The Last Justice (28 page)

"Any idea who could possibly get a camera into your office?"

Carmichael blushed, knowing that he was referring to the pictures of her and Kincaid in rapturous embrace on the desk.

"Before the shootings, I wasn't very security conscious. I assumed that if someone was in the private areas of the main floor, they were safe: secretaries, other justices, our police force."

"Clerks?" Pacini interrupted.

"Yes, of course. Jim Peckham said the commission is investigating Douglas Pratt?"

Pacini didn't answer. "How long did Mr. Pratt clerk for you?"

"Just a year. As you know, he was not asked to stay on like the other clerks. But we were advised that he had been cleared of anything to do with the shootings."

"Are you familiar with a company called Task Force Investigator Group, or TFI?" Pacini asked. "Doug Pratt's phone records revealed that he'd made several calls there."

"TFI . . ." Carmichael thought for a moment. "No, should I be?"

Again Pacini didn't answer her question. "Justice Carmichael, I have to ask. Why didn't you bring the issues with Mrs. Kincaid to the commission's attention earlier? I understand the sensitivity, but you had to realize the importance to the investigation."

She looked at Pacini as if the question needed no response. "Deputy Director Pacini, you're married, aren't you?" Her eyes shot to his wedding ring. "You have children? Some day grandchildren?" she added. "Now, imagine them reading on the front page of the newspaper that you are an adulterer. Imagine it becoming part of history. No matter what you did your whole life, that's what people would remember about you, what they would say."

"With all due respect, Justice Carmichael, I still don't see how that justifies staying silent, given the assassinations," Pacini said.

"I'm not disagreeing. But I just kept telling myself there was no connection between the shootings and Liddy Kincaid. Once I learned yesterday that Liddy is under investigation, I knew I had to tell someone. I informed the White House first thing this morning. And I'd planned on telling you today when you were at the court."

"Why didn't you? Why'd you put off our meeting?" Pacini asked, his tone a little edgier.

"The White House. I had contacted the chief of staff. While you were meeting with the law clerks this morning, I received a frantic call back from a staffer in his office, strongly urging me not to disclose anything until I had a chance to discuss it further with them, so that's why I postponed our meeting. He said they were announcing the Supreme Court nominees today and didn't want to risk a leak, or anything that could interfere. He said it would be only two days until the hearing and vote on the nominees is over, then we could deal with my `situation.' He said the commission already knew about the affair."

"By any chance, was the man who called you from the White House named J. Bradley Wentworth?" Pacini said.

"Wentworth-yes, that's him."

"Let me be clear, Justice Carmichael. Mr. Wentworth told you not to speak with us?"

She paused, perhaps understanding the ramifications of Wentworth's interference with a federal investigation, then gave a little sigh. "Yes."

Cafe Modem, Upper Northwest Washington,

cKenna and Kate took a table at Cafe Modem. After leaving Liddy Kincaid's house, they had hopped on a metro bus to Mazza Gallerie, an upscale shopping center two miles away, then crossed the street to this dimly lit, almost empty little cyber cafe.

McKenna took two pills from the little tin and swallowed them as Kate typed on the computer keyboard at their table. In a few seconds, she was on the Task Force Investigator Group Web site.

"It's downtown-looks like near the Farragut North metro stop. It describes itself as a `highly connected, take-no-prisoners agency,' whose investigators all were former high-ranking government law enforcement officials."

McKenna pulled his chair around beside hers, and they read the links describing the investigators. Nothing seemed unusual: no employees with the initials "CB," no pictures of the investigators to identify the man with the mustache whom Liddy Kincaid called "the a high-end private investigation company with offices in D.C., New York, and New Jersey. The sort of place law enforcement types went when they retired.

"Blackmail I can believe," McKenna said. "Chances are, a few of these guys didn't leave their old jobs on good terms. Maybe the Hassans hired them and they recruited Pratt to be their inside man at the Supreme Court. With his position and access, he could've hidden the camera in Carmichael's chambers so the Hassans could use the pictures to blackmail Kincaid or Carmichael to vote favorably on the Hassans's appeal. Maybe Pratt realized he could get some money on the side with a blackmail scheme of his own. But murdering the justices? Former agents are too smart for that. They'd know that every resource would come rolling down on them."

"Maybe if the price was right," Kate said.

"It would have to be retire-for-life money. They wouldn't need to be extorting an old lady for fifty thousand. It's just unlikely."

"No more unlikely than all of this," Kate said, turning the computer monitor toward McKenna, showing a CNN.com story. Both their pictures appeared on the screen.

Thinking out loud, McKenna said, "If the Hassans assassinated several Supreme Court justices, they wouldn't have hesitated to get rid of us-but they let us go. It wouldn't make sense."

"It would if they needed us," Kate said.

"Needed us?"

"As scapegoats."

10:00p.m. Home Wentworth, Washington, D.C.

ess than an hour after leaving Justice Carmichael's home, Pacini and Assad sat in Pacini's Volvo outside J. Bradley Wentworth's brick town house in historic, tree-lined Georgetown. It was drizzling and Pacini ran the windshield wipers periodically so they had a clear view of Wentworth's front door.

"So, Chase," Pacini said, "you having a good time?"

"Let me put it this way: my last case had me searching a mile of New York City sewer for a murder weapon," he said. Looking at his watch, he added, "But do you always work this hard?"

"Only when my ass is on the line."

"How's that?"

Pacini hesitated. "You remember a couple years ago, the flack the Bureau got over a raid where the guy killed his wife and young kids?"

"Yeah, I think so,"Assad said, pretending he hadn't already heard the story.

Pacini pointed both thumbs at his chest.

Assad gave a knowing nod. It confirmed why Pacini was taking such a hands-on role in the commission investigation. It perhaps also explained why he had succumbed to whatever politics got him assigned to babysit two NYPD detectives.

"So, Chase, why'd you decide to become a cop?" Pacini asked, obviously trying to change the subject.

"My dad asks the same thing."

"What's your old man do?"

"Doctor. Was hoping I'd join the family business," Assad said. "And I might have done exactly that, but I had a class internship with an NYPD homicide unit, and that was all it took-I knew what I wanted to be."

"My old man was the same, only he wasn't a doctor-construction worker who ran book on the side. Hated cops ... It's hard, isn't it?"

"What?" Assad asked.

"Not living up to their expectations."

"My dad's actually been pretty supportive," Assad said. "As long as I'm doing something I love, he said he's okay."

"Good man," Pacini said.

"He is."

An Audi TT Roadster, driving too fast for the residential neighborhood, darted around the corner as the garage door to Wentworth's town house creaked open. the car whipped into the garage, and Pacini and Assad jumped out of the Volvo and ran into the garage before the door closed.

J. Bradley Wentworth looked surprised but then relieved when he recognized the two figures entering his garage-even in affluent Georgetown, street crime isn't uncommon. Wentworth was still buttoned up in his suit, looking 8 a.m. fresh.

"Detectives! To what do I owe the pleasure?" he said, forcing a smile. In response, Pacini spun him around, shoved him over the damp hood of the car, and began cuffing him.

"Bradley Wentworth, you're under arrest. You have the right to remain silent."

"Hold on!"Wentworth said, clearly shocked.

Pacini hoisted him back around to face them. "We just got done talking with Justice Carmichael. You told her not to speak with us, and that, my friend, is obstruction of justice. I'm sure whatever highpriced lawyer you get will fill you in on the finer details."

"I didn't tell her not to talk with you," Wentworth sputtered.

"Save it. Let's go."

"Please. Let me explain,"he said, his voice tinged with desperation. Even if the obstruction charge wouldn't stick, the arrest alone would ruin him and embarrass the administration. "I wasn't trying to obstruct anything. I was going to tell you myself about Carmichael and Chief Justice Kincaid-I just wanted to get some more information first."

Pacini looked unimpressed. "Tell it to the judge," he said, steering his prisoner toward the still open garage door.

"Okay, okay. Wait-I'll tell you everything I know. Please ...

Pacini stopped and looked to Assad, who nodded. "We're listening."

"Please,"Wentworth said, looking out the garage to the street, as if worried that a neighbor or-God forbid-a reporter might see him cuffed. "Let's go inside."

Pacini looked at Assad, who again acquiesced. He pushed the button, and the garage door closed. With Wentworth still in cuffs, they went inside the town house.

"We're listening," Pacini said as they stood in the entryway.

"May we sit?" Wentworth asked, pointing with his chin to a couch in the living room.

"We don't have all night," Pacini said, not moving.

"Okay, okay. We needed to announce the nominees today," Wentworth said. "We've spent weeks laying the groundwork, and the Judiciary Committee chairman agreed to a quickie hearing tomorrow. The chairman got commitments from the Democrats on the committee for a unanimous vote on all the nominees. The president felt strongly that we needed a unanimous vote to send a message. We plan on a vote on the Senate floor day after tomorrow. They haven't done a confirmation that fast in decades. The last time, it took three months from nomination to vote. And that was on a relatively noncontroversial nominee. We're walking a fine line here, and we need to get it done fast, before people start getting cold feet. Remember Clarence Thomas and Anita Hill? Harriet Miers? The longer we wait, the more time for the nuts to come out of the woodwork-the more time for opinion polls to shift. The senators are already a little skittish. A leak about Carmichael before the nominees are confirmed would shake up everything."