all. “What d'ya want to drink, honey?”

“I'm having a scotch and water,” Jasper said.

“Perrier for me, Martin said.”

“Pellegrino.”

“Whatever.”

Martin looked around, feeling nervous. He was relieved that Camelot was largely deserted. No one close enough to hear them.

“I'm busy as hell,” Jasper sounded annoyed. “What happened now that's so important?”

The waitress returned with his drink.

Martin began speaking softly. “I just heard from Gorton. Vanessa Boyd's sister is going to Anguilla. She'll get there tomorrow.”

“Allison. She's Vanessa's twin.”

“You know her?”

“Never met her. But Vanessa talked plenty about her. She said Allison's the smart twin. She's a professor at Brown.”

“I pulled up her info on the Internet. She's an archaeologist, used to digging.
She will find out what happened
.”

“No, no. Not if you pay off Gorton. And have him spread money around. I'll ante up the cash.”

Martin fumed. “Don't even think about that. I've already done one stupid thing. I won't compound the problem. Besides, you're being absurd. Paying off a few people on Anguilla will not stop Allison from finding out that Vanessa was with you.” He paused. “And that her body was moved to avoid implicating you.”

“Then I guess I'm screwed.” Jasper sounded bitter. “She'll come back and call a press conference, yapping, ‘let me tell you what happened to my poor innocent sister.'”

“It does not have to end up like that. You still have a way out.”

His face twisted into a snarl, Jasper glared at Martin. “Yeah. What?”

“Go down there with me. Right now. We'll charter a plane. Get there and back before she arrives. We'll straighten it out. Explain to the authorities what really happened Sunday evening. We'll …”

Jasper's face was turning beet red. “You're still peddling that shit. I told you Tuesday night …” He was raising his voice. “N.F.W. No fuckin' way.”

“Shhh. Keep your voice down.”

“Then get the hell off this kick.”

“Listen, Wes. Think for a minute about what happened. You have nothing to hide. It was an accident. Wasn't it?”

“Of course it was.”

“Well, you've been in this town a long time. You know that the cover-up is what brings people down.”

Jasper now had a menacing scowl. “It's all your fault.”

Martin was incredulous. “You were the one screwing this bimbo. I was home having dinner.”

“Don't you get sanctimonious with me. Sunday night you should have told me to go to the police, counselor.”

Martin was livid, but he kept his anger in check. “I don't believe I'm hearing this.”

“Then keep your ears open. I have something you'll like even less.” Jasper locked eyes with Martin. “If I go down, I'm pulling you with me.” He was speaking in a voice devoid of emotion, so hard and cold it cut through Martin like a knife. “You're the one responsible for the cover-up. Not me. You made the call to Gorton. I don't even know the man. You arranged to move the body to avoid a scandal which would wreck your chance to be chief justice. That's what I'll tell people.”

Martin was so stunned he couldn't speak.

Jasper pointed a stubby finger at him. “Face it. You want me to fly to Anguilla to save your own ass. So you can be chief justice. At least admit it.”

“That's ridiculous. I'm trying to help you.”

“Are you? Think about it. If the records are corrected, the cover-up
you
engineered goes away. That's the part that's good for you. But my little fun-filled weekend will make huge headlines. Linda will blast me for adultery and divorce me. I'll lose the reelection.”

“But it was at my house.”

“Nobody will care about that. You lent your house to a friend. You assumed he was taking his wife. Big fucking deal.”

Jasper had a point. Martin had made a terrible error, been totally stupid in calling Gorton Sunday night to move the body.

His eyes blazing with hatred, Jasper let out a surly laugh. “You want to throw me to the wolves to save your own hide. Friends don't act like that. And don't you even dream about going to Anguilla on your own. If you do that, or any word of this hits the press because of Allison or anyone else, I'll be the one going to the papers. And you'll be toast. No more chief justice. It'll all go down the drain.”

Jasper made a gurgling noise to emphasize the plumbing metaphor, then he rose, left the table, and headed for the door.

Dumbfounded, Martin sat there. He couldn't believe the man. He still had to get through this somehow, but he vowed never to speak to Jasper again.

Gorton was his only chance. Gorton had to prevent Allison from learning what happened. And more than his Supreme Court appointment was at stake. So was his reputation—his ethical, well-respected life and career.

Miami and Anguilla

A
llison was fit to be tied. For what must have been the twentieth time, she interrogated the American Airlines gate agent at Miami airport. “Will this plane ever take off for San Juan?”