While Justice Sleeps(11)
He pulled out a set of needle-nose pliers, removed the bullet, and collected the casing. Removal of the body was possible, but an unnecessary risk. Her husband would keep hiding until he got a signal from her, and no one expected them in Santa Fe. By the time she was discovered, the authorities would chalk the death up to home invasion. He considered violating her, but he hadn’t come adequately prepared for that scenario.
With efficient motions, he replaced his tools, then crossed to the thermostat on the window unit. After adjusting the knob to its lowest setting to keep the stench of death at bay, he collected his bag and walked out the front door. Satisfied, he returned to his vehicle, though no evidence showed in his stiff expression. The resolution to his mission had been sloppy, but the objective had been achieved.
The swing justice of the Supreme Court was on the verge of death, and the only person who knew of this operation had been terminated. The hospital’s doctors would try to save Justice Wynn. If they succeeded, Wynn could still be terminated.
The man opened the door to the car he’d parked blocks away, a nondescript Ford that would be found abandoned in the coming days, and started the ignition. Traffic had begun to creep onto the quiet streets of the city, and he merged into the stream of cars advancing toward Washington, DC.
Jamie Lewis’s confession had revealed a loose thread: Ms. Avery Keene. Though the man recognized it was more of a formality, he dialed his aide.
“Sir?”
“We have a new project.”
FOUR
“You’re late.” Matt Brewer offered the indictment as Avery trudged into the conference room that adjoined the offices of Associate Justice Howard Wynn. “Really late.”
“Shhh.” She pressed past her fellow clerk and weaved toward the oblong table where they would begin the week. Tiny jackhammers wielded by spiteful elves threatened to split her skull, and the Egg McMuffin she’d scarfed down on the Metro seemed determined to force its way back up and out. Despite the muted light of most government buildings, this morning the fluorescent glare seemed obscenely intense to her sleep-deprived eyes. She lifted an unsteady hand to shield against both the death ray above and the unholy smirk that twisted Matt’s aristocratic mouth. “Long night.”
“Should have gotten your rest. The chief justice’s office called for you, but you weren’t here. I’d have covered for you, but I hate to lie.”
Avery felt her stomach cartwheel. She’d missed her accidental coffee with the Chief, a chance meeting she’d been plotting for months. The stiletto sounds of Matt’s amusement were quickly joined by frantic tap dancers without rhythm kicking at her roiling gut. How could I have forgotten?
Chief Justice Teresa Roseborough maintained a careful distance from the clerk staff, including her own. Polite greetings and head nods comprised her communication with the lower beings who inhabited the chambers. In Roseborough’s two decades on the bench, she’d been known to hold a handful of personal conversations with clerks. A private audience with her carried more weight than a tête-à-tête with the pope and much better benefits.
It took a year and a half for Avery to pick her strategy. The multipronged attack included sucking up to the Chief’s two secretaries. Adoring coos over the prized basset hound of Debi Starnes and the cockeyed three-year-old grandniece claimed by Mary Gonzalez had opened a sliver of a window in January. By March, Debi was offering Avery scotch oatmeal cookies and dating tips.
But it was Mary, the harridan who guarded the Chief’s calendar like the nuclear football, who mattered most. The Great Thaw occurred on April 7. That morning, during her six a.m. sweep of the chambers, Mary uncovered a nest of water bugs who’d somehow penetrated the layers of concrete and steel of the U.S. Supreme Court. Avery woke up from her overnight slumber in camera to the woman’s frenetic screams and rushed into the common room, where Mary perched on a rickety ladderback chair.
Avery sprang into action. Armed with a dustpan and a memorable summer in southern Mississippi, she cornered and crushed the vermin, to Mary’s amazed delight. By May, she’d been invited to meet the blessed grandniece. Then last Friday, Mary and Debi casually dropped the forbidden intel about the Chief’s plan to come in extra early on Monday.
“Last few weeks of term brings out the tiger in her,” Mary had offered. “Likes to be here by the break of day.”
“Yep,” echoed Debi. “I remember that time Serena came in early to get a jump on her cases. She and the Chief grabbed some coffee and gabbed for hours.”
“Isn’t she managing partner at Wachtell now?” Mary cut her eyes to Avery, to make sure she was listening.
“Serena Sparks?” Avery widened her eyes, as they would have expected. “I didn’t realize she’d clerked for the Chief.”
“Didn’t. Old Justice Fiss. But smart as a whip, she was. Could pump out pool memos in half the time of the others.”
“Cute little thing too. Just as polite as you’d please,” Debi added. “From the South, like you. Virginia, I believe.”
“No, Debi. She was from Arkansas. You always get that wrong.”
“I do not—”
Avery reeled with triumph. The gatekeepers had told her to be at the Court by six on Monday, and she’d be able to talk to the Chief over coffee.