The Last Justice (17 page)

"That can be arranged."

"Great. When you vetted McKenna for the SG nomination, did any problems come up?"

"Not a thing. He was a Boy Scout-poor kid who pulled his own way up. Married his high school sweetheart, had gained widespread respect as a judge. The only concern we had was that he wasn't conservative enough. But he assured us he'd back the administration's positions. He really wanted the job. I mean, if you're a lawyer, it's a dream job. Almost all you ever do is argue before the Supreme Court. Although, shortly after McKenna was nominated, his kid was diagnosed with a terminal illness, and he wanted to be in D.C. because there were better treatment options. I think the kid had cancer."

"Yeah, leukemia," Pacini said.

Wentworth nodded. "Very sad story. On the upside, it made his confirmation a lock, since it gave him the sympathy vote." He paused, seeming to realize that he had perhaps said more than was prudent.

Pacini probed for twenty minutes on Nash's enemies. He was hated by many, but Wentworth was right-partisan battles rarely prompted the prissy Capitol Hill crowd to get blood on their manicures. Besides, McKenna was at the scene-and ran. As Wentworth said, "Solving Nash's murder really doesn't look like rocket science."

"You said your boss was hoping to get some information from us?" Pacini said.

"Yes. Only tangentially related, but we understand the commission has taken jurisdiction over investigating the murder of Judge Petrov's law clerk?"

"Yes."

"We're going to announce the nominees for the Supreme Court soon,"Wentworth said, leaning forward in his chair, hand on his chin. "It's been six months since the assassinations. There's a lot of pressure now that the first Monday in October-the opening of the new term-has passed, and the Supreme Court can't really do a thing. Confidentially, we're looking at Judge Petrov as a nominee to the court. Parker Sinclair was Petrov's law clerk, so we wanted to ask if the murder investigation has turned up anything of concern about either Sinclair or Petrov. The last time we had a vacancy, we were forced to remove Petrov from our short list for political reasons. We just don't want any surprises."

Pacini turned to Assad and Milstein.

"It's early, but nothing we've seen suggests any concern about Petrov," Assad said. "He granted us full access to his chambers, and his staff is pulling computer files for us now without requiring a warrant. We can't guarantee Parker Sinclair's murder is unconnected to the assassinations, but we've seen nothing that should cause any worries about Petrov. He's gone out of his way to help."

"That's what I wanted to hear," Wentworth said, steepling his hands. "Anybody hungry?"

"I could eat," Pacini said, and Assad and Milstein nodded in agreement.

"Excellent. The White House mess whips up one of the best omelets in town."

Wentworth escorted them out of his office and down a hallway, stopping at a stairwell that led down to the White House mess. Holding his iPhone in his right hand, he said, "Mind if I respond to an e-mail right quick? We get no reception in the mess-the signal's blocked from the Situation Room."

"No problem," Pacini said.

Wentworth had already turned his shoulder to them and begun clicking away with both thumbs. The message to his boss, the White House chief of staff, read, "They don't know re: Justice Carmichael."

Northeast

cKenna and Kate sat in a booth at Stella's Diner, picking at their greasy eggs and hash browns. Although McKenna still had the cell phone, no cabbies were willing to enter the Hamilton Heights projects, so they had walked a mile and a half before stopping at the diner.

McKenna looked around; theirs were the only white faces in the packed diner. Trying to lighten the mood, he said, "Maybe not the easiest place to keep a low profile." He rubbed the knot on the back of his head as he watched Kate.

She looked down at her plate, absently chewing white toast and jelly. She hadn't said much since they left the alley.

"Do you want to talk about it?" McKenna asked.

She kept chewing.

"Let's eat and get you a cab home," McKenna said. "I want you to go to work like any other day. Pretend none of this has happened. Make up something about where you were."

"I can't go back like nothing's happened," Kate countered. "Once your friend Seabury tells them about Douglas Pratt, they're going to find out you were at his apartment with a woman who looks a whole lot like me."

He knew she was right.

"I think we should consider turning ourselves in," she said.

"I can't, not yet."

"Why, Jefferson? Do you really think you can figure this out on your own? We don't even know who those men are that grabbed us. We need to face reality."

"What do I have to gain by going in?"

"You can respond to the allegations. You can look like you're not hiding out."

"We've been through this," he said.

"If you have nothing to hide, I don't understand why we don't just tell the FBI what we know. This is what they do."

"So you think I have something to hide?"

"I didn't say that."

McKenna gave a dry laugh. "You didn't need to."

"I'm not trying to pick a fight, Jefferson. I just see no point in this. What's the endgame?"

Not knowing when he would eat again, he forced down the last of his eggs. "Why don't you go home and call our contacts on the commission?" he said. "If they suggest you've done something wrong, say I held you against your will. I promise that's what I'll tell them."

"They're not stupid."

"Say I threatened you-no, wait ... Say you believed me at first, but once you thought I was running, you left me. If they haven't issued a warrant yet, there's not much they could do to you." McKenna put the cell phone on the center of the table. "Call the cab."

Kate eyed the phone for a moment but then said, "I'm not going without you."

He gazed at her. She had once told him that he was the only man she had ever truly loved, words McKenna either had not believed or had just not been ready to hear. But in the past eight hours, she had been abducted, mock-executed, and nearly raped, yet she wanted to stay with him. And he wanted her to stay.

"What's the plan?" she said.

McKenna pulled out a crinkled business card from his pocket and flattened it on the table.

"this Milstein is a homicide detective. Seemed like a straight shooter and has no connection to federal law enforcement, so maybe we can trust her-which is more than I can say for anyone on the commission right now."

He picked up the cell phone, but Kate grabbed it out of his hand. "They can track us once they capture the signal."

"I know," McKenna said, and taking the phone back, he started dialing.

Pennsylvania Avenue, Washington, D.C.

fter breakfast, Pacini, Milstein, and Assad thanked Brad Wentworth, went out the iron gate surrounding the White House, and hailed a cab. Pacini, in the front seat and talking on the phone, turned to the cabbie and said, "First Street and Maryland, the Supreme Court." As Milstein and Assad exchanged a glance, Pacini turned around and said, "You two are getting quite the tour today."

Milstein watched out the cab window as one concrete government building after another went by. Each one gray and drab just like the next, matching the sky.

"What are you thinking about?" Assad asked.

Milstein glanced at Pacini, who was barking orders into a cell phone. Softly she said, "Just wondering about agendas we're not privy

The cab maneuvered around the concrete blockades and closed streets surrounding the Capitol building and pulled to the curb a block from Union Station.

"this is the closest I can get you," the cabbie said. "They've closed most of the streets to cars around here since the judges were killed."

They slipped out of the cab and walked toward the high court, passing the Russell and Dirksen Senate Office Buildings, the Capitol dome rising in the distance to their right. They stopped at the sidewalk in front of the Supreme Court. Even though the court was not hearing cases, a few protesters stood on the sidewalk. One held a sign that read, "STOP THE 3/3 DEAL OR WOMEN WILL DIE."

Milstein marveled at the grandeur of the structure as they walked up the first flight of steps to a raised gray and white marble plaza flanked on either side by circular fountains and bronze flagpoles. She gazed up to the top of the next flight of marble steps. The building, with its long portico supported by sixteen towering marble columns, reminded her of a Roman temple. Inscribed on the pediment above the columns were the words "EQUAL JUSTICE UNDER LAW."

Pacini guided the two detectives, not up the steps to the portico but to a side entrance at the far right.

Just before they entered the building, Milstein's cell phone rang. Pacini and Assad, ahead of her, kept walking until they heard her say, "Mr. McKenna?" Milstein held up her finger, as if to prevent them from snatching the phone away from her.

"Detective Milstein, I won't waste your time and tell you that the things they're saying about me are lies," McKenna said.

"Then why don't you come in? We can talk. If it's true, we can work this out."

"Listen," McKenna interrupted. "Last night I was abducted, beaten, and threatened by men associated with the Hassan case. Call Jake Seabury, a lawyer at Harrington & Caine in D.C.-he can explain some of this. You also need to find a man named Douglas Pratt. He was a law clerk for the Supreme Court, and he knows something. You should search his apartment; there's something I think you'll find interesting under the dresser in his room. When they took me last night, they also took Pratt. I don't know what happened to him."

"Mr. McKenna, again I urge you-"

"Detective," McKenna cut in, "I didn't kill anyone."

When McKenna hung up, Kate said, "Why didn't you tell her about Justice Kincaid's widow? Or the man at the Watergate?"

With an impish smile, he replied, "We need something to do."