Ben couldn’t disagree with that, too much evidence to the contrary. He wanted to point out that Justice Wallace also had six grandchildren, but he kept his mouth shut.
“You had no hint that your husband might confront him on Friday, Mrs. Califano?”
“No, no hint at all, like I’ve already told you, Detective. No, wait a moment. Now that I think about it, I did hear Stewart on the phone—not on Friday, but last Wednesday, I think. He wasn’t happy. On the other hand, he wasn’t screaming either. Whether or not he was speaking to Sumner, I can’t say.”
“What did you hear your husband say?”
She was quiet a moment, hands clenching and unclenching in her lap.
“Something about ‘You will stop this immediately, do you hear me?’—along those lines. That’s all I really remember, Detective. His voice, as I said, wasn’t particularly angry.”
“Did he pause then? For the other person to answer him?”
“Yes, I believe he did. Then he sort of nodded into the phone, didn’t say anything more, and hung up. When he turned to see me standing there, he shrugged. ‘Nothing to worry about. It’s done,’ that’s what he said. I suppose he wanted to cut off any questions from me, and it did. In many ways, Stewart was a very private man. His first wife had died some years ago, you knew that, and in the intervening years before we met and eventually married, he became used to being alone, to keeping his own counsel. That isn’t a good thing, Detective. People shouldn’t be alone.
“Get married, Detective. It’s healthy to have another person in your life, someone so close they can feel what you’re thinking.” And she burst into tears.
Ben didn’t know what to do.
CHAPTER
12
C LOSE TO a minute later, Ben still didn’t know what to do. He said finally, “I’m going to catch the monster who killed him, ma’am. I promise you that. Thank you for speaking to me. You remembered more, as I’d hoped you would. And thank you for telling me about Justice Wallace.”
She wiped her eyes, tried a smile. “It can have no possible relevance to any of this, but you appear to want to know about all the skeletons in the closet.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
When he came out into the entry hall a few minutes later, he nodded to the four women as they went back into the living room to rejoin Margaret Califano. Callie was standing in the hall, looking ready to leap at his throat. He splayed his fingers in front of him. “You ready?”
She waved toward the living room. “What, you’re not going to arrest any of those five killers?”
“Not your mom. We’ll see about the other four ladies. Hey, that was pretty funny, Callie.”
Federal Marshal Dennis Morgan caught a laugh, turning it quickly into a cough behind his hand.
“Yeah, right. You ready?” She was nearly dancing from foot to foot, wanting so badly to leave. He nodded toward the living room. “I’ll tell you, Callie, all of them look suspicious to me, look like they’re hiding something. Do you think I should go back in there and grill each one of them in turn, privately?”
“Har har,” Callie said. “Let’s go.”
He nodded to the federal marshals and ushered her outside. He said, “Isn’t it amazing what money can do? My mom is about their age, but believe me, she looks like she lives on a different planet. She’s cushy, her hair is always frazzled, and she has the biggest smile east of the Mississippi.”
She punched him in the arm. “You snob. Their smiles are as big as your mom’s. I’ve known them all my life. So they’re not cushy. That just means that they take care of themselves. They work out. Money doesn’t play a big part in looking good. Hey, maybe you should get your mom to work out, she’ll be healthier for it.”
He took her arm when one of her boots went out from under her. He couldn’t imagine his mother walking on a treadmill or pumping iron in a gym. But now that he thought about it, she and his dad had begun walking together in the evenings, quite a lot, in fact. He said, “Careful, this drive isn’t for wusses.”
“I wish I could have been at your meeting at the Hoover Building yesterday afternoon.”
“A reporter in the Hoover Building? Are you nuts? They would have locked you in a detention cell if you’d managed to sneak in. They would have turned you over to Big Matron Bubba, and she’d have strip-searched you and taken the fillings out of your teeth. The good Lord knows what would have happened to you then.”
She couldn’t hold back the laugh, but sobered immediately. She pulled her hat down over her ears because the temperature was sitting about three degrees above freezing. “I’ll just bet there were hardly any women included, were there? All you machos, sitting there preening, believing it’s up to you to solve all the world’s problems—”
“You’re being sexist, Ms. Markham.” His voice was perfectly easy and mild, although he was tempted to let her slide around on the driveway on her own. “Maybe if I don’t support you, you’ll go right down on your butt. Of course, the macho is here to haul you back up.” Then, of all things, he found himself looking at her butt, realized hers was an excellent butt, and looked away quickly.
But she saw it in his eyes and arched an eyebrow. “I believe that’s approval I see. Well, now, let me say that you’ve got a very fine butt, too, Detective Raven. When I don’t want to kick it, I admire it. Now, so you can get your mind onto other things, let me ask you how many female agents were important enough to be included in the meeting?”
“As I recall, more than a dozen of the special agents present were female. Your point?”
“That’s a start, pathetic though it be.” She stared at his Crown Vic, and said nothing more.
“When I’m able to get rid of you later, why don’t you shovel the driveway? Or you could arrange to have some macho guys come here and do it for you. You wouldn’t want any of your mother’s lovely rich friends to break their necks, now would you?”
She looked thoughtful for a moment, then frowned up at him. “Well, of course not. That’s a good use for macho guys.”
He’d hoped she’d take the bait, but she’d turned it around on him. Well done, dammit. “All right. You were bragging about how helpful you’d be, so tell me about the four women.”
“Well, they and their families have always been in my life. The only person I don’t like is Juliette Trevor’s son. He’s a spoiled trust-fund baby, and really smart. That combination always irritated me. No, I didn’t sleep with him, but it wasn’t for his lack of trying. I remember Mrs. Trevor gave me a Hermès scarf from Paris when I graduated high school. Wasn’t that nice?”
“What’s the big deal about a Hermès scarf?”
“They’re very expensive, and so beautiful they make you weep.”
“Yeah, right, I can see myself crying over a scarf.” He gave her a look. “Only a woman.”
When he started the car, she said pleasantly, “Did I mention that you’re a pretty sharp dresser? Maybe you’d like to hear about the shoes I bought to go with the Hermès scarf?”
He groaned, rolled his eyes. “All right, I can see where this is all going.”
“Probably so. I’ve always felt sorry for guys. Even though you obviously know how to dress, are doubtless well aware of the effect you have on the female population, you still don’t have the gift of the shoe-shopping gene. No man alive has it that I’ve ever seen. That’s the gene that forces a credit card right out of your wallet when you pass a neat pair of shoes, no matter how many are already in your closet. No, all guys have is the Home Depot hard-wired into your brains. It’s really sad.” She turned the heater on full blast.
He laughed at her. “Another good use for macho guys—fixing toilets.”
“All right, you got me fair and square. Tell me everything that happened yesterday.”
To his surprise, he did. She asked questions, grew thoughtful. She said finally, “The pancreatic cancer, that will come out soon, won’t it?”
“Oh yes, too many people know.
Everyone likes to talk, everyone. No exceptions to that, unfortunately.”
She felt tears sting her eyes. Her stepfather would have died in any case. But he would have had six more months to live. Perhaps he would have had a chance, with new drugs discovered every day—
“I read up on pancreatic cancer. It’s a killer, so don’t go there, Callie. Someone brutally murdered him, that’s our only concern. Whatever fate would have dealt him we have no control over.”
“My editor called again last night, on my cell, thank God. If he’d called the house, I would have freaked. I hate leaks, I really do, and if Jed Coombes had gotten the Kettering house number, I’d be doomed.”
“What has he offered you to feed them information?”
“The inside track to a Pulitzer Prize.”
He whistled. “Hard to turn down.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll earn one on my own. I nearly got one last year, it was that close.” She held up two fingers, nearly touching.
“What did you do?” He was driving very carefully even though there weren’t many cars on the road, the sun was bright overhead, and the snow was melting. But the occasional pockets of slush could take a car into a ditch with no warning.
“I have snitches, like you cops do. One of them tipped me off that a child pornography ring was operating out of the Barrington Hotel right here in Washington. I broke the story.”
He jerked the steering wheel in his surprise and nearly sent them into a telephone pole. It was dicey for a moment until he got the car straight again. “You were the one who broke the Cadillac Ring story?”
At her nod, he could only stare at her. “I’ll tell you, Callie, you had a lot of people pissed off at your paper about that. We already had undercover guys in there gathering evidence, then you had to move in with your battering ram. Lucky for the good guys we were nearly ready to close them down.”
“Yeah, sure you were,” she said, eyes narrowed. “I heard about an undercover operation, but I didn’t see anything coming out of your efforts. I got all the evidence for you, Detective Raven. Oh yeah, you guys did a great job—once I cracked it.”
Well, okay, she had done a lot and she had given them a day’s warning, he’d hand her that. And she had uncovered more evidence than they had, dammit. He decided to give the devil her due. “Well, maybe you did okay. It was federal racketeering for the bastards. The Attorney General brought them all down. There were big names among their clients, lots of money.”
“It was the children that got to me. They were stolen from all over the world. They weren’t physically hurt, actually, they were just prisoners with anything they wanted—so long as they did exactly what they were told.”
“They were all returned to their families.”
“Yes, but their lives will be messed up in the short term at the very least. Poor kids.”
“All right, so why didn’t you pull a Pulitzer?”
“Olsen Tynes at The New York Times broke that big political scandal about Governor Welles in Louisiana. Since the Times is Northern liberal, and the governor was Southern conservative, they poured everything into nailing him.”
“So you’re telling me you’re philosophical about that?”
“What do you want me to do? Go blow up The New York Times?”
“The least you could have done was not date that moron New York Times reporter you caught in bed with another woman. Me, I’d have gotten right in this Tynes guy’s face, made sure he knew who should have carried off the prize.”
She grinned at him. “Thank you, Detective Raven. I feel all sorts of warm and breathy getting advice from such an alpha male.”
“Breathy?”
“Do you know, I’m beginning to think you’re becoming resigned to me hanging around you.”
“Not in this lifetime. Well, you’re not as bad as I thought you’d be. Look, now we’re heading into the hills of Virginia, horse country, that’s where Justice Xavier-Foxx lives. I can’t imagine how she can help us, but who knows?”
“Did you know Justice Holmes said the nine Justices were like nine scorpions trapped in a bottle?”
He grinned at her, shrugged. “Well, all the Justices are in the same small area for hours on end. Maybe she heard something, saw something. I will live in hope until the contrary is shoved in my face. Did Holmes really say that?”
She nodded. “Okay, let me fill you in. As you know, she’ll go down in the history books as the first black woman appointed to the Supreme Court. She was at the top of her class at Stanford, law review, all extremely accomplished for a black woman back in the sixties—pretty remarkable. She wanted to clerk for Justice Raines, a noted conservative on the Court. She was recommended by two top Federal Appeals Court judges, none of which mattered since only men were taken by both parties, and still are, for the most part. You’ll appreciate this—she has three women law clerks out of ten in the total count of thirty-six.
“She’s much like my stepfather, usually votes conservative—pro death penalty and against attempts to increase prisoners’ rights. Like him she can go the other way as well—she’s very much a proponent of women’s rights, rabidly against sexual discrimination, and pro abortion, except partial birth abortion, which she is very much against.
“Her husband trains horses, races them, has quite a stud program. She uses a hyphenated name—Elizabeth Xavier-Foxx. It’s interesting, isn’t it, how the two women Justices have kept their maiden names? I guess it gives them more heft, like they really were somebody before they got married.
“Even though she’s black and a woman, there were attempts to derail her confirmation, the excuse being that there was lots of money on her husband’s side, with perhaps the taint of corruption.”
“What was the accusation? That she’d be influenced unduly whenever there was a case about federal horse racketeering?”
Callie laughed. “Nah, it was just politics as usual.”
“What do you know about her confirmation?”
“Well, after some huffs and puffs because she wasn’t staunchly pro abortion all the way, and she was—gasp—pro death penalty, the Senate confirmed her. They knew it was an historic moment. No one was willing to try to shoot her down. She’s expecting us?”
“Oh yeah. Do you like her?”
“Yes, I do. She’s got lots of class; her husband stands behind her like this huge silent power, as if daring anyone to come after her. I personally don’t believe he’s guilty of anything other than not being a Democrat.”
“But if he had been, then the Republicans would have blown a fit.”
“True. Ain’t politics fun?” She grinned over at his profile.
“Yeah, right.”
“Savich,” she said, then frowned, paused.
He arched an eyebrow.
“He’s cute. Whenever I see him, I think of that actor James Denton.”
Ben rolled his eyes. “I’ll be sure to tell him that, it’ll make his day.”
“As for his butt—”
“Get yourself together, Ms. Markham. We’re here at Foxx Farm. Oh yeah, happy birthday.”
She gave him a perfectly blank look.
“You’re twenty-eight today.”
“Oh my, imagine that. Yeah, I guess you’re right. I forgot. Isn’t that something? Thank you.”
CHAPTER
13
SUMMERTON, VIRGINIA
F OXX F ARM WAS HUGE , judging by the miles of white fence that bordered it, a score of white paddocks, rolling hills and forests. There was a huge barn, two big stables, all dusted white with snow, looking still and impossibly beautiful on a Sunday morning. It looked magical to Ben, and utterly alien.
A lone media van idled outside a gated entrance.
When Ben pulled up to the intercom, a reporter jumped out of the van and ran over.
“Hey, you FBI? Can you get us in? They won’t even let us through the gate.”
“Sorry,” Ben said. “Why don’t you head back to Washington? I hear it
’s really pretty about now, a nice Sunday morning. You can go to a park for a picnic.”
“That’s what we told him,” said a tall man in a thick black wool coat, a federal marshal’s hat on his head. He stood behind the gated driveway, his arms crossed over his chest. Good, they were here protecting Justice Xavier-Foxx. “We figure as long as the media is camped out all over the place, ain’t no assassin going to get to the Justice. All we’ve got to do is protect her from these baboons.”
“Probably true,” Ben said as he handed over his badge. “We’re here to interview the Justice.”
The federal marshal studied the badge, raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything. “Go on through. I’ll keep this charming gentleman out here.”
“Hey, you’re Callie Markham, The Washington Post. What are you doing here? What—”
The gate buzzed open, and Ben gave a small wave to the guy. He ran back toward the van, trying to make it through the open gate after him, despite the fact that two federal marshals were standing in front of the gate, guns at their belts, legs spread. They could hear him shouting after them, probably something about the freedom of the press. The gate closed smoothly behind them. Still, the guy stood there, shaking his fist at the exhaust of the Crown Vic.
Ben parked in front of a sprawling white one-story house with a porch all along the front. He could imagine sitting on this porch in the summer, maybe drinking a beer, listening to his hair grow. Justice Xavier-Foxx answered the front door herself, greeted them politely, gave a cursory look at Ben’s I.D., then ushered them into a long narrow entrance hall, where they removed their coats and scarves. Then she led them into the living room. Ben sighed with pleasure as he paused in the arched doorway. It was a long, deep room with a very old floor-to-ceiling stone fireplace, beamed ceilings, lots of homey, oversized furniture that looked like you’d sink to China when you sat down, and Persian carpets scattered over the shining wide oak-planked floor.
“You have a beautiful home, ma’am.”
“Thank you. Callie, what a pleasure to see you. I’m so very sorry about Stewart.” She pulled Callie into her deep bosom and patted the back of her head. Callie nearly burst into tears. It was close, but she held it in. She felt Justice Xavier-Foxx’s steady strong heartbeat, felt the warmth from her solid body, breathed in her rose scent. She was well into her sixties now, but solid and fit, her hair flat against her head, in her signature tight thick chignon. Callie slowly pulled back in her arms and looked into her beautiful dark eyes, liquid with tears.
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