She heard footsteps coming, not her mother’s light high-heeled step. The door swung open. A woman in a black pantsuit stood there. “Yes? May I help you?”
“I’m Callie Markham, Mrs. Califano’s daughter. What’s going on here? Who are you? Oh God, has something happened to my mother?”
A man’s voice called out, “She’s the daughter? Bring her in here, Nancy.”
It was then that Callie heard a woman weeping, quietly, hopelessly. It was her mother.
Callie ran into the living room, only to stop cold. There were three men there, two in dark suits, the third in a leather jacket, white shirt, black tie, and black slacks, black half boots on his feet. Mr. Leather Jacket rose from where he’d been sitting close to her mother, and walked to her. He was a big guy, tall and tough-looking, out of place in this soft cream-and-blue room. The two suits with him didn’t look all that tame either, but their clothes didn’t fit as well as his. “Ms. Markham?”
“Yes. What’s going on here? Who are you?” She tried to get around him, to go to her mother, but he blocked her path. “Just a moment, ma’am. You’re Mrs. Califano’s daughter, the one who is supposed to be in New York?”
“Yes, yes, I came back early because I found my boyfriend in bed with another woman, if you can believe that. Now move, before I deck you.”
The man smiled down at her, and even though it was the meanest excuse for a smile she’d ever seen, there was also a bit of humor in it.
“Excuse me?”
She shoved hard against his chest. “Move, dammit!”
Margaret Califano raised her head. Her face was ravaged, eyes swollen, her mascara smeared around her eyes.
“Callie? Please, Detective Raven, it’s my daughter. She’s not here to hurt me.”
“Mama? What’s going on here? Why would anyone want to hurt you?”
She watched her mother rise and weave a bit until she steadied herself. Her strong, self-assured mother looked fragile, terrifyingly fragile. She held out her hand, her mouth worked, but nothing came out. She sent a look toward the man, fanned her hands out in front of her, and fell back onto the sofa, her face in her hands.
Detective Raven. Of course the man was a cop.
He said, “I’m very sorry, Ms. Markham, but it’s your stepfather. He’s dead.”
She slowly turned to face Detective Raven again. “That is ridiculous. It’s a beautiful Saturday morning, and here you are saying things like that? What kind of a sadistic creep are you?” She tried to shove him away, but he didn’t move.
He said, “Look, Ms. Markham, I’m sorry I didn’t ease into it better, but I’m telling the truth. Someone murdered your stepfather last night. I’m very sorry.”
Callie was shaking her head, back and forth, unable to accept what the words meant. “I want to talk to my mother. Go away, all of you. Mama? What happened? Was there an accident?”
“No, Callie,” Margaret whispered, her breath only a whisper against Callie’s cheek when she held her tight, “no accident. What Detective Raven said is true. Stewart is dead. Someone murdered him in the Supreme Court library last night.”
Callie still couldn’t accept what she was hearing. “A Supreme Court Justice doesn’t get killed in the library, for God’s sake. It can’t happen. All of you must be wrong about this.”
“I’ll agree it’s a shock, Ms. Markham,” Detective Raven said, “but we’re not wrong.”
She shook her head as she said, “All right, all right, who killed him? How? Why? I know that he enjoyed visiting the Supreme Court Building after hours, that he liked the solitude and the privacy, but what was he doing there last night, for heaven’s sake?”
Detective Raven said, “We don’t know much of anything yet. An FBI forensic team is at the Supreme Court Building, along with about six of our guys and a gazillion or so Feds. Judge Califano was garroted. We don’t know who did this as yet, but we will find out, Ms. Markham.
“The media will have found out about this by now, even though we laid down a temporary blackout until we got security under control and reached your mother. The media have as many grubs as we do. I expect both the print media and TV reporters to roll up here any moment. I’m to get the two of you down to the Daly Building before the vultures light and start coming down the chimney.”
“I can handle the media. I don’t think my mother is up for going anywhere.”
“Ms. Markham, it would be better than being barricaded in here with the media pounding on the windows, using bullhorns to ask you how you feel.”
But Callie, now stroking her weeping mother’s back, said to him, barely above a whisper, “He’s dead? Stewart is really dead?”
“Yes. I’m sorry.”
She stared over at him, through him really, he thought, trying to make sense of the situation. She said, “No, don’t say anything more. All right, tell me this. Where were the guards? There are a zillion guards in that building. They’re sharp, they’re smart, and my stepfather knew most of them. They wouldn’t hesitate an instant if someone dangerous broke in. They’d shoot him dead. And the whole building is monitored.”
“I’ll tell you everything we know, Ms. Markham, but let’s get out of here first. Trust me on this, neither the FBI nor the local cops nor the Justice Department want you hounded by the press right now. Please come, we’ve got to go.”
Callie stared up at him. “Who are you, exactly, besides a big mean guy and a snappy dresser?”
“I’m Detective Ben Raven, Washington Metro.” He flipped out his badge. She studied it. “You can check out Officer Kreider and Detectives Boaz and LeBeau later.” Come on, let’s get out of here. Captain Halloway said the FBI is bringing in one of their hotshots. The guy was out of town, probably off skiing somewhere. He’ll be meeting us at the Daly Building. Of course Director Mueller and Deputy Assistant Director James Maitland will be in charge of the investigation.” He held out his hand to her. “This FBI hotshot they’re bringing in will probably want to lay you out on a rack, and find out everything you don’t even realize you know.”
“I see. You’ve already pounded the grieving widow and now you’re ready to move on to the daughter.”
“Yes. Actually, you’re his stepdaughter, aren’t you?”
Callie rose, in his face now. “And your point would be?”
“Just trying to be accurate, Ms. Markham. In my line of work, accuracy is important.”
“Accuracy is important in mine too, Detective Raven, but I try not to be a moron about it.”
He couldn’t find another lick of patience. “We must leave now.” He knew she was angry, for her mother, he imagined. He’d seen her eyes go glassy there for a while, and he’d worried she’d collapse along with her mother. But he wasn’t worried now. She was ready to do battle, ready to chew some nails. He had a feeling that nails were a staple in her daily diet.
Margaret Califano was no help at all. It took both Officer Kreider and Callie to get her into her lovely dark blue cashmere coat, to pull boots on her feet, and to work the gloves onto her hands. She was weeping silently, not fighting them, but not helping either. And Callie kept thinking, Stewart is dead. Someone murdered him. How could this happen?
The three men stood there, of no use at all, uncomfortable but stoic, until she was ready.
Callie and Officer Kreider half-carried her mother to the four-door white Crown Victoria, the last car in line. Detective Raven helped them into the backseat after sweeping away a box of Kleenex, an empty pizza box, and a stuffed dog with a dangling left ear.
He got in next to her, crowding her over, and closed the door. “Bobby, we’re ready.”
“Was that close or what?” Detective Bobby LeBeau said. “Here are the vultures now. Nancy’s going to follow in her car, and Ray will bring yours in, Ben.”