The FBI Thrillers Collection (101 page)

“Has anyone ever decked you, Ms. Markham?”

She gave him a cocky grin. “There have been those who’ve tried. Don’t you even think about it, Detective.” She looked him up and down. “I could take you down without breaking a sweat.”

“All right, enough,” Savich said. He turned to Sherlock, who was eyeing Callie with amusement.

Callie, scenting victory, pushed hard. “Actually I have a black belt in karate. I can take care of myself. I could probably protect Detective Raven too, if it came down to it. The only one I’d be worried about in this group is Agent Sherlock.”

Savich laughed. “You’re probably right about that.” He heaved a sigh. “There are going to be lots and lots of interviews happening during the next three days. Probably a good fifty agents and local police working the case. What’s one reporter added to the mix? Ben, would you mind keeping Ms. Markham in tow?”

“Yes, I mind,” Ben Raven said. “I’m not going to be saddled
with a reporter—a
reporter—
Savich. For God’s sake, not even your garden-variety sort of reporter, but an investigative reporter who thinks she’s smart and in reality doesn’t know squat.

“As for you, Ms. Markham, and your big mouth, if you could take me down, I’d hang it up, leave the force, go find me an isolated cabin in Montana. Savich, you’re worried about blackmail, you take her with you. No damned way is she getting within six feet of me and any suspect. It ain’t going to happen.”

C
ALLIE
M
ARKHAM SAID
to Detective Ben Raven as he drove to Justice Sumner Wallace’s house in Chevy Chase, “Okay, now I’m going to come through as promised. Here’s something I doubt you could have found out. My mother told you that Stewart’s best friend on the court was Justice Sumner Wallace. Maybe that was true at one time, but not recently. This may shock you, but Justice Wallace has a bit of a reputation with women. I think he was inappropriate with my mother and that Stewart was aware of it. He wasn’t happy with his old golf buddy.”

Ben was shocked and he tried not to show it, but Callie laughed. “I know, it just doesn’t fit the image. Now, I guess Mom didn’t realize my stepfather knew. She likes to keep the peace, so she wouldn’t have said anything, just ignored it, or handled it herself if it got bad.”

Ben was still trying to come to grips with something he never would have imagined. “So this Justice of the Supreme Court of the United States, this guy who’s older than my dad, was putting the moves on your mother? Are you absolutely sure about this?”

“Yes. Listen up. Justice Wallace is about sixty-five, not yet ready for the grave, Detective Raven. My mom was talking on the phone about him once to one of her friends, Bitsy, I think it was. Mom only smiled, and said now wasn’t he a frisky one. I think she knew I was listening, and so she finished her call up fast.”

“You were eavesdropping?”

“Sure. It’s my stock in trade. She never said a thing to me, but she did acknowledge me after she hung up the phone, so I’m sure she knew I was there. Right about that time, Stewart stopped speaking with Justice Wallace.”

“So, not only is he old, he’s married, and he was lusting after your mother?”

“My mom is very pretty, Detective Raven. I’m not surprised that any man would be interested in her. I’m more shocked that he would actually act on it.”

“I didn’t mean to insult your mother, it was the incredulity speaking. When did this happen?” Before she could answer, Ben’s cell phone rang. He listened for some time, frowned, and punched off. “That was Savich. He spoke to the medical examiner, Dr. Conrad. He said TV vans are all around the morgue, but he’s trying to keep a lid on things. He’s threatened to lock any of the staff who dares whisper a word to anyone, including spouses, in the morgue freezer. Also, something unexpected. Dr. Conrad said Justice Califano had about six months to live. It appears he had pancreatic cancer. He doesn’t think Justice Califano knew it yet, since he’d probably not had any pain. Said he’d only lost about six months of life, and even with that, this cancer can be really bad once it gets rolling.”

“Oh no,” Callie said. “Oh no. Stewart was damned either way.
I guess I’m glad he didn’t know. Can you imagine what it would be like to know you were dying of cancer, that you’d be gone in six months?”

“Agents will be speaking to his doctors, see if he did know, but kept it to himself.”

Callie leaned her head against the seat back. “Poor poor Stewart.” She started crying, silently, tears rolling down her face. The dreadful irony of it. It was like losing him all over again.

B
EN
R
AVEN LOOKED
around at the TV vans in front of Justice Sumner Wallace’s 1960s single-level home, and the three cars parked at the curb. “I wonder where the federal marshals are. Would you look at all the media.” He pulled his white Ford Crown Victoria, sedate on the outside, lots of muscle under the hood, in front of the house. Reporters jumped out of the cars and ran toward them.

Ben ignored them, looked over at the sprawling brick-and-wood house set back in the woods. “Even if you yelled, the neighbors wouldn’t hear you. It feels like we’re in the sticks somewhere, not in a corner of Chevy Chase.”

Ben and Callie climbed out of the car, trudged through the snow-covered sidewalk toward the front door, still ignoring the reporters. By the time they were halfway up the walk, the reporters had swarmed. Ben didn’t stop walking, just pulled out his badge, held it high, waved it in their faces, and shouted, “We have no comment at this time. We don’t have any news for you.”

The snow had thickened a bit. Callie kept her head down, hoping none of the reporters would recognize her.

It was not to be. “Hey, Markham, what are you doing here? I know Justice Califano was your uncle or something, but how come you get to go in with the cop?”

“Hey, sorry, Markham, but can you tell us—”

“What idiots,” she said under her breath, but at least two reporters caught her words. She continued to ignore all of them as best she could, just as Detective Raven did. The microphones were no longer in her face for the simple reason that Ben gave them all a look that could kill. That backed them up a foot, but no more.

“Why don’t you threaten them with your gun?”

“Doesn’t work. I tried it once, but as I recall, they laughed at me. You don’t make a threat unless you can back it up. That’s what my dad always said.”

“Your dad was a cop?”

“Oh yeah. Now he’s private. He’s a riot, finds humor in every case he takes. Once he was dealing with a real badass, but he told me how the guy broke out in hives whenever he visited his mother. He’s very successful. My father, not the badass.”

She blinked up at him and smiled, despite herself. She tuned out the reporters’ yells behind them. “I remember a lot of laughter, too, when my dad was alive. You’re lucky, Ben.”

“That depends. How would you like to have four siblings, all of them older than you, all of them obnoxious and nosy, always in your business, always trying to set you up with blind dates? I’ve had dreams of being an only child, like you.”

She laughed. “None of us are ever satisfied with what we’ve got. Like you’ve got this slight curl in your hair that’s real sexy, and you wear it a little on the long side that makes it even sexier, while I have this straight-as-a-board hair—”

His hair was sexy? Because he wore it too long? “I suppose you’re fishing for a compliment, aren’t you? However, since you’re perfectly able to see yourself in a mirror and know—well, never mind that. Nearly there, just keep walking.”

A TV reporter who’d had to wait for his cameraman to catch up to him yelled, “Hey, Callie, how do you feel about your stepfather being murdered in the Supreme Court?”

Callie stopped in her tracks. “That’s just too much.” She took a step toward the reporter, ready to do battle.

Ben grabbed her arm, said close to her ear, “Just be quiet. You’re already a story to them by yourself. Ignore them, keep your head down. In a minute we’ll be inside.”

Ben rang the doorbell and called out, “It’s Detective Ben Raven of the Metro Police. Please let us in.”

Ben knew they were being closely observed, and he held his badge to the peephole. Three shouted questions later, the door finally cracked open, and Ben was eyeball to eyeball with a federal marshal. They exchanged badges without saying a word.

Callie said, “We wondered where you were.” She saw another federal marshal standing behind him, and an older woman with a tired face peering over his shoulder. “Come in quickly, Detective Raven, Miss, before those jackasses try to knock you down to try to get to Justice Wallace,” said Federal Marshal Ted Ricks. The federal marshal behind Ricks cracked his knuckles. “Yeah, hurry it up.”

Ricks said, “They’ve been lurking for about two hours now. We figured inside was the most useful place to be.” He grinned. “And the warmest.”

The older woman stepped up. “Justice Wallace thought to speak to them, but he decided he prefers a more dignified setting. We’re
locked up tight in here, prisoners in our own home. My husband is in his study.”

Ben introduced himself to her when the two federal marshals stepped out of the way. Naturally Mrs. Wallace knew Callie. Ben said quickly, “Ms. Markham isn’t working for the
Post
on this, ma’am. She’s along to help.”

“I’m sorry about your stepfather, Callie,” Mrs. Wallace said. “Very sorry for all of us really, especially poor Sumner, who’s naturally devastated.” Callie could only nod and took her hands. There was strength and comfort in them. Mrs. Wallace was wearing old black wool pants, a baggy Redskins sweatshirt, and house slippers. Whenever Callie had seen her before, she’d been dressed to the teeth, an elegant, well-coiffed woman who knew her own worth. But now all she looked was exhausted. Callie knew that Beth Wallace and her mother got along well, although Callie didn’t know how close they were. It was Callie who remembered to take off her coat and wipe her boots on the small rug inside the front door. Ben followed her lead. Callie hung up their coats in the front closet. Mrs. Wallace gestured down the hallway. “Both of you, come along now.” The federal marshals remained by the front door, Ricks looking out the peephole at the reporters milling around.

Mrs. Wallace led them down a long hallway. Every wall, every surface, was covered with Art Deco art and artifacts from the 1930s. Their footsteps sounded loud on the oak floors, echoing up to the twelve-foot ceiling.

“Sumner is devastated by this,” Mrs. Wallace said again, as if there were simply no other words available to her, “as you can well imagine.” She paused a moment, drew herself up, knocked on a door at the end of the hall, and immediately opened it.

The room was dark. Mrs. Wallace sighed, walked into the gloom, and turned on a lamp. It sent out a circle of stark light, and in the center of that circle sat an older man on a small sofa, perfectly upright, his hands clasped between his legs, eyes staring straight ahead.

“Justice Wallace,” Ben said as he walked to the man, his badge out. “I’m Detective Ben Raven from the Metro Police. I’d like to speak to you, sir.”

Justice Wallace slowly turned his head to look up at Ben. Then he looked beyond him to Callie. “Callie? What are you doing here? Why are you with this police officer?”

“I’m not here as a reporter, sir. I’m here as part of my stepfather’s family.”

Slowly, Justice Wallace rose, walked to Callie, and took her in his arms. She was nearly as tall as he was. He felt strong as an ox, she thought as she hugged him tightly. “Stewart was a fine man, a fine Justice,” he said, his voice choking. “Dear God, I will miss him.” He hugged her more tightly.

Callie wanted to cry; it was odd, but what held her back was the thought that this man had actually made a pass at her mother, the wife of another Justice who was supposed to be his best friend. So she merely comforted him as best she could, wondering if he was bitterly sorry now for what he’d done.

After a few more moments, Justice Wallace straightened. His shoulders went back. His bearing was once again that of a Justice of the Supreme Court, strong and in control.

He turned to Ben. “Won’t you sit down, Detective? Beth, would you please get us coffee?”

Callie didn’t want any coffee, but Mrs. Wallace had already turned away.

“Why are you here, Detective? Where is the FBI? As you saw, we already have two federal marshals to guard us. From a murder attempt or to protect us from the media, I don’t know. Do you?”

“I would say both, sir,” Ben said. “As for the FBI, they’ll be here to talk to you, Justice Wallace. I’m part of the team put together by the Bureau. I really appreciate you seeing me. If you don’t mind, sir, any information you could give me about Justice Califano would be helpful.”

Justice Wallace sighed. “So many guards, so much security assigned to keep us safe. How could this have happened? In the Supreme Court Building, the bedrock of the rule of law in our nation, the symbol of freedom and balance in our government?”

Now that was eloquent, Ben thought, a lot more statesmanlike than hitting on Margaret Califano. Ben decided there was no reason for him not to tell him. “It appears that the killer knew one of the guards would go outside for a smoke. He hit him on the head, took his uniform, and came right back in. It was after midnight, quiet, and unfortunately he succeeded.” It was a lousy excuse, Ben knew, but it was the truth. “Justice Wallace, I understand you were Justice Califano’s closest friend. Did you notice anything different about him on Friday? Or during the past week? Did Justice Califano appear distracted, perhaps worried about something?”

“No, not at all. Stewart appeared the same as always on Friday, and throughout the week as well. I knew he didn’t want to revisit the death penalty in the upcoming case, but then again, neither did I.”

“Why would that be, sir?”

“He believed it wasn’t a good case for the anti-death-penalty people to use since this sixteen-year-old boy had murdered three people in a particularly brutal manner. Still, he hadn’t made up his
mind about overturning the ruling they’d made in 1989. The liberal Justices wanted to swing him around to their way of thinking to gain a plurality. There was lots of maneuvering. I don’t know what Stewart would have ended up deciding to do.”

“But you don’t believe he was in the Supreme Court Library to think about this particular case?”

“It’s possible. Whenever Stewart wanted to be alone to think, to study a case or a contentious issue like this one, he went to the library. He simply felt an affinity for it. He enjoyed being among those thousands of books that give us the roots of what we are as a people. They helped focus his mind, he said, on the meaning of his work.”

“Do you have any idea who could have killed him?”