Hellfire (Sisters In Law Book 2)

by John Ellsworth

  Salads were served--small dinner salads with piñon nut bits. Everyone opted for the bleu cheese dressing.

  "So, Win," said Christine, her salad fork paused, "tell us about the mediation. You get the condo?"

  Winona shook her head. "The mediator says we have to split it. Which means I have to sell it. So that little bitch can get her hands on Gorman's half and buy a condo or a boat or a--I don't know."

  "It's all right, girl," said Althea, "she'll get what's coming. It's karma."

  "Sounds to me like the mediator is trying to push an agenda I don't think your judge would push. Judge Stanton is friendly to the wives. She has to be, since she's been divorced twice herself."

  "Where's Ed been?" said Winona. "I was hoping I'd get a chance to bend his ear tonight. He needs to know what they're trying to do."

  "Ed's in Ann Arbor, Michigan," said Christine. "His mother's not doing all that well. Or something. He had to run up there and see her. But he'll be back tomorrow. You can see him at work."

  They finished their salads and the wait staff cleared the small crystal plates away. Then came the entree: poached salmon, steamed vegetables, and a huge baked potato served with sour cream and chives on the side. Hot rolls appeared with butter and strawberry jam available. Wine glasses were refilled; Christine opted for coffee and ice water with lemon, saying that she was driving--no alcohol for her.

  "How goes it with this Ed guy?" asked Althea, who knew Ed well herself. "Is he going to be trainable?"

  Everyone laughed.

  "The question is, am I going to be able to keep up with him," Christine jokingly lamented. "He certainly knows his way around." There, she'd given them something to mull over. Exactly what the occasion needed.

  "What about us?" Althea said to Christine. "We've got a preliminary hearing tomorrow in D.C. What time are we leaving?"

  "In ten hours," Christine replied. "But don't worry. We have blankets and pillows and we can make the cabin very dark. Sleep will be possible."

  "What are they going to do, exactly?" Althea asked.

  "A preliminary hearing is where they put on evidence so the judge can decide whether there's probable cause to continue with the case."

  "What's probable cause? We're not going to be put back in jail, are we?"

  "No, no, no. The conditions of release are set. I've posted bail for both of us and that will hold until the case is finally adjudicated. Then we'll get the bail back. Assuming it turns out the way I'm pushing for."

  "What are you pushing for?"

  "I've got a trick or two up my sleeve."

  "Such as?"

  "Let's just say a little bird perched on the shoulder of the Chairman of the Senate Judiciary Committee today. A gabby little bird."

  "Oh, a mystery!" cried Althea. "I loves me some mysteries."

  "Well, a certain document found its way to the Senate. That's all I can say right now."

  "That document wouldn't be about the Hellfire attack on Sevi's wedding, would it?"

  Christine was caught with a forkful of salmon between plate and mouth.

  "My, we're certainly clairvoyant tonight, aren't we?"

  Althea smiled. "Let's just say I'm making some good guesses. Am I?"

  "I wouldn't deny it," said Christine. "But more will be revealed tomorrow. I just don't want to say too much in case, for some strange reason, I might want to put you on the witness stand. I already know that's not going to happen in a million years, but as the lawyer, I have to keep all options open. So let's drop the subject, can we?"

  "As you wish," said Althea. "But now I think I'll be able to sleep tonight. Unlike the last two nights."

  "Good. You need your rest."

  "Don't we all?" said Winona. She buttered a roll and shook her head. "So what's with Ed and his mother in Ann Arbor? She's in a nursing home?" As she spoke, Win remembered with a slight shiver how Ed had squeezed her hand after their workout. She remained convinced the gesture had been more than simply a friendly squeeze. But she couldn't be sure, and so she was fishing for more. After all, he was human. And if the guy wasn't playing square with Christine, Winona wanted to tip her off.

  "That's what I've been told. I don't know much more."

  "Seems like he goes up there a lot."

  "I can't speak to that," said Christine. "How much is a lot? I certainly don't know about her so I can't judge."

  "You're sure he doesn't have someone up there?" asked Winona, ever the cop. "I'd want to check it out."

  Christine gave her friend a sharp look. "Does he come across as the kind of guy who would do something like that"

  Winona shrugged. She placed her butter knife on her plate.

  "Look, Christine, maybe I'm talking about Gorman. Right now I don't trust anything that wears pants and pees standing up."

  Christine and Althea laughed. Then Winona joined them. Even a member of the wait staff wore a smile the rest of the night.

  "Well said, old girl," said Althea. "Pees standing up. Love it!"

  "That could be me," said Winona. "I mean, having to wear this stupid damn bag."

  "You're still having the urethra problem?"

  "You betcha. Just like always. But you know what hurts? I couldn't go out with a guy now even if I wanted to. Which I don't. But just imagine trying to get him in the sack and having to untangle this piss bag and--"

  Christine reached over and patted Winona on the arm. "I know. Let me finish up with this preliminary hearing and get Jamie back home and we'll take a hard look at all that. Maybe another doctor, another approach. I'm even thinking of taking you up to the Mayo Clinic and getting the best there is to look at you."

  "That would be wonderful," said Winona through tear-filled eyes. "That would be wonderful. Good. You just gave me hope." She laughed and dabbed at her eyes with her napkin. "Forgive me."

  "Unnecessary, girlfriend," said Althea. "That's why we get together. Sometimes we laugh our fool heads off and sometimes we might need to shed a tear or two. That's what friends are for."

  "Exactly," said Christine. "Well, all that being said, I have to dash back over to the hospital. Jamie's alone without Ed here. Except for my mom. She's with him but she's old and needs to get back to my place. Dad is home taking his heart meds."

  "You're pulling another all-nighter?"

  "I am. But we'll meet at Midway at five a.m. We're flying out around five-fifteen, so try to be there on time, Alt."

  "Will do," said Althea. "I'll set my alarm and my phone alarm for four. So I guess I'd better move out too."

  "Me too," said Winona. "I just need to go home and have a good cry."

  "I thought cops didn't cry. But I don't exactly see you as the strong silent type," said Althea, "now that I've got to know you."

  "Hey, I'm human just like you," said Winona.

  "Aren't we all?"

  "Aren't we all? Exactly."

  45

  Tuesday 2

  Senator Joseph Robertson III from Massachusetts ran the Senate Judiciary Committee with an iron fist on Capitol Hill. He was a three-term, no-nonsense Yankee who sailed on weekends and drank two bottles of single-malt during the week--keeping conversations well-oiled so pending legislation and compromises could be pushed through. He was six-two, silver hair worn in a brush over, stylish black eyeglass frames and gray lenses, with a strong jaw and pearly teeth that always seemed to be involved in a friendly smile when the cameras rolled and equally capable of snarling when a recalcitrant colleague needed buttonholing.

  Harvard Law, Yale economics, meritorious Air Force service in Bosnia-Serbia during that civil war. Everything about him was coming up roses for the life-affirming New Englander.

  He was also forty-four years old and single. His wife of twenty years had passed away from a sudden stroke and Washington's glitziest and most winsome women hadn't yet been able to sweep him away, no matter how hard they tried. Women were off his radar anymore, he told his best friend Sam Sonsuch, his administrative assistant.

  Sen
ator Robertson had thus turned to the affairs of state rather than those of the boudoir.

  So when he received the courier in his office and opened the packet of documents from the attorney in Chicago, he was immediately offended and smelled blood in the water that he would use. Robertson was a democrat and for far too long the republicans had dumped billions of dollars into the Blackguards of the country with their bottomless funding of American imperialism and war making around the globe. Robertson was a fellow of Bill Gates and would rather see American treasure spent in Zimbabwe helping cure malaria and AIDS than see American treasure poured into the never-ending civil wars in the Middle East. So here, in a packet from Chicago, had arrived the opportunity to embarrass the sons of bitches where they stood. He had caught them, as he was wont to say, with their pants down around their ankles.

  For the documents--Blackguard's documents--offered undeniable proof that Blackguard had called in a drone strike on a wedding party without regard to collateral damage in an effort to derail the possible sale of Syrian oil to the Chinese instead of to the Texas oilmen Edlund and Wilfred DuMont.

  Now it appeared the Department of Justice was prosecuting the women who had obtained those documents. By whatever means they had obtained it, right or wrong, the senator felt the women should be treated like national heroes, not prosecuted.

  A call was placed to the U.S. Attorney in charge of the case. Her name was Racquel MacAdams and she was about to get an earful. Then he was going to call the Attorney General himself and give him a good reaming. It was early that Wednesday morning, but already the day was shaping up beautifully.

  Senator Joseph Robertson III always enjoyed a good plate of intrigue and a big bowl of slap down.

  Now he had both placed before him, ready to wade into.

  46

  Wednesday

  They touched down at Reagan National Airport and were hurried to a waiting limousine. Christine entered the back seat first, followed by Althea. Althea was just a little groggy, having slept all the way from two hundred miles east of Chicago into Maryland airspace. But she was coming to and adjusted her lipstick in the mirror on the seat-back before her.

  Christine poured coffee out of the silver service in the center console.

  "Not for me, darling," said Althea. "I want to remain on the planet."

  Christine doctored her coffee and took a large mouthful.

  "Ah," she exclaimed, "hot and black."

  "Don't tell me. Just like you like your men. Am I right?" laughed Althea.

  "Hey, you said it. Don't push that off on me, lady."

  "So here we are in Washington, home to more white-collar crime than any other sixty-eight square miles on God's green earth."

  "You could say that. You could definitely say that. I'm just glad I don't live here."

  "You and me both."

  Twenty-five minutes later they were dropped off at the U.S. Attorney's office. Passing through building security, Althea read the hand-out:

  The United States Attorney's Office for the District of Columbia is unique among U.S. Attorney's Offices in the size and scope of its work. It serves as both the local and the federal prosecutor for the nation's capital. On the local side, these prosecutions extend from misdemeanor drug possession cases to murders. On the federal side, these prosecutions extend from child pornography to gangs to financial fraud to terrorism. In both roles, the Office is committed to being responsive and accountable to the citizens of the District of Columbia.

  The Office also enforces the law and defends the interests of the United States in civil suits brought in the district. Its location in the seat of the federal government gives it responsibility for many cases of national importance, including far-reaching challenges to federal policies and employment practices.

  Althea snorted and tossed the handout into a trash bin. "I'll just bet you're all that and more," she said to no one.

  They passed through the security line, delayed twenty minutes by the huge influx of citizens coming to see justice done in the District of Columbia.

  At long last they reached the imposing double doors with gold lettering that said U.S. ATTORNEY DISTRICT OF COLUMBIA.

  The two women entered and waited at the counter.

  A woman turned to them and Christine stated their business.

  The U.S. Attorney was expecting them and they were to be shown right in.

  Except it wasn't Racquel MacAdams, who was back in Chicago, explained the man behind the desk.

  "I'm Norris Basilone," he told them, and shook their hands. "I'm an Assistant USA and I'll be handling your case from here on out. Obviously the venue has been moved to D.C. I'm sure you understand why, Ms. Susmann."

  "So what's the plan for today?" asked Christine. "Is the preliminary hearing still set for ten o'clock?"

  Norris Basilone, it turned out, was a man of few words. And he wasted none in bringing them up date.

  "We've received a call from Capitol Hill. Apparently someone there has received a document pertaining to our case."

  "Oh," said Christine, all innocence. "What's that mean?"

  "It means that the Chairman of the Senate Judiciary Committee is looking at the two of you as heroes. God forbid. But that's a whole other matter. Anyway, politics being politics, we've been politely asked--adamantly ordered, actually--to back off all prosecutions until the Senate Judiciary Committee can hold hearings."

  "Hearings," said Christine.

  "Yes, hearings. Evidently there is an initial impression that a certain government contractor was playing outside the rules when the missile strike against your client was ordered. Something about collateral damage assessment requirements being ignored."

  "So my client lost her entire family because someone in the States didn't play by the rules, that's what you're saying?"

  "Well, that's the initial impression. Time will tell, of course."

  "Where does that leave us with the conspiracy charges?"

  The USA removed his glasses and spun them by the stem. "Yes, yes. Well. As you're definitely aware, prosecutions happen when the interests of the public are brought into play."

  "Yes."

  "The initial thinking here--just initial, mind you--is that more needs to be known about the underlying facts before the overlying facts--your facts--are hauled into court."

  "So maybe we stole documents, is what you're saying, but maybe public policy is going to end up saying we did the right thing when we did it. Kind of like Ed Snowden?"

  The USA scowled. "Definitely not like Edward Snowden. That's a whole other can--well, let's not go there since that's still perhaps an active prosecution. Investigation, at least."

  "So what about our case? Will it be dismissed? Held in abeyance? You and I both know the Federal Rules of Criminal Procedure guarantee us a preliminary hearing within certain time limits."

  "It's my case now. My initial inclination is to dismiss the case without prejudice."

  "Without prejudice means the case could be refiled," Christine told Althea.

  "Oh. That's not right."

  "I agree. I don't think we want to agree to that. If it's dismissed it should be with prejudice. Neither of us wants to go through this again."

  "Really, I'm up against it. If you don't agree--"

  "If we don't agree, then we go to our preliminary hearing, which calls down the fires of hell on you from the Judiciary Committee now that you've been told to back off. Looks to me like you have no choice but to dismiss with prejudice."

  "I'll dismiss with prejudice. Is there anything else?" His demeanor had turned glum. Christine saw it was time to gracefully and graciously back off.

  "I can't thank you enough for your forthrightness and willingness to allow justice to be done, Mr. Basilone."

  Which perked him up just a hair.

  "Well...we do our best."

  "I know you do."

  They shook hands.

  "Oh, before I forget," said Basilone. "Senator Robertson has asked
that you stop by. He'd like to brief you on his upcoming hearings."

  "I'll make arrangements," Christine said. "It won't be today, but I'll swing back soon. Please give him my regards, tell him my son is in the hospital, and that I'll be in touch soon."

  "Will do," USA Basilone said with a warm smile. "And sorry to make you come all the way back here. You were in the air when I got the order--the news."

  "Not to worry."

  Neither woman burst into gleeful laughing until they were alone on the elevator.

  The plane ride home included a glass of champagne and okra fried with crookneck squash, don't spare the ground pepper--one of Althea's favorites. Christine felt like she owed her friend for what she had put her through. So the summer treat was a peace offering.

  Althea had earned no less.

  47

  Thursday 1

  Jamie's condition remained unchanged by Thursday morning. It had now been five days since the last CT scan had shown no change. Christine was panicked.

  "I cannot tell you how hard this is to watch your child languish in a hospital bed," she tearfully told Ed by phone. He had called the room to check in and see if there was any change.

  "I don't have children so I can only imagine," he said. "It must be horrible."

  "I just feel so helpless. He lies there and doesn't move. He doesn't swallow, doesn't blink, and doesn't respond to my touch. They come in and suction him every half hour and he doesn't flinch. Nothing affects him. Nothing."

  "Are you eating anything?"

  "No. My mom is coming at noon and I can run downstairs and eat then."

  "Maybe I'll come join you."

  "That would be wonderful. It would be good to see you, Ed. I have missed our times together."

  "Me too."

  "And how is your mom? Are you going to Ann Arbor this weekend to see her?"

  "Probably. It depends on whether there's any change with Jamie. And on whether you need me or not."

  "I always need you. Don't ever think otherwise. Uh-oh, they're here now. They're going to do another CT scan and draw blood. Call me back before you leave the office, okay?"