Sonya slammed her fist down on the counter. “Why the hell would he be so stupid as to get involved with a murderer? Didn’t he care about Justice Califano’s death? Did he really believe the guy who had the balls to kill a Supreme Court Justice in the Supreme Court library was going to pay him money because of any threat he made?” She shook her head, and paused. “Poor Eliza. She liked to think of Danny as an Irish lad filled with ideals. She was really wrong.”
Callie took a drink of the water, placed the glass back on the kitchen counter. “What do you think about Dennis Palmer?”
“Dennis is okay. I just wish he’d get over this black thing. He likes to think of himself as Justice Gutierrez’s token black boy, although he’d never admit it. I think he’d do better with one of the white Justices—conservative, liberal—it wouldn’t matter. I swear none of them would give a damn if you were pink or black or green. Female, now, that’s another matter. Isn’t it ironic that you have sex discrimination in the Supreme Court?”
“Yes, it is. And Tai?”
“He works hard, puts in his two cents, but keeps his head down. He expends a lot of energy being careful about what he says and how he looks because he’s gay, and hasn’t advertised it outside our chambers. I have no clue if Justice Wallace has picked up on that.”
“What does Tai think of Eliza Vickers?”
“He admitted to me once, after three beers on a Friday night at George’s Pub, that he thought she was too smart for her own good, that it would get her into real trouble some day. She saw things she shouldn’t see, he said, and she didn’t know enough to look the other way.”
Callie finally decided to ask. “Did he ever say anything about Eliza and my stepfather?”
Sonya looked genuinely surprised. “No, never. As I said, Tai keeps his head down, except around me and Justice Wallace’s other law clerks. Then he’ll mouth off, particularly if he thinks someone is attacking gays.
“As you can imagine, rumors abound in the Court. We’re always in each other’s chambers, gossiping, telling each other where our Justices stand on this or that issue and what we’re working on.” She paused a moment. “I’m really sorry about Danny. I’ll tell you, Callie, if I had him here in the kitchen with me, I’d punch his lights out for being so damned stupid.” She stood there, tears sliding down her cheeks. “Oh, poor Danny. It’s scary. This is just too close to home, you know?”
CHAPTER
20
THE KETTERING HOME
FAIRFAX, VIRGINIA
SUNDAY EVENING
BEN STOPPED OFF in Georgetown to let Savich get his Porsche, then led the way to the Kettering home in Fairfax. They pulled into the driveway just after seven o’clock that evening.
There weren’t any reporters or TV vans hanging around. The media hadn’t yet learned where the widow was stashed.
But there were four cars parked along the curb, two Mercedes, a Lexus, and a BMW. Callie said to Ben, “It looks like Mom’s friends are here.”
Ben wasn’t listening. He was staring at the display of automotive affluence, and grunted. He wasn’t a snob, dammit, but couldn’t any of them drive a plain old Ford? A truck, something useful, something that didn’t smack you in the face with dollar signs and twelve cylinders, something like his? The Crown Vic had plenty of muscle, but that was different.
He realized Callie was staring at him, and grunted again. “I drive a Beemer too,” she said, and gave him a shameless grin. “All right, so it’s one of the cheaper models. You’re a truck guy, right? Maybe you’ve got a dog hanging out the window?”
Savich and Sherlock joined them at that moment.
“I know it’s late, Callie,” Sherlock said, taking her arm, “but we’d like to see how your mom’s holding up, see if she’s remembered anything more. We won’t keep her long. Looks like she’s got lots of company in any case.”
Callie nodded. “All her longtime friends are here. There’s a couple of cars I don’t recognize.”
The snow was melting, the air was sweet and cold. The forecast predicted a dip below freezing tonight, turning what snow was left into ice. It was perfectly dark, not even a sliver of a moon. Callie felt colder than she should have, probably because she was stressed and tired, her stepfather was dead, and now Danny O’Malley was dead too. There was a monster out there, and she didn’t have a clue if they were getting any closer. Savich kept stuff to himself, she’d realized that soon enough. So did Sherlock, for that matter. How odd that a husband-and-wife team worked together for the FBI. They were so in tune with each other. She wondered how long they’d been together. She looked over at Ben and wondered if she could ever be in tune with him like that. That stopped her in her tracks. Good grief, she was letting Sonya’s remarks get to her.
She heard Savich laugh at something his wife said. Would they let her review all the interviews that Savich was putting on his laptop? She hoped so. She had a good eye. According to Savich, MAX was going to help highlight inconsistencies, red-flag interviews that were glaringly at odds with others, and do the analysis much more quickly than a person could. Evidently MAX was even going to suggest specific questions to ask. It sounded amazing, and she wanted to see it work.
She unlocked the front door and led them all in. When she went into the living room, she stopped cold.
In addition to Janette Weaverton, Juliette Trevor, Bitsy St. Pierre, and Anna Clifford, Justice Wallace and his wife were cozied up next to Justice Alto-Thorpe and her husband, both couples sitting on a sofa across from Margaret.
“This is an unexpected find,” Savich whispered, and strode in, drawing all eyes to him immediately. He wondered for a moment how the two Justices had found out where Margaret Califano was squirreled away, then remembered the federal marshals assigned to them. They were probably parked discreetly outside.
Savich walked directly to Margaret Califano and took her hand. He smiled down at her. “I hope you’re feeling better, ma’am.”
“Callie called me about poor Danny O’Malley. I didn’t know him well. It’s unbelievable that he’s dead too, just like Stewart. What is happening here, Agent Savich?”
Savich said loud enough for everyone in the big living room to hear, “We don’t know for sure, ma’am, but it would seem Danny O’Malley knew something and may have tried to blackmail the killer or the person who hired the killer.”
A loud voice, anger simmering just below the surface said, “Given the general incompetence of the people who are supposed to protect us, I am not at all surprised. It is a disgrace, and I shall see to it that Congress does something about it.”
He’d know that voice anywhere, Savich thought, and the words, and turned to Justice Alto-Thorpe, who was sitting on the edge of the sofa, mouth pinched, a cloud of disapproval hanging over her head. Her husband was looking off toward the windows, seemingly paying no attention.
Savich said easily, “I’m not surprised at your attitude, ma’am, given that you’ve already told Agent Sherlock and me your feelings on the subject at length.”
“I shall see to it that new laws are passed. Murder done in the highest Court in the land! It will go down as a disgraceful point in our history.”
“Yes, indeed,” Sherlock said. “As it should.” She proceeded to introduce all of them to the Justices and their spouses. She got the distinct impression that neither Justice was pleased to see them.
Callie moved to sit beside her mother. Bitsy St. Pierre quickly scooted over to give her room.
Savich said to Harry Thorpe, “I had wanted to meet you, sir. I’ve been told that you own and operate Harry’s.”