Murder in the Supreme Court (Capital Crimes Series Book 3) (14 page)

Childs stopped in his tracks, the words ringing in his ears.

“Home run,” the voice said.

Childs slowly turned his head. Ten feet away in a wheelchair was Dan Brazier, dressed in a brown suede jacket, flowered open shirt and khaki pants pinned over the stumps of his legs.

“Dan?”

“In the flesh, Morgan.” He closed the gap between them and extended his right hand. Childs took it, held it for a moment, then vigorously shook it.

“What are you doing here?” Childs asked.

“Waiting for you. Hell, when my old buddy hits town to give a speech I figure I have to catch him. Your picture was in the paper today. Thanks for looking me up.”

“I called.”

“She told me, but you didn’t leave a name.”

“I was… Well, it doesn’t matter. How’ve you been, Dan? You look good.”

“I feel great, ready to run the mile.”

Childs winced, then stepped back a few paces and said, “When I heard you say, ‘Play ball,’ I couldn’t believe it.”

“I figured it would grab your attention.”

They had used the phrase “play ball” to signal their escape from the North Korean prisoner-of-war camp. Baseball terms had been used as a code throughout their days of internment, and the system had worked, their captors having little idea of what they were saying to each other.

“How’d your talk go?” Dan asked.

“Fine.”

“I used to belong to SDX but dropped out years ago. If I was still a member I would have been there.”

The initial shock at seeing Brazier was now replaced by awkwardness, a need to escape to the solitude of his suite. But he knew he couldn’t simply shake hands and walk away, not after so many years, and memories.

“Buy me a drink,” Brazier said.

“Sure,” Childs said. “In there?” He pointed to the lower bar, which was just off the lobby.

“Why not?”

They found a table and ordered. Childs was quickly aware that Dan was a little drunk. He slurred some of his words, his eyes had a hard, glassy cast to them. After they’d been served, Childs asked, “What’s new, Dan?”

“What can be new for a former hack without legs? I keep going.”

“Who’s Sheryl?”

“The woman I live with.”

“You look good, Dan. You live around here?”

“You know where I live, Morgan, the place you stood across from and watched this afternoon.”

Childs started to protest but Brazier added, “Sheryl told me about this guy standing across the street and looking at the place for an hour.”

“What makes you so sure it was me?”

“Old newshawk’s intuition. It’s like a woman’s. It was heartwarming to know that you cared enough to check out where you’ve been sending the checks. The neighborhood ain’t great but it has its advantages. By the way, Mr. Justice, you should have taken the kid up on her offer.”

“What kid?”

“Bobbi, the hooker who sent you hightailing it from the street. Word is she’s good, gives—”

Childs cut him off. “Are you doing any writing?” he asked.

“No. I decided sitting at a typewriter and putting little marks on paper is a dumb way for a grown man to spend his day. No, I just sit and watch the flow go by my window and live the retired life, thanks to a little help from the United States Government and my friends.”

The bitterness was not lost on Childs. He held up his glass of bourbon. “Here’s to baseball, Korean style.”

Brazier looked at him without picking up his own glass. His stare was hard, unremitting. A thin smile formed on his lips.

“Please, join me,” Childs said.

“Why not?” Brazier lifted his glass and clicked it against Childs’s. “Here’s to life, Mr. Justice, or to what passes for a reasonable facsimile.”

Childs looked over his glass. “I’m sorry you’re so bitter, Dan.”

“Bitterness is in the mouth of the taster. I’ve tasted. It’s bitter. Period.”

The pianist returned and launched into a medley of Broadway show tunes.

“What can I do for you, Dan?” Childs asked. “I often wish we’d stayed close, but it was your decision to put space between us. I’ve continued to do what I think is right—”

“And necessary? You always were the ultimate pragmatist, Morgan, a survivor above all else—”

“Is that so wrong? We all survived, didn’t we—?”

Brazier looked down to where his legs should have been.

“Forgive me, Dan, and I know it’s easy for me to say, but it beats being dead.” Childs slowly turned the glass in his hands and gazed into its amber contents. “I remember a story about Louis Armstrong. He had an old black fellow who traveled with him. They called him Doc because his
only job was to see that Armstrong took his medication while on tour. Artie Shaw came backstage during an intermission, noticed that Doc wasn’t around and asked where he was. Armstrong said, ‘Doc’s dead.’ Shaw asked what was wrong, and Armstrong said, ‘When you’re dead,
everything’s
wrong.’”

“Jesus, Morgan, you’re a little too old to play Pollyanna. I don’t need parables, especially from you.”

“What do you need from me, Dan? More money?”

Brazier shook his head. “No, I don’t need more money. It may not look it to you but I live pretty good. Sheryl’s a good woman, takes good care of me. I eat good, drink good, even make love good, and…” He held his index finger in the air. “And, Morgan, I sleep good. How are you sleeping these days?”

Childs glanced around the lounge, which had filled up. He said firmly, “I sleep fine.”

“The survivor at the height of his powers. I need another drink.”

“I have to go. I’m catching an early flight.”

Brazier gripped his arm. “Another drink, Morgan, for old times. Who knows, we may never see each other again.”

Childs checked his watch. A woman at a nearby table recognized him, came to their table and asked for his autograph.

“I really don’t give autographs,” he said. “I think—”

“Don’t disappoint your public, Mr. Justice,” Brazier said, tightening his grip on his arm.

Childs scrawled his name on a slip of paper the woman handed him. “Thank you, sir,” she said. Childs forced a smile as Brazier caught a waitress’s attention and ordered another round.

Brazier talked about the Jorgens presidency. He didn’t like Jorgens. Childs said little, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.

Eventually, the conversation shifted to Clarence Sutherland’s murder.

“I heard on the news they found the weapon. Know anything about it, Morgan?”

“Just what I read.”

“Sounds like a break in the case.” Before Childs could respond, Brazier added, “When I heard it, I immediately thought of you.”

“Oh? Why?”

“You’ve been a big gun collector since the service. I saw your collection when I was in Washington. Very impressive.”

“If you’re wondering whether the gun belonged to me, it didn’t. Apparently it belonged to Justice Conover.”

“I know. Who do you figure killed Sutherland?”

“I have no idea.”

“He called me, you know.”

“I heard.”

“From him?”

“Who else? You didn’t bother telling me.”

“He was a nasty little bastard,” Brazier said.

“He wasn’t exactly liked.”

“What did he tell you about the call to me?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it doesn’t. He’s dead, which is good for you.”

“I resent that.”

“Resent it, but it’s true, isn’t it?”

Childs downed the remaining bourbon and ran his fingers over his mouth. “It was good seeing you again, Dan. Best of everything.”

“Don’t dismiss me, Mr. Justice.”

“Call me Morgan. We’re friends.”

“That’s right, Morgan, maybe even more so these days. Sutherland saw to that.”

“I don’t see how.”

“Yes, you do. Do you have a nice room here? They give you the bridal suite? By the way, how’s Peg and the kids?”

“They’re fine.”

“Are you staying in a big suite?”

“Dan…”

“I’d like to see it.”

“Another time, Dan.”

“How about now, buddy?”

“Don’t push me,
buddy
.”

“I’m not pushing. Dr. Sutherland would term it being assertive, stating my needs and wishes, being up-front. He taught me to take stock of my assets and to ignore my failings—”

“Damn it,” Childs muttered as he searched the crowded room for a waitress.

“Calm down, Morgan. You were always so calm in Korea.”

Childs ignored him and continued looking for the waitress. He found her, literally yanked the check from her hands and put down cash on the table. “I have to be leaving.”

“There’s more to talk about,” said Brazier. He tipped over his empty glass.

“Another time.”

“Now, damn it.”

The people who’d recognized Childs were aware of the rising voices at his table, which embarrassed him. He turned his back to them and looked at Brazier, who smiled and said, “Invite me up, Morgan. Like I said, we have more to talk about.”

They rode up in the elevator, Brazier in his wheelchair, Childs standing rigidly in a corner. The operator called their floor and wished them a good night. Childs opened the door to the suite and held it as Brazier wheeled himself inside.

“Very nice,” Brazier said as he pivoted in the center of the living room.

Childs took off his suit jacket and tossed it on a chair. “There’s only wine,” he said.

“We can order up.”

“I’d rather not.” He turned around and leaned over Brazier, his hands on the wheelchair’s arms. “Get it out, over with, Dan. The only reason I accepted this speaking engagement at the last minute was because I intended to look you up. I tried, said the hell with it. Fine,
you
looked me up and here we are. I’m tired. I have an early flight in the morning and there are things I need to do tonight before turning in. Get to the point you want to make and then get out.”

“Wine always gives me heartburn. If you have Tums around I don’t mind. If you don’t, I’d just as soon have a bottle of gin, on me, of course.”

“I don’t need Tums.”

“Looks like gin it is.” He went to the phone and called room service. “A bottle of Beefeater, two glasses and some cold shrimp.” He turned in his chair, raised his eyebrows at Childs, then said into the phone, “And a bottle of Old Grand Dad, lots of ice.”

“I have to call Peg,” Childs said after Brazier had hung up.

“Let me say hello when you do. I always liked Peg. She’s real people.”

Childs dialed the number and, after preliminaries, said, “There’s an old friend here with me, Peg. Dan Brazier. He wants to say hello.”

It was obvious to Brazier that Peg said something that would have been awkward for Childs to respond to. He took the phone and said, “Hello, Peg, a voice from the past.”

“Hello, Dan, what a surprise.”

“Well, when I heard Morgan was going to be out here I couldn’t resist seeing him again. We’re having a hell of
a time, living it up, telling war stories, recapturing our youth.”

“That sounds nice, Dan. I’d love to see you again the next time you’re in Washington.”

He almost commented on the icy tone of the invitation but didn’t. Instead, he said, “I’ll take you up on that offer, Peg. In this whole world my two favorite people are Justice Morgan Childs and his lovely wife Peg. Good talking to you. Here’s the judge.”

Childs ended the conversation quickly. Room service arrived with an elaborately adorned cart, ice in a silver bucket, a mound of shrimp on a bed of lettuce and iced bottles of gin and bourbon. Brazier fished two dollars from his pocket and handed it to the young man who’d delivered it. “Looks great,” he said as he wheeled himself to the cart and poured gin for himself, bourbon for Childs. “This is the way to live, ol’ buddy.” He handed Childs his glass. “To us, Morgan, to being friends and respecting the dark side of our lives.” He downed his gin and poured another. “You know, Morgan, there’s something nice about friends sharing a secret. It’s like kids pricking fingers and becoming blood brothers, if you know what I mean.”

“I know what you mean.”

“It’s good, positive, binds people together, especially when one of the friends has so much to lose.”

“Are you talking about you, Dan?”

“Hell, no, Morgan, we know who I’m talking about.”

Childs removed his tie, unlaced his shoes and put them under a desk, then unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt and rolled the sleeves up to his biceps.

“You look like you’re getting ready for a fight,” Brazier said.

“Maybe I am.”

“Really? Who are you going to fight with, the guy who
delivered the booze or your old friend? If it’s me, I’m ashamed of you. I’m sort of at a disadvantage.”

“All that means is that you can’t run.”

“But I wheel a mean hundred-yard dash. Look, Morgan, there’s no need for you to get antsy with me. I’ve proved ever since Korea that I’m a true friend, discreet and trustworthy. If I hadn’t been, things might have been a lot different in the life of Morgan Childs, justice of the Supreme Court, American hero, inspiration to youth—”

“Shut up!”

“It’s
okay
, buddy, I understand. You’re under the gun with this Sutherland thing, pardon the pun… You know something, Morgan, the way I see it, mankind was done a service by whoever knocked off Clarence Sutherland.”

“I’m not sure I look at it that way, Dan, and I am sorry for blowing up—”

“Hey, we all have our moments, even a Supreme Court justice… Sutherland was a
big
moment for you, wasn’t he?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Well, you knew he called me and asked me all those questions about Korea. He didn’t need answers—he already had ’em. What did he say to you, that he had the goods on you and would spill unless you did him a favor—”

“Of course not. Don’t be melodramatic—”

“Never kid a kidder, Morgan. Frankly, if I’d been in your shoes I would have killed him myself.”

“Enough, Dan. You’ve had too much to drink.”

“I’m just getting started.”

“Not here, you haven’t. It’s time to leave.”

“Some way to treat a friend. He knew everything, Morgan, all the nitty-gritty—”

“He knew what you’d told his father during your therapy.”

“Who would have figured that being open with a shrink
would cause trouble? When I told his father things about Korea, I assumed it stayed with him. I only went to him because the orthopedic doctors thought I could benefit from psychiatric counseling to… how did they put it?… ‘to help resolve my inner feelings about loss of limbs.’ Ain’t that a hot one?”