Final Appeal
Page 21
“There were no bell foundries in the colonies at that time period,” the ranger says, “so rather than send it back, these resourceful colonists, who had previously made only pots, pans, and candlestick holders—”
“Grace?” Artie says. “You with us?”
I push it out of my mind. We got him now. That’s justice, even if it doesn’t bring Armen back. “Sure.”
“Who’s bachelor number one?” Eletha asks.
“What?”
“Who did you want to fix me up with?”
“Oh. One of the marshals.”
Eletha shudders. “One of the marshals? Forget it!”
“Back in the saddle, Miss Thing,” Artie says. “I love a man in uniform.”
“What’s the matter with a marshal?” Sarah says.
Eletha leans forward. “You know what I heard? One of the marshals was arrested this morning. For the murder of that reporter.”
Sarah pales. “You mean the stringer? The one who was calling us?”
“What?” Ben says, setting his hoagie down in its shell of waxy paper. I concentrate on the grease spots soaking the paper from the inside and try to look as shocked as he does.
“That’s unbelievable,” Artie says, between mouthfuls of corned beef. “Which marshal?”
“Al McLean, the big one.”
“How did you hear this?” I ask her.
“Millie, from the clerk’s office. So no marshals, honey. Not for me. No way.”
“But it’s Ray Arrington. He’s a teddy bear.”
“Ray? A what?” Artie says, chomping away. “Gimme a break! You ever see him on a basketball court? The man is a maniac. He almost knocked Shake and Bake out.”
“Ray?”
“The Shakester had a bruise all down his side.”
“Poor schizophrenic,” Ben says. He stows his empty coffee cup in his hoagie wrapper and rolls them up together. “We should get back to the office. It’s been over an hour.”
Eletha and Sarah look at each other and laugh. “What are they gonna do, fire us?” Eletha says.
“I want to work on my article.”
But Sarah doesn’t hear him. “We’re free. We have no work, no job, no office.” Her face falls suddenly. And no boss, is the thing we’re all thinking, but nobody says it. Artie wraps up the remains of his lunch in silence and Eletha watches him, her eyes unfocused. I feel a lump in my throat and raise my can in a silent toast.
“I agree,” Sarah says softly and touches her drink to mine. Eletha raises hers, too. Only Artie doesn’t say anything. I can’t catch his eye.
Ben clears his throat. “We’d better go back. Grace still has a job, you know.”
“Don’t remind me.” I’ve indentured myself for nothing, unless I want to help Winn’s bribery investigation. “Anyway, today I’m off duty.”
“So why’d you come in?” Sarah asks. She gets up, then helps me up.
“I don’t know. We don’t have much more time together. I thought I’d say good-bye.” It comes out of its own force, and even though it’s not the reason I came in, I realize how true it is. The lump comes back.
“Awww,” Sarah says, and to my surprise gives me a warm hug, which Eletha joins.
“Group hug!” Artie says, rallying. He wraps his long arms around Eletha and presses us all together. I’m somewhere in the middle, trying to swallow the damn lump.
“Come on in, Mr. Human Rights,” Sarah calls out.
“I’ll pass,” Ben says, but I hear the smile in his voice.
“Isjdhyk mejsgr!” shouts the young man. “Kkkrk!”
29
I sit at my desk with the form letter in my hand, reading it to Winn:
We have been unable to locate the record in this matter in our archives or file room. This is not out of the ordinary with older case files and we will continue our efforts to locate it. We regret any inconvenience this may have caused you.
“You know McLean took it, don’t you?” I say.
“Possibly.”
“Possibly?”
“The government never loses anything?”
“A court record? Not often.”
“Ever?”
“Not often.”
Winn is silent.
“Charge him anyway, Winn. The lawsuit existed. His wife existed. He can’t hide the facts, even if he can steal the record.”
“Fuck. This slows us up.”
“How? Ask him about it. Say to him, Did your wife die of skin cancer? Did she sue the doctor? Was the fifteen million dollar award taken away by Judge Gregorian?”
“He’s not answering questions, Grace. He’s got a lawyer already.”
Shit. Of course. Shoot the lawyer twice. It stumps me for a minute.
“You say we don’t need the record, but if the record doesn’t matter, why would McLean steal it?”
“Because he’s stupid. Because he didn’t count on anybody doing legal research on him.”
“How would he steal it? Would he be able to?”
“Sure. The marshals have master keys, that’s how he got in Galanter’s office. The files are kept in number order by year. Even an idiot can find a record.”
“Fuck!”
“Let me be the confidential informant again. I’ll make another statement. Describe everything that happened in Armen’s office, the way McLean acted to me at the metal detector, even my research and the clerk’s letter. It’s enough to charge him, isn’t it?”
“It’s a close question.”
“Winn, he killed Armen because of the court case, then he killed Faber because he was close to finding out. A verdict that big would make the papers. Faber probably did his homework and found out about the wife’s case. Hell, he could find it easily on Nexis. I could do it myself, right now. Faber was calling our chambers all day.”
“Relax, Grace.”
“Charge him. It’s enough. I’m a lawyer, I know. Are you gonna let him get away with murder?”
“It’s close. I don’t want to go in half cocked.”
Man talk. “You got another idea?”
“Yes. Is there any other place records would be?”
The thought strikes like a thunderbolt. “The appendix! The appendix is a duplicate of the record. For a trial with that much money at stake, I bet it’s complete.”
“Where would the appendix be?”
“Every judge on the panel would have gotten one, including Armen. It’s an old case but Eletha would know if we have it.” My brain clicks ahead. I didn’t see the older cases in the boxes we packed this morning, but Eletha could have packed them earlier. “She said Armen saved everything. We just finished packing this morning.”
“Go get ’em, tiger.”
“It’s about a million boxes.”
“Dig we must.”
Easy for him to say. He doesn’t have to deal with Eletha’s reaction when I tell her what I’m going to do.
* * *
“You want to do what?” Eletha shrieks at me, astounded. She stands protectively in front of the boxes that stack almost to the ceiling in Armen’s office.
“Shhh!” I look toward the clerks’ office, even though the door is closed. “You can go home. I’ll do it. I already called my mother to pick up Maddie at school.”
“Are you out of your goddamn mind?” Long fingers clasp at her chest and she breathes deeply, in and out.
“Eletha, don’t do the Lamaze thing, not for me. You can go.”
“You want to rip open all my boxes? We just finished!”
“I’ll put everything back.”
She shakes her head. “No. I won’t let you do it. No way. No file is important enough to ruin all that work.”
I wish I could tell her why, but Winn made me swear. “I’ll redo it.”
“Galanter wants this stuff out of here! I told him we’d be done tomorrow, you know that. That’s why I worked my ass off all morning! All week!”
“I know, but I need it.”
“What f
or?”
“A misconduct case.”
“What misconduct case is ten years old? Don’t bullshit me, Grace. We’re friends.”
I take her by the shoulders. “Listen, trust me. I can’t tell you anything more.”
“Why not?”
“Eletha, it’s the most important file in the world.”
“No file—”
“This one is.”
“Are you outta your mind?” Her dark eyes watch me with hope.
“No.”
“But I got class tonight, and Leon sure ain’t gonna sit anymore.”
“That’s all right. I have to do it myself.”
“Galanter wants in—tomorrow. It’ll take you all night.”
I remember the last time I was here in this office until dawn. “That’s okay.”
I look around at the boxes and so does she. It’s daunting, like moving an entire house in only one night. Twice. I wonder if I’ll be able to get it done in time. If I can’t, screw Galanter. He may not be a killer, but he’s still a jerk.
“I know what you’re thinkin’,” Eletha says to me, wagging a finger. “It’s gotta be done by morning. GSA is comin’ in to take up the rug.”
“All right, all right.”
“You want me to come back after class? It’s over at ten.”
“Nope. You got Malcolm.”
“I’ll bring him. He can sleep on the couch.”
“No, thanks.”
“Suit yourself.” She shakes her head, mystified. “Start with those boxes against the wall.” She gestures to about forty-five boxes, taped closed and stacked up like children’s blocks. “Those are the case files. Everything over there”—she points against the back wall behind Armen’s desk—“is old stuff, papers, and some older files. There could be some older case files in there, too.”
“Okay.” I eyeball the boxes in the back. Thirty, easy. Christ. I remember when I left Sam: all my stuff and Maddie’s in a storage bin, and it still wasn’t that high. “No problem.”
She points at the conference table and the chair against the window, both of which are heaped with brown paper packages. “That’s all the Armenian stuff. I put bubble paper underneath that brown paper, you know. You won’t be needin’ any of it, so don’t unwrap it.”
“I won’t.” Each package is labeled in black Magic Marker, some cryptically. STATUE. ANOTHER STATUE. PRAYER RUG. FRAMED THING. BIG THING. I laugh at BIG THING, lying horizontally across the chair near the window. “What’s that one?”
She wrinkles her nose. “You know, that big thing?”
“No, I don’t, El. I have no idea.”
“You do too. That wood thingie he had hangin’ up, like a baseball bat.”
Now I remember. The cudgel. “Oh, yeah. That big thing.”
“Right. It weighs a ton. Leave it alone, all of it.”
“I will. I promise. Hey, where’s the Indian headdress?”
“Oh, that?” She grins. “I lost it.”
“You what?”
“I can’t remember where I put it, for the life of me. I guess it just got lost in the shuffle.” She scratches her sleek head, then bursts into laughter.
“Eletha, what did you do?”
“It serves his ass right, doesn’t it?”
I have to agree.
“Okay. I gotta go, but I’m gonna do one thing for you. Make you a pot of coffee.”
“Deal,” I say and get to work.
I open box after box, digging into each with cheap government scissors. I go through the case files; each is a manila folder containing Armen’s notes, a set of briefs, and an appendix. Unfortunately, they don’t seem to be in chronological order, or in any order at all; I don’t stop to read Armen’s notes, even those not written in Armenian. I can’t afford the time; I’m trying to nail his killer.
The afternoon wears into the evening and I go through cup after cup of coffee and box after box of files. Eletha pops her head in to say good-bye when she goes; then Artie, Sarah, and Ben, who’s still carrying a briefcase. I tell them I lost some papers, and they all offer to help, even Ben.
I check my watch. Maddie’s bedtime. I decide to call home, then Winn after that. I punch in the numbers to my house.
Maddie answers the phone, then proceeds to work me over. “But why do you have to stay, Mom?” she asks, her thin voice rising on the other end of the line.
“I told you, honey. Because it’s an important case. I have to work on it.”
“Why can’t somebody else work on it? Why does it have to be you?”
“Because I’m the only one who can.”
“Are you with your boyfriend?”
I laugh. “Of course not. I don’t have a boyfriend, I’m working. Now tell me what you’re gonna read with Grandma before you go to bed.”
“I’m too sick to go to school tomorrow, Mom. Madeline feels sick too, her forehead’s hot. She’s burning.”
I ease into the chair next to the conference table. “You’ll be fine in the morning. You just need to sleep.”
“But my head hurts. My neck is swollen.”
“Honey, listen. We’ll see in the morning, okay?” I tug a box over to the chair and cross my legs on top of it. “I’ll check if you have a fever.”
“You have to use the thing. The glass thing. Grandma says you can’t tell with your hand, not really.”
Thanks, Mom. “Maddie, I’ve never used a thermometer with you and I’ve never been wrong. I can tell with my hand.”
“No, you can’t. It’s not science.”
I look out the window into the night. The orange lights are twinkling again, running in thin strips to the river, the way they were that night. I was sitting right here, but tonight is different from before. It’s raining hard, a spring down-pour, and Armen is gone. The streets below glisten darkly.
“Mom?”
“Tell you what. Remember last week, how you wanted to wear your party dress to school and I said no?”
“The purple one?”
“Yes. Well, I’ll let you wear it tomorrow, just this one time, since it’s a special occasion.”
“What special occasion?”
I think of the case file; it’s in here somewhere. “We’ll make one up. Happy Thursday.”
“You’re silly.”
“I am. I get it from you.”
She giggles. “Mom, I have to go now. The commercial’s over.”
“What, are you watching TV? It’s after nine o’clock!”
“It’s Disney.”
“Disney is still TV. What happened to reading?”
“Just Donald Duck, then we have to turn it off.”
“All right, but after that it goes off. Now go get ready, you don’t want to be too late to bed.”
“Yes, I do,” she says, hanging up.
I press down the hook and am about to try Winn when I see a dark form reflected in the window. Someone must be in the doorway behind me. I hang up and twist around in my seat.
The gun is the first thing I see.
I scramble to pick up the phone.
30
“Hang up, Grace,” Ben says. He closes the door behind him and locks it from the inside. “Hang up.”
The phone clatters uselessly onto the hook. “Ben?”
“Surprise! Did you find the file yet?”
“What? How—”
“Lexis. The computer saves the last search request, remember? I saw it after lunch when I logged back on. Nice search request, by the way. You’re improving.” He moves to the head of the conference table and points the gun at me.
I’m terrified. My mouth turns to cotton. No one is around. Eletha is at class. God knows where Winn is, or security. “How did you get that gun past the metal detector?”
“I took the judges’ elevator.” He smiles down at the gun, handling its heft with satisfaction. He looks strange, unhinged. “I bought this the other day. Isn’t it nice?”
“What are you doing, Ben?”
I don’t touch the letter or the pen. I can’t believe this is happening.
“Please sign, Grace. Make it easy on yourself.”
My own suicide note. A fake suicide. Oh, no. “Did you kill Armen, Ben?”
“Yes.”
I can barely catch my breath. I assumed wrong.
“I didn’t plan to, if that’s any consolation.”
“But why?” It comes out like a whisper.
“Why did I kill him? What’s the difference?
“I want to know, to understand.”
“I wanted that clerkship.”
I stare at the paper. It’s almost inconceivable. “You wanted a clerkship that bad? A job?”
“It’s the Supreme Court of the United States, Grace. I’ve been preparing for it my entire adult life. I’ll teach after that, then on to the appeals court. I intend to end up on the high court myself. I wasn’t about to let Hightower stand in my way.”
“It was Armen who stood in the way.”
He flinches slightly. “Sacrifices had to be made.”
Armen: a sacrifice for a young lawyer’s ambition. “But you could’ve gotten the clerkship anyway.”
“Why take a chance?”
I don’t understand. I feel sick with fear and dread. “You got the clerkship, so why this? Why me?”
“It’s your own fault. You were the one digging around. You dug up McLean, now there’s a glitch. It’s only a matter of time before he points the finger at me.”
“Did McLean kill Faber?”
“The reporter? Yes, at my suggestion. Faber was too close to finding out.”
Two men dead. I feel stunned. “Was McLean the one who hit me on the head?”
“No, that was me. Now open the letter and sign it. I want no question later that you wrote it.”
I feel myself break out into a sweat. The lethal black eye of the gun barrel is almost at my head; I think of the gunpowder star the detective found on Armen. “What does it say?”