“Yes, of course. I enjoyed lunch, Bill, it was good seeing you again.”
Stalk pushed a buzzer on his desk, then walked Sutherland to the door, his arm still over his shoulder. “You know, Chester,” he said, “I realize we’ve discussed this before, and I promise you this will be the last time. Are you certain you didn’t keep files of your own on MKULTRA?”
Sutherland placed his hand on the doorknob and turned it. He looked into Stalk’s eyes and said flatly, quietly, “Yes, I’m certain. Enjoy the skeet shooting.”
CHAPTER 17
Eight of the nine Supreme Court justices sat in the main conference room. Missing was Temple Conover. He had called to say he was ill but promised to come in later in the day.
Jonathan Poulson had presented his argument in favor of the state of Illinois in the Nidel v. Illinois case. Much of what he said had been contained in a long memorandum from him earlier in the week. It was a typical Poulson memo, long and rambling, filled with redundancies and lacking in clarity of writing and thought. At least that was the way most of the clerks viewed his written work, and their justices tended to agree.
What some of the justices found particularly upsetting about the memorandum was its stress on achieving a unanimous decision within the Court so that a clear and strong message on abortion would be available to lower courts across the nation. Poulson seemed to be saying that in this particular case it mattered less what each individual justice believed represented the facts of law in Nidel v. Illinois than a need to reflect the administration’s antiabortion posture, which in turn reflected the nation’s morality. “It’s ridiculous,” was the way one justice put it to his clerks. “If there’s ever been a case that didn’t lend itself to unanimity, this is it.”
When Poulson had completed his arguments in the conference, the senior justice was next to speak. Since Conover wasn’t present, his turn was passed on. One after another the justices presented their views of the case based on their reading of the briefs and the oral arguments heard in open court.
“I don’t understand why we continue to deal with this matter beyond the scope of the legal issue,” Justice Tilling-Masters said. “If it’s the intention of members of this Court to render a sweeping opinion on abortion from legal, philosophical and moral perspectives, Nidel v. Illinois is not the case to base it on. I said that from the beginning. That’s why I voted against accepting it for review.”
“I agree,” Morgan Childs said from his chair near the door. “This case is too narrow for that. In accepting it for review we’re being asked to determine whether the federal government has a right to tell a state what it must do with its funding for health care. It isn’t federal money we’re discussing, it’s state money.” He picked up law books that had been opened to specific pages and quoted from previous cases he felt had bearing on Nidel v. Illinois. “It’s my view that the state of Illinois has a right to determine its policies on state-funded medical care. Naturally, if an individual’s rights are in question another element would be introduced, but I find that situation lacking in this instance.”
Poulson nodded enthusiastically. “Can we take a preliminary vote?”
They went around the table, beginning with the Chief. It ended up four to four.
“I’m afraid I can’t accept this,” Poulson said. “Perhaps there are overlooked factors that we might reconsider.” He started to present his views again when another of the justices, a thin, scholarly man named Ronald Fine, who was second in seniority to Temple Conover, and who often voted with the senior justice on social issues, interrupted. “Chief Justice,” he said in a quiet, level voice tinged with a southern accent, “I believe we have a preliminary vote on this case. Naturally, Justice Conover’s vote will be the deciding one, and I’m sure we are all… well, shall we say, relatively certain how the senior justice will vote.”
Poulson knew Fine was right on both counts. Still, he did not want to leave the conference in the minority.
“Let me call Justice Conover,” Fine said, “and inform him of the vote.”
“Yes,” Poulson said. A wave of anxiety had swept over him; he was anxious to return to the quiet of his chambers.
There was silence in the room as Fine placed the call to Conover’s house. “Yes, Justice Conover, that’s the way the vote went… Pardon?… Of course, I’ll pass that information on to the others… Oh, just a second, Justice Poulson wants to speak with you.”
He handed the phone to Poulson. “Temple, how are you feeling?… Good, glad to hear it. You’re voting for Nidel I take it… Yes, I understand. I would like to speak with you when you come in this afternoon… Yes, thank you, you too.”
“That makes it five to four,” Childs muttered, “for the plaintiff. Somehow, I can’t help but feel that this won’t represent a final vote.”
“It usually doesn’t,” said Justice Augustus Smith, the Court’s only black member. Known as “Gus” to his friends, he was the most easygoing of the nine; quick-witted and filled with gentle humor. “With Temple writing the majority opinion,” he said, “there’s no way somebody won’t see some light on the other side. Did he say he’d write it himself?” he asked Fine.
“No, but it’s a fair assumption.”
Under the rules of the Court, the senior justice in the majority was empowered either to write the initial opinion or assign it to another member of the majority. Had Chief Justice Poulson been in the majority, that authority would have gone to him. As it now stood he would assign the minority opinion, and each justice was free to write a personal, dissenting judgment.
Poulson hid his anger until reaching his chambers. He realized that his failure to gain unanimity was not particularly relevant in light of the way the initial vote had gone. Not only would the Poulson Court fail to utter a call to the nation that would reflect President Jorgens’s campaign promise to return decency to American life, but a distinct blow would be delivered to that pledge, resulting in an important victory for the social libertarians he and Jorgens abhorred.
But as he sat back in his high-backed leather chair and soaked in the calm of his office, his initial anger and anxiety faded. This was only the beginning. If there were ever a time for a chief justice to effectively lobby his colleagues on the Court, this was it. He thought about Augustus Smith’s comment and realized how accurate it had been. Temple Conover would write a majority opinion that would go too far. Conover couldn’t help it. His zeal for social reform, combined with the influence of age and his natural irascible personality, would see to it, and more moderate justices who’d voted in the majority just might shift their final votes.
Poulson lunched with an old friend from law school and his friend’s son, also an attorney, at the National Lawyer’s Club. The young man asked questions, which pleased Poulson. Poulson told him that of all the institutions in America, it was the Court that stood apart from political wheeling and dealing. It was, he said, a body of nine individuals who, by virtue of their backgrounds, education and experience could interpret the Constitution without being mortgaged to any person or group. He ended up by giving the young man what had become a canned speech, but as he continued, checking now and then to measure the son’s interest, he felt genuine pride. He’d always revered the sanctity of the law, which was why he’d worked as hard as he had to gain his first appointment to a bench to escape practicing law with all its deals and bargaining, its infighting and corruption.
The young man asked about Poulson’s views of secrecy in the Court. He phrased the question carefully so as not to hint at recent media criticism of the Poulson Court as being the most secretive in history.
Poulson smiled. “I’ll answer that by quoting my predecessor, Chief Justice Warren Burger. I always remember a speech he gave to the Ohio Judicial Conference about ten months before being sworn in as chief. I may not have it 100 percent correct, but it will be close enough. Justice Burger said, ‘A court which is final and unreviewable needs more careful scrutiny than any other. Unrev
iewable power is the most likely to engage in self-indulgence and the least likely to engage in dispassionate self-analysis.’ But these words really sum up Justice Burger’s feelings, and mine. ‘In a country like ours no public institution, or the people who operate it, can be above public debate.’”
The young attorney’s father kept his smile to himself. His friend, now Chief Justice, had, in fact, clamped a heavy lid on the Court far beyond anything experienced in the past. He couldn’t help thinking back to his younger days when he and Poulson were struggling to get started. A mutual friend had termed Poulson “the most paranoid guy I’ve ever met.” When told of the comment, Poulson had laughed and said, “Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they aren’t following you.”
“Well, I really must be getting back,” Poulson said. “Good luck to you, young man, in your career. If there’s anything I can do for you, please feel free to ask. Your dad and I go back a long way together.”
As they prepared to leave the dining room Poulson’s friend asked about major cases pending at the Court. Poulson hurriedly listed a few, including Nidel v. Illinois.
“How does that one look?” his friend asked.
A laugh from Poulson. “You know better than that, Harold. If there’s one thing in the Court that demands secrecy it’s the voting on cases. You’ll have to read the papers like everybody else.”
Poulson had his driver stop at a drugstore on the way back to the Court to buy Preparation H and a bottle of aspirin. They were for different problems. Once back in his chambers he took two aspirins for a headache that had begun during lunch, instructed his secretary that he did not want to be disturbed, settled in his chair and picked up a private phone. He dialed. It was answered on the first ring. “The office of the attorney general,” a woman said.
“Hello, this is Chief Justice Poulson. Is Mr. Fletcher available?”
“Just a moment, Mr. Chief Justice.”
A few moments later Attorney General Walter Fletcher came on the line. “Good afternoon, Mr. Chief Justice,” he said. “What can I do for you?”
“Nothing at the moment, Walter. I just thought I’d better call and tell you that preliminary voting on the abortion case did not go well.”
There was a pointed silence on Fletcher’s end.
“I’m not discouraged,” Poulson said. “These things shift, especially something as sensitive as this. I wouldn’t be surprised if we ended up with an almost unanimous decision in favor of Illinois once the dust settles.”
“But as of now, it doesn’t look good. Is that what you’re saying?”
Poulson tried to act nonchalant. “No need to worry, Walter. You might tell the President that we’ve got things under control.”
“Can I tell him that with conviction, Mr. Chief Justice?”
“Absolutely.” (Well, you can tell him, but it’s not in the bag.)
“Fine. Thank you for calling. By the way, if the President wants to discuss this with you, will you be available later today or tomorrow?”
“I’ll make myself available any time that’s convenient for him, Walter.”
It was appropriate, but these were difficult times, he told himself, rationalizing. If the nation under President Jorgens’s leadership were to regain its former balance and prestige—and the need for that he was unequivocal about—it would take definite, even bold steps by every governmental institution to bring about that change.
“‘The law, wherein, as in a magic mirror, we see reflected not only our own lives but the lives of all men that have been,’” Poulson said aloud, quoting Oliver Wendell Holmes, Jr., and felt a sense of relief displace his doubting mood. He poured himself a glass of vodka and sternly addressed himself. “You’ve been appointed Chief Justice of the Supreme Court by the President of the United States,” he said, “and you’ll do what’s right, damn it, for the President, for the Court, and for the American people. No matter what…”
CHAPTER 18
“Who?” Teller asked the desk sergeant who’d called from downstairs the following morning.
“Mrs. Temple Conover. She wants to see you, says it’s urgent.”
“Send her up.”
He couldn’t imagine the senior justice’s young wife visiting MPD headquarters unless she had something that related to the Sutherland murder. Well and good. He’d just come from his nine o’clock meeting with Dorian Mars and it hadn’t been pleasant.
Cecily Conover was ushered into Teller’s office.
“I’m sorry to barge in on you this way,” she said, “but it couldn’t wait.”
“Please sit down, Mrs. Conover. Now, what couldn’t wait?”
She crossed her legs, fussed at her blonde bangs. Teller couldn’t help but react to her sexiness. She was a naturally attractive woman who seemed to feel a need to reinforce what came naturally. She also acted nervous; acting or for real, he wondered?
“I’m not sure I should be here,” she said, “but I didn’t know what else to do.”
He leaned forward on his desk and smiled. “Whatever brings you here, Mrs. Conover, I’m sure we can talk about it.”
“I’ve never been so confused in my life,” she said as she shifted her weight in the chair, her skirt riding up on her thighs.
“How is your husband?” Teller asked.
“Fine, just fine. He’s an amazing man, Lieutenant Teller, but I’m sure you know that. Every American knows of my husband’s contributions to the law… and justice.”
“True. I don’t know how he does it. Somebody told me the other day he’s written more than twenty books. I see things by him in magazines too. I hope I’m half that active when I get—”
It was a smile intended to put him at ease. “Yes, my husband is old, detective, and has his physical problems, but he doesn’t stop for a moment. He’s a very virile man.”
He wished she hadn’t used the word virile. Why mention something so intimate to a stranger? He shifted gears and asked her whether she enjoyed being in the public eye.
“No, I hate it. I’m a very simple person, a very private one.”
“I’m sure you are.”
He was getting fed up with her posturing. He wished she’d get to the point. When she didn’t, and after a few more meaningless exchanges, he put it to her. “Why did you come here this morning, Mrs. Conover? Does it by any chance have to do with the Sutherland case?”
She pursed her lips and looked away.
“If you have something to contribute, anything, you might as well do it now. Frankly, I can use all the help I can get, even if it’s painful for you. We can talk frankly and privately.”
She looked at him. “Can we? I mean, can I discuss things with you and be sure it will stay in this room?”
Teller sat back and lit a clove. “That depends,” he said as a blue cloud of smoke headed for the ceiling. “If you want to share a confidence with me, I’m sure there’ll be no problem in keeping it confidential, but if it has a bearing on the investigation, I can’t promise. I guess you’ll just have to trust me.”
“Funny, but I do trust you, detective. You have that kind of face.”
“Thank you.” (What the hell kind of face was that?)
“I’m concerned about how I’ll be seen by you… and others. After all, a wife is supposed to stand by her husband for better or for worse. A wife can’t testify in court against her husband, can she?”
“She can’t be forced to. Can if she wants to.”
“Then you understand my dilemma.”
“No, I don’t. You haven’t told me anything yet.”
“I’m sorry.” He couldn’t see any tears but she dabbed a corner of her eye with a tiny embroidered handkerchief. “All right, Detective Teller. Here.” She reached into a floppy oversized purse, pulled out a brown paper bag and handed it to him. “Go ahead, look at it,” she said.
He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, reached inside the bag and pulled out a Charter Arms Pathfinder .22-caliber pistol with a sevent
y-six millimeter barrel.
“Yours?” he asked.
“My husband’s.”
“And?”
She looked down at her lap. “It might be the gun used to kill Clarence. It’s the same kind of pistol described in the newspapers.”
Teller weighed the pistol, examined it. “It’s easy to ascertain whether it was the murder weapon.”
“Yes, you can do that sort of thing, can’t you?”
“That’s right. But before we get to the technology, Mrs. Conover, I’d like to know more about why you think this weapon might be the one used in Clarence Sutherland’s murder?”
“I told you, it fits the description in the papers.”
“So do thousands of other .22-caliber handguns. If everybody who owned one turned it in after reading about Sutherland, we wouldn’t have room to store them.”
“But those other people don’t work in the Supreme Court, nor did they know about Clarence or have a reason to—” She stopped abruptly.
“Are you actually telling me you think that your husband might have used this weapon to kill Clarence Sutherland?”
She gasped, opened her eyes, then shook her head. “No, I’m not suggesting anything like that. He kept the gun in his chambers. I guess someone who knew that took it to kill Clarence.”
“If it’s the murder weapon.”
“Well… but you can find that out, can’t you?”
Teller shrugged. “How did you know your husband had this weapon, Mrs. Conover?”
“I… Justice Conover and I once had an argument, a silly spat. He waved the gun at me. It was over as fast as it started.”
“You argued in his chambers?”
“Yes.”
“And he waved a gun at you?”
“It was all so silly, just—”
“Maybe life has passed me by, Mrs. Conover, but from where I sit a man waving a gun at his wife sounds like more than just a silly spat.”
Murder in the Supreme Court (Capital Crimes Series Book 3) Page 9