While Justice Sleeps(26)
Her eyes returned to the computer, and Avery sat down again. The screen requested a password from her, the icon blinking helpfully. She typed the first name that came to mind: C-E-L-E-S-T-E. The response was invalid password. A second attempt used his title. J-U-S-T-I-C-E. Again, the computer rejected the command.
Slouching against the chair, she chewed on her bottom lip. Justice Wynn didn’t have a pet or hobby or anything she could think of. The most personal information she knew about him was his favorite sandwich, pastrami on rye with mustard, and his estrangement from his family. Indeed, the single personal item in the office was a framed photo of him and a young boy with a fishing rod, who she assumed to be his son.
Giving a wild guess, she leaned forward again and typed in J-A-R-E-D. When the computer warned that another try would result in a lockout, Avery froze. She stared at the photo again, recalling the article she’d once read about him. He was only a few years older than her. Avery typed his name once more and added his birth year.
The computer whirred to life. Elated, she waited for the system to load. As soon as it did, she made her way to his computer directory. “Where would you hide whatever you’re hiding, sir?”
Her search revealed nothing more than notes on all the Court’s current cases and opinions he’d agreed to write. As with the desk files, the folder that should have contained GenWorks information was empty. “You don’t want anyone to know what you think,” she whispered into the room. “So you clear out the files and erase them from your hard drive.”
Avery considered the implications. Justice Wynn was notoriously obstinate and rarely shared his thoughts with his colleagues outside conference, when a stated opinion was eventually mandatory. “Given the rumors, I’m the only other person who knows what you were thinking.” She gave a rueful laugh. “And I don’t know what you were thinking.”
The research in her office had focused exclusively on executive privilege and the legislative intent of the Exon-Florio Amendment. No mysterious assignments.
But, she thought suddenly, what about emails? She opened his Outlook and began to skim through the folders. He organized his messages by sender and subject. A folder marked Chief sat at the top of the food chain, followed by each of his fellow justices and then a folder labeled Clerks.
She clicked on the plus sign and found three folders. The first bore her name, the second Matt’s. But the third folder bore another name she recognized. Chessdynamo.
Avery clicked on the folder. The first message in the box was from Justice Wynn to himself. It was the subject line that caught her attention. Ani Is in the River.
Perplexed because Ani was neither a case name nor an employee, she opened the message, only to confront more confusion. Dumas Find Ani. WHTW5730.
Dumas. Wynn had told her that he was the only French writer with any sense of adventure. Like breaking into your boss’s office and into his computer files. Yet, except for a strange message and the code of numbers and letters, the email was empty. No direction or clear indication that this wasn’t a moment of confusion for an increasingly ill man.
She closed the email and scanned the contents of the folder. Several messages had been sent to different phone numbers, each ending with @comcel.co.in. These were SMS texts transmitted via email to India. Nearly twenty in all. Each message was short and on different days and times that spanned nearly a year. The message for each was the same: In the square.
Interspersed, Avery found additional items that were equally opaque, including a link to a YouTube video. She clicked on the link. The notoriously slow connection spun its warning circle as the browser searched for the video. Eventually, the site announced that the video was no longer available. Frowning, she printed the page and quickly scrolled through the remaining messages. More broken links and terse messages filled the folder. Realizing she might not be allowed to log on to his computer again, she scanned the messages once more, committing the contents to memory.
Frustrated, Avery shoved away from the desk and spun the chair toward the windows. Who was Ani and what did Dumas mean? Who or what was in the square? Avery reached for the drawer handle, wondering if perhaps she’d overlooked something, but her phone’s vibration caught her attention.
While she answered, she decided to print the folder contents, just in case. Her memory was excellent, but not infallible. “This is Avery Keene.”
“Ms. Keene, this is Dr. Michael Toca, Justice Wynn’s neurologist. I understand you are the woman in charge right now.”
Warily, she replied, “How can I help you?”
“I’ve got a bit of a situation on my hands, Ms. Keene. I need you to come to Bethesda Naval Hospital immediately.”
Avery asked quietly, “Has Justice Wynn’s condition changed?”
“No, Ms. Keene, but his condition isn’t the issue.” With a sigh, Dr. Toca explained, “His wife and son are. Please get down here as soon as possible before I have a new patient.”
“I’m in DC, but I’ll be there as quickly as possible.”
“Hurry.”
The doctor disconnected, and Avery closed the folder she’d reviewed and collected the papers from the printer. As she prepared to power down the computer, she hesitated. The Court files were notoriously impenetrable from the outside, but anyone on the Court’s team could locate what she’d discovered. She didn’t know what that was, but instinct told her to get rid of what was there. Sitting back down, she deleted the Chessdynamo folder and its contents, tucked the papers into an envelope, and left the office.