Protect and Defend (69 page)

Caroline composed herself, briefly rehearsing the response she had prepared. “Since the filing of the Tierney case, I’ve neither seen nor spoken to Ms. Dash. So the answer is no.” Pausing, Caroline spoke with renewed strength. “But for the sake of completeness, I should tell you that—the last time I prepared dinner—Ms. Dash mentioned meeting Mary Ann Tierney. I told her that, inasmuch as any case which resulted might come before my court, I didn’t want to hear about it, and wouldn’t discuss it.”

Harshman stared at her in skepticism and surprise. “And you’re saying
that
was the entire conversation.”

“Not quite.” Caroline’s voice was cold. “I told her that the partisans on both sides of the abortion question had long memories, and that it would be better for her to avoid this altogether. Although I
never
anticipated the inference you’ve raised this morning.”

The room was hushed. Angry, Harshman leaned forward, jerking the microphone close to his mouth. “I’m entitled to an
inference of bias, Judge, when you have private tête-à-têtes with counsel for Mary Ann Tierney. You did not choose to disqualify yourself, did you?”

“Obviously not. If I had, I wouldn’t be sitting here.”

Once more, Palmer turned to Harshman. “In fact,” Harsh-man continued, “you voted to grant Ms. Dash’s petition en banc.”

“Ms. Tierney’s petition,” Caroline corrected. “That vote is private by rule of our court, so I’d be curious to know where you acquired your information. But the fact is that I voted for rehearing.”

“And then wrote the opinion, invalidating the statute.”

“Yes. I thought that’s why we were here—”

“And you did
all
that,” Harshman said in a prosecutorial tone, “at the behest of a friend who often visits your home—alone.”

Kit Pace, Adam Shaw, and Ellen Penn had gathered now. Adam and Kit flanked the President; Ellen—too intent to sit—stood next to Clayton with her hands flat on the conference table.

On the screen Caroline had regained her calm. “
As I remarked the last time, every judge has friends. I’ve lived and practiced in San Francisco for over twenty years and so, like many judges, most of my friends are lawyers
.

“
As for former clerks, our rule—as I also said—is to recuse ourselves from their cases for one year after their clerkship. There are many former law clerks who practice before us; were the period any longer, our court would be paralyzed
.

“
I don’t know any of my colleagues who would put a relationship with a former clerk above their duty to be impartial. When I was here before, you asked me that very question—and I answered, truthfully, that I would not
.” Pausing, Caroline remained composed, almost professorial. “
Our other obligation is to ensure we avoid the
appearance
of partiality. We believe a one-year period satisfies that need
.”

“
Even in a case as important as
this,” Harshman persisted, “
with a clerk who’s also a friend?
”

Intent, Kerry watched the screen. Softly, he said to Caroline, “It’s time.”

Caroline appeared to gather herself. “
Yes
,” she answered. “
Perhaps the best analogy I can offer, Senator, is one which you’ll find familiar: the Senate rule which permits former senators to lobby members one year after they leave
.

“
After a year, the Senate has concluded, there is no inference of any undue influence …
”

Watching, Kerry heard Ellen Penn’s knowing laugh of delight. “
For example
,” Caroline went on, “
I’ve become aware that your former colleague from Oklahoma, Senator Taylor, represents the Christian Commitment in urging members of this body to defeat my nomination
.

“
Obviously, no one here believes that Senator Taylor’s advocacy is in any way improper, or that those senators who might oppose me are acting from anything but conviction …
”

“Catch Harshman,” Kit Pace remarked. “He looks like he gargled with vinegar …”

“
Or
,” Caroline continued blandly, “
that his activities in raising money for your party are any other than a legitimate exercise of his First Amendment rights of speech
.

“
Were it otherwise, Senator, surely
you
would have taken the lead in changing the rules which permit Senator Taylor to come here …
”

Sitting beside Harshman, Chad Palmer turned away, obviously attempting not to smile.

“It’s all too funny,” Mace Taylor said to the screen. “It’s all too funny, Chad.” Angered and dismayed, Gage said nothing.

“
Are you questioning my integrity?
” Harshman demanded with genuine indignation.

Caroline’s expression did not change. “
To the contrary
,” she said, “
I was affirming my belief in your integrity. I believe you were questioning mine
.

“
I hope I can change your mind, though I don’t presume I can. Beyond that, I can only hope that all ninety-nine of your colleagues have the chance to judge me for themselves …
”

“Kilcannon saw us coming,” Gage said abruptly. “He primed her. They know we’re trying to kill her in committee.”

Taylor scowled in disbelief. “Bullshit, Mac. Palmer
told
him—or her.”

On the screen, Paul Harshman hesitated, and then spoke
with weary disdain. “
Very well, Judge Masters. Let’s take your Tierney opinion on its so-called merits …
”

T
HE
S
ENATE
was running late that evening, caught in a debate over gun control, and so Chad Palmer and Kate Jarman sneaked out for a quick dinner at the Oval Room.

They had a corner table, and the dim-lit elegant surroundings lent a sense of privacy. After looking about, Kate asked quietly, “What are you going to do about her?”

Chad did not need to ask whom Kate meant. She studied him, her thin face and light blue eyes betraying a keen intelligence which grasped the essence of Chad’s dilemma—he was a potential candidate for President, caught between his party base and his own sense of what was right. “Tell me how it went today,” he parried, “and maybe I’ll know.”

Kate smiled. “From where
I
sat—five chairs away from Paul—I was glad I wasn’t next to him. People watching might think we’re friends.”

“It was
that
bad?”

Her smile became skeptical. “You
were
sitting next to him. Which moment did you enjoy least: when Harshman asked who Dad was with her daughter looking on, or when she stuck Mace Taylor in his ear? Gage should issue Paul a regulator.” She lowered her voice. “It’s one thing to vote against her. But I hear Mac wants to kill her in committee.”

Chad did not bother to deny this. Sipping from his Stolichnaya on the rocks, he answered, “Did you hear he mentioned you?”

Kate stopped smiling. “He doesn’t have to run for reelection in Vermont, where gays have civil unions and one of our
congressmen’s a literal socialist. I won’t get my ticket re-punched by pandering to the far right.

“And then there’s what Paul would call the merits, which seem worthy of some attention. About the daughter, I think Masters has the high ground—she’s a class act, and I don’t think calling her a ‘liar’ is going to work, especially when her chief accuser ends up sounding like Cotton Mather.” Kate played with the straw in her gin and tonic. “About the Tierney case, I think she’s probably more right than wrong. But for anyone in our party to say that is a risk—I don’t want a primary challenge from some nut job.”

Looking up, Senator Jarman fixed Chad with a level glance. “Kilcannon’s figured all that out,” she finished, “including what Gage is up to. Mac’s underrated him—before this is over, it could be a bloodbath.”

His own situation, Chad reflected, was growing more perilous by the hour. “So what are you telling me?”

“I could probably get by with voting against her. But I wouldn’t vote to kill her without having you for company. And even that’s unlikely to persuade me.”

Though disheartened, Palmer smiled: Kate had given him early warning, so he could calibrate his moves. “You’re an honest woman, Kate. Thanks for letting me know.”

She studied him with open curiosity. “What
will
you do?”

“Tread water.” Briefly, he looked around them. “I think the hearings will sort themselves out. We’ll get a sense of public opinion, and how hard Gage wants to push this. Maybe he’ll back off.”

Slowly, Kate shook her head. In quiet tones, she said, “You’re forgetting who his stockholders are. I don’t think Mac’s a free agent here—even if he thinks so. If I were you, I’d watch my back.”

The next morning, alone in his office, Chad pondered Kate Jarman’s warning. He was studying a photo of Kyle smiling at him—an airbrushed version of family history—when his private line rang through.

“Hello, Chad. Mac here.”

Chad sat back. “Morning, Mac,” he answered. “I guess you’re calling to congratulate me on this morning’s CNN poll.”

“Haven’t seen it.”

“Well,” Chad said, “maybe you should look it over. Among those who watched yesterday’s hearings, Masters has roughly a ten point spread.”

“It’s those damned TV spots,” Gage complained, “paid for by the fucking trial lawyers. There’s an ethical problem in itself—they’re purchasing a Chief Justice on the installment plan.”

The spots were fresh in Chad’s mind: a handsome Caroline Masters, with Paul Newman’s distinctive voice asking, “
Isn’t this who we
want
as a judge?
” “You coin a nice phrase,” Chad answered, “and the Kilcannon ad blitz hasn’t helped. But neither did our colleague, Senator Torquemada.

“She’s not a lesbian, Mac, or you’d have found out by now. And she acted to protect her daughter. Objecting to Tierney is fine. But burn her at the stake in committee, and you’ll create a martyr.”

“Chad,” Gage said in exasperation, “we’ve trod this path before.”

“No,” Chad snapped. “We’re treading it now, and it’s a bed of hot coals.” Hearing himself, he moderated his tone. “Know where CNN’s ten percent came from? A twenty percent edge among women.

“That’s where Kerry ate our lunch four months ago. Now he’s found a way to make that worse—suburban women
hate
this kind of thing.” Pausing, Chad strained for a tone of politeness and sincerity. “When I was protecting her, I was protecting us. Fight her on the merits, Mac. Not on her personal life.”

There was a long silence. “This is a time,” Gage said, “when our base expects action.”

“From whom? George Armstrong Custer?” Chad felt his anxiety rising. “There are four more days of hearings, Mac. Show me something, and I’ll reconsider. But yesterday was a disaster.”

Conversation ended, Gage slowly put down the phone.

“Well?” Taylor asked.

Gage looked into his colleague’s face—the hammered cheekbones, the frontier squint of his eyes—and briefly wished,
despite, his frustration with Palmer, that he did not have to answer.

“We’ll have to see,” he said at length. “But it’s time to squeeze Kate Jarman. I don’t think Palmer’s going for it.”

Four days later, after chairing a virtual colloquium by law professors and ethicists on the legal definition of perjury, Chad Palmer summoned the Republicans on Judiciary to his office. Kate Jarman, he noted, sat as far from Harshman as possible.

Quickly, Chad surveyed the others: Jim Lambert of Alabama, dark, sleek, and guarded; the shrewd and amiable Cotter Ryan of Indiana; Jerry Deane of Georgia, looking, as always, red-faced and short of breath; Frank Fasano of Pennsylvania—young, ambitious, and wholly without humor; Bill Fitzgerald of Florida, chewing gum in his perennial fight against nicotine addiction; Dave Ruckles of Oklahoma, mean as a snake, with the sincere voice and constant eye contact of an evangelist or a stockbroker; Madison Starkweather of Mississippi, eighty-five and running on fumes and staff assistance, who had yielded the committee chairmanship in preparation for death. Somehow, Chad reflected, people elect us all—a truism he tried to remember in his unceasing fight with his own impatience.

“Here we are,” Chad began. “We vote Monday, and the Supreme Court has yet to rule in the Tierney case. So we know all we’re going to know before we’re forced to take a stand.”

“We know plenty,” Paul Harshman said promptly. “This woman lied; she has a history of promiscuity and God knows what; the trial lawyers have purchased her at auction; her ethics are in question; and she has now acknowledged a radical pro-abortion agenda. She doesn’t belong on the Court.”

Chad felt himself smile. “You surprise me, Paul. So what do we do?”

Harshman looked at the others, and then at Palmer again. “We vote not to send her to the floor, Senator. And end this farce.”

For once, Chad did not want to take the lead. His glance at
Kate Jarman was a signal—it was time for her to give him cover.

“Killing a Supreme Court nomination in committee,” she said to the others, “would be extraordinary. Apart from Masters’s testimony, there’s nothing new: the law professors have quarreled, though no one made a persuasive case for perjury; the interest groups have said what they’ve always said; and the Tierney opinion is what it is.

“We’ve all had our chance to hyperventilate in public. But we’ve changed no minds—except those we’ve changed against us.” She paused, looking about the room. “I’m sure Mac’s talked to all of us. I know he’s talked to me. What I told him is that I won’t take on a suicide mission.”

Harshman stared at her. “Mac says he’ll speak out for us.”

“Which,” Kate answered dryly, “is an enormous spiritual comfort. But it won’t help me in Vermont.”

Harshman looked at the others. “The rest of us,” he remarked to Kate, “don’t come from a people’s republic.”

“True,” she answered with a smile. “But even
you
let women vote.”

The lines were being drawn, Chad saw, where he always feared they would. Six of their seven colleagues came from conservative states; the seventh—Frank Fasano—was a committed pro-lifer whose national ambitions would rise and fall with the power of the Christian Commitment. And in no case were they prepared to defy Macdonald Gage.