Deadlock (29 page)

“I don’t want this to be unpleasant.”

“It already is. Detail me.”

He looked at her quizzically.

“Tell me what this is all about,” Anne said slowly.

“Your boss, Senator Sam Levering. A year and half ago there was talk about a bimbo eruption. Remember that?”

Anne was silent. He obviously knew the facts.

Markey went on. “Three women were supposedly going to come forward and make statements about Levering and his, well, his peculiar tastes in the bedroom. I’ve got the names written somewhere. Want me to find them?”

“Just go on,” Anne said.

“Anyway, there was noise made about these three going on Larry King and spilling their guts. It was apparently the work of a very conservative lawyer out in Tulsa who did not like Levering one bit. But the story never got on the air. Remember why?”

Anne returned his look with iron resistance.

“This lawyer was suddenly caught with a sixteen-year-old prostitute out on Highway 20. And then the women clam up.”

“The guy was trying to make money and a name for himself,” Anne said. “Sham artists are all over the place.”

“And three women change their stories?”

“Happens.”

“Sure it does. When somebody gets to them.”

A woman screamed from across the room. Anne’s heart almost jumped out of her chest. She looked and saw the woman, her head thrown back, dissolving into a huge, obnoxious laugh.

“Must have been a funny one,” Markey said.

“This whole conversation is a funny one,” Anne said. “Why don’t you get to the point and then leave me alone?”

“I always wondered about that lawyer,” Markey said. “It wasn’t my jurisdiction, of course, but I take an interest in things. I make connections all the time. It just happens. And this morning I’m thinking to myself, what has become of our witness? The one I told you about. Remember?”

“No,” she lied.

“The street guy. Elijah.”

“Oh, him. What about him?”

“We can’t find him now.”

Ever since she could remember, Anne Deveraux had worked hard at perfecting the art of the lie. She had to. Her stepfather had made it plain what would happen to her if she told her mother what he did to her at night.
Little Annie, you know what I can do to you if you tell, don’t you? Don’t cry, little Annie. I’ll have to make you stop if you do.
She had no choice. Out of fear she had learned to deceive. To keep a straight face when backed up against a wall.

This detective had no idea who he was dealing with, and little mind games weren’t going to get to her.

“That’s too bad,” Anne said, giving her voice the perfect tone of unconcern.

“You wouldn’t happen to have any information on where he might be, would you?”

“Of course not.”

“I mean, the guy you spray has a connection to your boss — ”

“Oh, come on, Detective,” Anne said. “Not only is that the weakest witness I’ve ever seen, he couldn’t possibly be right.”

“Why not?”

With a perfectly calm voice, Anne said, “Because Senator Levering was with me that night.”

Markey frowned. Perfect.

“I went back, as you suggested, and checked my book and Senator Levering’s. We had a strategy meeting at his place. We ate pizza and drank Diet Cokes, although I will admit to you the senator gave his a little dash of bourbon every now and then. We watched
Nightline
and then worked until about two in the morning. Any further questions?”

Markey blinked at her a couple of times. “Yes,” he said. “What was on
Nightline
that night?”

Anne smiled. She almost felt sorry for this police hack. “The Pentagon budget,” she said. She had looked it up a couple of nights ago in preparing the alibi. Then she added with just the right touch of uncertainty, “At least I think that’s what it was.”

“I’ll check on it,” Markey said.

“You do that.”

He drained his ginger ale and left, looking, Anne thought, a little rattled.

|
3

“Like the bartender said to the horse,” Helen said. “Why the long face?”

“Is it that long?” Millie asked.

“Like a list of crooked congressmen.”

“Sorry. I haven’t been good company so far, have I?”

“This is a time to celebrate,” Helen said. The exclusive restaurant Helen had chosen was just over the Virginia line and had the flavor of the Old South.

When Millie did not say anything, Helen added, “You are ecstatic about this, aren’t you? I mean, as if Mel Gibson walked up to you and asked you to model lingerie?”

Millie looked at her oldest friend in D.C.
I don’t know her at all, really,
she thought. How many times had they ever talked about their deepest concerns and desires? Helen was in many ways a private person. She let people in only a little, and then only when it seemed to serve her purposes.

But then, that was how Millie was too, she realized. Now, those barriers needed to be broken. “Something has changed for me,” Millie began carefully.

Helen peered at Millie over her raised wineglass, which she held in the fingers of both hands. “Changed?”

“Yes.”

“We talking menopause here?”

“No, not that, I — ”

“Because if we are I have some drugs that — ”

“That’s not it.” Millie felt suddenly reluctant, but the boat had left the shore. She had to go with it. “I had some time to think in Santa Lucia.”

“Thinking is what you’re good at, girlfriend.”

“Sometimes.”

“So what are you thinking about now?” Helen sipped her chardonnay, waiting.

Go for it,
Millie thought. “God.”

Helen paused, the glass at her lips, her eyes narrowing slightly. “God?”

Millie nodded.

“As in?”

Suddenly Millie’s tongue was doing back flips. “God . . . you know . . . as in . . . God.”
What a fabulous and eloquent judge you have become,
she thought.

Helen tapped her glass with a fingernail. “Tell me more, Igor.”

Millie didn’t know what words she would use so she just let them pour out. She told Helen everything — the near-death experience, Santa Lucia, her mother’s death, Pastor Jack Holden. Helen sat through it all with an expression half bemused and half — what? Troubled?

“And I’ve been meeting with Bill Bonassi,” Millie concluded.

Helen’s eyebrows went up. The restaurant seemed suddenly still. Helen herself seemed frozen, as if in a state of emotional shock. Millie prayed silently her friend would remain that, a friend, and understand. And accept.

Helen began tentatively. “Frankly, Watson, this is troubling,” Helen said. “Bill Bonassi? Do you know how bizarre that sounds?”

“I suppose.”

“The biggest right-wing justice of the last fifty years?”

“It’s not a political thing,” Millie said. “Bill has been answering a lot of my questions about Christianity.”

“Yeah? Whose brand of Christianity? His? Falwell’s? What is up with this?”

Millie closed her eyes a moment. “I’m not thinking about it in those terms, Helen. A lot has happened in the last few months.”

“I guess!”

“I can only tell you I had been saying no to God for many years, and then I realized I was saying yes.”

“Wow,” Helen said with a faraway look, as if she were gazing upon some strange new thing.

“I know,” Millie said.

Helen waited a long time before putting her wineglass down and reaching for Millie’s hand. “Hey, kiddo, you went through a terrible thing there. I understand that. Of course I do. You got shaken up. It’s natural to think about these things — you know, religious things.”

“Thank you, Helen.”

“For what?”

“Listening.”

“Hey, it’s me. So, you are looking at Christianity.” Helen paused, as if a new thought had snuck up on her. “What do you think it means?”

“Means?”

“You know, for the future.”

“My future?”

“Yeah. As chief justice and all.”

Millie saw the look of incipient concern on Helen’s face. “You worried I’m going to go off on some odd angle?”

“Bill Bonassi,” Helen said with a shrug. “It at least raises the issue.”

“Helen, I’m going to do what I’ve always done, okay? One case at a time.”

“I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“Hurt? How?”

“You know, if the press gets hold of this.”

Millie had thought about that. She was not so naive as to think that the hungry sharks of Washington media wouldn’t try to make a big deal out of her spiritual quest. If they found out.

Helen squeezed Millie’s hand. “We can handle this thing together, kiddo,” she said.

|
1

On October 8, a cool Wednesday afternoon in Washington, Chief Justice Millicent Mannings Hollander presided over the first judicial conference of the new term.

She felt like she was made of warm jam. That was partly due to her initial trepidation — the new-kid-at-school syndrome, even though she’d been here ten years — but mainly because she knew, when the discussion began on the first case, there would be a judicial firestorm.

For conference, the nine members of the Court met in the large room next to the chambers of the chief. They shook hands with each other before taking their seats at the large rectangular conference table, under the watchful portrait of the famous chief justice, John Marshall. Only the nine justices would be present — no clerks, secretaries, staff assistants, or anyone else allowed.

Justice Riley gave Millie’s hand an extended shake. He smiled at her and said, “I know you’re ready to run this ship.”

Millie felt her face strain to smile in return. She almost felt like a traitor. Riley had no idea what was about to happen.

She only knew what experience had taught her. Each justice would have considered the cases to be discussed and formed preliminary opinions. As chief, Millie’s job was to state the facts of the cases and begin a round where each justice would state his or her opinion on the matter. That would give them all a sense of where each justice stood, and how strongly they believed in their positions.

Then a give-and-take would ensue. Sometimes it would be brief, if the case was simple; for complex cases it could get rather lengthy. And for volatile cases, things could get heated, in a mannerly sort of way.

Considering this first case and her take on it, Millie knew there would be flames. “Good afternoon, everyone,” she said.

Eight heads nodded at her, with a few “good afternoons” thrown in.

“Let us get right to it,” Millie continued. “Our first case today is from the Sixth Circuit Court of Appeals,” she said. “
American Civil Liberties Union of Ohio v. Roland Tate, Governor.
The facts are as follows.

“In 1959, three years after President Eisenhower signed legislation making ‘In God We Trust’ the national motto, the state of Ohio adopted a similar motto, ‘With God All Things Are Possible.’ Last year the Governor of Ohio approved a bronze flatwork, twelve feet by ten feet, with the state motto inscribed, to be placed outside the statehouse in Columbus, Ohio. The ACLU of Ohio, joined by a taxpayer in the state, filed suit to stop this action. A divided three-judge panel of the Sixth Circuit held that the action violates the Establishment Clause. That is the issue we must decide. I will defer my own comments for the moment.”

She noted a few bewildered looks. It had long been a tradition in conference for the chief to begin with a position statement. But Millie wanted to see where everyone else stood before weighing in.

As the senior associate, Thomas Riley had the first word. “Well, this is a clear Constitutional violation,” he said.

No surprise there,
Millie thought.

“The motto comes from a Bible verse, Matthew 19:26. It’s a verse where Jesus Christ is talking about the salvation of souls. Well, if the Establishment Clause means anything, it means the government should not align itself with Jesus Christ, or any other religious figure. That’s what Ohio is doing with this motto. It should be struck down.”