Deadlock

by James Scott Bell

  Millie saw William T. Bonassi give his wife a look of such deep love that her heart filled with something like music. In that instant she thought of Jack Holden.

  “Sorry about the lecture,” Bonassi said. “I could go on.”

  “But you won’t,” Dorothy said.

  “I won’t,” Bill Bonassi said obediently. “How about I give you some books instead? They’re less crotchety than I am.”

  “Yes,” Millie said, “I’d like that.”

  “You have a Bible?”

  “I think so.”

  “Good. Remember what old John Adams said in 1807. ‘The Bible contains the most profound philosophy, the most perfect morality, and the most refined policy, that was ever conceived on earth.’ ”

  Millie shook her head. The Old Lion’s memory, at eighty-nine, was still absolutely amazing.

  “This is a strange feeling,” she said.

  “I know,” Bonassi said. “Use your noodle, Millie.” Bonassi tapped his head with his index finger. “I’ve always considered you one of the sharpest tacks on the bench. If you’ll pray and read, the answers will come.”

  “Prayer,” she said. “I’ve forgotten how.”

  “Start with an easy one. Help me.”

  “I think I can handle that.” Millie realized the feeling of disquiet she’d had when she first got here was suddenly gone. “May I come again?”

  “Please come down here and argue with me anytime.” Bonassi added, “It’ll be just like old times.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  1

  Jack Holden slipped the letter from the envelope and, his heart pounding like a basketball on asphalt, he began to read.

  Dear Jack,

  I have to start out by saying I’m sorry for not writing sooner. There is a reason for that, and now is the time to tell you.

  On the plane back to D.C. I was thinking about many things. About my accident, that vision I had when I almost died, about Mom, and a lot about what you had to say in that legal brief of yours. It was getting under my skin, and I was a little angry at you about it. I did not want to think about those things because I was coming back here to assume the most important responsibility of my life.

  But I could not stop thinking about what you wrote. I think I know now what was happening. God was not letting me off the hook.

  Then there was this moment, I was listening to Beethoven on the headphones, and the plane broke out into this lovely sky, and light was everywhere, it seemed.

  Not just light, but the essence of all light. Am I making sense here? I don’t know… think about the most beautiful light you’ve ever seen.

  I said to myself, “Watch it, Millie. Watch out!” Because I knew the door was opening and I was going to go through it. Behind the door I heard the music. My heart wanted to dance. But my mind didn’t want to.

  I know now I went through the door, kicking and screaming. I could not not believe in God anymore.

  And I kept thinking about what you told me about Moody. I believe he saw those children. I believe my vision was from God, too. It was his gift, as you said.

  I want to see Mom again. That’s all part of this, too. I can’t deny that, nor would I want to.

  But fear is here as well. What is all this going to mean? How is it going to change me? How is it going to change the way I work? Will my opinions on the law change?

  Well, I’ve been trying to figure all that out! But I’ve been trying to do it like I always have – alone. Think it through. Figure out the best course of action to take. All before the first Monday in October when I go back to work!

  But the only thing I’ve figured out so far is that I can’t do this on my own. So last night I called Bill Bonassi. Yes, William T. Bonassi, the retired justice. I served my first two years with him, almost always on the opposite side of the decision. We all knew he was a Christian. I have to find out what this faith I’ve so tentatively embraced actually means. He has given me some books and the offer to talk more. I feel like this is the most productive step I’ve taken since I got off the plane.

  Please forgive me for waiting so long to tell you. But until now I didn’t know if these thoughts of God would last. I really didn’t want it to last, to tell you the truth. It has thrown me for a loop.

  But I know one thing for certain: the door has closed behind me, and I am on the other side, and my heart is learning how to dance.

  Please don’t stop praying for me. And for the Court. I love this institution and want to serve it so much, so well.

  I promise I will call soon to talk with you. I know right now you must be rejoicing. I join you in that. For the moment, at least, I feel more joy than I have ever felt.

  Stay out of the lake. Write to me again. Thank you for everything.

  Millie

  Jack Holden put the letter on his desk. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. Then he went outside and with thankfulness overflowing in him, shot hoops for an hour, his longest stretch in a long time.

  2

  Anne Deveraux met Cosmo for drinks at License at five-thirty. Her friend was already at the bar nursing a martini.

  “I want two of those,” Anne said over the loud music. They were blaring classic rock today. Jethro Tull.

  “Tough day?” Cosmos asked.

  “Usual. Had to bust some chops.”

  “Ooh, you sound like Joe Pesci or something.”

  “Joe Pesci?”

  “You know, like some Mafia guy.”

  Anne said nothing, motioned for the bartender, pointed at Cosmo’s glass. He got the message.

  “So, are you some Mafia guy?” Cosmo asked.

  “You’re weird.”

  “Or are you dating some Mafia guy?”

  Anne looked at her. Cosmo’s eyes were full of mischief. “What brought this on?” Anne asked, trying not to sound like she was a kid with a hand in the cookie jar.

  “I don’t know, your mysterious boyfriend and all. It’s like a movie. I was trying to think, why won’t she tell me? It’s because he’s Mafia, or a Republican, or something like that. Maybe you’re seeing a Catholic priest, I don’t know. You won’t tell me.”

  “Fine, I’ll tell you.”

  “I thought so.”

  “He’s in construction. In New York.”

  “Construction?”

  “Buildings. He builds buildings.” It was better that Cosmo didn’t know. Someday, maybe.

  “Like a Donald Trump?”

  “Sure, like Donald Trump.”

  “The guy loaded?”

  “He’s got some money.”

  “When can I meet him?”

  “Sometime. Enough about him. What about – ” She stopped when someone dropped onto the chair next to her. She gave a quick glance and saw a man staring at her. Markey.

  She almost slipped off her chair.

  “Hi,” he said.

  “Who’s this?” Cosmo asked.

  “Detective Markey,” he said. “Glad to know you.”

  Anne felt her stomach twist around like one of the bar pretzels. “Who said you could sit here?”

  “This is a public place.”

  “I’m having a private conversation.”

  “I just need a minute or two,” Markey said. The female bartender asked him what he’d like. “Ginger ale,” he said.

  “Maybe I should go,” Cosmo said.

  “No,” Anne said. “You don’t have to go anywhere.”

  “Maybe that would be best,” Markey said. “Just for a minute or two.”

  Something in Markey’s look told Anne this was not going to be a casual conversation. “Give me a couple of minutes,” she told Cosmo.

  “Just call me later,” Cosmo said. She dropped a five dollar bill on the bar and walked off.

  “Thanks a lot,” Anne said to Markey. “You’re a real social asset.”

  “Just doing my job.”

  “As what? Keeper of the cop cliché book?”

  “I don’t want this to b
e unpleasant.”

  “It already is. Detail me.”

  He looked at her quizzically.

  “Tell me what this is all about,” Anne said slowly.

  “Your boss, Senator Sam Levering. A year and half ago there was talk about a bimbo eruption. Remember that?”

  Anne was silent. He obviously knew the facts.

  Markey went on. “Three women were supposedly going to come forward and make statements about Levering and his, well, his peculiar tastes in the bedroom. I’ve got the names written somewhere. Want me to find them?”

  “Just go on,” Anne said.

  “Anyway, there was noise made about these three going on Larry King and spilling their guts. It was apparently the work of a very conservative lawyer out in Tulsa who did not like Levering one bit. But the story never got on the air. Remember why?”

  Anne returned his look with iron resistance.

  “This lawyer was suddenly caught with a sixteen-year-old prostitute out on Highway 20. And then the women clam up.”

  “The guy was trying to make money and a name for himself,” Anne said. “Sham artists are all over the place.”

  “And three women change their stories?”

  “Happens.”

  “Sure it does. When somebody gets to them.”

  A woman screamed from across the room. Anne’s heart almost jumped out of her chest. She looked and saw the woman, her head thrown back, dissolving into a huge, obnoxious laugh.

  “Must have been a funny one,” Markey said.

  “This whole conversation is a funny one,” Anne said. “Why don’t you get to the point and then leave me alone?”

  “I always wondered about that lawyer,” Markey said. “It wasn’t my jurisdiction, of course, but I take an interest in things. I make connections all the time. It just happens. And this morning I’m thinking to myself, what has become of our witness? The one I told you about. Remember?”

  “No,” she lied.

  “The street guy. Elijah.”

  “Oh, him. What about him?”

  “We can’t find him now.”

  Ever since she could remember, Anne Deveraux had worked hard at perfecting the art of the lie. She had to. Her stepfather had made it plain what would happen to her if she told her mother what he did to her at night. Little Annie, you know what I can do to you if you tell, don’t you? Don’t cry, little Annie. I’ll have to make you stop if you do. She had no choice. Out of fear she had learned to deceive. To keep a straight face when backed up against a wall.

  This detective had no idea who he was dealing with, and little mind games weren’t going to get to her.

  “That’s too bad,” Anne said, giving her voice the perfect tone of unconcern.

  “You wouldn’t happen to have any information on where he might be, would you?”

  “Of course not.”

  “I mean, the guy you spray has a connection to your boss – ”

  “Oh, come on, Detective,” Anne said. “Not only is that the weakest witness I’ve ever seen, he couldn’t possibly be right.”

  “Why not?”

  With a perfectly calm voice, Anne said, “Because Senator Levering was with me that night.”

  Markey frowned. Perfect.

  “I went back, as you suggested, and checked my book and Senator Levering’s. We had a strategy meeting at his place. We ate pizza and drank Diet Cokes, although I will admit to you the senator gave his a little dash of bourbon every now and then. We watched Nightline and then worked until about two in the morning. Any further questions?”

  Markey blinked at her a couple of times. “Yes,” he said. “What was on Nightline that night?”

  Anne smiled. She almost felt sorry for this police hack. “The Pentagon budget,” she said. She had looked it up a couple of nights ago in preparing the alibi. Then she added with just the right touch of uncertainty, “At least I think that’s what it was.”

  “I’ll check on it,” Markey said.

  “You do that.”

  He drained his ginger ale and left, looking, Anne thought, a little rattled.

  3

  “Like the bartender said to the horse,” Helen said. “Why the long face?”

  “Is it that long?” Millie asked.

  “Like a list of crooked congressmen.”

  “Sorry. I haven’t been good company so far, have I?”

  “This is a time to celebrate,” Helen said. The exclusive restaurant Helen had chosen was just over the Virginia line and had the flavor of the Old South.

  When Millie did not say anything, Helen added, “You are ecstatic about this, aren’t you? I mean, as if Mel Gibson walked up to you and asked you to model lingerie?”

  Millie looked at her oldest friend in D.C. I don’t know her at all, really, she thought. How many times had they ever talked about their deepest concerns and desires? Helen was in many ways a private person. She let people in only a little, and then only when it seemed to serve her purposes.

  But then, that was how Millie was too, she realized. Now, those barriers needed to be broken. “Something has changed for me,” Millie began carefully.

  Helen peered at Millie over her raised wineglass, which she held in the fingers of both hands. “Changed?”

  “Yes.”

  “We talking menopause here?”

  “No, not that, I – ”

  “Because if we are I have some drugs that – ”

  “That’s not it.” Millie felt suddenly reluctant, but the boat had left the shore. She had to go with it. “I had some time to think in Santa Lucia.”

  “Thinking is what you’re good at, girlfriend.”

  “Sometimes.”

  “So what are you thinking about now?” Helen sipped her chardonnay, waiting.

  Go for it, Millie thought. “God.”

  Helen paused, the glass at her lips, her eyes narrowing slightly. “God?”

  Millie nodded.

  “As in?”

  Suddenly Millie’s tongue was doing back flips. “God… you know… as in… God.” What a fabulous and eloquent judge you have become, she thought.

  Helen tapped her glass with a fingernail. “Tell me more, Igor.”

  Millie didn’t know what words she would use so she just let them pour out. She told Helen everything – the near-death experience, Santa Lucia, her mother’s death, Pastor Jack Holden. Helen sat through it all with an expression half bemused and half – what? Troubled?

  “And I’ve been meeting with Bill Bonassi,” Millie concluded.

  Helen’s eyebrows went up. The restaurant seemed suddenly still. Helen herself seemed frozen, as if in a state of emotional shock. Millie prayed silently her friend would remain that, a friend, and understand. And accept.

  Helen began tentatively. “Frankly, Watson, this is troubling,” Helen said. “Bill Bonassi? Do you know how bizarre that sounds?”

  “I suppose.”

  “The biggest right-wing justice of the last fifty years?”

  “It’s not a political thing,” Millie said. “Bill has been answering a lot of my questions about Christianity.”

  “Yeah? Whose brand of Christianity? His? Falwell’s? What is up with this?”

  Millie closed her eyes a moment. “I’m not thinking about it in those terms, Helen. A lot has happened in the last few months.”

  “I guess!”

  “I can only tell you I had been saying no to God for many years, and then I realized I was saying yes.”

  “Wow,” Helen said with a faraway look, as if she were gazing upon some strange new thing.

  “I know,” Millie said.

  Helen waited a long time before putting her wineglass down and reaching for Millie’s hand. “Hey, kiddo, you went through a terrible thing there. I understand that. Of course I do. You got shaken up. It’s natural to think about these things – you know, religious things.”

  “Thank you, Helen.”

  “For what?”

  “Listening.”

&
nbsp; “Hey, it’s me. So, you are looking at Christianity.” Helen paused, as if a new thought had snuck up on her. “What do you think it means?”

  “Means?”

  “You know, for the future.”

  “My future?”

  “Yeah. As chief justice and all.”

  Millie saw the look of incipient concern on Helen’s face. “You worried I’m going to go off on some odd angle?”

  “Bill Bonassi,” Helen said with a shrug. “It at least raises the issue.”

  “Helen, I’m going to do what I’ve always done, okay? One case at a time.”

  “I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”

  “Hurt? How?”

  “You know, if the press gets hold of this.”

  Millie had thought about that. She was not so naive as to think that the hungry sharks of Washington media wouldn’t try to make a big deal out of her spiritual quest. If they found out.

  Helen squeezed Millie’s hand. “We can handle this thing together, kiddo,” she said.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  1

  On October 8, a cool Wednesday afternoon in Washington, Chief Justice Millicent Mannings Hollander presided over the first judicial conference of the new term.

  She felt like she was made of warm jam. That was partly due to her initial trepidation – the new-kid-at-school syndrome, even though she’d been here ten years – but mainly because she knew, when the discussion began on the first case, there would be a judicial firestorm.

  For conference, the nine members of the Court met in the large room next to the chambers of the chief. They shook hands with each other before taking their seats at the large rectangular conference table, under the watchful portrait of the famous chief justice, John Marshall. Only the nine justices would be present – no clerks, secretaries, staff assistants, or anyone else allowed.

  Justice Riley gave Millie’s hand an extended shake. He smiled at her and said, “I know you’re ready to run this ship.”

  Millie felt her face strain to smile in return. She almost felt like a traitor. Riley had no idea what was about to happen.

  She only knew what experience had taught her. Each justice would have considered the cases to be discussed and formed preliminary opinions. As chief, Millie’s job was to state the facts of the cases and begin a round where each justice would state his or her opinion on the matter. That would give them all a sense of where each justice stood, and how strongly they believed in their positions.