Blowout (13 page)

“Don’t worry, I’ll earn one on my own. I nearly got one last year, it was that close.” She held up two fingers, nearly touching.

“What did you do?” He was driving very carefully even though there weren’t many cars on the road, the sun was bright overhead, and the snow was melting. But the occasional pockets of slush could take a car into a ditch with no warning.

“I have snitches, like you cops do. One of them tipped me off that a child pornography ring was operating out of the Barrington Hotel right here in Washington. I broke the story.”

He jerked the steering wheel in his surprise and nearly sent them into a telephone pole. It was dicey for a moment until he got the car straight again. “You were the one who broke the Cadillac Ring story?”

At her nod, he could only stare at her. “I’ll tell you, Callie, you had a lot of people pissed off at your paper about that. We already had undercover guys in there gathering evidence, then you had to move in with your battering ram. Lucky for the good guys we were nearly ready to close them down.”

“Yeah, sure you were,” she said, eyes narrowed. “I heard about an undercover operation, but I didn’t see anything coming out of your efforts. I got all the evidence for you, Detective Raven. Oh yeah, you guys did a great job—once I cracked it.”

Well, okay, she had done a lot and she had given them a day’s warning, he’d hand her that. And she had uncovered more evidence than they had, dammit. He decided to give the devil her due. “Well, maybe you did okay. It was federal racketeering for the bastards. The Attorney General brought them all down. There were big names among their clients, lots of money.”

“It was the children that got to me. They were stolen from all over the world. They weren’t physically hurt, actually, they were just prisoners with anything they wanted—so long as they did exactly what they were told.”

“They were all returned to their families.”

“Yes, but their lives will be messed up in the short term at the very least. Poor kids.”

“All right, so why didn’t you pull a Pulitzer?”

“Olsen Tynes at
The New York Times
broke that big political scandal about Governor Welles in Louisiana. Since the
Times
is Northern liberal, and the governor was Southern conservative, they poured everything into nailing him.”

“So you’re telling me you’re philosophical about that?”

“What do you want me to do? Go blow up
The New York Times
?”

“The least you could have done was not date that moron
New York Times
reporter you caught in bed with another woman. Me, I’d have gotten right in this Tynes guy’s face, made sure he knew who should have carried off the prize.”

She grinned at him. “Thank you, Detective Raven. I feel all sorts of warm and breathy getting advice from such an alpha male.”

“Breathy?”

“Do you know, I’m beginning to think you’re becoming resigned to me hanging around you.”

“Not in this lifetime. Well, you’re not as bad as I thought you’d be. Look, now we’re heading into the hills of Virginia, horse country, that’s where Justice Xavier-Foxx lives. I can’t imagine how she can help us, but who knows?”

“Did you know Justice Holmes said the nine Justices were like nine scorpions trapped in a bottle?”

He grinned at her, shrugged. “Well, all the Justices are in the same small area for hours on end. Maybe she heard something, saw something. I will live in hope until the contrary is shoved in my face. Did Holmes really say that?”

She nodded. “Okay, let me fill you in. As you know, she’ll go down in the history books as the first black woman appointed to the Supreme Court. She was at the top of her class at Stanford, law review, all extremely accomplished for a black woman back in the sixties—pretty remarkable. She wanted to clerk for Justice Raines, a noted conservative on the Court. She was recommended by two top Federal Appeals Court judges, none of which mattered since only men were taken by both parties, and still are, for the most part. You’ll appreciate this—she has three women law clerks out of ten in the total count of thirty-six.

“She’s much like my stepfather, usually votes conservative—pro death penalty and against attempts to increase prisoners’ rights. Like him she can go the other way as well—she’s very much a proponent of women’s rights, rabidly against sexual discrimination, and pro abortion, except partial birth abortion, which she is very much against.

“Her husband trains horses, races them, has quite a stud program. She uses a hyphenated name—Elizabeth Xavier-Foxx. It’s interesting, isn’t it, how the two women Justices have kept their maiden names? I guess it gives them more heft, like they really were somebody before they got married.

“Even though she’s black and a woman, there were attempts to derail her confirmation, the excuse being that there was lots of money on her husband’s side, with perhaps the taint of corruption.”

“What was the accusation? That she’d be influenced unduly whenever there was a case about federal horse racketeering?”

Callie laughed. “Nah, it was just politics as usual.”

“What do you know about her confirmation?”

“Well, after some huffs and puffs because she wasn’t staunchly pro abortion all the way, and she was—gasp—pro death penalty, the Senate confirmed her. They knew it was an historic moment. No one was willing to try to shoot her down. She’s expecting us?”

“Oh yeah. Do you like her?”

“Yes, I do. She’s got lots of class; her husband stands behind her like this huge silent power, as if daring anyone to come after her. I personally don’t believe he’s guilty of anything other than not being a Democrat.”

“But if he had been, then the Republicans would have blown a fit.”

“True. Ain’t politics fun?” She grinned over at his profile.

“Yeah, right.”

“Savich,” she said, then frowned, paused.

He arched an eyebrow.

“He’s cute. Whenever I see him, I think of that actor James Denton.”

Ben rolled his eyes. “I’ll be sure to tell him that, it’ll make his day.”

“As for his butt—”

“Get yourself together, Ms. Markham. We’re here at Foxx Farm. Oh yeah, happy birthday.”

She gave him a perfectly blank look.

“You’re twenty-eight today.”

“Oh my, imagine that. Yeah, I guess you’re right. I forgot. Isn’t that something? Thank you.”

SUMMERTON, VIRGINIA

F
OXX
F
ARM WAS HUGE
, judging by the miles of white fence that bordered it, a score of white paddocks, rolling hills and forests. There was a huge barn, two big stables, all dusted white with snow, looking still and impossibly beautiful on a Sunday morning. It looked magical to Ben, and utterly alien.

A lone media van idled outside a gated entrance.

When Ben pulled up to the intercom, a reporter jumped out of the van and ran over.

“Hey, you FBI? Can you get us in? They won’t even let us through the gate.”

“Sorry,” Ben said. “Why don’t you head back to Washington? I hear it’s really pretty about now, a nice Sunday morning. You can go to a park for a picnic.”

“That’s what we told him,” said a tall man in a thick black wool coat, a federal marshal’s hat on his head. He stood behind the gated driveway, his arms crossed over his chest. Good, they were here protecting Justice Xavier-Foxx. “We figure as long as the media is camped out all over the place, ain’t no assassin going to get to the Justice. All we’ve got to do is protect her from these baboons.”

“Probably true,” Ben said as he handed over his badge. “We’re here to interview the Justice.”

The federal marshal studied the badge, raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything. “Go on through. I’ll keep this charming gentleman out here.”

“Hey, you’re Callie Markham,
The Washington Post.
What are you doing here? What—”

The gate buzzed open, and Ben gave a small wave to the guy. He ran back toward the van, trying to make it through the open gate after him, despite the fact that two federal marshals were standing in front of the gate, guns at their belts, legs spread. They could hear him shouting after them, probably something about the freedom of the press. The gate closed smoothly behind them. Still, the guy stood there, shaking his fist at the exhaust of the Crown Vic.

Ben parked in front of a sprawling white one-story house with a porch all along the front. He could imagine sitting on this porch in the summer, maybe drinking a beer, listening to his hair grow. Justice Xavier-Foxx answered the front door herself, greeted them politely, gave a cursory look at Ben’s I.D., then ushered them into a long narrow entrance hall, where they removed their coats and scarves. Then she led them into the living room. Ben sighed with pleasure as he paused in the arched doorway. It was a long, deep room with a very old floor-to-ceiling stone fireplace, beamed ceilings, lots of homey, oversized furniture that looked like you’d sink to China when you sat down, and Persian carpets scattered over the shining wide oak-planked floor.

“You have a beautiful home, ma’am.”

“Thank you. Callie, what a pleasure to see you. I’m so very sorry about Stewart.” She pulled Callie into her deep bosom and patted the back of her head. Callie nearly burst into tears. It was close, but she held it in. She felt Justice Xavier-Foxx’s steady strong heartbeat, felt the warmth from her solid body, breathed in her rose scent. She was well into her sixties now, but solid and fit, her hair flat against her head, in her signature tight thick chignon. Callie slowly pulled back in her arms and looked into her beautiful dark eyes, liquid with tears.

“Thank you,” she said, and knew tears were thick in her own voice. “It’s difficult.”

“I know. It is for all of us. This has been such a shock, such a terrible thing. Come along and sit down. We’ll all talk, try to figure something out about this madness.”

She gave them mugs of coffee and pointed to a tray. Ben saw a covered plate on the tray beside the coffee. The Justice made no move to uncover it. It had been a long time since his bowl of Wheaties.

“You’re not an FBI agent. That surprises me, Detective Raven.”

“I’m with Washington, D.C., Metro, working with the FBI. What we need, ma’am, is as much information as you can give us about Justice Califano—his daily routine, his likes, dislikes, how he related to other Justices, and other staff, anything you can think of.”

She sat back and crossed her legs. She took a sip of coffee. “We are a conservative Court, Detective, six to three is the normal voting pattern. However, depending on the case, Stewart and I are the ones who will swing toward the liberal side. There are three Justices who make up the core of the liberal wing—Justice Alto-Thorpe, Justice Bloomberg, and Justice Samuels. Justice Samuels is eighty-two, swears he won’t retire because the President would appoint another conservative. Frankly, he’s getting senile, plus he has a heart condition. Once a law clerk found a
Playboy
magazine sitting on top of his desk, which has led to a good deal of awe and admiration among the law clerks. I’m telling you about Justice Samuels because he openly detested Stewart’s stand on many issues. He was always accusing him of being a Neanderthal in a black robe, which gave everyone a big laugh, including Stewart.

“On the conservative side are Chief Justice Abrams, Justice Spiros, Justice Gutierrez, Justice Wallace, Justice Califano, and me, although again, Stewart and I were the ones most often seduced by the Dark Side.” This was said with a chuckle, and both Ben and Callie laughed.

Ben said, “It sounds like there’s constant maneuvering, ma’am.”

“Oh yes, always. However, regardless of our political leanings, all of us love to delve into arguments; we love to dissect words, how and why they’re being used, the legal underpinnings and rationales. We’re accused of spending most of our time studying the nuances of our navels, and perhaps this is true, in part. We spend hours alone. There is voluminous reading, studying, and just plain thinking time. We have only two formal meetings a week, Wednesday and Friday. Much of our communication is done through various sorts of memos, my own personal favorite being the ‘I Join’ memo. This means, simply, that one Justice is notifying another Justice that he or she is willing to come onboard in a particular case. Naturally it isn’t usually that clean-cut, but it signals the beginning of negotiations.

“We try to be pleasant to each other, but when there are contentious cases, it can get loud and argumentative. Everyone has an agenda; there are shenanigans pulled by all the Justices, like adjusting parts of a majority opinion without telling anyone. Since there is so much paper flowing in and out of our chambers, it’s up to the law clerks to carefully read all the decisions.

“As for Stewart, he was considered a centrist, which annoyed both sides. He enjoyed being courted, as I suppose I do, because we were able, many times, to bring more compromise to a majority decision.

“Stewart had a keen mind, a way of pulling arguments apart that showed both strengths and weaknesses. But he had certain core beliefs that wouldn’t ever change. He was a good man.” She lowered her head, looking at her clasped hands in her lap.

Ben said, “You told us about Justice Samuels. Are there any other Justices who didn’t particularly care for Justice Califano?”

Justice Xavier-Foxx laughed. “Justice Lydia Alto-Thorpe. She’s a dyed-in-the-wool ideologue, Detective. She was happy as a clam in the very liberal Brennan court. She was always pushing her agenda. Unfortunately, Lydia has little grace or tact, so she tends to raise hackles rather than gain consensus for what she wants. She sulks, Detective Raven. She’s very protective of the Court, and all its rules and formality, its sacred majesty. When you speak to her, I imagine she will be very angry that this has happened. When she’s angry, she demonstrates a remarkable vocal range.

“She disliked Justice Califano more than any other Justice. Stewart made the mistake a long time ago of laughing at her. She never forgot. It didn’t matter that he sometimes voted with her, unlike Abrams, Spiros, Wallace, and Gutierrez. The other Justices liked Stewart and respected him.”