“Time for one more stop?” the chief asked.
Gray nodded. It had been quite the excursion. And Gray soon was in the passenger seat of the chief’s Mercedes, zipping down Wisconsin Avenue into Georgetown. Gray stared absently out the window at the historic brick town houses converted into boutiques, and wondered where they were going. The chief pointedly didn’t say, and Gray decided not to ask.
The chief crossed M Street down a hill to the waterfront, and took a sharp turn into the mouth of a condo building, bouncing over speed bumps and into the basement garage.
Gray followed after the chief to an elevator. He knew the chief lived in McLean, Virginia, so he wasn’t sure who they were going to see.
The elevator opened to a long hallway. The chief stopped in front of the only door on this wing of the building, and slid a key into the lock.
Inside was an elegantly decorated penthouse. It had an open floor plan that spread out to floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Potomac.
“Wow, this place is incredible.”
“Thank you,” the chief said.
“It’s yours?”
“Yes. This is where I lived after my divorce. Before I realized I’m not cool enough for Georgetown, and I moved to the burbs.” The chief looked at Gray. “You really like it?”
“Are you kidding? I’ve never been in a place this nice.” Gray walked to the window and stared out at the view. On the far left, the Washington Monument, a white spear stabbing into the sky. On the right, the lights from the Key Bridge reflecting in the water.
“Glad you like it.” The chief removed the key from the ring and handed it Gray.
“I don’t understand, I—”
“Aaron Dowell told me about where you live. That you ride a bike there late at night. I can’t have you getting mugged again on my watch.”
Gray wondered why the chief of the court’s police and Douglas had been talking about Gray, much less about where Gray lived.
The chief continued, “My tenants moved out six months ago, and I decided to keep the place vacant for out-of-town guests—or friends in need. It could use someone here for maintenance and whatnot. If you can handle that, the place is yours rent-free for the term.”
Gray thought about what his father would say. First the suits, then the condo. He didn’t want to appear ungrateful, but no.
“I can’t.”
“Let’s not go through this again,” the chief said.
“It’s too much.”
“Nonsense. The place is sitting vacant. You’d be helping me.”
Gray pressed his lips together. The chief was giving him a curious stare. Gray eyed the giant flat-screen television mounted over the fireplace. Maybe it would be okay.
“I could pay rent. I’m not sure I could afford the full—”
“Excellent,” the chief cut him off. “We can work out the details later. Also, I keep a car downstairs. My ex called it my ‘mid-life-crisis mobile.’ You’re welcome to use it.” He patted Gray on the shoulder. “Come on, let’s get a drink. There’s a great pub just down the street.”
The chief showed Gray the car, a convertible Audi, and then they exited the garage to the street. At nine o’clock, the sidewalks were crammed with pedestrians, none of them seeming to recognize the chief.
“Who do you think was the worst justice of all time?” the chief asked. They’d spent the better part of the evening talking court history and trivia, and the chief couldn’t seem to get enough of it.
Gray thought about the question. “I’ve read that Justice James McReynolds was a pretty awful person; that he was a racist and anti-Semite who refused to speak to the Jewish justices, and that he once turned his back to a black lawyer during oral argument.”
The chief nodded. “A lot of the stories about McReynolds are just urban legends, but he was a son of a bitch. I’m still going to rank Justice Cutler as the worst ever.”
Gray took in a breath, not sure how to respond. Cutler was a sitting justice.
“She’s only on the court because she’s a political hack, not because she earned it,” the chief said. “And she’s nasty as hell.”
That was Cutler’s reputation around the building. But Gray was not about to denigrate a current member of the high court. This could be a test. Before he responded, a panhandler stepped in front of their path and jangled coins in a cup.
The chief stopped, looked the man up and down. The guy was in his late twenties and appeared well-fed, healthy. “You want some money?” the chief asked.
The man nodded, holding out the cup.
“Then get a fucking job.”
Gray did a double take. For the entire outing, the chief had treated everyone with respect. The waiter, the valet, the tailor. But with this man he was harsh. Vulgar, even. Gray started to realize that Chief Justice Douglas had a distaste for the entitled, those who didn’t work hard to earn what they had. But he also disdained those who didn’t live up to their potential.
No pressure.
CHAPTER 18
Milstein sat in the car waiting for Cartwright to get their coffee and breakfast sandwiches at the Starbucks in Dupont Circle. The sidewalks were filled with well-dressed women carrying shopping bags. Milstein looked at herself in the rearview mirror. When was the last time she’d gone shopping? Or had her hair done? Gotten a mani-pedi? She and Chase had been split up for almost a year now, and she was tiring of dinner alone at her crappy temp apartment, but the idea of dating again made her cringe. Cartwright appeared at the passenger door holding two cups. Milstein reached over and opened the door, and Cartwright handed her the cup then slipped inside.
“Checking yourself out in the mirror?” He looked over at the stores. “You know, Macy’s sells makeup.”
Milstein gave him a fuck you smile.
They drove up Connecticut Avenue and over the border into Maryland, past the pricey neighborhoods, onto I-495, exiting in Rockville. Traffic was heavy and they finally made it to the old apartment complex. Yesterday, the job took them to the majestic Supreme Court. Today, an ugly brick building painted turd brown. They found the ground-floor unit and rang the doorbell.
An elderly woman, Japanese, peeked through the gap in the door. She said nothing, just stood there blinking, waiting for them to speak.
“We’re with the FBI.” Milstein held up her badge. “We’re here about what happened to Sakura. Can we come inside?”
The old woman opened the door. It was a small, cluttered space. There was the waft of something fishy. Milstein saw a small shrine to Sakura Matsuka, the young woman killed at the convenience store.
“Can we sit down?” Milstein asked.
“I’m Sakura’s grandmother. You need to speak with her father. He at the store.” She spoke in clipped, accented English.
“One of our colleagues tried to speak with him, but he refused. I don’t think he understands, we’re here to help. To catch who did this to Sakura. It’s important that we get some information from him. Perhaps you could talk to him, tell him that it’s okay—”
The woman let out a scoff. “The last time he speak to you people, what good it got him. He lost everything.”
Milstein and Cartwright met eyes. “I don’t understand—”
“Hmpft.” The old woman narrowed her eyes to almost nothing. “He want nothing to do with F-B-I.” She accentuated each letter with distaste.
“If there’s something he’s afraid of—his immigration status—or something else. We don’t care about any of that.”
“He a citizen just like you,” the old woman said, insulted.
“Then why doesn’t he want to help us catch Sakura’s killer?” Milstein said, her tone incredulous.
The old woman’s face hardened.
Cartwright jumped in. “What about you? Will you talk to us?”
“I don’t know anything. She went to work like always. Police come to apartment, say she dead.”
“We have her phone records. She was speaking with a r
eporter. Do you know what it was about?”
The old woman shook her head. Another long silence.
Milstein pulled up a crime scene photo on her phone. Before Cartwright could talk her out of it, she showed it to the woman. Sakura Matsuka, tied to a chair, her face swollen, awash in red. The CSU determined that the killer had taken a shopping bag, one of the green reusable ones, and filled it with canned goods. He then used it to club the woman. For some reason, they hadn’t determined why, he’d strangely cut Sakura’s long hair into a short jagged mess. He’d used scissors sold at the store. And he’d taken the hair clippings with him. The killer was smart: he’d also taken the digital security recorder, doused the area with bleach, and left behind no other evidence.
The old woman pushed away the phone. “We know how you operate. Nothing will bring her back.” She shepherded them to the door.
Cartwright pushed on. “Did Sakura go by the nickname ‘Kora’ or does Kora mean anything to you?” The perp had written KORA MATSU on the floor in the young woman’s blood. They theorized that the killer may have been interrupted, since he wrote only the first five letters of Matsuka’s last name. But they didn’t know what “Kora” meant.
The old woman shrugged.
Cartwright looked at Milstein, who gave a defeated shrug of her own.
“Can you ask Sakura’s mother to speak with us?” Milstein asked.
“She died long time ago.”
Milstein let out a loud breath. They were wasting their time. She pulled out a card. “If you think of anything that might help, or if your son would be willing to talk to us, please call.”
The old woman took the card—Milstein could tell it would soon be in the trash—and said nothing as she shut the door behind them.
In the hallway outside the apartment Cartwright said, “What was that about? It’s her granddaughter…”
Milstein shook her head in disgust.
Cartwright washed a hand over his face. “The Supreme Court still won’t give us access to their people. The vic’s family won’t talk to us. And the perp is toying with us. Could this case get any fucking weirder?” Cartwright looked at Milstein. “So what now?”
“I think we need to find out why Sakura’s pops won’t talk to us. What he’s got to hide.”
CHAPTER 19
Gray drove the chief’s car—top down, to hell with the fact that it was November—to the “First Saturday” event, zip-lining in Sandy Spring, Maryland. He sped along the rural roads lined on either side with white horse fences. In his sunglasses and mussed hair, he felt pretty cool if he did say so. It had been a strange week, with the Anton Troy execution, the outing with the chief, and an encounter with the FBI. Now, a weird zip-lining excursion, and tonight his first law clerk happy hour. The chief justice was right about one thing. With the new clothes and new place, Gray felt different, more confident. More comfortable in his new life. He followed the GPS onto a bumpy dirt road, a cloud of dust trailing the Audi.
After parking on a grassy field near a sign that said ADVENTURE PARK, he found Justices Douglas and Wall and their law clerks getting a safety orientation from a teenager. Gray didn’t think he was late, but everyone was already suited up in their nylon harnesses, gloves, and helmets. Gray looked up at the platforms in the trees, the ropes and cables of the zip-line course. The branches were filled with colorful leaves, casting a shadow over the bottom of the forest.
“Let’s get moving,” Chief Justice Douglas shouted to him.
Gray raced over to the check-in station, signed a stack of release forms, and climbed into his gear. He caught only the tail end of the safety briefing before the others climbed up to the main platform. Gray introduced himself to Justice Wall’s clerks. He’d seen them around the building but had never spoken with any of them. There was Sven, the only male clerk, and three women: two named Heather, the other Audrey.
The chief and Wall stood near two rope ladders. “The rules are pretty simple,” the chief said. “We’ll start at the top on the parallel courses, and the first team to the ground wins.”
Gray stared into the treetops, trying not to swallow. The chief and Justice Wall then climbed their respective ladders, their clerks following behind. Gray went last, his muscles contracting as he tried to balance on the rope ladder. The knife wound on his side from the attack in the garage had healed, but the skin was still tender.
When Gray reached the wooden platform, he dared to look down. He clutched the safety rope, and tried to steady his breathing. He watched as the chief sprang from the platform and flew down the zip line. The chief shouted something to Justice Wall, who was zipping down the parallel line. And so began the race. Team Douglas versus Team Wall.
The others must have seen the fear in Gray’s face, because they let him cut in line, helping him attach his pulley to the steel cord. He tested the line with a yank, then closed his eyes, and jumped. He dipped for a moment, the straps biting into his thighs, then started his descent. Once the initial fright wore off, it was surprisingly exhilarating. The scent of the forest, the breeze in his face, the adrenaline rush. He swooped in with both feet on the wooden platform, grabbing the safety line, excited for the next run. It went like this for some time, the clerks tearing down each zip line, landing on the platforms, and connecting to the next run on a course that spiraled to the ground. Trying to stay ahead of Justice Wall’s team on the other trail. Walls’s clerk, Audrey, froze up on one of the runs. A worker at the park called out to Justice Wall, questioning whether Audrey should leave the course, but Wall barked him away.
Given that they’d grown up together, the chief and Justice Wall were quite the contrast. Douglas exuded charm, one of those men who guys wanted to hang out with but the ladies liked even more. He could kick back with a game or watch a rom-com with equal intensity. Wall, by contrast, had an aristocratic air. He looked buttoned-up even on the zip-line trail.
The race intensified as each side got more proficient with the equipment, more confident. Was Gray crazy for wanting to win so badly? He didn’t know, but his natural skill on the course had not gone unnoticed by his team. Soon, he was the anchor, helping his co-clerks click the safety lines off and on and glide to the next run. By the last line, they had a good system, a seasoned pit crew.
The chief and Keir were first to the ground, followed soon by Justice Wall and one of the Heathers. Mike was next, then Praveen, but the other Heather and Audrey soon joined them. Lauren gave Gray the eyes when he attached one of the metal hooks, their bodies close, which only emboldened him. Her hair danced in the wind as she flew to the ground.
Finally, it was down to Gray and Sven. The others on the ground cheering. Sven looked like he belonged on the Norwegian Olympic Zip Line team if there were such a thing. Gray could hear the Heathers and Audrey shouting for Sven. Gray’s co-clerks were not so loud, but even from this height he could see the chief justice was getting red-faced. No humor in it.
“Let’s go, Grayson, bring it home!” the chief yelled.
Justice Wall was not so encouraging to Sven. He gave hoarse commands. “What are you doing?… Get a move on!… You don’t have time for that…”
Gray realized that this wasn’t just about winning the race. It was about years of competition between these men. He recalled the night of Anton Troy’s execution, Wall’s smug call with the chief, treating the stay petition like it was a game.
Gray looked across the trees to Sven, who was just seconds behind. Gray shimmied around the wooden platform and connected the slider, the little wheel used to roll down the line. He latched the safety clip—he thought the instructor had called it a tweezle. All he had to do now was hold on and the last run would take him to the ground, just ahead of Sven. He was about to jump when he realized that the slider wasn’t rolling. He ripped off his gloves and tried to adjust it.
Jammed.
The cheering from the ground grew louder as Sven attached his pulley. Gray called down about the equipment failure, but they couldn’t h
ear him.
Gray was dripping with sweat now. Sven was about to make the jump.
Gray unclasped his safety harness, straps of leather and nylon, and pulled his feet out of the holes. He wrapped the harness around his right hand, draped it over the line, then grabbed the other end with his left. Before he could talk himself out of it, he took a deep breath and made the leap.
At first, he didn’t travel very fast, his makeshift pulley dragging against the line. But then the contraption started to work, and he accelerated, the swish of leather and nylon burning into the steel cord. He looked across the course and Sven was racing down the other line, behind Gray but gaining on him.
About midway down, Gray was still ahead, but his heart dropped when he saw that his harness was starting to tear.
The cheers grew even louder as he got closer to the ground, but his attention was fixed on the harness. More tearing.
Another wave of applause from Team Wall. Sven must be getting closer, zipping down the other line.
At thirty feet, the harness’s nylon straps were now threads. The leather parts started to burn through.
Twenty feet.
Gray’s hands were slipping now, but it wouldn’t matter if the thing snapped.
Ten feet.
The harness broke. Gray landed hard, but fell into a roll, which probably spared him a shattered tibia.
Team Douglas roared. You’d have thought that he’d caught a Hail Mary in the last second of the Super Bowl. The chief justice did an embarrassing victory dance and literally got in Justice Wall’s face.
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