"That's not quite true," the visitor said. "Britney and I go way back. She didn't tell you about when we were kids?"
Bobby Ray gave him a puzzled look.
"You know what, Bobby Ray? I believe you. You know why?"
Slumped over in the chair, his face and shirt drenched in blood, Bobby Ray just looked at the man.
"I believe you because it's the same thing that whore Britney told me a hour ago right before I cut her throat." He then walked over to Bobby Ray, placed the blade at his neck, and slit the flesh from ear-to-ear. After carefully wiping the blade on Bobby Ray's shirt, he resheathed the knife in his boot.
By daybreak, Bobby Ray Cherry and his girlfriend, Britney Goodhart, were buried in a wooded area behind a rest stop on Montauk Highway, a mile from the reservation.
Driving back toward the city, the visitor punched a number into his disposable cell phone and calmly spoke into the speaker, "It's done."
Law offices ofDavison, Hall & Wardman, Manhattan
cKenna was running late, having fallen back to sleep after his wake-up call. He walked fast on East Forty-fifth toward the MetLife Building, his eyes tracing the skyscraper's outline upward until it disappeared into the fog. Davison, Hall & Wardman, the white-shoe law firm hosting the Supreme Court Commission meeting, had prime office space on the top floors of MetLife.
Within minutes of entering the lobby, McKenna was escorted by a uniformed security guard to the conference room on the fiftieth floor. His hopes of entering the meeting unnoticed were dashed when he opened the door and a beam of light brightened the otherwise dimly lit room. Nearly everyone seated in the rows of long tables seemed to shift their glances toward McKenna. Professor Jonathan Tweed, standing at a lectern and pointing to a PowerPoint presentation on the large screen, sniffed at him as if he were one of the professor's law students arriving late to class.
Taking a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkened room, McKenna made his way up the aisle looking for an empty seat. He recognized many of the government and law enforcement officials who were sitting behind towers of briefing books and empty bottles of water. A Justice Department lawyer caught his eye and quietly gestured that McKenna should take the lawyer's seat. McKenna declined with an appreciative smile, and found an empty spot in the back row.
Settled in, he half-listened as the professor continued the lecture: "Justice Sorenson, the youngest of six children, was raised in a small town in Nebraska."A picture of an older man appeared on the screen behind the professor. "As a boy, after a hard day working on the farm, Sorenson drew inspiration from the stories of Horatio Alger, whose heroes always rose from modest beginnings to achieve great wealth."
Soon enough, McKenna was tuning out Professor Tweed and flipping through a briefing book someone had passed to him. He glanced at the agenda on the front page:
8:30AM TO 9AM - FBI DEPUTY DIRECTOR PACINI, INTRODUCTION
9AM TO IO:30AM - YALE LAW PROF. JONATHAN TWEED, BACKGROUND OF THE DECEASED JUSTICES AND THE JUDICIAL CONFIRMATION PROCESS
IO:30AM TO NOON - SOLICITOR GENERAL MCKENNA, POSSIBLE CASE CONNECTIONS
NOON TO IPM - LUNCH
IPM TO 2PM - LAW ENFORCEMENT TASK FORCE, PRINCIPAL MOTIVES AND LEADS
2PM TO 5PM - LAW ENFORCEMENT SUBGROUP MEETINGS (AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY
Forty minutes later, after a recitation of each slain justice's background and the history of the judicial confirmation process, Professor Tweed said, "I'd like to end by reiterating that Black Wednesday resulted in the deaths of three so-called liberal justices and three conservatives. Why does that matter? It matters because the equal split of conservative and liberals killed makes it unlikely that the assassin sought to change the outcome of a particular case or that the massacre was ideologically based. As the FBI has advised us at prior meetings, the sequence of the shots suggested that the gunman was interested more in the number of kills than in ideology. He gave tactical priority to the justices nearest him and started his rampage at the far left of the bench. He continued shooting the justices down the line, toward the center. It is quite likely that he would have killed all nine justices were it not for Chief Justice Kincaid, who started firing back."
The professor started gathering his notes. "Thus, in my opinion, the most likely motive, assuming any, relating to a particular case comes down to only one thing: delay. As I've explained, history has shown that the confirmation process for replacing even one justice can take months and prompts the worst kind of protracted partisan battles. And as you all know, the replacement of six justices has proved even more contentious. We have now gone six months without a functioning third branch of our government, yet threats of a Democratic filibuster forced the president to delay nominating his original six nominees and to cut a deal. In any event, if this turns out not to be terrorism or some personal dispute with a justice-which others will speak to today-we should be looking at who benefits from the delay. I'm sure that the solicitor general will enlighten us further."
With that segue, McKenna rose and approached the lectern.
"Good morning," he said. "I'm going to try and keep my report brief. Of course, you've all been around enough lawyers to know that when one says he'll be brief, you should get comfortable in your chairs."After a moment of subdued laughter, he said, "I'd like to begin by reminding everyone exactly what my office was asked to
Chambers ofJudge Ivan Petrov, Foley Square, Manhattan
etectives Milstein and Assad sat waiting in the reception area of Judge Ivan Petrov's chambers. - - - - -- - - - -- - - -
Assad stood, arched his back, and walked over to a large window that overlooked the city. "This doesn't look like any judge's chambers I've ever seen," he said, yawning. They both had spent plenty of time in the run-down state court government buildings, getting warrants or testifying in homicide cases. By contrast, Petrov's chambers, with their soft lighting, oriental rugs, and portraits that looked as though they belonged in a museum, seemed more in keeping with a whiteshoe law firm than with a government facility.
Few knew that the judge's chambers had been financed by a historical society that received earmarked funds from the Katherine Petrov Foundation. Though he came from humble beginnings in Brooklyn, Petrov had married well. Thus, while the rest of the building was still undergoing a renovation that was over budget and years behind schedule-and while the other judges on the Second Circuit had to make do with cramped temporary chambers nearby at 500 Pearl Street-Chief Judge Petrov reigned over the lavish top floor of the historic thirty-one-story U.S. Courthouse at Foley Square.
Petrov looked in the mirror of his private lavatory. Although not a handsome man, he often found women inexplicably drawn to him. He splashed his doughy face with water, tucked his shirt in around his soft middle, and went to meet the detectives.
As an appeals court judge, Petrov did not handle trials or appear in a courtroom very often. Indeed, the only time he spent on the bench was during oral argument-the litigants' one chance to plead their case in person on appeal. Since the parties submitted lengthy legal briefs, he thought that having the lawyers appear personally to argue was, in most instances, a waste of time. Rarely did a lawyer show up and say anything not already amply covered in the briefs. Moreover, Petrov found most lawyers to be on the ragged edge of incompetent. But argument was a tradition, and it broke up the monotony of the job. And so he prepared diligently for argument sessions, sometimes spending days coming up with clever questions for the lawyers-after all, he had a reputation to live up to.
"Good morning," Petrov said in a rich baritone voice as he entered the reception area.
"Good morning," both detectives said in unison.
"We appreciate you taking the time to meet with us," Assad said as the judge gave him a hard gaze and even harder shake of the hand.
"No trouble at all," Petrov said as he turned and shook Milstein's hand. He held her gaze for a few seconds and said, "I don't think I've ever seen a homicide detective that looks like you."
>
Milstein gave an uncomfortable smile.
"Please, Detectives, join me in my office," Petrov said. He looked toward the receptionist, a blonde in her twenties wearing too much eyeshadow, and pointed toward a large oak door. Holding the door handle until the automatic lock clicked, he led them down a hallway lined with bookshelves of what appeared to be antique legal books, and into a large corner office.
"Have a seat," Petrov said, gesturing to two chairs that faced his heavy wooden desk. His office was large and awards, photographs, and plaques covered the walls from floor to ceiling.
"We just need to ask a few questions about Mr. Sinclair, and perhaps talk to some of your staff," Assad began.
"Whatever you need," Petrov said. "It's a shame, a bloody shame. Parker was such a talented young man. Detectives, do you have any idea who did this?"
"We're working on it, Your Honor," Assad replied. "Do you know anyone who'd have reason to hurt Mr. Sinclair?"
"I can't imagine anyone wanting to hurt Parker. He was friendly and, frankly, didn't seem to get out enough to make enemies-he worked about sixteen hours a day."
"How about at work-did he have any problems with coworkers or anyone here?"
"Not that I'm aware of. He was ambitious and had sharp elbows, but I've found that's always the way with the best clerks. I can't imagine anyone here wanting to hurt him. Anyway, I'd understood that this was just street violence."
"That's how it appears, but we have to ask," Assad said.
"Of course."
"Was Mr. Sinclair acting in any way out of the ordinary?"
"Not that I'm aware of."
"Are you aware of any personal problems he might have had?"
"Personal problems? Heavens, no," Petrov said, ignoring the phone ringing on his desk. "My clerks are the best and brightest at their law schools, and you don't see a lot of people with serious personal problems getting to that level. In any case, they're all given an FBI background check. I'd assume, if he had any skeletons, they would have been caught then."
"Did you know Parker's plans for last night?" Milstein asked.
"Work, I'd assume."
"We understand that he had gone to a function at Columbia Law School-could that have been work related?"
"Nothing I asked him to do," Petrov said. "And Parker was not an alumnus of Columbia. All my clerks attended Harvard or Yale."
"He went to a speech the solicitor general gave at Columbia," Milstein added.
She was watching him closely and Petrov stifled the urge to shift in his leather chair. "Well, that probably explains why he was there. Parker clerked for Solicitor General McKenna a few years ago, when McKenna was a district court judge."
"That's why we assume he was there," Assad said. "We think Parker was attacked on his way to meet McKenna for dinner after the thing at Columbia."
"He and McKenna were meeting for dinner?" Petrov said.
"So we've been told."
Petrov let out an exaggerated sigh and rolled his neck. "I'd asked Parker not to do that."
"Your Honor?" Assad said.
"Asked him not to meet with McKenna."
"You'd discussed Parker meeting with McKenna? I'm not sure I under-"
"Detectives," Petrov interrupted, "what I'm about to tell you is highly confidential, and I trust you will treat it with the utmost discretion."
Assad gave him a noncommittal look. "Your Honor, the most I can promise is that if the information doesn't need to be disclosed for the investigation, it won't be."
"That's all I can ask," Petrov said. "You see, I'm being considered for a seat on the U. S. Supreme Court. A lot of people think that McKenna prevented my nomination last year when there was a vacancy on the court, before the justices were assassinated."
Petrov's secretary entered the room holding a thick file, and he waved her away impatiently. "After the justices were murdered," he continued, "rumors that I may be nominated surfaced in the media. I feared that Parker might try and contact McKenna to lobby on my behalf, so I asked him to have no contact with the solicitor general."
"Why had McKenna opposed your nomination?" Assad asked.
"That's a good question-I barely know the man. But I've heard through the grapevine that he's referred to me repeatedly as a 'flamboyant, attention-seeking ideologue who's not worthy of the high court,' if that gives you a sense of his views."
"Not a fan then," Assad said, smiling.
"I'd say not," Petrov said. "Ironically, though, McKenna was the reference for Parker's clerkship, so apparently I was good enough for one of his own former law clerks."
"Was there some reason you thought Parker might try to influence McKenna on your nomination?" Assad asked.
"Perhaps," Petrov replied. He leaned forward, elbows on the desk, fingers laced. "I have a party at my home every month in which I hold rounds of a tournament for my clerks-a kind of Trivial Pursuit or Jeopardy about Supreme Court and judicial history. It's a rite of passage for my clerks, and competitive as hell, since the late Chief Justice Kincaid, who was a great friend, guaranteed the winner of the final rounds an interview for a clerkship with him. Even the girls who clerk for me come and smoke cigars, and mix it up."
Petrov felt a moment of satisfaction when he noticed Milstein's jaw clench.
"A month or so ago," Petrov continued, "after the tournament, the other clerks cleared out, but Parker stayed behind. He'd had a little too much to drink and was speaking more loosely than I would have expected of him. He asked me if I was concerned that McKenna might try and derail my nomination again. It's no secret that the man has been a sore spot for me. Parker said McKenna had no business judging anyone, and that he knew something about him that could help me."
"Did he tell you what that something was?" Milstein asked.
"No. And I told him I didn't want to know. I also forbade him from discussing my nomination with anyone, especially McKenna. Detectives, it's common for former law clerks to lobby for their judges as potential high court nominees, but it's different when the clerk is a current employee, particularly one who might do something foolish in a misguided attempt to help. I can't tell you what opponents to my nomination would do if they thought I was using Parker to try and influence the process."
"If it's not relevant to the investigation, there's no reason this conversation goes beyond here," Assad said. "Can we see Parker's office?"
"Of course," Petrov said. He noticed Milstein staring at her partner, as if she thought he was cutting the interview too short. The judge led them out of his office and back down the hallway toward the reception area where they had first met.
Running his hand over the wainscoting at the end of the hall, Assad said, "This is a fantastic building."
"Oh, yes. It's got quite a historic pedigree, you know. Designed by Cass Gilbert, the architect who did the U. S. Supreme Court Building. It was one of the first government buildings to employ the grand entrance, with the stairs and massive columns you no doubt saw when you arrived, with skyscraper office facilities. It will be truly grand when the restoration is complete."
"Yes, we saw all the work when we came in the building. When do they expect it all to be done?"
"Three years ago," Petrov said drily as he waved a security badge against a sensor, prompting the click of the double doors that opened back into the reception area.
The receptionist was not at her station. Petrov gave an annoyed sigh, walked over to her desk, and pressed a button that unlocked another set of doors on the adjacent wall. They walked through the doors and down another long hallway, this one lined with cubicles.
"In light of the situation, I've told everyone they could have the day off," Petrov said as they passed several support staff working away at their computers. "But like I said, I get only the best-most are Type A. I practically have to kick them out every night."
He stopped in front of an office. "Here it is. Parker shared this with Dakota Cameron, another of my best clerks."
Unlike t
he grand decor of the reception area and Petrov's office, Parker's office was plain and functional. It had two desks, both with metal frames and wood tops covered in glass. Three simple bookshelves and two metal file cabinets lined the walls.
"Is Ms. Cameron available to meet with us?" Milstein asked as she scrawled on her notepad.
"She left for the day. She and Parker were good friends. My assistant can get you her contact information."
"That would be helpful," Assad said.
"That was Parker's desk," Petrov said, pointing to the one farthest from the door. The desk had a pencil holder filled with freshly sharpened number twos, a computer monitor with a spotless screen, and legal briefs stacked in neat piles.
"You aren't kidding about Type A," Milstein murmured.
Assad said, "Before we look around, I had a question concerning your discussion with Parker about the solicitor general."
"Yes?" Petrov replied.
"I thought Supreme Court nominations were the president and Senate's job. Why would Parker think the solicitor general could affect your nomination?"
"Fair question. You see, the solicitor general's views carry a lot of weight, since his office is so closely tied to the Supreme Court. It would take only a few well-placed whispers to the right senators, or reporters, to put a nomination in doubt, particularly with all the recent fuss you may have heard about the nomination process. They say getting nominated is like getting struck by lightning-we all know who's under the tree, but we're never sure when or if the bolt will hit. As I said, I believe McKenna lobbied against me the first time I was considered for a spot on the court. Back then the president had his own problems and wasn't up for a fight over someone even remotely controversial."
"Well, that's obviously changed now."
"Right. And contrary to Parker's concerns, I can thank Solicitor General McKenna for the change. He was the architect of the `threethree deal,'which made my anticipated nomination possible."
The Last Justice Page 2