Murder in the Supreme Court (Capital Crimes Series Book 3) (22 page)

When they’d finished with the logs, Teller asked for a review of background checks on the suspects.

The voices droned on, and Teller found himself at one point on the edge of nodding off. He struggled against it, even resorted to digging a fingernail into the palm of his hand. His mind wandered—the last opera he’d seen, Puccini’s
La Fanciulla del West
, “The Girl of the Golden West,” which he hadn’t liked… a former girl friend calling and suggesting they get together for “old times’ sake,” which he’d declined to do… the lyrics to “You’re the Top,” which he’d forgotten while trying to sing it at Club Julie… bills that were overdue… his younger daughter, she’d come home and told her mother everything. She was planning to marry the father of the child as soon as he finished college, which was two years down the road. She planned to have the baby, live with her mother and find a job until the wedding. Teller had asked his former wife for the young man’s name. She reluctantly gave it to him on his promise that he wouldn’t call and make trouble. “I saw his picture,” she said. “He’s blond, adorable…” “Wonderful,” Teller had said.

He came out of his reverie as the detective reading from the report said, “There’s this one year while Poulson was sitting on the Court of Claims that’s hard to nail down.”

Teller sat up. “Why?”

“Well, he took a year’s leave of absence and according to what I can piece together, used it to write a book.”

“What kind of a book?”

“About suing the United States government. It’s a textbook.”

“Was it published?”

“Sure. I got a copy. You approved it on my expense sheet.”

“What’s this court about?”

“It only hears cases against the United States, I’m told.”

“So what’s so strange about that year? He takes a leave of absence and writes a book.”

“Right, but he didn’t stay at home to write it. The first four months of the year he sort of disappeared.”

“Sort of?…”

“Yeah, his family was home, but he holed up in a place called Sunken Springs, Delaware.”

“Why? Do they own a summer place there?”

“No.”

“Where did he live in Sunken Springs?”

“Nobody seems to know. Four months later he comes home and goes on with his work on the book. Then he’s back on the bench, the book’s published and everything else is laid out clean for the record.”

“Check it out.”

“How?”

“Troll the waters. Let out all the line. Use a strong net…”

“Huh?”

“Just do it, Maurice.”

He spent the rest of the day rearranging his flow chart, taking phone calls and thinking about his daughter, and about Susanna Pinscher…

He stopped in a music store on the way home and bought the sheet music to “You’re the Top,” committed the lyrics to memory over a dinner of frozen Welsh rarebit, toast and bacon, talked on the phone with someone from MPD who reported that Justice Conover was still in a coma and might not survive, took a nap, then went to Club Julie, where he sang loud and bad until the wee hours.

News of Temple Conover’s stroke permeated every corridor and filtered through every door, open and closed, in the Court. His secretaries, Joan and Helen, cried, as did a black cleaning woman who said, “Lord have mercy on him.” Conover had been the Court’s leading champion of minority rights ever since coming to the bench

A conference that had been called for that morning by Chief Justice Poulson to discuss
Nidel
v.
Illinois
was delayed an hour. When it was finally convened in the main conference room, Morgan Childs was absent. Justice Tilling-Masters asked where he was.

“He’s running late,” Augustus Smith said. “He’ll be here shortly.”

Poulson couldn’t hide his annoyance at Childs’s absence. He slapped a pencil on the table and looked at his watch.

“How’s Justice Conover?” Justice Fine asked.

“The same, I suppose,” Poulson said. “One of his clerks is at the hospital and is keeping in touch. I’m afraid it doesn’t look too good.”

“He’s survived them before,” Smith said. “He comes from hardy stock. And we certainly can’t afford to lose him.” Smith meant lose a liberal’s vote on the Court, and Poulson knew what he meant.

Poulson looked sharply at him, then at Tilling-Masters. “Have you had a chance to go over my memo?” he asked.

“I’ll need another day.”

The door opened and Morgan Childs entered the room. “Sorry,” he said as he took his seat and opened a folder.

“Well, we can begin,” Poulson said. “Naturally, we all share grief over what has happened to Justice Conover, and we pray that his recovery will be swift and complete.”

No one in the room said what he, or she, was thinking. It wasn’t a matter of doubting the Chief Justice’s sincerity about Temple Conover. Despite what some considered his inadequacies on the bench, he was not without compassion… There were no formal rules to deal with the sudden and complete incapacitation of a justice. It was up to the remaining eight justices to decide the disposition of cases that were pending before the condition. Were Conover to recover sufficiently to be able to communicate his thoughts, his final vote on the abortion issue could be cast from the hospital by phone, through a clerk or another justice. But he was in a coma, and the prognosis was not good.

“We might as well address the immediate issue,” Poulson said. “Justice Conover is not in a position to vote on pending cases. I think we agree that of all the cases before this court,
Nidel
v.
Illinois
is the most pressing. I wonder whether—”

“I’m not certain that’s true,” Justice Fine said. “Sorry to
interrupt, Mr. Chief Justice, but because
Nidel
v.
Illinois
does have importance as a precedent-setting decision that will influence social programs in this nation for generations to come, it might be prudent to hold it over until Justice Conover has recovered.”

“If he recovers,” Justice Tilling-Masters said. “And what if he doesn’t?”

“We could hold over the case for next term,” Augustus Smith said. An action he personally did not favor. Smith’s problem as a liberal was that if Conover was unable to return to the bench, President Jorgens would appoint a more conservative replacement.
Any
stalemated vote held over for the arrival of the new justice would, in all likelihood, mirror the administration’s views. As for the abortion issue, well, he wasn’t sure…

“I’m against that,” said Poulson. “The nation is waiting for this Court’s decision on abortion. To delay will only indicate indecision on our part.” He didn’t state the real reason for wanting to push forward on a vote. His personal lobbying efforts had resulted in what he perceived as a wavering on Augustus Smith’s part. Smith had voted in favor of Nidel during the initial vote. Now, with the vote four to four, if he had a change of heart it would make it five to three in favor of Illinois and against abortion.

There was more discussion about what to do in Conover’s absence. Finally Poulson suggested another preliminary vote.

“Are we really ready for that?” Smith asked.

“I think so,” said Poulson. “Let’s see where we stand.”

Tilling-Masters said, “It seems to me that we know where we stand. It obviously still falls four-to-four, now that Justice Conover can’t vote. Perhaps we should hold the case over until the next term.”

Poulson knew that holding it over until the President could appoint a conservative to the bench was, on the face of it, safer. But one could never be sure. Judges sometimes
changed stripes once they got to the Supreme Court… look at Black, a Klu Kluxer turned liberal, and Eisenhower surely never expected Earl Warren to lead the fight to strike down the “separate but equal” doctrine…
And
if his instincts about Smith were right,
Nidel
v.
Illinois
could be settled quickly, and the way he wanted. The Poulson Court would have acted, the nation would have clear guidelines on a nasty, divisive issue, the administration’s pledge would be fulfilled and he, Poulson, would have delivered what he’d promised.

“Let’s vote,” Justice Fine said, removing wire spectacles and rubbing his eyes. “If there’s been a change, we might as well find out.”

Morgan Childs cleared his throat, held up a finger. “I think another vote is premature,” he said.

“Why?” Poulson asked.

“I’m not ready, Mr. Chief Justice.”

“Not ready?” Poulson couldn’t help but smile. Childs’s conservative views were well known, solid. Certainly, Poulson reasoned, Childs couldn’t be considering changing his vote in favor of the plaintiff Nidel.

Childs went on, “I’ve read every position paper that’s been generated since the last vote, along with a stack of related materials. This is the sort of issue that naturally stirs up very personal feelings that tend to influence sound legal reasoning. I’d be less than honest if I didn’t admit that this has happened to me, but when I strip away my private views, I keep coming back to a very narrow and clearly defined legal issue. I haven’t reached a firm decision as yet, but my reaction to the legal aspects of this case is different from what it was earlier.”

“I’m surprised,” said Poulson. It was the mildest reaction he could manage.

“Well,” Childs said, “surprised or not, that’s where I stand at this moment.”

Justice Smith, a wry smile on his face, asked, “What if you had to vote right now, Justice Childs? What would it be?”

“Hypothetical votes don’t interest me,” Childs said.

“They don’t count, but they’re interesting,” Smith said, still smiling.

They spent another half-hour discussing other pending cases and deciding what to do in light of Conover’s situation. Eventually it was decided to table voting on all cases until a clearer picture of the senior justice’s physical condition could be determined.

Poulson went to his chambers and slumped in his chair, his stomach a knot, his nerve ends alive. He tried to calm down, took deep breaths, considered having a drink.

It was inconceivable to him that Childs might vote for Nidel. How many times had they sat together over lunch or dinner and discussed their views on life, not as Supreme Court justices but as men, husbands and fathers, observers of society and of the moral deterioration it had suffered at the hands of liberal gurus? A man doesn’t change that much, he told himself, and if he did, it would surely be to become even more concerned about the shredding of the American fabric, to become even more conservative. He refused to acknowledge, even to himself, that Childs’s narrow legal focus on the case might be sound. It didn’t matter what the legal technicalities were. There was a greater issue at stake, one beyond strict legal considerations. There was decency to be upheld, moral leadership to be exercised… and a President in the White House who had appointed him and expected him to live up to his commitments.

Anger displaced anxiety. He picked up the phone and dialed a number in the White House. It rang in the office of Craig Lauderman, special assistant to the President. A secretary answered, told Poulson to hold and entered Lauderman’s
private office. “Sir, the Chief Justice wishes to speak with you.”

Lauderman, thirty-five years old, thick brown hair neatly combed over a thin, patrician face and wearing tortoiseshell glasses, raised his eyebrows, and then his patrician face. “Thank you, I’ll take it.”

“Mr. Lauderman,” Poulson said when he came on the line, “I hope I’m not interrupting some important affair of state.” He laughed a tentative laugh.

Lauderman did not laugh, or smile. “Is there something I can do for you, Mr. Chief Justice?”

His coldness was not lost on Poulson, who hesitated before saying, “I’d like to speak to the President.”

“He won’t be available to anyone until tomorrow afternoon.”

“That’s a shame.”

“Is it urgent?”

“Yes.”

“Perhaps I can help.”

“I don’t think so, Mr. Lauderman.”

“Try me, Mr. Chief Justice.”

Poulson resented the tone used by the younger man. Who the hell was he, just another middling bright and over-weeningly ambitious young man with a position of influence in Jorgens’s administration, lording it over everyone in Washington—senators and congressmen, cabinet officials and even Supreme Court justices. He wanted to tell him what he thought of him and his kind. Instead he said, “It has to do with
Nidel
v.
Illinois
.”

“I suspected that was the purpose of your call, Mr. Chief Justice. The President is on top of it and is taking steps he considers appropriate—”

“I don’t think you understand, Mr. Lauderman. There have been developments that—”

“How is Justice Conover?”

“The last we heard, he was still in a coma and the prognosis is guarded.”

“It was a shock… Well, perhaps the President could get back to you, Mr. Chief Justice. As I said, he’s quite up to date on the case, and so am I.”

Poulson’s voice now filled up with anger. “Perhaps you’d better tell the President, Mr. Lauderman, that it seems Justice Childs is considering changing his vote. Perhaps you could suggest that thought be given to Justice Childs and his vote—”

“I will, Mr. Chief Justice. Thank you for calling.”

The line went dead. Poulson took his coat from a closet and headed into the hallway. He needed time to think. Maybe a walk would help. As he proceeded down the corridor Laurie Rawls came around a corner. “Good morning, Mr. Chief Justice,” she said.

“Good morning, Miss Rawls.”

“Any word on Justice Conover?” she asked.

“Nothing new,” Poulson said. “We’re all hoping. Good day,” and he walked past her.

***

Laurie Rawls left the building and drove home, where, after rummaging through closets, she chose a tailored brown tweed suit, taupe blouse with a button-down collar, stockings and plain brown pumps. She checked herself in a mirror, playing with her hair and makeup. Finally, apparently satisfied, she returned to her car and drove slowly toward the center of Washington, checking her watch every few minutes and varying her speed accordingly. She parked in a garage on Eighteenth Street near the General Services Building and walked toward the White House. She’d been told to enter through the south portico, which she did. A guard took her name and checked a list, then called Craig Lauderman’s office. “Yes, Miss Rawls, you’re expected,”
the guard said. “Someone will be here to escort you in a minute.”