The Divine Appointment (28 page)

Jill sipped from her water bottle. “I work for a lawyer in Jackson, Tennessee. I do whatever he needs me to do. This case we’re working on is a criminal-defense case, but that’s not all we do.”

“Cool. You’re a part-time criminal-defense attorney.”

When Jill smiled, Holland thought it was one of the prettiest smiles he had ever seen. And she liked his bad humor.

“So, what do you want to ask me about?”

“First, I want to make sure none of this will appear in your newspaper.”

“I promise. You’re interrogating me. Not the other way around. This is completely off the record as far as my end is concerned. I do hope that at some point you’ll let me write a story.”

“We’ll see. Tell me about Ms. Ramsey.”

Holland didn’t have any idea where to start because he didn’t know much about Tiffany Ramsey. But he draped his arm across the back of the booth and told Jill Baker what he could. “I met her once and talked to her on the phone two other times. She was attractive and nice.”

“You said she lived with Jessica Caldwell.”

“That’s what she told me. That they lived together for about a year.”

Jill took another sip from her bottle. “What did she know about the Caldwell murder?”

She’s good
, Holland thought. She got right to the point. And she didn’t appear to be searching for questions to ask him. She knew exactly what she wanted and focused on it intently.

“I don’t think she knew anything for sure. She just had a feeling.”

“A feeling about what?”

Holland hesitated and rolled his drink cup between his hands. Tiffany had shared her thoughts with him out of fear. She didn’t ask him to keep their conversation confidential, but did he have an obligation to do so anyway? He struggled momentarily with whether to tell Jill or not. But she raised her eyebrows as if she expected him to answer without complaint.

After another minute of struggle, Holland decided to reply. Maybe Jill Baker could help him discover what had really happened to Tiffany Ramsey.

“That Jessica Caldwell and Senator Proctor were having an affair.” Holland noticed a strange expression on Jill’s face. “What?” he asked.

“Nothing. That fits with something else, but I can’t talk to you about it. Why did she think that?”

“Because she caught them together one day.”

Jill nodded thoughtfully. “That would convince me.”

“And they lived in a town house owned by Senator Proctor,” he added.

Holland studied Jill’s face. She was obviously pondering her next question. “Interesting. A couple of people the detectives interviewed said something about Ms. Caldwell acting distraught when she returned to Nashville from Justice Robinson’s memorial. Did Tiffany say anything like that?”

“Tiffany said she tried to talk to Jessica at the memorial service but that she left too hurriedly. She saw Jessica get into a taxi with a man but said that it wasn’t Senator Proctor.”

“Did she know him?”

“No, but she described him to me. I was going to try to find him, then Tiffany died.”

“You don’t think she committed suicide, do you?” The question was blunt…almost a statement.

Holland wasn’t certain what he thought anymore. He had no proof otherwise, but it didn’t seem right that Tiffany would commit suicide. “I didn’t know her very well,” he said thoughtfully, “but I never saw anything that made me think she was troubled.”

“When’s her funeral?” Jill asked.

“It’s tomorrow in New Jersey. I’m not going. I can’t.” But even as he said the words, Holland felt guilty. He wondered if there was anything he could’ve done to prevent what had happened to Tiffany Ramsey. He hoped Jill couldn’t see it on his face. She didn’t seem to.

Jill turned her water bottle up, drank the last of it, and screwed the cap back on the empty bottle. “You’ve been very helpful.” She slid out of the booth and stood to leave.

“Where’re you going?”

“I’ve got some more things I need to check out while I’m in town. I’m scheduled to fly back out on Wednesday.”

“Why don’t I go with you?”

She appeared incredulous. “Back to Nashville?”

Holland laughed again. “You’re quick. I meant go with you to check out the other things you mentioned.”

“That’s not necessary.” Jill shook her head. “I can handle it by myself.”

“C’mon. You don’t know your way around town and I do. And it’ll be just like I’m working. I might find something I can write a story about.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“I insist. I’ll follow you back to your motel and you can ride with me. We’ll go anywhere you want to.”

“You win,” Jill relented. “It’ll probably be easier to do what I need to do with a chauffeur.”

They left the Subway and Jill exited the parking lot in her rental. Holland lagged behind and hurriedly cleaned out as much trash as he could from inside his ancient Camry. He chucked the rubbish in a large trash can on the sidewalk in front of the Subway and ran back to his car. He dusted off the passenger seat as best he could with his hand.

“That’ll have to do,” he muttered.

Holland caught up with Jill as she entered the parking lot of the Hampton Inn. She parked in a space in front of the motel, and Holland stopped, perpendicular, behind her parked car. Jill walked around the front of his car, sat in the passenger seat, and closed the door.

“I have a Camry, too,” she said. “Except mine’s a little newer and cleaner, but still a Camry.” She ran her index finger through the dust on the dashboard.

Holland smiled. “It’s not usually this dirty.”

“I’m sure,” she said and brushed her hands together.

“Where do you want to go?”

“Let’s start at their town house.”

The faded, camel-colored Camry exited the Hampton Inn parking lot and Hal Crowder trailed from a distance in his dark green GMC Yukon. Hal was a DC area private investigator who didn’t advertise. He had closely cropped brown hair and a tattoo on his left forearm. His reputation preceded him, so he had all the jobs he wanted. The DC Metropolitan Police Department knew him well, too. Hal operated barely inside—but inside nonetheless—the law. The DC police were always looking for a reason to bring him in.

“I’m following him now,” Hal said into his wireless phone. “He’s got a dark-haired woman with him.”

“Do you know who she is?” Cooper Harrington asked.

“Not yet. I took at least thirty digital photographs of her, and we’re tracking the license plate on the car she’s driving. It’s a rental, so it shouldn’t be hard to find out who it was rented to. I should know something soon.”

“Stay with him,” Cooper said. “I need to know everywhere he goes and everyone he talks to. And let me know as soon as you find out about the woman.”

Cooper Harrington hung up and Hal tossed his wireless phone on the passenger seat. His attention then focused exclusively on the Toyota Camry in front of him.

The Hart Building, Washington DC

Porter glanced at his watch: 4:37 p.m. The day’s session was nearing completion. Porter wondered whether tomorrow the committee would resume the reconvened confirmation hearing on Judge Shelton’s nomination or whether one day was enough. Other than Senator Montgomery, six other senators pontificated that afternoon for the evening news and asked Judge Shelton virtually the same question Senator Montgomery had. And each time the answer was the same.

“No, Senator. The Constitution of the United States does not contain an absolute right to have an abortion.”

Porter saw all the eye rolling and head shaking from the committee members each time Judge Shelton provided the answer. It made Porter mad, even though he expected such antics. But Judge Shelton never appeared angry or upset, and that made Porter proud. The country needed someone like Judge Shelton on the Supreme Court.

Throughout the afternoon Judge Shelton never seemed to be bothered by the stares and jeers and questions from the members of the Senate Judiciary Committee. He was comfortable in his position—whether anyone else in the room agreed with him or not—and never wavered. Judge Shelton explained time and again that his position had absolutely nothing to do with the morality of an abortion, but was rooted exclusively in the plain language of the Constitution.

After the seventh time of Judge Shelton providing the same answer and the senators shaking their heads with their mouths gaping open, Senator Montgomery banged his gavel. His scalp, which was visible through his wispy white hair, was as red as it had been when the session started.

“I think we’ve heard enough, Judge Shelton,” he said. “It’s clear to me that your views are completely outside mainstream America. I wish we’d had this clarity two weeks ago. Having heard your testimony today, I don’t see any way that I can support your nomination. I also don’t see a need for any further testimony. The committee will stand adjourned. We will reconvene on Wednesday to reconsider our vote on whether or not to recommend confirmation to the Senate. I suspect the vote will be overwhelming the latter.”

Senator Montgomery forcefully banged his gavel again and glared at Judge Shelton before darting for the exit door to the side of the dais.

Porter met Judge Shelton and Victoria behind the mahogany table. “You did great,” Porter said. He patted Judge Shelton on the back.

“I said what I believe, and you know what? I’m glad I did. I don’t like having to dance around an issue.”

“It does feel good to call a spade a spade, doesn’t it?” Porter grinned.

Judge Shelton nodded. “And now it’s completely out of our control. If it’s meant for me to serve on the Supreme Court, then God will have to make it happen.”

“That’s exactly what President Wallace told me.”

Washington DC

Holland steered his Camry to the curb across the street from Tiffany Ramsey’s town house. He put the transmission in park and left the engine running.

Holland pressed a button on the armrest in his door and the driver’s-side window lowered into the door. “That’s it,” he said, pointing across the street at Tiffany Ramsey’s town house. Yellow crime scene tape still dangled from around the front door. Jill leaned across the console and peered through the open window. Holland could feel her nearness and smell her perfume. He pressed his shoulders against the seat to give Jill an unobstructed view through the window.

“You think we could go inside?” Jill asked.

“Are you crazy? That’d be breaking and entering. Even I know that, and I’m not a lawyer.”

“Only if we get caught. And we’d only be in there for a few minutes. I just want to look around.”

Holland shook his head. “I’m not going in there.”

“C’mon, we’ll only be a minute. We might find something useful.” Jill nodded thoughtfully.

“Look.” Holland’s voice was stern. “I’m not going in there, and you’re not either. Two women who lived there are now dead. If someone were to see us go in or found out we’d been in there, we might be next. I’ve got enough problems already.”

“What are you talking about?”

Holland pressed the button on the armrest again, and the window rose back to its original position. Jill returned to her seat and twisted her head to look at him. He placed both hands on the steering wheel and relaxed his shoulders.

“I keep getting calls from a woman who feeds me information, but won’t tell me her name. One of her delivery guys stuck a gun in my back at the Fourth of July fireworks show.”

“Who is she?” Jill’s brow was furrowed.

“I don’t know, but she’s after Senator Proctor. She doesn’t seem concerned with anything else.”

Holland put the Camry in drive and pulled away from the curb. He glanced around but didn’t see the black Mercedes he had seen the two previous times he’d been on that street.

“I guess we’re not going in,” Jill said.

“I told you we weren’t. It’s too risky. And I’m not into risky.”

Jill bit her lip through a crooked smile before commenting. “An investigative reporter who doesn’t like to take risks. That’s got to make your job harder.”

Holland didn’t respond. “Where to next?”

“You said you were going to find out who got in the taxi with Jessica after the memorial service. That would be important to me, too. How were you going to check on that?”

“Let’s go to the
Post
headquarters and see if we can find some photographs. I know we covered it.”

Cooper Harrington sat in a booth in one of the three bar areas of the Hawk ’n’ Dove Bar on Pennsylvania Avenue SE. It was only a few blocks from the Capitol Building—in the opposite direction from the White House. A twentysomething woman with long blond hair, long tan legs, and a short skirt sat beside him. Her name was Mona, and Cooper didn’t care what her last name was.

Another couple sat across the table. They were Mona’s friends. He knew neither and had no intention of finding out who they were. He was polite to them and hoped that would be enough to keep Mona happy well into the night. Perhaps Mona and several stiff drinks could help him forget about Stella Hanover and the problems she had caused. Nothing else had.

Just then his wireless phone vibrated on his hip and the LCD screen indicated the call was from Hal Crowder.

“Her name is Jill Baker,” Crowder said when Cooper answered. “She’s a lawyer from Jackson, Tennessee.”

“What’s she doing in town?”

“I don’t know, but her boss—a guy named Elijah Faulkner—is representing the guy accused of killing that former Supreme Court law clerk in Nashville.”

Crowder’s words caused Cooper to stand up and walk away from the table. He walked into a hallway that led to the kitchen and leaned his back against a wall. “Where are she and Fletcher now?”

“They just pulled away from the front of a town house on Thirty-seventh where a woman named Tiffany Ramsey was found dead last week.”

Cooper closed his eyes tightly. Crowder’s report worried him immensely. “What were they doing there?”

“They just parked, looked at the front of the town house, and drove away. They never got out of the car.”

“Crowder, you need to stay within eyesight of both of them. Get one of your other guys involved if you have to, but I want to know where both are at all times. You got that?”

“I got it, and no problem.”

Cooper closed his wireless and slipped it into the breast pocket of his jacket. He ran his hand through his blond hair and returned to his seat beside Mona.

“What was that all about?” Mona asked.

“Senate stuff that I can’t talk about.”

The
Washington Post,
Washington DC

Holland showed Jill his cluttered, metal home away from home before they went to the photo-archive room. Jill commented that his desk looked a lot like hers, but she actually had four walls separating her from the rest of the office.

The photo-archive room was on the third floor of the
Post
building. Jill wanted to take the stairs, but Holland insisted on using the elevator. He knew that otherwise he would be out of breath by the time he reached the second flight of steps.

As they rode in the elevator, Holland explained that few photographs were actually printed anymore. Most of the digital photographs were archived onto a computer server and only accessible with the appropriate password, he said.

When the elevator reached the third floor, Holland and Jill exited and entered the photo-archive room. The printed photographs were cataloged by date in filing cabinets on the left side of the room. Holland located the correct cabinet, and he and Jill began reviewing the photographs from the date of Justice Robinson’s memorial service.

“If we don’t find anything here,” Holland said, “then we’ll check the JPEG files on the server.”

“How will we recognize him from these photos?”

“Tiffany said that the man was handsome, with blond hair and a tan, but that’s all she remembered.”

They studied each photograph, twenty-five in all. Finding nothing, Holland logged onto the computer system at a terminal across the room from the filing cabinets. He sat in a chair in front of the computer, Jill looking over his right shoulder. Just like in the Camry, he could feel her close to him. It made his heart flutter, but there was work to be done. He breathed deeply to calm himself and hoped that Jill didn’t notice.

There were 150 JPEG photographs filed under the date of the memorial service. Holland scrolled the cursor over the first one and began opening them in order.

“That’s a shot from the back of the cathedral looking toward the front,” Holland narrated. “And this one is from the balcony.”

They went through the first fifty photographs fairly rapidly. Holland provided narration for each one even though Jill never asked for it. “There’s President Wallace and the First Lady sitting with the Robinson family. And this one shows a row of senators who attended.”

“What about that guy in the fourth row—the row behind the senators?”

Jill placed her left hand on Holland’s shoulder, bent toward the computer, and tapped the man’s face on the computer screen with the index finger of her right hand. Her hand on his shoulder caused Holland’s heart to quiver again.

“I don’t know him,” Holland replied.