While Justice Sleeps(32)

Calls had come from friends who knew she worked for Justice Wynn, and those who had a passing awareness of her existence. Interspersed among them were requests for comment by news organizations that usually ignored the field of law clerks. Absently, she noted the names and numbers, her eyes reading through the onslaught of emails that filled her in-box.

As soon as she’d met with the Chief and Justice Wynn’s lawyers, she’d start making return calls and replying. The mechanical voice announced a message, received at minutes past midnight. Avery looked at the phone, wondering if Rita had called her here before waking her at home last night.

But the woman’s voice was not her mother’s.

“Ms. Keene, this is Jamie Lewis. Justice Wynn’s nurse. He asked me to call.” The voice halted, and Avery heard the tightness of a swallow. “He said that you have to save us. Then he said, ‘Look to the East for answers. Look to the river. In the square.’ He said it a couple of times, like it was very important. He also mentioned someone named Las Bauer. Said you should remember him.” The message paused again; then Jamie added, “Avery, he said, Forgive me.”

    Avery heard the voicemail announcement reminding her to save or erase, and, out of habit, she deleted the message. She knew she wouldn’t forget. Save us. And the last. Forgive me.

The same message she’d found in his emails. Dumas. But she had no idea who Ani was. She pulled out the pages she’d printed from his computer. Ani Is in the River. Dumas Find Ani. And Jamie’s message: Look to the East for answers. Look to the river. In the square.

But staring at what she’d found so far did not make his message any clearer.

Maybe Nurse Lewis could tell her what all this meant. Avery grabbed her purse and keys. Outside her office, Matt and a handful of clerks hovered around the main area, talking. As soon as she emerged, the conversation ceased. They watched her as she crossed to the secretary’s desk. “Does anyone know where Ms. Hallberg is?”

Chelsey, one of Justice Lawrence-Hardy’s clerks, offered, “I saw her with the other support staff a few minutes ago. She was still pretty upset.”

“That’s putting it mildly,” Matt said. “What’s going on, Avery?”

She glanced at Matt and the others. Scott Curlee’s report of her new status had clearly made it back to the Court. “What do you mean?”

“Where are you going?” Matt replied with a pointed look at her bag. “Running back to Justice Wynn’s bedside?”

She tightened her fingers. “Actually, I was about to look for a phone number.”

“For whom? His banker or his broker?” The snide comment came from one of Justice Bringman’s clerks. “How’d you manage to pull this one off, Keene?”

“Shut up, Caryn.” The mild rebuke was offered by Justice Lawrence-Hardy’s clerk. “Anything we can help with?”

“No, thank you, Chelsey.” Avery moved behind the secretary’s desk, where an old-fashioned Rolodex sat on the far corner. Justice Wynn embraced technology, but he rarely trusted it, so his secretaries kept a paper file of everything. While the group watched, she found the card she sought.

    Jamie Lewis’s name and address had been carefully written in her handwriting. Her cell phone number had been outlined in a red box. She quickly committed the card to memory, then flipped through to another name, and a third, in case anyone tried to determine whose name she sought. Boursin’s syndrome may have been the cause of Justice Wynn’s hyper-secrecy; but, Avery conceded as she glanced over her shoulder, paranoia was contagious.

For the second time that day, she headed downstairs. Evading reporters came more easily this time. Instead of a cab, she made her way to her car. Parking at the Court was difficult, which meant few managed the feat. She’d head to Jamie’s home in Tacoma Park first and then go over to see the attorney who’d drafted Justice Wynn’s guardianship papers.

Half an hour later, she pulled up in front of a squat brown apartment building with a stingy lawn struggling against weeds. Dark patches showed where foot traffic ignored the broken flagstones leading to the main walk. Some hopeful neighbor had hung a pot filled with irises from the overhang. Shabby fought with desperate and managed to stay in the fight. Jamie Lewis had found one of those buildings where the middle class clung by its fingernails, unable to afford a house but too proud to move deeper into Maryland.

The open apartment style offered no protective call box or secured gate. Avery rushed along the interior walkway, then up the stairs to the second level. At the nurse’s door, she knocked in quick staccato bursts. No response. She tried again, but the apartment remained silent.

Undaunted, Avery removed her phone and called the cell number from the card. The jazzy summons echoed in the apartment and out to where Avery waited. Despite the sound, no one answered.

Maybe she’s sleeping, Avery thought as the call rolled into voicemail. Normally she’d leave a message, but she needed answers now. She disconnected and dialed again. Once more, the ringtone warbled out into the corridor.

Thinking Nurse Lewis might have left her phone at home, Avery dialed her employer’s number at Covenant House.

When the operator answered, Avery asked, “Is Jamie Lewis in today?”

    “No, she isn’t.”

“Can you tell me when she’ll be back?”