The Divine Appointment (9 page)

“What’s the guy’s name, and where do we start?”

“His name is Todd Allen Grissom. His wife calls him Tag. He’s a cardiologist in Brentwood. The first thing we need to do is hire Jimmy English—he’s the best private eye I know. Tell him to find out everything he can about our client. We need to know the good, the bad, and everything in between. I’m sure the DA is doing the same thing.”

Jill feverishly scribbled on the yellow legal pad she’d brought with her to Eli’s office. She completed writing the last word from Eli and looked up, ready for the remainder of the assignment. “What else?”

Eli struck the fourth ball and propped himself on the putter to give her further instructions. “You’ll need to go to Nashville in the morning and pull the court file. Get a copy of the warrant and anything else in the court jacket. Have Barbara prepare a notice of appearance to advise the court and the DA’s office that we will be representing the defendant. A lawyer friend of the Grissoms in Nashville helped with the initial appearance, and Dr. Grissom made bail over the weekend. He’s under house arrest, and I’m going to meet with him Friday afternoon. The last thing is that you or Jimmy or both of you need to find out everything you can about the victim. I need to know who her friends were, who her enemies were, and what she did the night she was murdered. Ms. Grissom said the victim was a young lawyer in Nashville named Jessica Caldwell. See if you can find any lawyers in Nashville who knew her and would be willing to talk.”

“Jessica Caldwell?” Jill replied. “I know that name. She was in her first year at Vandy when I was third year. I didn’t know her very well, but I should be able to find some classmates who did.”

“Good. That should give you a starting point. See what you can find out.”

“I got it,” Jill stated. “Anything else?”

“That’s it for now,” Eli replied. “Get back to me tomorrow afternoon on what you’ve found.”

Jill stood to leave as Barbara entered Eli’s office with a large expandable folder. Eli retrieved the golf balls again. Two were in the plastic cup and the other two had glanced off to the right.

“You haven’t forgotten about your deposition this afternoon, have you?” Barbara asked Eli.

“I was just leaving,” Jill assured her and departed Eli’s office to carry out his instructions.

“And I’ll start preparing, but I need to call my wife first,” Eli replied.

Barbara left the expandable folder with Eli. He pondered Anna Grissom’s story as he putted the four balls again. All four clanked into the plastic cup and he propped the putter in the corner behind his office door. Before opening the file Barbara had left, he dialed home.

Sara answered after the second ring.

“I just took a case where I’ve got to be in Nashville later this week to meet with my client,” Eli told Sara. “Why don’t you plan to go with me, and we’ll make a long weekend of it?”

“I don’t know, Eli,” Sara replied. “I’ve got so many things to do this week, I’m not sure it would be a good time to get away. And I’m scheduled to work in the nursery this Sunday at church.”

“C’mon, honey,” he pleaded. “We could go to the Loveless one night for dinner. I know it’s one of your favorite places. Instead of a long weekend, we’ll go up Friday morning and come home Saturday night. That way you can get everything done that you need to, and we’ll be back in time for church on Sunday. What do you say?”

“The Loveless,” she repeated with excitement in her voice.

Eli knew he’d placed a temptation before her that she couldn’t resist. “You’ve got yourself a date, Mr. Faulkner. When do we leave?”

The Rose Garden, the White House, Washington DC

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the president’s crier said to the White House press corps gathered in the Rose Garden. “The president of the United States of America.”

On cue, President Wallace exited the French doors that opened from the Oval Office onto the veranda and began walking toward a podium that had been erected in the Rose Garden for Wednesday’s press conference to announce the president’s nomination to the Supreme Court. Lauren Wallace, Dunbar Shelton, and his wife, Victoria, trailed closely behind President Wallace as he emerged from the veranda and into the spring sunshine. All four looked very solemn, but President Wallace knew that each one was screaming with excitement on the inside.

The
Washington Post
had been silent that morning about the nomination. Despite lots of speculation inside the Beltway, there had been little talk of Judge Shelton and no article by one Holland Fletcher. The nation seemed taken by surprise.

The White House Rose Garden was bursting with deep reds, brilliant pinks, and whites as pure as the driven snow. The White House gardeners did a magnificent job of maintaining and manicuring the delicate shrubbery. The national flower couldn’t have looked more beautiful than it did at that very moment.

The weather was perfect for this historic event, President Wallace thought. The blue sky was devoid of any clouds and the radiant sunlight chased away any hint of a shadow. It was as if the very heavens were smiling on the White House.

President Wallace approached the navy-and-gray podium with the presidential seal on the front of it and said, “Thank you,” to the smattering of applause that rose politely from the White House press corps. He wore a blue suit, white shirt, and blue-and-red tie. Not a hair on his head was out of place. Everything had to be perfect, and was perfect, for the announcement of Judge Shelton as President Wallace’s nominee for the vacant Supreme Court seat.

He opened the folder that had been placed on the podium by a member of his staff before the press conference started and began speaking to the small crowd of Washington and national media representatives. He glanced at his notes occasionally but mainly spoke without using them.

“Fellow Americans,” he began. “Just over two weeks ago, we were saddened by the death of Supreme Court Justice Martha Doyle Robinson. She was a respected jurist whose voice was inexplicably silenced by a terrible and incurable disease. We will certainly miss her compassion, her forthrightness, and her wisdom. Our condolences continue to be poured out to her husband, children, grandchildren, and other members of her family. And even though her passing troubles us, we must move on. Justice Robinson would have had it no other way.

“Throughout the history of our great country there have been rare occasions when presidents were faced with the awesome responsibility of nominating a justice to serve on the Supreme Court of the United States. Today is one such rare occasion. It is a decision that must be carefully considered, and I have done so. It is a decision that will be debated by generations to come, but for me this decision is not about how history will judge it. For me, there is only one standard by which this decision must be measured. And that is whether it will pass the judgment of almighty God. The realization that the magnitude of this decision far exceeds any other decision I have made as president, or likely will make, has been quite humbling. It has caused many sleepless nights. That was, of course, until I reviewed the qualifications of Judge Dunbar Shelton and immediately felt at peace because he was to be the nominee.”

President Wallace turned toward Judge Shelton, nodded slightly, and smiled. Judge Shelton returned the smile, and President Wallace continued his speech.

“Many of you are already familiar with Judge Dunbar Shelton and his contributions to our society, both as the chief justice of the Mississippi Supreme Court and as a person. But for those of you who may not be as familiar with Judge Shelton as others, I want to give you some of his biographical information.”

President Wallace spent the next several minutes describing to the press corps the educational and professional pedigree of Judge Dunbar Shelton. He explained that Judge Shelton had done his undergraduate work at Mississippi State University and attended law school at Harvard. He talked about Judge Shelton’s rise from a circuit court judge to a state appellate court judge to the Mississippi Supreme Court and then his appointment as chief justice of that state body. He even referenced several written opinions that Judge Shelton had authored, shaping the laws of the state of Mississippi.

“Without any further delay,” President Wallace concluded, “I want to introduce you to Judge Dunbar Shelton and his lovely wife, Victoria.”

President Wallace stepped back and shook hands with Judge Shelton. The clicking of the camera shutters had been barely noticeable during the president’s speech. Now it reached a crescendo as the two men shook hands.

Then Judge Shelton approached the podium to a smattering of applause similar to that which President Wallace had received earlier and nodded his appreciation as the applause subsided. He wore a dark gray suit, white shirt, and striped tie. The White House staff had planned both his and the president’s attire. Judge Shelton was about the same height as the president, but at fifty-eight was slightly older. He appeared stoic, dignified, scholarly, and fatherly as he stood behind the podium. It would be difficult to question his qualifications to fill the seat of trust that President Wallace had bestowed on him.

“Thank you, Mr. President.” Judge Shelton opened a separate folder that had been placed on the podium for him and began his brief, prepared remarks. The words spilled from his mouth with ease and in a deep Southern drawl. “I, too, am humbled by what lies before us. It is with great awe and respect that I accept your nomination to serve on the Supreme Court of this great country. And I pledge to you, and to every American citizen, that I will do my best to be just and fair and right. So again I say thank you. I am looking forward to the confirmation process and sitting alongside the greatest judicial minds in the world.”

Judge Shelton stepped back from the podium, and he and President Wallace shook hands again. The clicking from the numerous cameras in the Rose Garden reached another crescendo.

Then a female reporter with the Associated Press called out a question. “Mr. President, do you anticipate a difficult confirmation?”

President Wallace stepped to the podium before responding. “As with all judicial nominees, Judge Shelton will have to endure the gauntlet of the Senate confirmation process.”

A few chuckles rose from the crowd of reporters.

President Wallace grinned. “But we’re working closely with the Senate leadership to ensure that Judge Shelton’s appointment moves through the Judiciary Committee and the full Senate as soon as possible.”

“Can you tell us Judge Shelton’s position on issues such as affirmative action and abortion rights?” the AP reporter continued.

“I think it would be inappropriate to discuss Judge Shelton’s position on any issue.” The grin evaporated from President Wallace’s face. “His personal beliefs—and I believe Judge Shelton will tell you the same—are irrelevant. I haven’t asked him to commit, nor would he commit, to a particular position on an issue that might come before him as a Supreme Court justice. What is important is Judge Shelton’s judicial philosophy, and that is better left to the Judiciary Committee to inquire about than the press corps.”

President Wallace knew it was time to end the press conference before other such intrusive questions were hurled at Judge Shelton and himself. The quartet of President Wallace, Lauren, Judge Shelton, and Victoria circled and strode back to the Oval Office as a chorus of “Mr. President, Mr. President” rang out behind them. They stopped briefly as they entered the French doors they had exited from earlier and waved happily at the cameras in the Rose Garden for one last video clip for the evening news.

Porter McIntosh was waiting when they entered the Oval Office. He gave a confident thumbs-up when President Wallace looked at him. “I thought the press conference was perfect, Mr. President.”

“I thought so, too. That reporter with the AP went a little too far with that last question and I decided to cut it off. You and Judge Shelton had better get busy preparing for the hearings. You both have a lot of work to do.”

Both Porter and Judge Shelton nodded their agreement.

“We already have a series of mock hearings scheduled,” Porter said. “And the general counsel’s office is summarizing all of Judge Shelton’s written opinions. Everything should be fine.”

Avenue of the Americas, New York City

Stella Hanover screamed angrily at the image of President Wallace, Judge Shelton, and their wives reentering the White House on the television in her Avenue of the Americas office. The battle was on.

“Valerie!” she yelled as she continued her glare at the television. By now it had switched scenes to a talking head who analyzed the president’s nomination of Dunbar Shelton. Stella was no longer listening to the words that were being emitted from the television. She already knew everything she wanted to know about Judge Shelton.

The door opened slightly, and Valerie Marcom’s black-rimmed glasses and mouse brown hair appeared.

“Yes,” Valerie responded timidly.

“Get Senator Proctor’s office on the phone,” Stella growled.

The Grissom residence, Brentwood, Tennessee

Eli and Sara checked into the historic and recently renovated Hermitage Hotel on Sixth Avenue North in Nashville after lunch on Friday before Eli traveled alone to his meeting with Tag Grissom.

The Grissom residence was an opulent French-country-style home in the Governor’s Club subdivision of Brentwood. Eli parked his BMW in the circle drive near the stone walkway that led to an arched entrance and wood front door, and exited with his briefcase in hand. His attire was business casual—no tie or jacket.

Anna Grissom met Eli at the front door. “I’m so glad you’re here. Tag is in his study. I’ll show you the way.”

“You have a beautiful home.”

Eli followed Anna through the palatial structure to a study adjacent to the den in the rear of the house. He took note of the professionally decorated interior with its expensive furnishings, lavish floor coverings, and art-gallery prints. But something was strange about the Grissom home. Although beautiful, the house felt cold.

“We may have a difficult marriage, but we’ve been fortunate to live rather richly,” Anna said flatly.

Eli studied the back of her head as she walked in front of him.

“I thought at one time that having money would make our marriage better,” she said softly, “but it hasn’t.”

Eli didn’t respond to Anna’s personal assessment. He realized that he couldn’t repair their marriage. All he could do was try to defend Tag against murder charges. Anna and Tag would have to resolve their marital issues on their own.

“You look very radiant.”

Anna patted her stomach and turned her head to smile back at Eli. “A little over six months to go.” She opened the door to the study. “Tag’s in here.”

For the first time Eli saw Tag Grissom, sitting behind a mahogany desk. His dark hair was neatly parted and slicked down with a styling gel, but he looked like he hadn’t shaved in two days. His skin was tan—too tan for late May—and it was obvious that he exercised regularly. Eli knew he’d have to work on Tag’s appearance before a jury saw him. They wouldn’t like him at all. Arrogance didn’t breed sympathy. Tag had been reading a copy of the
Wall Street Journal
and placed it on the corner of his desk when Anna and Eli entered.