The Last Justice

by Anthony J. Franze

  The two men locked eyes.

  "When Nash was forced out of the White House, he got angry. Nevel, his company, was awarded some very lucrative government contracts, so we thought that would mend any hard feelings."

  "A payoff, then."

  "The company would have gotten the contracts regardless of Nash. We just ... well, made him think otherwise."

  "So what do the documents say?" Pacini said.

  "Nash wanted more contracts. And we couldn't."

  "He threatened you? What was he going to tell?"

  "Nash wasn't going to tell anything that actually happened," Wentworth said defensively. "But Nash threatened to leak to the press that McKenna had been bought off to keep quiet about the president's affair-I mean, alleged affair-with the intern. He said he would leak that the administration had secured McKenna's silence first by appointing McKenna as a judge, then as solicitor general. The e-mails spell it out."

  "He wrote that down?" Pacini said in disbelief. Those skilled in politics usually lived by the following rule when it came to anything that could be used against them: "Don't write it when you can say it; don't say it when you can wink it."

  "He spelled it out in detail."

  "And you didn't think those e-mails were any big deal when we talked this morning?" Pacini said.

  Wentworth looked down at the floor.

  "Turn around," Pacini said. Wentworth turned, looking somehow smaller than when they first met.

  Pacini unlocked the cuffs.

  "I'd say you now owe us a favor, Mr. Wentworth. That's how it works in your world, right?"

  Wentworth nodded.

  Pacini held his gaze. "If you hear anything relevant to my investigation-and by that I mean anything-and you don't keep me informed, the next time I show up with the cuffs, it'll be at the West Wing. I don't think you want to be taking the first-ever perp walk out of the White House."

  Pacini and Assad walked out the front door. As they got in the car, Assad said, "Damn! You don't mess around."

  Pacini smiled as he put his cell phone to his ear. "I want the core teams at the office in an hour. Yes, I know what time it is. Just make it happen."

  Offices of Task Force Investigator Group, Inc., Washington,

  cKenna and Kate walked the two blocks from the metro station to St. Matthew's Cathedral. TFI's offices were in a converted house nearby. McKenna looked at the address he had written down on the coffee shop napkin.

  "If they're a private investigation firm, don't you think they'll have a serious security system?" Kate said.

  "I guess this is how to find out," McKenna replied.

  They waited for a few cars to putter by before crossing the street and walking up the steps to a large front entrance with a small brass plaque that read "TASK FORCE INVESTIGATOR GROUP, INC."

  McKenna debated how to get in the office. The door was old but solid, and the windows were too high to get in without something to stand on.

  Kate suddenly grabbed his arm and pulled him back down the steps so forcefully that he stumbled and almost fell.

  "Run!" Kate said in a loud whisper, pulling McKenna by the hand around the corner of the house and behind two big green trash cans.

  "What-"

  "Quiet!" Kate interrupted, trying to catch her breath. Crouching in the shadows with their backs pressed against the wall, they heard footsteps leaving TFI's offices. Two men in dark suits walked down the steps to a van parked nearby.

  One of them spoke into a wrist mic: "Nothing. They're gone. File cabinet's empty. Shredder's full. They knew we were coming."

  J Edgar Hoover Building, Washington,

  acini erased one of the whiteboards in the commission war room. The FBI, Homeland Security, BATF, Secret Service, and other agency team leaders had arrived, and a speakerphone on the center of the table connected them to the New York office. Pacini's twentyfour-seven availability requirement was a pain, but such was the price of getting to work the Black Wednesday investigation-the sexiest assignment around.

  Pacini sat in a chair by the speakerphone, and the agents, some standing, some sitting, formed a loose semicircle around him.

  "I want to recap everything we know. Who wants to start?" Pacini said.

  "Let's start with the obvious," a balding FBI agent said as he walked into the room holding a cup of coffee. "McKenna."

  Pacini nodded at a young agent standing at the whiteboard, who quickly wrote "SG McKENNA" in black marker.

  "Let's take it from the beginning," Pacini said. "What do we know?"

  The balding agent considered the question, then said, "His former law clerk, Parker Sinclair-McKenna was supposed to meet him the night he was murdered, and Sinclair's blood was found in McKenna's hotel room. Preliminary DNA tests are a match. A reporter from the Post says Sinclair was the source for a story that McKenna had taken a bribe when he was a federal judge-a bribe paid by Griffin Nash. Nash was stabbed to death in a D.C. crosswalk, and McKenna was identified running from the scene."

  The junior agent wrote "PARKER SINCLAIR" below and to the left of McKenna's name, and "GRIFFIN NASH" to the right, then drew a triangle connecting the names.

  "theories?"

  "Easy," another agent said. "Nash bribed McKenna, who was a judge at the time, to rule favorably on a case against Nevel Industries. Nash had been Nevel's CEO before he went to the White House and used the bribe to help the company out-probably because he knew he'd soon be headed back there. Sinclair was McKenna's law clerk, knew about it, and decided to come clean."

  "Then why would Sinclair try and meet McKenna for dinner the night he was murdered?" the balding agent asked.

  "We don't know for sure they were really planning to meet for dinner. That's just McKenna's version," Assad said. "That said, maybe Sinclair met with McKenna that night and told him he was reporting the bribe, and that's what got him killed."

  "Then why meet with him? Why not just turn him in?" the balding agent retorted.

  "And why now?" another agent chimed in. "The bribe supposedly happened years ago. And why kill Nash? It's unlikely Nash would report McKenna-he had just as much to lose as McKenna."

  No one answered. Pacini waited a moment, then said, "What do we know about the victims? Start with Parker Sinclair."

  "The people we spoke with at the court said Sinclair was squeaky clean," Assad said.

  "Not necessarily," a thirtyish blonde female Homeland agent in jeans and a sweatshirt said from the back of the room. "MSNBC is reporting a story coming out in the Post tomorrow saying that Sinclair roughed up his old girlfriend and basically stalked her. She got an order of protection against him. Reporter won't identify the girl, but we'll have the court records by morning."

  "What's domestic violence got to do with this?" Pacini said.

  More agents had made their way into the office, and the room was getting crowded.

  "It may have nothing to do with this," the blonde agent replied, "but Sinclair didn't disclose the restraining order in his background check, which is a felony. If he had, it likely would have taken him out of the running for working for Judge Petrov. Field agents missed it in their background check since Sinclair apparently got the court records sealed."

  The agent at the whiteboard wrote, "ABUSED GIRLFRIEND/ NONDISCLOSURE," under Sinclair's name. He added "SPYWARE" when someone mentioned credit card records showing that Parker Sinclair had purchased a miniature video camera from a company specializing in the kind of surveillance gear used by private detectives to spy on cheating spouses, or by parents to watch their nannies.

  "A hidden video camera?" Pacini said. "Could he have been responsible for the hidden camera at the Supreme Court?"

  "Our tech guys say that the equipment he ordered is not consistent with the type of camera that was used at the court," the blonde Homeland agent said. "Also, there's a question of access.' here's been no indication that Sinclair would've had access to Justice Carmichael's chambers, where the pictures were taken. Douglas Pratt still seems
the most likely candidate to have planted the camera, since he clerked for Carmichael."

  "We'll talk about Pratt in a minute. First, back to the victimshow about Nash?"

  "Uh, I have one thing to add on Sinclair," a young-sounding voice said from the speakerphone.

  "Who's speaking?" Pacini snapped.

  "Agent Simon," the voice replied. He was the most junior agent on the team, fresh from Quantico. It was a breach of protocol for such a junior agent to speak during the brainstorming meetings, so a few agents looked at one another, clearly hoping for the kid's sake that it was important.

  Agent Simon cleared his throat. "I've been going through Parker Sinclair's e-mails, which the NYPD obtained from the courthouse computer system. About an hour ago I found an interesting one. It suggests that the day before he was killed, Sinclair was having a messenger service deliver a package to McKenna."

  A low buzz filled the room.

  "Have we found the package in the searches of the SG's offices or McKenna's house?"

  "No," Simon replied. "We're hoping it's at the anthrax screening center. We should know first thing in the morning. We're also confirming the delivery address with the messenger service. The company is closed for the night, but we're trying to track down the owner at home. If we can't reach him, we'll speak with them first thing in the morning."

  "Nice work," Pacini said. "Keep on top of it."The audible sigh of relief on the speakerphone prompted a few smiles in the war room.

  "Okay, now Mr. Nash," Pacini said. "Detective Assad, please report on our visit with our White House buddy, Brad Wentworth."

  Assad reported on the morning meeting at the White House and contrasted it with the encounter an hour ago at Wentworth's Georgetown home. "Nash is connected both to McKenna and, potentially, to Black Wednesday. Nash's company, Nevel, was identified by McKenna as a case of interest in Black Wednesday because the case would have benefited from a delay caused by the assassinations. The longer the case dragged on, the more likely the company suing Nevel would be forced to settle because of its financial problems. Once the case settled, it would prevent the disclosure of e-mails written by Nash to the White House. The e-mails-"

  "The e-mails," Pacini interrupted to head off Assad from disclosing their content to such a large group, "said some things that would reflect poorly on the administration, Nash, and possibly McKenna."

  "But if McKenna was somehow helping Nash with Nevel, and the documents in that case implicated both McKenna and Nash, why would McKenna identify it as a case of interest to the commission?" said a voice from the back of the room.

  No one answered.

  "Let's move on. What about our other law clerkwith secrets-Mr. Pratt?" Pacini said, taking a little pleasure in Doug Pratt's troubles. "Which brings us to the most promising lead: the Hassan case."

  The agent at the whiteboard wrote "PRATT/HASSAN" beside Nash's name.

  "We believe Pratt was being paid by the Hassan brothers to help stall their case in the high court, and when Pratt left the court, they paid him to keep tabs on the Harrington law firm's hunt for assets. From Pratt's phone records, we've also connected him to TFI, an investigation firm. We've connected TFI, in turn, to the Hassan brothers."

  The woman from Homeland Security said, "We've been looking into Task Force Investigator Group. It's a private investigation firm staffed mostly with former federal agents. That explains the sophisticated bugs we found at the law firm where Pratt worked. It may also explain the hidden cameras at the court, which got the shots of the justices. It's possible they were using the pictures to blackmail Chief Justice Kincaid and Justice Carmichael on the Hassan case. It's also possible that after Kincaid's death, Pratt, maybe working with TFI or a rogue employee of TFI, decided to use the pictures to extort some money from Kincaid's widow. There are several calls between Pratt and Liddy Kincaid. But another possible theory for that is that Liddy Kincaid hired Pratt or TFI to murder her husband and his lover."

  "Who knew they were having so much fun over there?" an agent said, prompting light laughter.

  Pacini was not in a mood for jokes, and said, "My gut on Carmichael is that she was clueless about the pictures. She also struck me as someone who would have come forward rather than betray the court. I don't know about the chief justice. Is there anything to the fact that we believe that he may not have been a target of the shooter? The shooter was a skilled marksman, and it just doesn't jibe that he missed the chief."

  A low murmur filled the room, but no one spoke up with any theories.

  "Anything turn up at TFI's offices?" Pacini asked. "Did we roust any of these S-O-Bs yet?"

  "Tonight we executed a warrant on their offices," the Homeland agent said. "They must have known we were coming. Their files were shredded. As for rousting, I got word twenty minutes ago that the three principals of the agency are currently on a plane to London."

  "I want them held when they land," Pacini barked. "Contact our people in London to make it happen."

  "Already done," the agent replied.

  Pacini pointed to the young agent scribbling at the whiteboard. "I want to be on the next plane to Heathrow." The agent nodded.

  "All these secrets," Pacini growled, "and we're still left with little more than a goddamn mark on the shooter's neck." He gave terse orders to the FBI team members and was only slightly more diplomatic with those from other agencies.' seeing Assad talking on a cell phone, he went over and interrupted him.

  "Want to come with me to London?" he asked.

  Assad cupped the phone with his hand, looking conflicted. It was Milstein. She was crying. Her father was dead.

  Midnight Taft Memorial, Washington,

  t midnight, McKenna and Kate huddled under a blue tarp on the lawn surrounding the Taft Memorial, a small patch of grass with a towering stone monument at its center. Rain pattered against the tarp, which Kate had bought at a twenty-four-hour CVS drugstore nearby.

  They had chosen the site because, though it was only a short walk from the Supreme Court Building, the police were unlikely to notice them here, given the numbers of homeless people in the area. They had exhausted nearly all leads, and their last hope was to check the solicitor general's office in the Supreme Court for the package. Aside from the main office in the Justice Department building, the SG also had an office at the high court. It was little used, so perhaps the agents had missed it.

  McKenna knew it was a long shot, and he sat under their makeshift tent, lost in thought. It was over, and he needed to find a way to spare Kate from the consequences of helping him.

  "What are you thinking about?" Kate asked.

  McKenna exhaled. "I'm thinking of how sorry I am for everything."

  "I knew the risks," Kate replied absently. She stared out at the Supreme Court Building, portions of which were visible through the windswept branches of the trees surrounding the memorial.

  "Remember your first argument at the court?" she asked, deliberately changing the subject.

  "How could I forget? That argument confirmed all the bad things everyone was saying about me," he added, referring to the beating he took in the legal press about his lack of experience for the job as solicitor general.

  "Don't be modest," Kate said.

  "Oh, and you weren't secretly hoping I'd crash and burn during that oral argument?"

  "Maybe a little," she said, grinning. "But not after the argument."

  'The case involved the right of students to express their religious beliefs on public school grounds. The litigation started when a school district suspended a little boy for passing out cupcakes at Christmastime with "JESUS LOVES You" written on them in frosting. McKenna had set forth the government's position, skillfully arguing that Johnny Cupcake, as the media had dubbed the boy, had just as much right to express himself as anyone else, so long as the school didn't endorse it.

  "After that argument, I knew Winter had made the right decision in appointing you," Kate said. "So did the justices."

  "I'm
not sure you're recalling the same argument. I seem to remember the justices being pretty hard on me."

  "Yes, but you handled it with such ease and grace. I loved your Harlan quote in response to Justice Wade's suggestion that your arguments were inconsistent."

  McKenna smiled. In response to a pointed question, with perfect timing and delivery, he had said, "As for your consistency point, Justice Wade, I'm reminded of a quote from John Marshall Harlan: `Let it be said that I am right rather than consistent.' But with due respect, here I believe the government is both right and consistent."

  "Don't be impressed," McKenna said. "It was a canned line I had already rehearsed."

  "No, it wasn't."

  "I actually remember that argument for another reason," he said, his tone more serious. "It was my little boy. With everything we were going through at the time, watching him slowly slip away from us, it offended me that the court was wasting its time on a silly issue that the kids in that classroom couldn't have cared less about. They just wanted the cupcakes."

  Kate squeezed his hand.

  They were startled by a man in a dirty winter coat, carrying a backpack, who hurried past. "Better move-cops are doin' a sweep."

  They jumped to their feet, and McKenna grabbed Kate's hand and began leading her toward the Supreme Court Building. The rain was now coming down hard.

  "I know somewhere we can go for the night," he said, not looking back.

  They ran past the Supreme Court Building's majestic front entrance, down First Street, taking the first left onto East Capitol. He led them to a line of brick row houses, stopped at one, and opened a low iron gate. On the gate, an engraved brass plaque proclaimed, "SUPREME COURT HISTORICAL SOCIETY."They walked quickly down the brick path to the front door.

  "You're not going to break in?"

  "Nope. Your brother's not the only person who's ever locked himself out. I know Sullivan's got a key hidden around here," McKenna said as he looked under the front mat and searched the ground near the door.