The Rose Conspiracy (18 page)

“I've never said that,” Blackstone said interrupting her.

“But you think you can keep me from being convicted. I've heard you say that. Besides, Magister Dee has been following this. His lawyers, he tells me, think the same thing. They've read up on my case. Anyway, you're brilliant, J.D., you really are. I'm sure you will figure out
some
way to convince the jury to acquit me.”

“There are no guarantees in a criminal case,” he said. “None. I wish there were. Believe me when I say that. As for the government's case, I do have to admit I think it's thin. On the other hand, it is feasible that they could actually get a conviction. I'm just trying to be objective here.”

“I know you are,” she said, and managed a smile. “Is that hard? Trying to be objective…with me as your client?”

Then she reached out and took his hand in hers, across the table.

The waitress arrived with their food and both of them moved backward in their chairs. When she was gone, Vinnie motioned for him to bring his hand out on the table again, and she sort of giggled as she did.

Blackstone put his hand on the table, and she took it in both of her hands and began stroking it, and then his wrists and forearm.

“I bet you're strong,” she said. “I'm sure you're in great shape. I know you do a lot of physical conditioning. Right?”

He smiled. “Do you ever wonder,” Blackstone said, changing the subject, “whether something you did in your sessions with Horace Langley may have—even accidentally—I'm not saying you intended this…but that you may have innocently done something to contribute to his murder. Ever wonder about that?”

“Why would you say something like that?” she said with a wounded look.

“Do you ever feel guilty, in the least, that you may have been used as a pawn by someone?”

“I don't let myself feel guilty,” she said.

“Ever?”

“I try not to,” she said. “I believe in living with total abandon. No regrets. Most people don't live like that. Not me. Life can be so full of pleasure, excitement, and fun—and passion. That's what I want. Which is why I won't let this legal case drag me down. It's really a matter of connecting with the God-force you have available inside. Everyone has it. Just letting yourself go. Magister taught me that.”

Then Vinnie paused and thought on something. Then she spoke again.

“Besides,” she said. “I don't know who in the world could have used me as a pawn to commit that terrible crime. I just happened to be with Horace several times before he was killed. That's all.”

Then Vinnie talked a little about a few movies she had seen lately. The two of them finished their dinners, and Blackstone paid the bill.

“Life without guilt,” Blackstone mused out loud. “An interesting proposition.”

“You ought to try it some time,” she said laughing.

As Blackstone stood up to leave, Vinnie stood up next to him.

“Take me home, please, J.D. dear,” she said. “I took the Metro over here. I don't like taking it at night.”

He nodded and walked her to the parking ramp where his black Maserati was parked.

“Sexy car,” she purred as she climbed in.

Blackstone motored her over to her apartment in Alexandria. When he parked the car on the street, she bent over and kissed him hard.

“Come up with me. I don't want to be alone tonight,” she said.

Blackstone locked the car and followed her up to the second level where her apartment was. Outside her door, she turned around and kissed him again, even more passionately. Then she fished around in her purse for her keys.

That is when Blackstone's cell phone started ringing.

He glanced down at the number. It was his uncle, Reverend Lamb, calling.

“You going to take it?” she asked with a smile, unlocking the door.

“It's my uncle.”

“You can take it in here,” she said. “Come on in, you can talk with him in my apartment.”

Vinnie was standing just inside her apartment, in the open doorway. Blackstone was standing in the hallway, looking at the envelope on the screen of his cell phone indicating a voice message.

“By the way,” Vinnie said, stretching out her hand to his from the doorway, “I noticed the article about you on the wall of Ben's Bistro. Pretty cool.”

Blackstone looked at the beautiful young brunette with the kinky hairdo standing in the doorway of her apartment, beckoning him.

Then he glanced down again at his open cell phone.

“Gotta go,” Blackstone said, closing his cell phone and putting it back in his pocket.

He walked down the stairs without looking back at Vinnie, who was standing in the doorway, head tilted in stunned amazement and with her hands cocked on her hips, watching him.

CHAPTER 26

W
hile Blackstone was driving home he dialed into his voice mail. The message from his uncle, Reverend Lamb, was short, and he sounded out of breath.

We need to talk right away about your case. I've put something together. It might be somewhat astounding, actually. Can't go into details now. I'm free tomorrow afternoon. I could come over to your office. That might be better, now that I think about it…I could drop off some things at the dry cleaners on the way…which reminds me, I wonder if they still have my good white shirt down there…well, let me know.

Blackstone punched in his secretary Frieda at her home number.

“Frieda,” he announced as if it were in the middle of a workday, rather than nine-fifteen at night, “do you have all the numbers for staff with you there at home?”

There was a pregnant pause.

“Yes. You told me some time ago to always keep the numbers with me wherever I go.”

“Smart decision, huh?”

Another long pause.

“I guess so,” she said with hesitation.

“I need you,” Blackstone said with a sense of rising energy, “right now, to call up Julia, and Jason our trusty paralegal, and Tully Tullinger too. Make sure they are all in my office at 2:30 p.m. tomorrow for a meeting. Then call my uncle at his home number and confirm that time with him.
Also, make a point of reminding him that the meeting is at my office, will you? The guy gets a little spacey sometimes.”

Frieda, who had over the years gotten used to J.D. Blackstone's manic disregard for normal workday limits, said she would do it.

By the time Blackstone got back to his condo, he knew it was too late to call his uncle directly. He knew that the elderly religion scholar was a notorious early-to-bed-early-to-rise kind of guy.

Quite different from Blackstone. That evening, fueled by curiosity over his uncle's message, his mind now whirling, it was another late-to-bed-early-to-rise night for him. The gray dawn was just about to break when he finally collapsed into bed.

At two-thirty the next afternoon all of the group, less one, had dutifully arrived. Reverend Lamb was the last to show up, about ten minutes late.

Blackstone circulated a memo that he wanted signed by Tully and Reverend Lamb.

“In this memorandum you two agree,” Blackstone explained, “as outside consultants and investigators on this case, not to disclose anything we discuss here today with anyone else, absent my express authorization. These discussions today are protected by attorney's work-product privilege and are to be considered confidential.”

Those kinds of legal precautions were not new for Blackstone. In other cases he had his experts and consultants, and even co-counsel, sign similar memoranda of understanding. But this time it was a little different.

The difference was the presence of Reverend John Lamb as his “expert” consultant on a murder case.

The night before, Blackstone had experienced a little exuberance thinking that one of Reverend Lamb's ideas might help to break the case open for him. But now he was in the harsh daylight of reality. As he surveyed the faces of his team and studied Reverend Lamb, with his pile of crumpled papers and notes and his tall stack of books on the conference table in front of him, the word
desperation
came to Blackstone's mind.

Now I know,
Blackstone thought to himself silently while glancing over at the white-haired Reverend Lamb,
how the cops feel when they have to use some psychic to try to locate a dead body.

After Tully and Lamb had signed the memos and Blackstone collected them, he leaned back in his chair and gave the floor to his uncle.

“J.D.,” Lamb began, “you wanted me do some thinking about the Freemasons, correct?”

“That was part of it, yes. But not the main point.”

“Correct,” Lamb countered with a grin on his face. “To be precise, the main point being the symbolic significance of the tree in religious and esoteric thinking. Including Masonic religious philosophy.”

“Did you say ‘
tree
'?” Julia said with bemusement.

“Yes, exactly,” Blackstone replied. “And don't ask me why I am pursuing that particular symbol. Look, people, remember that I have a court order restraining me from sharing the verbiage of the Horace Langley note with any of you. At least for the time being.”

“You goin' to appeal that court order?” Tully asked.

“Already have,” Julia snapped. “Our fearless leader, Professor Blackstone, will be arguing that appeal.” She threw a look over at Blackstone with that.

“And for what it's worth,” Jason chimed in, “I think Professor Blackstone is going to do a groin kick and a knee-drop to the government's throat in that appeal.”

“Now Jason,” Blackstone objected sarcastically, “no need to confuse the group with all that complicated legalese.”

Then he brought them back to task.

“So what do you have for us?”

“A question.”

“Oh?” Blackstone asked.

“Do you believe,” Reverend Lamb asked him, “that Freemasonry is involved in the Smithsonian murder?”

“As an evidentiary issue? Oh…possibly.”

Reverend Lamb leaned back a little with a wide grin. He was enjoying his role as interrogator of his nephew.

“And do you believe,” Reverend Lamb continued, this time his voice rising in intensity, “that Freemasonry had any part to play in the note written by Horace Langley—written while he was examining the John Wilkes Booth diary pages?”

Blackstone had a smirk on his face, and he shot a glance over at the bemused Tully Tullinger.

“Gee, I'm not sure,” Blackstone said acerbically, “how much more of this crucible of cross-examination I am going to be able to stand.”

Tully burst out laughing.

Jason was holding back a smile.

But Julia was not amused.

“Reverend Lamb,” Julia said, picking up the ball, “what if the answer was
yes
to your question. Then what?”

“Then,” Blackstone's uncle said, still smiling and undaunted, “I have some groundbreaking news for you.”

Now Blackstone was no longer smiling.

“Which is?”

“The centuries-old secret of the Freemasons,” Reverend Lamb said. “I've been studying this for years from a theological standpoint. Couldn't put the pieces together. Until your case, that is.”

“I thought the whole
point
of Freemasonry was secrets,” Tully chimed in. “These people still take this very seriously. I know. I had to weasel some information out of some Masons in this case. I got to tell you—you'd have thought I was asking them for a kidney.”

“Yes, Mr. Tullinger, you're right,” Lamb continued. “They are built on secrecy. Until recently, their whole fabric of their complicated rituals and ceremonies was a closely held secret. But even the books that are written about them, many by former Masons, and even some by practicing Masons—they're written elusively, like painting in shadows. They only give you partial glimpses. I am convinced that only a handful of some of the mystic members of the Masons have ever really known the core doctrinal mission of Freemasonry. The ‘ultimate' secret, I believe, is what your client called it. What is at the core of Freemasonry is actually a radical religious philosophy.”