While Justice Sleeps(110)
“Why are you looking for a French philosopher?” Jared came alongside her. “How will he help us figure out what the judge wanted?”
“It’s not Voltaire,” Avery explained as she opened the book. The spine creaked slightly as she opened it. The book fell open to reveal a hollowed-out segment. “It’s not Voltaire. It’s the space in between.” With a murmur of triumph, she identified the contents—an envelope addressed to Ms. Avery Keene and a plastic bag.
“How did you know where to look?” Jared asked, amazed.
“Fran?ois-Marie Arouet, better known as the French philosopher Voltaire. He wrote thousands of works, including essays on scientific experiments in the eighteenth century during the Enlightenment period.” As she spoke, she moved to the desk in the library. She set the volume on the desktop and rummaged for a letter opener, aware of the three pairs of eyes that followed her. “When Justice Wynn called me into his office in January, he asked me about my studies in college.”
“Which one?” Ling teased. “You had a dozen majors.”
“Six. Including, for one semester at Oberlin, a major in French. In his office, he asked me my favorite French writer.”
“Voltaire?” Noah joined her at the desk. “But how did you leap from that to this?”
Avery located an opener and slit through the envelope. “Ling told us about European physicians and their disdain for inoculation. Voltaire once wrote an essay on the women of Circassia who also performed primitive inoculations on their children. He’d also written about infamy, and how those in power convinced the rest of us to ignore their violence and accept it as good. I’d forgotten about it, but my memory hadn’t. Justice Wynn knew I’d remember it eventually.”
The bag contained a pill bottle, with the word FINGERPRINTS written across the bag in black marker. She ignored the bottle and instead slit open the envelope, removing a single sheet of paper. Her attention immediately focused on the signature scrawled at the bottom. “This is what he had me sign in his office. What he had me witness,” she explained as she skimmed the contents. As she suspected, Justice Wynn had anticipated this final act. “This is what Ani sent him. He couldn’t quit without atoning first.”
She handed the letter to Jared. “This is how we’re going to save my mother and your father. And bring down the president.”
FORTY-FIVE
At Avery’s apartment, Agent Leighton punched the button on the newly secured elevator and radioed their position down to the idling Expedition. The doors slid open, and she led them down the short hall, her charges buffered by additional men brought in for the occasion. Following Lee’s protocol, she used Avery’s key to get inside, motioning for them to stay on the threshold while she checked out the interior.
“All clear.” Agent Leighton emerged from the bathroom. “We’ll be outside, Ms. Keene.”
“Thank you.” Avery found her apartment in pristine condition. Even the dishes she’d left in the washer had been put through their cycles. “Home sweet home.”
“Are you sure it’s safe to be here?” Ling asked the prearranged question, but the note of fear was real.
Avery walked into the kitchen and filled a glass with water. “Agent Lee said we’d be fine.” She took a gulp, readying for her act. “Do you think I made a mistake?”
“By not telling the FBI about your mom?” Jared asked on cue. “No, you have no choice. We have no idea who has her and what the kidnappers would do if the feds got involved.”
“I know you’re right, but maybe he could help me figure out who has her. Maybe I could negotiate.”
“With what?” Noah asked. “You’ve got no leverage, Avery.”
With the listening devices transmitting every word, Avery replied, “I could resign him from the Court. As his guardian, I can take any actions I deem necessary for his protection. I can’t imagine President Stokes refusing to accept his resignation. Then whoever wants him off the Court will have what they want.”
“Would that really work?” The question came from Ling. “Can she resign a Supreme Court justice from his position, Noah?”
“I don’t see why not,” he answered thoughtfully. “Legal guardians have pretty broad powers. As long as she can demonstrate that resigning is in his best interests, she’s on solid ground. Besides, who’d protest it? Celeste wanted him dead.”
“And I don’t want to lose him to save your mother.” Jared had been assigned the trigger line. “All of this is a moot issue, though, if we can’t get in touch with the men who have your mom. The five-o’clock deadline is only twenty-four hours away.”
“I can’t kill him.” Avery made the plea to the hidden microphones, her voice cracking slightly. “They have to call.”
* * *
—
“How’s Mrs. Keene?” Vance entered the warehouse. The rank odor from the river seeped into every board and crevice.
Phillips sat on an overturned crate and reassembled his firearm. “She won’t shut up.”
In the corner, Rita whimpered steadily. “Please,” she begged of the new voice in the darkened space. Her blindfold shut out time and reality, but her hearing told her she had another opportunity to make her plea. Turning her head blindly toward the footfalls, she pleaded, “Don’t do this to Avery. She’s a good girl. Don’t make her kill that man for me.”