Blowout (7 page)

“In the meantime, we’ll have unlimited resources, both federal and local, and huge expectations to live up to.”

Sherlock said, “It all comes down to the fact that our Justice Califano made a big-time enemy, so this gives us another starting place, the money behind the murder.”

“So alibis don’t mean diddly squat,” Ben said, “if this big-time enemy didn’t want to get blood on his own hands.”

“That’s about it.” Savich yawned. He was tired to his bones what with staying up half the night thinking about what happened in that house in the Poconos and getting called so early on Saturday morning to come back to Washington. He wondered if his father, FBI agent Buck Savich, had enjoyed sleeping in on a Saturday morning sometimes, at least once a decade.

SATURDAY AFTERNOON

J
ED
C
OOMBES
, editor for
The Washington Post
and Callie’s boss, could hardly contain himself. “What the hell do you mean you’re not coming in? Look here, Callie, I know it’s Saturday, I know you’re supposed to be in New York, but you’re back home now. I know the Justice was related to you, but that’s exactly why we really need you here—”

Callie held the phone to her ear but tuned him out. Jed always used six sentences to say what he could say in one. He was understandably pissed, since he saw her as his direct pipeline to the background on the story, and she let him rant, even toss in condolences when a tug of his long-forgotten manners kicked in. She waited for him to run down, like a wind-up toy. He said the words Pulitzer Prize at least three times. Finally, he was reduced to panting a bit because he hadn’t taken a single breath in his entire rant.

“I understand, Jed,” she said at last, “but the bottom line is that it was my stepfather, and my mother needs me. It doesn’t matter that I’m a reporter, I will not go against the FBI on this, and I’ve promised them I’d stay away from work for a while. Surely you don’t want to see this case compromised because I shot off my mouth.”

“It’s not my job to care about the FBI’s case. It’s my job to run a newspaper.”

She smiled into her cell. “I’ll speak to you again after the funeral, Jed. My mom’s in pretty bad shape, as you can imagine. I don’t know when I’ll be back.”

“Callie, why don’t you speak to your mom, get me some personal stuff here—”

“No, Jed.”

She heard some ripe curses, then a deep sigh. “You’ll let me know the instant you have all the funeral details? Regardless of the specifics, you can be sure there’ll be a big service, probably with the President and everyone in line to be President. They’ll be up there saying how great a man Califano was even if they might have hated him. Come on, Callie, there’s a lot going on that has nothing to do with the investigation.”

“Okay, Jed, you’ve got a point on that one. The instant things get nailed down, I’ll call you.”

“But—”

“I don’t even know when the M.E. will release my stepfather’s body.” She swallowed, tears pooled in her eyes.

“Callie, you there? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, Jed. Look, I’ve got to go now. I’ll probably see you at the funeral. Thanks for authorizing a week’s leave of absence.”

“I don’t know, Callie, you’re a big part of the team here and you’ve got to realize that—”

Callie shut off her cell and slipped it back into her pocket. It began ringing within three seconds. She turned it off. She wondered what Jed Coombes would do if someone in his own family was murdered. He was such a news junkie, such a hard-ass when it came to getting a story, he’d probably give himself an exclusive.

THE KETTERING HOME

COLFAX, VIRGINIA

C
ALLIE WALKED INTO
the living room of the lovely Colonial house in Colfax where she and her mother were stashed. One of her mother’s oldest friends, Anna Clifford, was with her. Poor Anna had a son in jail for dealing cocaine. Her other two children, however, were upright citizens and gainfully employed. Her husband was a quiet man who owned a large Virginia construction company. Anna was speaking quietly to her mother, holding her hand. Callie paused a moment, then went on upstairs. She’d gotten her clothes hung in the closet when she heard the front doorbell, then Anna’s voice, and her mother’s.

It was agents Savich and Sherlock, and Detective Raven. She imagined they’d be regulars in her daily life until this was over.

She pulled on jeans and a fleece sweatshirt and went down into the kitchen to make coffee and tea for Agent Savich and her mother. She found some croissants on the counter, stuck them in the oven to heat up, and stood there in the bright kitchen, watching the snow sheet down outside the window.

When she carried the big silver tray into the living room, her mother was weeping, Detective Raven looked acutely uncomfortable, and Agent Sherlock was gently stroking her mother’s arm.

Callie had never in her life seen her mother so wrecked. She looked up then, and gently pulled away from Anna Clifford and Agent Sherlock. She tried a smile. It wasn’t much of one, but it was a start. “Callie, I would love some tea and then—and then we need to talk.”

Her voice was suddenly calm. Callie smiled at her mother, served everyone, then sat down with her own cup of coffee. She realized soon enough that Agent Savich and Agent Sherlock were taking time with their coffee and tea, nibbling on the croissants, giving her mother time to collect herself. Detective Raven, however, seemed impatient, prickling with nervous energy. She watched him pick up his second croissant. He looked over at her and grinned. “It’s true, you know, that all we ever have at the station is jelly donuts, all sugar and lard, not like the pure butter that holds these delicious things together.”

Margaret Califano said, “Everyone is acting normally, and I suppose that’s a relief. Do you worry about your cholesterol, Detective Raven?”

“I’m genetically blessed, Mrs. Califano.”

“You’re also very young.”

Callie looked at his long solid athlete’s body and laughed. “Yeah, I bet you just gorge yourself on donuts.”

Margaret sipped her oolong tea, shuddering at the delicious dark flavor.

Savich said, “I’m sorry we have to ask you questions at a time like this, Mrs. Califano, but a murder investigation requires it. Do you feel up to talking to us now?”

“Yes, Agent Savich, of course.”

He said, “Did your husband behave differently in the days before he was killed? Did he seem concerned about something or someone?”

“No, he was the same as always, even yesterday. At least I didn’t notice anything different. Oh God, maybe there was something that I simply didn’t see because I was in a rush to get to one of my stores.”

“No, Mrs. Califano, don’t blame yourself. I need you here with me, now.”

Margaret drew a deep breath. “Yes, of course you’re right. I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right. Now, did your husband tell you why he was going to the Supreme Court Building last night?”

“No, he didn’t. And I didn’t ask. Everyone knew he went there whenever the spirit moved him. Even Anna knew, didn’t you?”

Anna nodded. “Oh yes. It was Stewart’s refuge.”

Margaret said, “He told me once that it was the only place he could hear himself think.” Her voice quavered. She quickly lowered her head and sipped more tea. Then she straightened her shoulders. “If he was studying something specific, I don’t know what it would have been. Perhaps in their weekly Friday meeting, a minority of Justices wanted to grant a cert. that Stewart didn’t believed warranted a hearing.”

“A cert.?” Savich’s eyebrow went up.

“I’m sorry. A cert., as it’s called, stands for
certiorari
. It’s a formal request that the Court hear a case. If four Justices vote to grant the petition, then the case is scheduled for argument. If the four votes aren’t there, the cert. is denied.” She studied the dark stain of tea in the bottom of her cup. “As I said, it’s possible. As to anything else on his mind, I couldn’t say. When he walked through the front door, he might be brooding, but he wouldn’t speak of it, if it was work-related.”

“Were you and Justice Califano having any personal problems, Mrs. Califano?”

Callie hissed quietly through her teeth, but Margaret merely patted her arm. “No, Agent Savich, no problems. Yes, we disagreed sometimes like every married couple does, but in the nine years we’ve been married, I’ve never thought about killing him. Surely you don’t think our personal life had anything to do with this. Terrorists, or some sort of extremists, must have killed Stewart.”

Sherlock said, “Did he express any concerns about terrorists?”

“No, he didn’t. Stewart was quite moderate, not at all controversial. To the best of my knowledge he didn’t overly offend either side. That’s why it would be so strange if some sort of fringe madman did kill him. Why, for heaven’s sake? Why not Chief Justice Abrams? Why not Justice Alto-Thorpe, who’s far to the left, or Justice Alden Spiros, who’s far to the right? Both held very strong opinions on all the hot-button issues, like abortion, the death penalty, affirmative action, that sort of thing. That makes more sense, doesn’t it?”

“Perhaps it does,” Savich said.

Ben Raven said, “Did he ever speak to you about someone he was having a conflict with? Someone he didn’t approve of? Someone who hated him?”

“Detective Raven, Stewart was a very private man. His best friend was Justice Sumner Wallace. Perhaps he would know if there was something troubling Stewart or if he was having a major problem with someone, particularly someone out of his past.” She fanned her hands in front of her. “Everyone pictures the Justices sitting around a big mahogany table, wearing their robes, sober and stately, spouting big words and discussing esoteric legal precedents. The truth is they spend very little time together. They usually work alone, reading, or meeting with their law clerks.

“Their weekly meetings are Wednesday and Friday, and it always sounded to me like it was all business. That doesn’t mean, naturally, that they don’t argue and yell and be furious with each other when they’re in conference. No one but the Justices are allowed in that conference room on Fridays, so they can be rancorous without fear of anyone gossiping or leaking information to the media.

“Politics plays a bigger role than Stewart liked. Every Justice has an agenda very strongly colored by his or her political beliefs, more so now than say thirty years ago, before Watergate.

“Stewart would laugh about some of the really nasty comments everyone knew would not be written down. There’s still a tinge of sexism among some of the Justices—remember we’re talking about nine people who are all from the older generation—even though the men try to control their feelings, for example, if one of the female Justices has disagreed strongly with them. Also, both Democrat and Republican Justices have historically selected men as law clerks. Even today, out of the thirty-six law clerks, only ten are women. Stewart had two female law clerks.

“Now, if you want the raw truth about the Justices, you go to the law clerks. They’re the ones who really keep the Court running. They write opinions, lobby the Justices about cases they care about, and so much more. The clerks know about most everything going on in that faux Greek temple—that’s what I call it.” She paused, looked blindly at Savich. “I still can’t believe anyone would want to kill my husband, actually take the life of a Supreme Court Justice. It simply makes no sense. It’s got to be a madman, it’s got to be.”

Savich said, “Perhaps. Mrs. Califano, everyone who is as successful as your husband makes enemies along the way. Before President Reagan appointed him to the Supreme Court in 1987, Justice Califano was the Deputy Attorney General, the Attorney General, and an Associate Justice of the Superior Court, all of New York. He was a judge of the United States Court of Appeals for the First Circuit. He was sixty-four years old, and that means a long professional life, more than long enough to make enemies. Please think, Mrs. Califano.”

“He did have a long professional life, Agent Savich. Do you think an enemy would wait that long before exacting revenge? I can’t think that’s very likely.”

Ben said, “When I was a rookie, ma’am, my trainer was shot by a man he’d put away twenty years before. There’s no statute of limitations on revenge.”

“No, I suppose you’re right. But it’s rather frightening to think that decisions you made years ago could come back and kill you. No, I really can’t think of anyone, at least he never mentioned anyone he was worried about.”

“What was your husband’s relationship with his senior law clerk?”

“That would be Eliza Vickers, graduated the top of her class at Harvard Law School. I’ve met her, of course, spoken to her at social functions and occasionally on the phone. Stewart said she’s an emotional liberal, from a social welfare point of view, but a firm legal conservative, is horrified at the thought of social engineering. He liked that. She’s smart, well organized, and the other two law clerks are under her control. He has three clerks, not four like most of the Justices. Stewart admired her and trusted her, I believe. I liked her too. Unlike most law clerks who spend only a year working for a Justice, she was in her second year with him.”

Ben said, “I wonder what will happen to the three of them now?”

Margaret shrugged.

“Three more lawyers will be turned loose on society a little early,” Sherlock said. “That’s a thought to curl your toes.”

Margaret smiled, just for a brief moment.

Sherlock said, “With your permission, Mrs. Califano, we would like to go through your address book as well as Justice Califano’s to compile a list of your friends and anyone with whom your husband had ongoing contact.”

“Certainly.” She looked down at the delicate Rolex on her right wrist. “Janette, Bitsy, and Juliette should be here soon. Anna, you did call them, didn’t you?”

Anna nodded, and went with Margaret to get her address book.

Thirty minutes later, Callie walked agents Sherlock and Savich and Detective Raven to the front door. “Are you going to see the other Justices now?”