by Diane Capri
Wasn’t he just a little too satisfied to have George accused of murder?
Not that he wanted or expected George to be convicted.
But after George was arrested and the police stopped investigating, Jason as well as his boss gained a little more breathing space.
“So, what did you find out that upset Sheldon?” Jason still sounded like there wasn’t any possible way that I could be a problem for the powerful Senator Warwick.
Maybe that’s what prompted me to shake him up a little. My inner brat, as Kate calls it.
“I found out that President Benson asked General Andrews to get Thomas Holmes out of Charles Benson’s life and shut him up. Permanently. And Sheldon Warwick not only knew about that, he arranged it.” I said this as if it were a fact.
Judges don’t actually lie.
Maybe I stretched the evidence a little, but I might be able to prove it, if and when the time came.
Jason almost choked on the ice that he’d just started to chew. The Heimlich maneuver might have been required, but for the fortunate thing that ice melts. Jason choked and coughed and his eyes watered as I sat and watched, making no effort to assist him.
Eventually, once he could talk again, he said, “Willa, you are barking up the wrong tree there.”
“Maybe you better straighten me out, then, because unless I get some different information, this is the story I’m taking to Frank Bennett. I’ve only recently discovered what a powerful thing public opinion is,” I said sweetly.
Jason is a tough political operator and I counted on that to inspire him to help me. Especially now that his career plans were at stake, too. He shook his head, amazed at my foolish conclusions.
He said, “I didn’t mean to suggest that Thomas Holmes was murdered. His death really was an accident, just as the army said. Didn’t you read the file?”
“Then why steer me in his direction?”
“Don’t you believe his death was an accident?”
“No,” I said. “But answer my question.”
He gaped at me as if I was a few bricks short of a full load.
“You wanted to know why President Benson nominated Andrews to the Supreme Court. Andrews was no more qualified for that job than you are,” he said, as if everyone with an IQ above sixty would have figured that out by now.
“Thanks.”
He looked a little chagrinned. “You know what I mean. But Andrews hadn’t wanted to retire from the army. The army was all he knew and he loved it. He’d have stayed forever.”
Why Andrews retired? The public story was that he’d served his time and wanted to move on to other projects.
“Then why didn’t he? Stay forever?”
“Because they made him go.” Jason took a deep breath and got up and refilled his water from the serving cart. He stood with his back to me and drank a few sips of it before he walked back to the table.
He put the glass down and jammed his hands into the pockets of his khakis, leaned his butt on the edge of the chair and stuck his legs out straight in front of him. Stalling. I waited. It wasn’t my turn. He took another sip of his drink.
“You’ve already figured out that Andrews was at least bisexual?” he asked.
So he gave me some credit, at least. I nodded.
He took another drink. At this rate, he’d be pie-eyed before he finished. “Sexual orientation, as long as you keep it private, is irrelevant in most circles, but in the army? Well, you know what the status of the world was there.”
I sipped water. Slowly. Kept full attention on the facts. “Yes, Jason. Everybody knows. Andrews knew, too.”
“Sure he did. Look, Andrews was a sorry S.O.B. Just being bisexual wouldn’t have been a big problem if he’d kept it to himself. But he couldn’t keep it private. He was a general, nearly the top ranking army officer. Yet, he made sexual advances to junior army personnel.”
An involuntary whistle escaped my lips. The army was, in many ways, just like any big corporation where bad apples, including sexual miscreants, could rise to the top, no matter how conscientious the organization was to try to prevent that from happening. Bad apples advanced in the corporate ranks, especially if they had powerful friends, as Andrews had. The army would have had the same vulnerability as Andrews was coming up, even though things had changed somewhat in recent years.
Still, even if Andrews was guilty of sexual misconduct, that couldn’t be the whole reason he was forced to retire.
I said, “You’re not trying to tell me that in an organization as large as the U.S. military, there aren’t at least a few unauthorized sexual activities going on, are you?”
Jason wanted me to understand this now. “Even if his partners were willing, Andrews was so senior and had so much rank that you’d never know for sure.” He took a deep breath and revealed the rest. “Some of his partners weren’t consenting. At least, that’s what several men said when they filed sexual harassment complaints against him.”
“So the complaints were from men, not women?”
When I’d heard about the sexual harassment complaints the first time, I’d assumed Andrews’s subordinate females filed them. Based on my own experience, I knew Andrews was a misogynist. It seemed natural that he’d be looking for sex in all the wrong places. I’d simply assumed it was heterosexual contact he’d been seeking.
Jason nodded. “There were both kinds. One particularly nasty event involving a man came to Warwick’s attention. Sheldon went to President Benson and they told Andrews he had to retire. If complaints against him were revealed, they’d have ruined his career anyway. Andrews had no choice but to retire.”
“Except?”
He gave me a look that said he didn’t want to keep talking. But he did. “Except Andrews refused to go quietly.”
“And?” I prompted again.
Jason gave me a look of resignation. “Andrews told Sheldon and the President that he would only retire if President Benson agreed to nominate him to the Supreme Court when the next vacancy came up.”
“What?” I was, for the first time during this tale, actually shocked. “You have got to be kidding.”
Now, I paced around the room, the steam fairly rising from my pounding heart to my flushed face.
“The President sold the most important job in the country to a man he believed was guilty of reprehensible conduct?”
“Calm down,” Jason said, in the patronizing way that makes me want to throw a pie in his face. “President Benson said no and Sheldon said he wouldn’t support Andrews either.”
I felt a little better, but I remained standing and pacing and I could feel my blood boil.
For a couple of seconds.
Until he added: “And that’s when Andrews told them both that if they didn’t make sure he got on the Court, he would make sure the world knew about Charles Benson’s drug use and how they’d all handled Thomas Holmes. Because it touched Sheldon personally, too. His son, Shelley, had been a part of that crowd.”
Now, the lid blew off my composure completely.
“So we can add blackmail to Andrews’s list of accomplishments now?” I shouted. “Warwick and Benson agreed to put that despicable character on our highest court for the rest of his life?”
I couldn’t believe my ears. If I hadn’t had such a low opinion of politics and politicians in the first place, this piece of information alone would have been enough to push me over the edge. I paced back and forth, berating Jason and his boss and the president and the system and on and on and on.
Then we heard a knock at the door to the private room which preceded the entrance of an apologetic manager. “Is anything wrong, Judge Carson? Shall we call the police?”
The interruption threw cold water on my rage and embarrassed me into reassurance. He seemed mollified, but looked back to confirm no act of violence was imminent before he closed the door softly on his way out.
A few gulps of cold water and some time for thinking things through led me finally to ask Jason
, “Would anyone care? Now? To find out that Charles Benson used drugs as a kid? I mean, really, lots of teenage kids experiment with drugs.”
Jason, who had simply been waiting for me to vent, his gaze turned toward the far distances he could see from forty-two stories up, looked me directly in the eye now. “It wasn’t just experimenting. Charles was a heavy user. He went into rehab after this. Besides that, Charles bought and furnished drugs to others. In the White House. That in itself is about ten federal crimes.”
“So the President’s kid was not just rebelling like other kids, maybe. Still, that was a long time ago.”
“True,” he said. “But the President, the man supposed to enforce the law of the land, knew his son and his son’s friends were guilty of committing federal crimes in the White House. Benson covered it up. And that cover-up put Thomas Holmes in a place where he got killed.”
I nodded now, seeing the larger scope of the problem.
President Benson, himself, was guilty of the cover-up. He covered up the drug use and Thomas Holmes’s transfer, which led to Holmes’s death.
In the court of public opinion, at least, Benson would be crucified. And he could have been prosecuted.
Sheldon Warwick and General Andrews were just as guilty. While the younger men might have been treated gently at the time, the adults had national responsibilities and obligations to enforce the law.
When they forced Andrews to retire, Warwick and Benson hadn’t really had to do anything except make a promise that could, after all, turn out to be an empty one.
Since no Supreme Court vacancy had occurred in more than ten years, it was just as likely that Benson’s term would have ended with no appointment made. Andrews’s conditions would have been met but he would not have been named to the court.
Benson and Warwick had wanted Andrews to retire quietly and go away. By making the deal, Andrews’s retirement would be voluntary and another messy military sex scandal avoided.
Not to mention that both Benson and Warwick would avoid criminal prosecution, assuming the statute of limitations on the cover-up hadn’t expired.
Forcing control of my anger, I said, “Okay. I get your point.”
Still, there were missing pieces to this puzzle, too. “What if Benson and Warwick had refused? How did Andrews coerce them?”
Jason ignored me.
“Seriously. I gather Andrews’s threats were not hollow. Andrews would have had to prove the blackmail? With Thomas Holmes dead, how would Andrews prove Benson and Warwick were complicit without disclosing his own participation? Andrews had as much at stake, didn’t he?”
Jason looked down at his hands and didn’t answer me immediately. Then he sighed, as if he’d accepted that the only way to get me off this train of inquisition was to tell me the whole sordid story.
“Andrews had surveillance tapes of Charles Benson and Thomas Holmes using cocaine at the White House together. Andrews told Warwick and Benson that he destroyed the tapes when the incident first occurred. But he’d kept them. And he threatened to release the tapes to the press if Benson refused his requested nomination.”
One picture, as they say, was worth a thousand words; incriminating video was apparently worth a Supreme Court appointment.
“What did Benson do?”
“What choice did he have? Charles has apparently straightened his life around. He’s married now. Got a couple of kids. Shelly Warwick, too, is doing well. Fathers will do things to protect their kids that they’d never do for themselves.”
My ears warmed again. Did he think he could sell me that altruistic crap? “And of course, going along with Andrews saved Benson and Warwick’s own asses.”
He ignored me. “Benson said he’d think about it, but Warwick and Andrews both knew Benson would appoint Andrews, and Warwick would have to do his part, too. If the opportunity came up,” Jason finished, his own weariness now obvious.
As much as Jason had high ambitions, I hoped he was appalled at the pure self-preservation in which these corrupt politicians had engaged. At least, I hoped he was a fraction as appalled as I was.
I wrapped up the loose ends. “So you were all hoping there wouldn’t be another court vacancy before Benson’s term finished out next year and you’d never need to pay the piper. If Benson’s term ended without a vacancy, Benson would leave office and Rumpelstiltskin wouldn’t get the Kings’ first born sons.”
“But then Chief Judge Miller announced his retirement and there you have it.” Jason drained his glass and sat there, both palms up, as if there had never been a more obvious conclusion.
Now I knew why Andrews had been appointed to the Supreme Court and I felt certain that appointment was related to his death, even though I still believed he would never have been confirmed.
But I could prove none of it.
Yet.
The nomination was too controversial from the start and after President Benson’s midnight emissary told the Democratic senators they could vote against Andrews without being disloyal to the chief, there had been very little chance that Andrews would be confirmed.
All of which didn’t answer the big question.
“Jason, we both know George didn’t kill Andrews,” I started, but Jason interrupted me and stood up to leave.
“I’d like to help you, Willa, I really would. You know I love George as much as everyone else does. I hope he didn’t kill Andrews. But if he didn’t, then I don’t know who did.”
“If you knew, would you tell me?”
“I guess that would depend on who did it.” Jason was nothing if not honest.
As much as his answer pissed me off, it also made me believe him. Go figure.
Jason headed toward the door. When he placed his hand on the doorknob, I called his attention back.
I had one last thing I wanted to know.
“Where were you the night Andrews was killed?”
He shook his head slowly, from side to side, beyond the point of being surprised by anything I had to say, I guessed.
“I can’t tell you that.”
I cajoled and argued and threatened for another fifteen minutes before he simply walked out and I was forced to give it up.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT
Tampa, Florida
Monday 9:10 a.m.
January 31, 2000
I HAD TO RETURN to my day job, but the missing pieces of the Andrews murder still careened around in my head like a set of billiard balls on the opening break. By sheer force of will, I could concentrate on something else, but not for long.
The jurors had arrived and the litigants were set up in the courtroom. I asked my Court Security Officer to go in and tell them they could take a short coffee break and I’d be ready to begin at nine-thirty. No one dared to question a federal court judge’s trial schedule. But I felt guilty anyway.
There was no way I could reschedule the status conferences for three hundred asbestos cases, so I did the first group of ten, simply agreeing to the previous scheduling order and then sending the lawyers away. Asbestos cases rarely went to trial anyway. The important thing for me was to be sure I got rid of these quickly and then avoided getting assigned to any more.
Olivia had left several messages at my office, each with a more demanding tone. The last one said she’d meet me at three. I’d tried to reach her several times previously, but she’d not answered her cell or returned my calls. Now, I had no choice but to ignore her calls as I struggled to get a handle on my workload.
I glanced at the rest of my pink message slips, quickly reviewed my notes from the last trial day, slipped into my robe and walked slowly into the courtroom. I hoped they thought I made a stately entrance and the day would go smoothly, but that was too much to ask for.
During the Newton trial, paying attention had become a real struggle. I had so many things to do and so little time to accomplish them. The testimony had been long and tedious. There were few evidentiary arguments I had to rule on. Even the jury was bored.
I worked furiously through the break, signing orders, responding to telephone calls and e-mail. I gulped down my tuna sandwich and returned to the courtroom, head down, without even replacing my lipstick.
Looking up from my seat on the bench, I saw that the gallery was full of reporters again. If the CJ walked in, he’d blow a gasket. I recognized at least two from each newspaper as well as the local and network news stations. And I saw Frank Bennett in the back. Whatever was expected, it was big news if Frank was here to cover it personally.
Before we brought the jury back, I called counsel to the bench.
“What’s up?” I asked them both simultaneously, covering up my microphone with my hand so the question and answer wouldn’t be broadcast at six and eleven.
“I have no idea, Judge,” Newton said. I believed him. We were still in the middle of the plaintiff’s case.
I turned to Tremain. “Well?”
“Me neither.” He looked me right in the eye. I wished I was a better judge of liars. I was pretty sure Tremain’s was a whopper, but aside from public flogging, I had no idea how to get the truth out of him.
“In my chambers. Both of you. Alone.” I looked up and said, “The court will stand in recess for ten minutes.”
Both lawyers followed me back, leaving the goslings twittering around at the defense table. I signaled the court reporter to remain in the courtroom.
Our conversation would be off the record.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-NINE
Tampa, Florida
Monday 12:00 p.m.
January 31, 2000
WHEN WE SEATED, EACH of the lawyers in one of the bilious green client chairs, I moved aside a tower of files that had appeared in the center of my desk in the last ten minutes and turned to face them. “I know you’ve got something up your sleeve here. I don’t know what it is, and I’m not continuing this trial until I find out.”