“She’s not the target.”
“Do you think she’s going to appreciate that nuance? I’ve seen her in action in the courtroom. She hates the police, you know. She’s liable to sue all of us. Have you met her?”
“Briefly. She refused to talk to me.”
“Did you expect anything different?”
Mary looks to Barbara and says, “Ms. Hsu, can you leave Chance and me alone for a moment?”
A tingling overtakes my body. Sending Barbara out of the room is highly irregular, and Mary is the straightest arrow on the bench that I know. I brace myself for whatever is about to happen. Barbara exits and gives me a scared look on the way out. Mary lets me twist in the wind for a good half minute. Then she launches into me.
“What are you doing, Chance? Are you in control of all your faculties? You got me issuing wiretaps for the Attorney General, the Governor’s Chief of Staff, and the head of the GBI. You haven’t asked for Hank Dalton yet, but I assume that’s coming. And now you want to go traipsing around a Supreme Court Justice’s house. Only one person killed the Chief Justice, right? You seem to be doing a lot of fishing. And it makes me think you’re flopping around in your investigation without much of a target.”
I try to lighten the mood, “Senator Clement Parsons is a suspect, too. I haven’t asked you to wiretap the U.S. Capitol.”
The joke doesn’t go over. It sounded funnier in my head. She continues the lecture.
“You’re my favorite lawyer. I think you know that. But I don’t want to feel like you’re abusing our relationship to get away with stuff you shouldn’t get away with. I’m starting to get that impression. I have to work in this town, and making enemies left and right is bad politics. I need to believe that you have this thing under control if I’m going to keep getting further out on this limb with you.”
Her eyes plead for assurance. I inch forward in my seat to move closer to her—to personalize what I’m about to say.
“Your Honor, I am not unmindful of the position we’re putting you in. I’ve already remarked to Detective Scott Moore that we’re swimming in deep waters here. We feel the same pressures as you do. But we’re merely following where the evidence leads. Only prominent people were invited to this party, and one of them killed the Chief Justice of the Georgia Supreme Court. You’re right, I don’t know who the killer is—yet. The number of suspects, though, is getting smaller.”
I fill her in on the $422 million verdict against Hank Dalton’s company, and a light bulb goes off in her head. Mary understands the voting dynamics of the Supreme Court far better than me. She still has questions, though.
“That’s a lot of money, I’ll grant you. But do you really think Tommy or Jerry Dalton killed the Chief Justice in his own chambers? I have a lot of trouble seeing that.”
“Honestly? I don’t know. Jerry Dalton was a Navy SEAL and could figure out a hundred easier ways of killing Jackson. But humans are weird and not always rational. You understand that from your time on the bench. I do know that the Daltons are corrupt. I’ve already talked to a U.S. Attorney. The feds are interested. The Daltons are going down for something.”
The possible involvement of the feds helps to put her mind at ease. Her biggest fear is being alone in the wilderness on this thing. The involvement of the Justice Department would give her political cover. Having assuaged her concerns on the Dalton front, I move on to Gary Winnett.
“As for Justice Winnett’s husband, he lied to Detective Moore a week ago about his movements at the time of the murder. Only after a witness came forward did he admit walking right past the Chief Justice’s chambers during the period of interest. He also admitted this morning that he owns a gun that is the same type as the murder weapon. We have to test that gun—have to. That’s the main point of the warrant. There’s something else, too. Just between the two of us and these four walls, I think Gary Winnett has battered Justice Winnett in the past. No proof. Just my gut, but Detective Moore agrees with me. And Gary didn’t exactly offer a denial when I pressed him on it.”
“Good lord.”
She meditates over everything I told her. Mary is one of the best judges around because she never forgets the seriousness of her role. Other judges will sign anything put in front of them based solely on who’s asking. But even though I’m Mary’s favorite lawyer—and her saying so is one of the nicest compliments I’ve ever received—she still is making sure that everything is on the level. I make my final pitch.
“Look, that I was even appointed as special attorney general is strange enough. Bad things are afoot. The Governor didn’t know what, but he has a nose for situations that don’t smell right. We can call him right now if you’re truly worried about what I’m doing. He has my back. All of us are swimming upstream and need to keep our resolve. That’s why I asked for you to be the judge with oversight of the investigation.”
I regret the words before they are even out of my mouth.
“You asked for me? What the hell does that mean? Our assignments to cases are random. You don’t get to pick your judge.”
“That’s exactly what I told the Governor. He laughed at me and said to give him a name. I gave him yours.”
Mary gives me a long, incredulous look before answering.
“And I thought you liked me.”
***
Barbara is sitting in the hall when I emerge from Judge Woodcomb’s chambers. She makes a beeline my way.
“That was weird. What happened in there?”
I hand her the signed search warrant.
***
On a whim, I consider paying Ella a visit. A glimpse inside her courtroom shows a hearing in progress. I find a seat on the backrow and watch. Ella sits in her black robe, high on her pedestal, looking down on the attorneys arguing their case before her. The pride in my chest swells up, and I know in the moment that making the deal with Minton to get her on the bench was the right thing to do.
Ella fails to notice me at first. Even after she does, her gaze doesn’t linger. She is all business dealing with the case at hand—some civil matter from the sound of it. I study the courtroom and try to place which judge used to occupy the space. Then I remember—Judge Willie Sutton. The first murder trial Ella and I ever tried together was before Judge Sutton in this same room. The defendant was Eddie Roundfield. He ran over a pedestrian in a fit of road rage. Ella was over the moon when the jury delivered the guilty verdict. I went home to a pregnant Amber.
So much has changed since that day.
***
After the hearing concludes and the lawyers start to disperse, Ella announces from the bench, “Mr. Meridian, I can see you in my chambers now.”
I follow her back, and she gives me a warm hug when the two of us are alone. She hangs up her robe and takes a seat behind a massive desk.
“Black suits you,” I comment.
“It’s surreal wearing that thing—like changing into a superhero costume.”
“You were a natural out there. I could barely conceal my pride.”
I notice that her left hand sports a large diamond on the ring finger. The sparkle transfixes me for a few seconds. I decide that federal prosecutors must make a lot more money than their state counterparts. Ella and I look at each other.
She explains, “I meant to call and tell you.”
“You don’t have to tell me anything.”
“Probably not. It’s just—”
She hesitates. I move to fill in the blanks.
“A lot has happened in the past year.”
“Yes. A lot has happened in the past year, and I wanted you to know.”
“Trevor is a lucky man.”
“And I’m a lucky woman.”
A penetrating quiet fills the room. Luck. Such an elusive concept. I change topics.
“I was thinking about the Eddie Roundfield trial out there. Same courtroom, you know.”
Ella smiles at the memory but doesn’t pick up the thread. Instead, she says, “How se
rious are you and Cate Slattery?”
My face registers appropriate shock, and I start to regret my impromptu visit. I ask, “Where did you hear that?”
“News travels fast. Do you know how small the Atlanta legal community is?”
Apparently not. I rack my brain. The list of people that know about Cate and me is tiny. Or so I thought. Scott is the most likely suspect as the mole, but I doubt he would tell Ella without running it by me first. Did someone see Cate and me making out in my car in front of the new courthouse? The confusion must be evident on my face because Ella moves to address it.
“You want to know the truth?”
“Always.”
“I guessed. The two of you were standing together at my swearing in, and she touched you in a way—”
She pauses, wistful almost, and finishes the thought.
“I could just tell. The way you looked at each other was special. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”
***
A bittersweet mood envelops me when I exit Ella’s chambers. Both of us find ourselves in better places than we were six months ago, but the road not taken can still make a man to wonder. I check my messages to dull the edge off of my mixed emotions. Cate wants to know if I’m available for dinner. I decide the tonic of her presence would do me good and tell her yes. But the next text from Scott puts the brakes on my availability: “Get back to the squad room now!”
Scott never uses exclamation points.
37
The mood in the squad room is somber. All movement stops when I enter, and bad news hangs in the air. Life has taught me to expect the worse.
I look around and ask in a fraught voice, “Where’s J.D.?”
Scott answers, “Following Tommy Dalton. Something big has come up. I’ll let Sophie tell it.”
She gives me the scoop.
“J.D. and I were tailing the Attorney General like you instructed. But he’s at work in the judicial building doing his day job, so all we’re doing is a lot sitting outside the Capitol. Then Marlon gives us a call. He caught the Dalton brothers on a wiretap arranging to meet in Liberty Plaza. Marlon has the idea to record the conversation between the brothers.”
Liberty Plaza is a new outdoor area across the street from the Capitol, mainly used for ceremonial events if the weather is right or as a dumping ground to keep political protests confined to one space. The plaza is a block down from the Supreme Court, separated only by I-20. Both the plaza and the new courthouse aim to bring state government aesthetics into the twenty-first century. I’m not holding my breath. Sophie continues.
“We had less than an hour. Marlon brought all the sound equipment that he could get his hands on. The three of us do what we can to set up microphones all over the plaza. Sure enough, the brothers showed up as scheduled. We ended up catching snippets of what they said.”
Marlon takes over, “The brothers walked around the plaza, and we couldn’t hear much of anything. But I spliced together everything we did get from them.”
He presses the right button.
[A lot of static air plays on the recording.]
Tommy: I’m worried about Gene. We’re exposed.
Jerry: Serves us right. Soft men like him can’t be—
[The audio cuts out.]
Jerry: … The Governor screwed [rustling of the wind] do something.
[Dead air.]
Tommy: … stop the investigation.
[Silence.]
Jerry: Ever hear … saying … ‘If someone is coming to kill you, get up early and kill him first’? We’re behind the eight ball here, and that needs to change. We—
Tommy: But what?
Jerry: I—
[Sound of wind whipping the microphone.]
Tommy: … Meridian and the Governor are close …
[Inaudible.]
Tommy: … different with someone new …
Jerry: … to the GBI … political pressure … flatfooted.
Tommy: Are you sure? … Gene.
Jerry: And let …
[Murmurs.]
Tommy: Are you sure? The whole thing makes me nervous.
Jerry: Let me handle it.
The recording ends. The heaviness in my chest reminds me of being on a high mountain top—the lack of oxygen pushing my lungs to work harder. I text Cate she should wait for me at her condo. The expectant eyes of the team turn my way. But I want to hear from them before setting my own conclusions in stone. Scott speaks first.
“Political tricks or assassination. Take your pick. But they concocted some plan to try to stop our investigation. Not nearly enough there for an arrest warrant, though.”
I ask him, “Let’s assume the worst. Assassinate who?”
“If you want to kill a snake, you don’t cut off the tail. You cut off the head.”
“The Governor?”
“Makes the most sense. We would be out of business overnight. Whereas if they kill you, the Governor is liable to go on a rampage until he finds out who did it.”
“It’s good to be loved, I guess.”
The others in the room agree with Scott’s assessment. Their thinking matches my own. The recording is ambiguous enough that the other parts of the conversation could point to something else, but the Governor needs to be warned.
I say, “Marlon and Sophie—amazing work. Top notch. Tell J.D. that, too. Also, pull him off Tommy Dalton right now. I don’t want any of us out there all alone. If he gets spotted, Jerry might kill him on the spot. All of us should exercise greater caution going forward. The big question is whether we should go ahead and bring in the feds. I’ve already put out feelers to the U.S. Attorney’s office.”
The problem with the feds is that they are the feds. The FBI can be insufferable in its arrogance and act like King Kong loose in New York City when it comes to competing state investigations. But I don’t want pride to make us stupid. The feds have enormous manpower and technological resources over our ad hoc team. And going to them now would ensure the Daltons stay in a vise, no matter what they are now planning.
Marlon observes, “I hate the FBI.”
That sentiment is shared throughout the room. I study each of my people—Scott, Barbara, Sophie, Marlon, Taylor. None of them want to involve the feds. They want to see this thing to the end on our own terms. They’ve earned the right, and I grant them a reprieve. Scott and I leave to go to see the Governor.
***
We pull up to the Governor’s Mansion on West Paces Ferry. They’re expecting us, and the armed guard manning the gate ushers us through. The meeting is in the Mansion’s study—Scott, me, Minton, and the Governor’s head of security.
I say little in the way of background and simply let the recording do most of the heavy lifting.
When the audio finishes, Minton asks, “That’s it?”
I answer, “That’s enough.”
Minton bristles when too much security surrounds him—the feeling of being cooped up an affront to his independence. The same agitation worms its way through him now and makes his face disagreeable. He turns to Scott and says, “You’re Moore, right? What do you think?”
“Caution is the order of the day.”
A dismissive snort is the only response. Minton doesn’t even bother asking his security guy for an opinion. My hunch is that they’ve already had uncomfortable conversations about Minton’s blasé attitude toward being guarded before tonight. Indeed, the security guy looks ready to lock the Governor up right now for his own good.
“Minton, you need to take this situation as seriously as the rest of us.”
The breach of etiquette in calling him “Minton” instead of “Governor” in front of mixed company is intentional, the plea personal. I continue.
“A reasonable interpretation of what we just heard is that your life is in danger. Don’t be a hero. I’m not asking you to be a hermit forever. A couple of days perhaps—or maybe a week. Lay low while I do the job you appointed me to do.”
“
I don’t like it.”
He scoffs some more along those lines and walks to stare out the front window. My nerves are such that I worry he’s now a sitting duck for a sniper’s rifle. The early evening darkness, the distance, and the rush hour traffic on West Paces make such a shot impossible, but that’s my state of mind all the same. By the pale look of Minton’s security guy, he shares a similar fear. My hope is that the windows are bulletproof.
I say, “What would my dad tell you right now?”
He turns toward me, and we look at each other hard. We both know the answer. Checkmate. A wry smile takes over his face, and he concedes, “He would tell me to listen to you and stop being a stubborn ass.”
“Well?”
***
On the spacious portico of the Mansion, Minton pulls me to the side as Scott and I are leaving. He’s more exposed out here, and my worry gene flares up again.
“I want your opinion on something,” he says.
“Okay.”
“What do you think about Cate Slattery for the Supreme Court?”
My heart stops for a moment. What the hell? I consider disclosing our relationship but question the relevance. Instead, I reply, “She would be a wonderful choice, but I’m curious who put the bug in your ear. Gene?”
“He’s not completely useless. I think she’s solid.”
I don’t disagree. We walk around the Mansion together, and he lets the matter drop. A reflective twinkle starts to shine in his eye.
He says, “I love this house—the People’s house. Biggest honor of my life to serve Georgia as Governor. Biggest regret is that your Daddy didn’t.”
“I think he was at peace with it.”
“That he was. He always preferred life at home. He loved his family more than anything.”
He’s not wrong, but my mind goes to Susan Benson all the same.
“Anyway, part of being Governor is doing what I can to ensure that the best person possible takes my place. With Tommy Dalton in the mix, my hands were tied. Too much money on his side. Nothing I could do. But Tommy’s electoral prospects seem to be taking a dive, which means I’m back in the game.”
I listen politely but only barely. The older I get, the more politics bores me. But Minton is a political animal—the thrill of chasing the brass ring ripping through his blood like wild, whitewater rapids.
Death to the Chief (Atlanta Murder Squad Book 2) Page 17