Mr. Justice (25 page)

Clay left the sacred temple more confident than ever that he did.

CHAPTER 85

Peter McDonald returned the vacuum to the closet and cleared the magazines from the coffee table. He was preparing for his first dinner guest since Jenny and Megan were murdered, and he was in over his head. Jenny had handled the lion’s share of the party planning, not to mention the house cleaning. McDonald had been responsible for purchasing the wine and securing a babysitter. He had been given easy assignments; the Charlottesville area had several world-class vineyards and Megan had been adored by every babysitter who met her.

But now, it was different. Now Peter McDonald was alone.

McDonald had decided to spend the weekend in Charlottesville. He hadn’t been back to his old stomping grounds since being sworn in to the Supreme Court, and he needed to check on his house. With the notable exception of dust and a musty smell, his house was in good order. He had opened the windows to solve the must problem, and he had vacuumed and swept to dispel the dust.

The grandfather clock next to the stairs struck seven o’clock. His dinner guest would be arriving momentarily. He stirred the chili simmering on the stove, uncorked a bottle of wine to allow it to breathe, and removed the cornbread from the oven.

The doorbell sounded. An unexpected sensation—nervousness coupled with excitement—coursed through his body. He opened the door.

“Hi, Justice McDonald,” his dinner guest said.

“Hello,” McDonald said. “But, please, you can still call me Peter.”

“Thanks.” Kelsi Shelton flashed a warm smile and stepped over the threshold.

McDonald led his dinner guest to the living room and offered her a glass of wine, which she gladly accepted.

He said, “I was planning on inviting a few of my former colleagues to join us, but they’ve scheduled a dinner for me at the Rotunda tomorrow night.” He took a sip of wine. “You know what they say about too much of a good thing.”

Kelsi said, “I read about that in the
UVA News
. The article said that Senators Warner and Webb are scheduled to attend.”

“That’s right. It’s silly, really. Such a fuss. I’m still the same person I was before I got appointed to the Court, but now that I’ve got a different job everyone treats me like the second coming. Frankly, it makes me uncomfortable.”

“You might as well get used to it. From what I’ve seen on C-SPAN, all of the justices are treated like royalty. I suspect that’s why so many lawyers would like the job.”

“C-SPAN? You don’t get out much, do you? Seriously, I hope that’s not the case. I hope my colleagues took the job because it’s a chance to serve this great country of ours. That’s why I did. I would’ve been more than content to live out my life teaching bright young students such as yourself, but when the president asked me if I would be willing to accept a nomination to the Court, I couldn’t say no … even after Jenny and Megan were killed. The president kindly gave me an out when he heard the news. I didn’t take it, though. The Court is too important. And …” McDonald’s voice broke.

Kelsi finished his sentence: “and your wife would’ve wanted you to stick it out.”

McDonald nodded. He stood up from his chair to check the chili, … and to change the subject.

Kelsi followed him into the kitchen. “The chili smells great. I didn’t know you could cook. I was expecting takeout from China Garden.”

McDonald chuckled. “I can’t cook. You’re witnessing half my repertoire.”

“What’s the other half?”

“Pancakes. Megan used to love my pancakes. My chocolate chip smiles were a big hit with her.”

Shoot, Kelsi said to herself. She had reopened the wound, and it had been closed for only a minute and a half. “Sorry,” she said.

“Don’t worry about it. You didn’t know.” McDonald dished the chili into two large bowls, handed the bowls to Kelsi to place on the table, and retrieved the cornbread from the counter next to the refrigerator. “I can make three things, actually. My cornbread ain’t too shabby.”

“I can’t wait to try it.”

“There’s no time like the present.” McDonald pulled out a chair for Kelsi. He made certain it wasn’t Jenny’s. He didn’t think he would ever be able to allow anyone to sit in Jenny’s chair. “More wine?”

“Yes, please.”

McDonald refilled their glasses. “To better days to come.”

Kelsi echoed McDonald’s sentiment and touched her glass to his. “How are your clerks shaping up?”

McDonald reached for the cornbread. “Not bad. I was thinking of asking one of them to join us—a handsome young man from Yale. But I thought Agent Neal might object. How’s that going?”

Kelsi blushed. “It’s going good. He’s sweet, and he doesn’t play games. I’m tired of games. I swear, I think that’s all law students know how to do.”

McDonald smiled. “The law school always did strike me as an episode of
Beverly Hills, 90210
.”

“What’s that?”

“I guess I’m showing my age. It was a teen soap opera that was all the rage when I was in high school. The characters seemed to be playing musical chairs with their relationships in every episode. Dylan and Brenda. Dylan and Kelly. Kelly and Brandon. Brandon and—”

“—Brenda?”

“No. That would’ve been illegal. Brandon and Brenda were brother and sister.”

McDonald and Kelsi laughed. They enjoyed more wine, chili, and each other’s company. They were friends now. Nothing more.

McDonald had suspected when Kelsi was working as his research assistant that she had a crush on him. That happened occasionally. After all, he was smart, good-looking, and kind. But he had also known that Kelsi was too sensible of a young woman to act on her feelings. That said, he was delighted that she was dating Agent Neal. It took the pressure off.

Kelsi thanked McDonald for the wonderful evening, scrounged through her purse for her keys, and pulled out of the driveway.

She switched on her headlights and navigated the twists and turns of the dark country road. She smiled. It had taken a while—four months to be precise—but she was starting to feel normal again. She had Brian Neal’s love to thank for that, in addition to small gestures of kindness such as being invited to dinner at Justice McDonald’s house.

Kelsi was smart enough to know that she should have told McDonald about her most recent encounter with Clay Smith, but she just wanted to forget about it for a while. A desire to forget also explained why she had changed her mind about visiting McDonald in chambers during her recent trip to the Supreme Court. Besides, she said to herself as she popped a favorite CD into the car stereo, she never expected to see Clay again. The police had told her that he had left the state and was nowhere to be found.

CHAPTER 86

The police were wrong: Clay Smith was waiting for Kelsi Shelton when she arrived at her apartment. He had climbed through her bedroom window and was hiding in the closet. He knew the place well. He had been there before.

“Why are you doing this to me again?” Kelsi cried, while she struggled to free herself from Clay’s powerful grasp.

Clay placed his hand over Kelsi’s mouth and clung tightly to her waist with his other arm. He said, “I’m sorry. I have no choice.”

Of course he had a choice. Everyone had choices … even young men who belonged to the Ku Klux Klan. But human nature was such that most people tried to deny moral responsibility for the problematic choices they sometimes made. Clay Smith was one of those people.

He spotted a gym bag on the floor near Kelsi’s desk. He snagged it by the strap and instructed Kelsi to fill it with clothes.

Kelsi said, “W … why? W … where are we going? I thought you felt bad about what you did before?”

“I did feel bad, and I still do. But like I said, I’ve got no choice. I’ll let you know the ‘where’ part when we get there.”

Actually, Clay didn’t know the answer to Kelsi’s question about where they were headed. He had a pocketful of possibilities—a stack of MapQuest printouts—but that was about it. He was playing it by ear. He had been taught at UVA that a good lawyer always knew where he was going with his case. He could only hope that another law school lesson—there was an exception to every rule—proved true instead.

Brian Neal tried to distract himself by watching ESPN’s Sunday night baseball. He was addicted to ESPN—twenty-four-hour TV sports was a weekend warrior’s wet dream—and he was nuts about baseball. But he cared more about Kelsi Shelton, and he knew how fond Kelsi was of Justice McDonald. The green-eyed monster frequently made appearances in new relationships, and it was rearing its ugly head at the moment in Neal’s relationship with Kelsi.

Neal popped open a beer in the hopes of calming his nerves. Secret Service agents were schooled about the pitfalls of alcohol, and Neal rarely drank, but tonight he was making an exception. He knew that he didn’t stand a chance in a head-to-head competition with McDonald—a glorified police officer versus a Supreme Court justice was like comparing a Division III swimmer to Michael Phelps—and he needed to try something to distract himself from that cold, hard fact.

He couldn’t stop thinking about it, though. He couldn’t stop his mind from racing … from cataloging every weakness he possessed and every attribute of Justice McDonald. He muted the television and retrieved his cell phone from his pocket. Still no voice mail. Still no message from Kelsi. She had promised to call as soon as she arrived home, and it was well past midnight. He decided to call her instead. He hit her entry on his speed dial but was immediately directed to her voice mail. It said, “Hi. This is Kelsi. I’m out saving the world right now. Please leave a message.”

Neal smiled at the “saving the world” remark. He always did. He often teased Kelsi about her unbridled ambition. He understood its origins, however. It had been like pulling teeth, but he had finally managed to pry the information out of her.

Kelsi Shelton was born in Appleton, Wisconsin, to a single mother who had to work two jobs to keep a roof over their heads and food on the table. Kelsi had never met her father. All Kelsi’s mother would ever say when Kelsi asked about him was that he had left before Kelsi was born. She wouldn’t even tell Kelsi his name or where he lived. Kelsi had discovered that information on her own. She had been in the process of trying to learn more about her dad when Clay Smith had abducted her.

CHAPTER 87

Clay pushed his baseball cap down on his forehead so that his eyes were barely visible. He was finding it difficult to see, but he didn’t want to risk someone recognizing him. He had read in the local Charlottesville newspaper while he was waiting for Kelsi to come home that the police had given up almost all hope of finding him. Still, he needed to be careful. He glanced to his right. “How are you holding up?”

Kelsi said, “As if you care.”

“Believe it or not, I do.”

“You have a funny way of showing it.”

“Like I said before, I’m sorry it has come to this. But I’ve got no choice.”

“You said that last time.”

“I meant it then, too.”

“I don’t believe you. You’ve said over and over that you care about me. If that were true, I wouldn’t be sitting here.”

Clay sat in silence, with no way to respond. What Kelsi said was true, and he knew it.

Clay turned onto State Road 250 and stepped on the accelerator. They were headed toward the Blue Ridge Mountains, about thirty miles outside of Charlottesville. They needed to find somewhere to spend the night, and Clay knew of a good camping site in the George Washington National Forest. He had spent several weekends there when he was in law school. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the stack of MapQuest directions. He flipped through them. He couldn’t find the one for the camping site—it must have fallen out of his pocket somewhere—but he was pretty sure he remembered the way.

The George Washington National Forest extended from the entire length of the Blue Ridge Mountains to the North Carolina border. Seemingly every form of outdoor activity was available there: hiking, fishing, mountain biking, horseback riding, hawk watching, nature photography. Clay brought Kelsi to the Trout Pond Campground. Clay was a southern boy, and he loved to fish. But this particular campground was also a perfect hiding spot—remote, difficult to find, and rarely frequented.

Kelsi said, “It’s a bit chilly for camping, don’t you think?”

Clay said, “I’ve got plenty of blankets. We’ll be fine.” He unloaded the blankets from the backseat of his car. He pulled a tent from the trunk.

“One tent?” Kelsi asked.

“One tent,” Clay answered. “I’ll be on my best behavior. I promise.”

“I don’t believe a word you say. I never will again. But there’s nothing I can do about it. You know it, and I know it.”

Clay didn’t reply. He set up the tent and unrolled the sleeping bags.

Kelsi stood and watched. She considered making a run for it, but she knew that Clay was a lot faster than she was. She also seemed resigned to her fate. Psychological studies revealed that was a common reaction for victims of kidnappings.

Clay removed a butane camping stove from his backpack. He opened a can of franks and beans with a Swiss army knife, poured the contents into a Sierra cup, and stirred the modest supper with the tiny spoon on his knife. He said, “Are you hungry?”

Kelsi said, “No.” She was starving, but she didn’t want to give Clay the satisfaction of thinking he was doing her a favor.

“Suit yourself.” Clay ate a spoonful. “It’s mighty tasty, though. Nothing beats franks and beans on a camping trip.”

“That’s what you’re calling this, ‘a camping trip’? I think the police will call it kidnapping.”

“Like I said four times already, I’ve got no choice. I know you’re upset, but I’m tired of your broken record.” There was an edge to Clay’s voice.

Kelsi picked up on it and wisely decided to stop twisting the proverbial knife. She knew from personal experience that Clay was willing to kill her.

Several minutes passed with nothing but the sounds of a back-country night: rustling trees, a symphony of crickets, the occasional howling coyote.