Murder in the Supreme Court (Capital Crimes Series Book 3) (23 page)

Lauderman’s office was large, free of clutter. He was in shirt sleeves. He stood up and offered his hand. “Nice of you to stop by, Miss Rawls.”

“I appreciate your finding the time for me—”

“Don’t be modest. The President is impressed with you and what you’ve offered us.”

She seemed almost embarrassed. “Thank you, that’s very flattering.”

“Yes, well, I know what you mean. I sit close to the most powerful leader in the Free World. Few people have that opportunity. Right here is where the buck stops.”

Well, almost, she thought. Like more than one top presidential aide, Lauderman tended to so identify himself with the top man that he began to think he
was
the man. No question, though, that he had the President’s confidence, and that no one had access to Jorgens unless cleared by the Jorgens Militia, a cadre of arrogant, aloof young men with ambition in their veins and steel in their hearts. This one tended to frighten her, as he did so many others… but he also attracted her. Montesquieu said power corrupts… well, it also seduces, she thought…

“I want you to know, Miss Rawls, that I speak for the President when I say to you we appreciate the information you have offered us about Dr. Chester Sutherland’s research files. I don’t think I overstate it when I say that those files, were they to end up in the wrong hands, would have posed a grave threat to national security.”

“Well, Mr. Lauderman, when I learned… through his son… that such files existed, I knew something needed to be done. It wasn’t an easy decision. Clarence Sutherland was a friend and… and close colleague. Were he still alive, I would not, to be perfectly honest with you, have informed the White House of the existence of the files. But once he
was gone I did what I thought was right. I hope I made the right decision.”

“You did, Miss Rawls. One must follow one’s best instincts in these things… Tell me about yourself, Miss Rawls.”

“What would you like to know?”

He smiled. It was not really much of a smile. Tight-lipped. She wondered whether he ever let go, laughed out loud.

“Tell me about the essential Laurie Rawls, the Laurie Rawls who might end up working with me every day and who, in that event, would work at the right hand of the President of the United States.”

She shifted in her chair, organized her thoughts. Be precise, she told herself, and she was. He listened impassively, his eyes never leaving hers, his mind like a computer taking in her words and committing them to chips to be instantly replayed when and if needed.

“Very impressive,” he said when she was through.

“Thank you.” Good, he’d been impressed with her performance. She felt more in control now and actually felt his peer, every bit as bright, and calculating, as he was. An even match.

He offered her a glass of water. She declined. He poured himself a glass from a crystal pitcher wrapped in glove leather. “Do you drink?”

“Drink? Alcohol?”

“Yes.”

“I like wine.” And quickly added, “with meals.”

“Drugs? Smoke pot?”

“No.”

“Never?”

“Well, I did once or twice a long time ago but…”

“Any skeletons in the Rawls closet? Sordid romances, insanity in the family, cheating on college exams, unpaid
parking tickets or college loans, people holding something over your head…”

“No.”

“Good.” He leafed through a file folder, looked up and said, “You do know, Miss Rawls, that this job can be yours if things progress as we hope they will.”

“I’m not sure I understand exactly what you mean, Mr. Lauderman. Clarence Sutherland and I were close. He told me about your interest in having him come to work here at the White House and—”

“How close were you?”

“Will honesty ruin my chances?”

“Honesty will help insure them.”

“We were very close. Very…”

“And you’re understandably upset by his death… but you still have your priorities in order. I like that, Miss Rawls. You’re a pragmatist.” He leaned on his elbows as he said, “Your late friend, Clarence Sutherland, was close to being named to our team here at the White House. At first I balked at the suggestion. After all, what could he offer us that any bright law graduate couldn’t offer? Bright law school graduates are a dime a dozen, and being a clerk in the Supreme Court doesn’t mean all that much. We know how he got the appointment, which, I might add, is no crime. His father, because of his
close
relationship with Justice Poulson, did what any caring father might have done, used a delicate relationship to benefit a son. I would do the same thing. Would you?”

“I think so.”

“Well, the important thing is that Clarence Sutherland had certain information, because of his father’s profession, that was valuable to this administration. Does that offend you?”

“Why should it?”

“It would some. I’m glad it doesn’t you.”

“As you said, I’m a pragmatist.”

“And ambitious.”

“Yes. I would imagine you would understand that.”

He allowed a grin. “Yes, I do. When you first came here with the information about Dr. Sutherland’s files, I was skeptical of you. I asked myself what you wanted, what your game was, what your price was. That’s what I’m paid for.”

“Was it because I’m a woman?”

“Why should it be? I’m no sexist. Just a realist. Miss Rawls, you want the job Clarence was being considered for and I admire you for that. You say you have the same information he had because of your—”

“Because I was very close to him. Yes. When you’re that close to someone, you tend to share everything…”

“Yes… well, I’m aware of that. But can you stop the sharing if necessary. I’m speaking of what you would learn here at the White House?”

“Absolutely.” She looked directly at him when she said it.

“Good. Now… we need a… continuing factor inside the Court. Mr. Sutherland held that out to us. Now, he’s no longer in a position to provide it. Perhaps you are.”

“I think I am.”

“As I said, I’m a realist, Miss Rawls. Give me some results to convince me.”

“Such as?” Actually she knew the answer.

“Help insure that the vote on
Nidel
v.
Illinois
goes the way it should. The way the administration,
and
the American people believe it should.”

“That isn’t easy—”

“Sutherland said it was.”

“I’m not Clarence Sutherland.”

“But you’re peddling the same thing.”

“I’m not
peddling
anything.”

“Sorry, Miss Rawls. I’m afraid I’m not as good at the legal niceties as you are. Let me put it this way. Justice Childs may be a problem. I understand you might know something about him to help moderate his perhaps overly rigid
legal
principles.”

“I might.”

“If you want this job, Miss Rawls, you’d better.”

“It comes down to that?”

He nodded.

“Well, there are certain inconsistencies in Justice Childs’s background that might be helpful in persuading him to—”

“See the light?”

“Yes.”

“You know what they are?”

“Yes.”

“Can you prove them?”

“I think so.”

“Childs is swaying in his position. His vote, I understand, is now crucial to the outcome of
Nidel
v.
Illinois
.”

“I thought he was solidly for the state of Illinois.”

“Not as of this morning. Can you do something about that?”

“Yes.”

“Glad to hear it. As I told you at the beginning of this meeting, the job of judicial liaison can be yours, provided you can contribute to certain conditions within the Court—”

“Count on me, Mr. Lauderman. There is nothing Clarence Sutherland knew that I don’t know. Nothing he could do that I can’t do.”

“I’m going to enjoy working with you, Miss Rawls. I have a good sense of people. You’re good people, and I intend to tell President Jorgens exactly that.”

“Thank you.”

They stood and shook hands. “Maybe we could have
dinner some night,” he said. “Since we’re likely to be working together for what I hope is a long time, we really should get to know each other. Don’t you agree?”

“I certainly do. Thank you. You’ll hear from me shortly, Mr. Lauderman.”

“I look forward to it.”

The brief, volatile confrontation with Dan Brazier had left Susanna temporarily shaken, and by the following morning, highly annoyed with herself for having exited so hastily before asking the questions that had brought her to the apartment in the first place.

She’d told her father about the incident the night it happened. He was adamant about her getting off the Sutherland case. When confronted with her decision to return to see Brazier, he became angry.

“I have a job,” she said.

“Your job is
also
to be a mother to your children.” Which once again started all the business of her having given custody to her former husband. By the time she left the house
for Brazier’s apartment, a thick cloud of tension trailed behind.

She deeply regretted that but forced herself to forget about the argument and to concentrate on what she would say to Brazier. She knew that ordinarily she was not a particularly brave person, tended to avoid confrontation… Except, damn it, that wasn’t completely true, she reminded herself as she passed over the Bay Bridge. It had taken real courage, no matter what anyone said, to end her bad marriage and especially to give up physical possession of her children. She’d stood up to it, had made a good career in a male-dominated world without sacrificing herself as a woman, without forgetting that she was a woman. Or a mother. She was still a good mother, even though she did not have everyday possession of her children. But their relationship was better than it had ever been. No, she had nothing to apologize for, feel guilty about, and was not about to create something now by avoiding Dan Brazier.

She planned her approach, went over it a dozen times. It didn’t matter how he reacted, whether he hit out at her, just as long as she got to ask her questions.

She rang the downstairs buzzer. Sheryl Figgs opened the door at the top of the stairs and squinted against a shaft of bright sunlight that backlit Susanna. “Who is it?” she asked.

“Susanna Pinscher. I’d like to speak to Mr. Brazier.”

“Oh, no, I don’t think that’s—”

Susanna quickly climbed the stairs. “Please, Miss Figgs, I won’t stay long. I’m sorry about dinner the other night, but it was a difficult situation.”

Sheryl glanced nervously into the apartment. She was wearing a faded pink robe and was barefoot, her hair was tousled. Obviously she’d just gotten out of bed.

“Is he here?” Susanna asked, looking past her.

“He’s… we just…”

“I’ll only stay a minute,” Susanna said, stepping around her and into the living room.

“Who is it?” Brazier called from another room.

“It’s me, Susanna Pinscher. I’d like to speak with you.”

Sheryl came up behind her. “I really don’t think it’s a good idea. He was so angry after you left last time he—”

Brazier wheeled himself from the bedroom, chest bare, a dollop of shaving cream still beneath his right earlobe.

“Why did you come back?” he asked, wiping water from his neck with the towel.

“To ask you a few questions.” Susanna looked into his gray eyes, at his powerful upper body that could have belonged to a weight lifter. “I won’t stay long, no longer than the last time,” she said, determined not to wilt under his intense gaze.

“I have nothing to say to you.”

“I really think you do.” She summoned up the line she’d rehearsed in the car. She had nothing to back it up, only Laurie Rawls’s comment based on something Clarence had told her. She’d decided not to ask it as a question, she’d challenge and hope for the best. “Morgan Childs isn’t what he’s cracked up to be—”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“About his so-called heroic deeds in Korea? I understand that was all made up, and you helped.”

He started to respond, then wiped the back of his hand across his square, lined face as though to dismiss the subject, and her.

“Why?” Susanna pressed.

“What do you know?” he said, turning his chair and wheeling to the window. “What the hell does anybody know any more about heroes?”

“I know I like them better if they’re legitimate.”

Sheryl Figgs approached him. “Dan,” she said, “if you’d rather have her leave—”

He waved her away, fixed Susanna with a look and pointed his index finger at her. “How do you know what you say you know?”

“It’s my job, Mr. Brazier. I’m investigating a murder, and this could be relevant.”

“How?”

She couldn’t backtrack now. He’d all but acknowledged it, at least he hadn’t denied it. “Clarence Sutherland knew about Justice Childs’s so-called exploits in Korea. Sutherland was a man who used information for power. If he held damaging knowledge over Childs’s head, it might have provided a real motive for your friend to have killed him—”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Whatever Morgan Childs is or isn’t, he’s not a murderer.”

“And Nixon wasn’t a crook, and the boy next door who killed his family was always so polite and nice… It’s an old story, Mr. Brazier. Appearances can deceive… anyway, the fact is that a substantial part of Justice Childs’s public image revolves around his having performed all sorts of heroic deeds in Korea, which isn’t exactly true.”

“So?”

“So? Is that all you can say? A whole country was misled by a fantasy
you
wrote. Why did you do it?” She hoped she hadn’t gone too far… after all, she wasn’t really certain how much he was involved in Childs’s Korean scenario.

He tugged on the arms of his wheelchair as though not sure which way to move, then looked up and asked, “What’s your politics, Miss Pinscher? Liberal, conservative? Don’t give a damn?”

“Moderate, I suppose.”

“What does that mean?”

“I try to go by the issues. Sometimes I come down on what’s considered to be the liberal side, other times the conservative.”

Brazier looked at Sheryl, who leaned against a wall. “Get
me a shirt, will you?” She returned from the bedroom with a wrinkled red plaid shirt that he slipped over his massive shoulders, leaving it unbuttoned.