While Justice Sleeps(46)
Law Clerk and Justice’s Son’s Secret Romance, screamed the bolded headline below a grainy photo of her and Jared at the fire escape. His lips against her cheek, his hand on her shoulder. Her smiling profile clear to the hidden photographer.
On the screen, Scott Curlee spoke into the camera: “I attempted to interview Ms. Keene for this story yesterday, but she refused to answer questions.” Footage rolled of their encounter at the hospital. “Sources report that Avery Keene has been romantically linked to both Justice Wynn and his son. This photo raises serious questions of her fitness to serve as guardian for the gravely ill jurist.”
Avery choked as Matt Brewer appeared in front of a microphone. The words Keene’s Court Colleague ran under his image.
“Avery is really ambitious. She keeps to herself and rarely fraternizes with her fellow clerks. I wish she understood that friendship and competition aren’t mutually exclusive. I pity her. She’s missed out on making dear friends here at the Court. It’s a tragedy.”
Curlee continued, “Ms. Keene is remembered by her classmates at Yale as distant. Admired for her legal acumen, few contacted for this story could recount a single personal anecdote about her, though she served on the Law Journal for two years. Attempts to locate family members were also unsuccessful. The Court’s press secretary had no comment.”
The story switched to a death row inmate’s plea for a new trial. As if on cue, the shrill of the phone filled the apartment. Numbly, Avery lifted the receiver she kept on the counter.
“Hello?”
“Avery, it’s Debi from the Chief’s office. She wants to see you in her office right away.” The tone was brisk and distant. Near the end of term, the Chief usually arrived at six thirty a.m. and left long after the others. But a seven a.m. summons had never happened to Avery before.
“Is there a change in Justice Wynn’s condition?”
Ignoring her query, Debi asked, “How soon can you be here?”
“I’ve got to shower and get ready. The driver said yesterday he planned to pick me up at eight.”
Debi whispered her response to someone, the words muffled. Avery waited, certain the impetus for the call was the same story she could now see on other channels as she flicked the remote.
“Avery?”
She focused on the voice in her ear. “Yes, ma’am?”
“The Chief is sending a car for you. Please be outside in twenty minutes.” Without waiting for confirmation, the call disconnected.
Avery abandoned her now-soggy cereal and rushed through her shower. With seconds to spare, she snapped on her watch and smoothed her skirt. She headed down the stairs, unwilling to chance an elevator malfunction.
Head down, she emerged from the stairwell and pushed through the front door. A phalanx of cameras flashed lights, capturing her frozen image a dozen times. Shouted questions pummeled her from the knot of reporters, and she scanned the street desperately for the promised car. A long black sedan was parked at the curb, and Avery began to push her way through the throng.
“Is it true you’re having an affair with Jared Wynn?”
“What will you inherit from Justice Wynn upon his death?”
“Are you conspiring with Jared Wynn to disinherit his stepmother, Celeste Turner-Wynn?”
The shouted questions came from every direction. Avery reached the car and jerked open the door, tossing her bag inside. Behind her, a microphone grazed her cheek and a reporter queried, “Can you compare sex with Justice Wynn and Jared? What is it like being with father and son?”
She shoved the tanned wrist and mike away, slid inside the car, and jerked the door shut. Gunning the quiet engine, the driver pulled away from the curb. Reporters gave chase, and Avery watched in amazement as they faded from view. The car and its silent driver wound through the early-morning traffic of Washington. On the radio, NPR recounted the story, leaving out the more salacious accusations.
Fatigue returned with a vengeance. She gazed wearily at the driver’s closely cropped head, noticing for the first time the military cut. “Excuse me.”
The driver’s eyes met hers in the mirror. “Yes?”
She caught a fuller look at him in the rearview mirror. “Agent Lee?” Her driver was the FBI agent who’d grilled her the day before. Avery sank back into the seat. “What are you doing here?”
When he said nothing, she demanded, “Am I under arrest?”
Cynical eyes met hers in the mirror. “Not yet.”
They traveled in silence to the Court. Once they’d cleared security, Agent Lee opened the sedan door, took her arm in a firm grip, and guided her inside the Court. Avery tugged once at her captivity, to no avail. She was getting sick of being handled.
In record time, the FBI agent whisked her past security and into the Chief’s office. At his usual post, Major Vance watched her silently, a living stanchion by the same window he’d glared from yesterday. Sunlight poured through the windows, but Vance was caught in the slash of shadows left in the corners.
Chief Roseborough looked up as Agent Lee guided her to the desk, but did not rise from her seat. A quick glance at the Chief’s desk revealed a copy of the damning photo of Avery with Jared.
With an imperious nod, the Chief indicated that she should sit. “Avery.”