The Washington Lawyer (36 page)

Another pause.

Then the secretary was back on the line, “Mr. Martin said that he returned your CD to you yesterday.”

What an outrageous lie, Allison thought as she left the cab and walked into Paul's house. Why would Martin do that? He could have said he'd given it to the FBI, but he didn't do that. He still had the CD she gave him or destroyed it. The only explanation she could think of was that he was somehow mixed up in Jasper's death. Nothing made sense. All that was clear was that Martin thought he had the only copy of the CD and he wasn't giving it back to her. He thought he was depriving her of it.

For now, she couldn't worry about the CD. She had a more pressing objective: destroying Martin for what he did by taking away Vanessa's dignity in death and for lying to and manipulating her. She knew how to get even with Martin. She would destroy his chance to be chief justice.

She fixed a pot of coffee while thinking about the best way to accomplish that. Suddenly she heard the front door open. She held her breath until she heard Paul's voice. “Allison, I'm home.”

“I'm in the kitchen.”

When she saw him, she said, “Don't even take off your coat. I have the most incredible thing to tell you.”

“What happened?”

“When Vanessa drowned, Jasper called your boss Andrew Martin from Anguilla. Martin's the low-life who arranged to move the body and let Jasper race off into the night.”

Paul dropped his bag with a thud. “That's ridiculous. The silliest thing I ever heard. Everything that happened must be getting to you.”

“C'mere. Look for yourself.”

She put the Verizon bill on the kitchen table and with a pencil circled the call made from Vanessa's cell to Martin's cell.

She watched all of the color drain from Paul's face. In a state of shock, he collapsed into a chair.

As he did, she stated the obvious, “Jasper used Vanessa's cell to make the mystery call. The time and date match exactly.”

“But … but … there must be another explanation. Not Andrew, I don't believe it.”

“The phone records don't lie. There is no other explanation.”

“How the hell could Andrew have done such a thing?”

She imagined this must be hard for Paul. The man was his demigod whom he had placed on a pedestal.

“Easy. He was covering up for his buddy Jasper. And he was worried that disclosure of Jasper's weekend with Vanessa at his house and her drowning would derail his chance to be chief justice. How inconsiderate of my sister,” Allison said caustically.

“Of course,” Paul continued, “it fits for another reason. I'd forgotten about it, because I don't think he's used it for years, but Andrew has a house in Anguilla. Or at least he did years ago. When his daughters were young, the family used to go down there. So he probably has influence in Anguilla which he used to engineer the cover-up. I should have realized all this, particularly because Jasper was Martin's friend. I'm sorry I was so blindsided by Martin.”

“Don't give yourself a beating. You were very helpful in getting me to focus on Jasper.”

“I'd like to go in and confront Andrew. Tell him I can't believe he did this.”

She shook her head vigorously. “I think the time for confronting Martin is over. He already sweet talked me and conned me twice. You once.”

“Then what do you intend to do?”

Before she had a chance to answer, her cell rang. She glanced at caller ID. It was Har Stevens, the police commissioner in Anguilla. She answered.

“This is Allison.”

“Har Stevens here.”

“Yes, Mr. Stevens.”

“We've had a new development in your sister's case and I'm rather embarrassed about it.”

“What's that?”

“A witness, a twelve year old boy who lives on the island has come forward. The boy was playing with his dog on Shoal's Bay Beach the night your sister died. He was too frightened to tell anyone what he saw. Finally, today, he told his mother, and she came to see me.”

“What did he say?”

Allison held her breath.

“The boy said a woman, must have been Vanessa, was with a man on the beach sitting in a chaise. They were drinking something. She left the man, took off her clothes, and swam out into the sea. A few minutes later, the man swam out to her. They embraced romantically, and then he pushed her under the water, holding her there. She was screaming and waving her arms. He held her there until she stopped moving and shouting. Then he swam back with her still body and carried her up to the villa they were staying in. I am absolutely convinced the boy was telling the truth.”

It all fell into place for Allison. Jasper murdered Vanessa. He had no intention of marrying her, and he couldn't let her disclose the CD.

“I'm so sorry,” Stevens continued. “As I told you, I was off the island when this occurred. I have questioned my deputy and the two officers who were responsible for moving the body to another beach adjacent to the Corinthian. They admitted what they did, corroborating the boy's story. All three have been suspended and will be disciplined. This is not how we do things on Anguilla.”

“I appreciate you calling, Mr. Stevens.”

“Please, if there's anything I can do to soften your pain.”

“Let me ask you one question.”

“Certainly. Anything.”

“Who's the owner of the villa they were staying in?”

“Andrew Martin. An important lawyer in Washington, DC.”

“That's what I thought.”

She hung up the phone and reported on the call to Paul.

At the conclusion, she said, “I'm not a lawyer, but doesn't this make Martin an accessory to murder?”

“Probably not. If he didn't know Jasper murdered Vanessa. But apart from the legal issue, his conduct was totally reprehensible.”

“And somebody like that shouldn't be chief justice of the United States.”

“How do you intend to use this to stop him?”

“Listen, Paul, from this point on, I don't want you to be involved. He's your boss. You have a partnership on the line, which you've worked damn hard for eight years to achieve.”

“But I want to help.”

“Really, I insist.”

He sighed with resignation. She knew he'd back off and let her take it from here.

“Thanks for all your help and moral support,” she said.

Out on the street, she hailed a passing cab, located the address of the
Washington Post
on her iPhone, and told the driver to take her there.

She was no Washington expert, but she knew exactly what to do. Rick Potts hated Martin, she realized from reading his profile when Martin was placed on the president's short list. He would devour her story about Martin's involvement in her sister's death like a hungry little pig at a feeding trough. She had the facts to back it up: The tape of her discussion with Jasper at Bistro Francais, the Verizon phone bill, and what Har Stevens had told her. Also, that Martin owned a house in Anguilla. She would omit any mention of the CD or the Chinese involvement. Those would just complicate a clear story of Martin's culpability.

* * *

After Paul watched Allison's cab pull away, he returned to the kitchen, poured a cup of coffee, and slumped down at his kitchen table. He had been in Washington eight years, and he had studied American history at Yale. He knew that in Washington the mighty so often stumbled and were brought down. Men revered for their integrity, and women too, frequently sold out when the price was right.

He had thought Martin was above this. He would have bet most of his meager assets on it. How could he have been so wrong?

Didn't he know Martin well enough? Or did the prize just have to be large enough: such as the Chief Justice of the United States.

Was that what caused Martin to rationalize his behavior? To justify what he clearly knew was abhorrent?

This isn't over yet, what happens between Allison and Martin, he thought. They still had another act to play.

She was damn smart. He was convinced that she had a copy of the CD somewhere, which she refused to disclose to Martin or even to him. And Martin, somehow caught up in all of this, didn't realize there was another copy. Paul was persuaded of this because Martin's one flaw was that he sometimes underestimated other people.

Allison was someone never to be underestimated.

* * *

Allison spent almost two hours with Rick Potts in his office at the
Post
. Afterwards, he told her she should remain incognito until this was all over.

He arranged for her to use one of the hotel rooms the
Post
maintained for confidential sources and those wanted by the police, across 15th Street in the Madison Hotel, so she wouldn't have to register.

He promised to call her on her cell if he needed anything else.

When he didn't call by six in the evening, she ordered dinner from room service. At eight she went to sleep and got the first solid night's sleep she had gotten since the first call from Stevens.

* * *

At eight thirty in the evening, the phone rang in Martin's house. With so much happening, he didn't wait for the housekeeper to answer, but grabbed the phone on the first ring in the den. It was Rick Potts.

“What do you want?” Martin asked in a surly voice.

“I'd like to read you the draft of an article I'm finalizing for tomorrow's paper.”

Martin's heart was pounding.

Francis came into the room, sat down on the sofa, and was watching him.

“At the end,” Potts continued, “I'll give you a chance to deny any statements, to offer proof that I'm wrong, or to comment.”

“Go ahead,” Martin replied softly.

As Martin listened, he realized that Allison had gone to Potts with the story of his complicity in Vanessa's death. Also, that Jasper had murdered Vanessa.

Allison had given the story to Potts in detail. His chances to be chief justice were over. At least, for some reason, she hadn't told Potts about the CD which would have involved him in Jasper's murder.

When Potts was finished, Martin tried to sound indignant. “What's your source for this outrageous pack of lies?”

“You know I can't tell you that.”

“I'll call Bill McCormick. He'll fire you.”

“Bill's already read and approved it. Any specific points you'd like to challenge?”

“No comment.”

“I want you to be aware that I'm calling the White House to see if they have any comment.”

Martin hung up the phone. He looked at Francis.

“Allison went to Potts.”

“I gathered as much.” She began to cry. “I feel sorry for you, Andrew. You've done so many wonderful things. And to be brought down by a phone call to Anguilla to help a friend.”

“I was stupid to make the call. Stupid not to have gone to Anguilla, even without Jasper, and straightened it out.”

“You were helping your friend.”

He refused to attribute it all to that. “I wanted the gold ring. I lost my moral compass.”

“Well, so what? You'll still be the Andrew Martin I love. A powerful Washington lawyer, if not chief justice.”

He didn't have the heart to tell Francis that while he would continue at the firm, his reputation would be tarnished. He could have avoided that had he gone to Anguilla even without Jasper. Well should have—could have—it was too late for that.

“It seems unfair, Andrew. You've done everything right for many years and then you made one slip.”

He shook his head in dismay. “I deserve to be chief justice. Everybody agreed. Including the president, and now this.”

“C'mon over here,” she said.

The two of them stretched out on the sofa. He held her in his arms.

“We'll go on from here,” she said.

They remained like that for about half an hour when the phone rang. Martin got up and answered.

“Andrew Martin,” he heard in a man's voice he didn't recognize.

“Yes. Whose calling?”

“My name is Henry Young. I'm the president's Deputy White House Counsel.”

“You mean Arthur Larkin's assistant?”

“You could say that. Arthur asked me to call and tell you that the president was withdrawing your name as a possible nominee for chief justice.”

Martin was furious. Arthur didn't even have the decency to call himself. Well, he'd better get used to the fact that people would no longer treat him the same as they had before.

* * *

Across town, in his Connecticut Avenue apartment, Xiang was sitting in front of the television with his eyes glued to the screen. CNN was about to broadcast a statement from the FBI about Senator Jasper's murder.

To Xiang's astonishment, he saw Kelly Cameron, his Kelly Cameron, identified as the FBI spokesperson, on the screen, for an interview by Bruce Newman, a CNN reporter.

She now looked grim-faced.

Xiang listened intently.

Newman: “Thank you for joining us Miss Cameron. I gather that you are in charge of the FBI's investigation of Senator Jasper's murder?”

“That's correct, Bruce.”

“Do you believe this was a simple robbery, or was there some political issue that led to the senator's death?”

“At this point, we don't know. We're not ruling out any possibilities.”

“We were informed that the senator's wallet was missing. Doesn't this indicate that robbery was the motive?”

Kelly smiled lightly. He remembered that smile. She gave it whenever she heard something that sounded stupid. Or knew somebody was hiding something from her.

“The killer may have wanted it to look that way. Our investigation is still in its initial stages.”

“Can you tell our viewers anything else?”

Kelly stared directly into the camera, narrowed her eyes, and said, “You can be certain that we will catch the perpetrator of this terrible crime.”