While Justice Sleeps

by Stacey Abrams

  “Hurry.”

  The doctor disconnected, and Avery closed the folder she’d reviewed and collected the papers from the printer. As she prepared to power down the computer, she hesitated. The Court files were notoriously impenetrable from the outside, but anyone on the Court’s team could locate what she’d discovered. She didn’t know what that was, but instinct told her to get rid of what was there. Sitting back down, she deleted the Chessdynamo folder and its contents, tucked the papers into an envelope, and left the office.

  TEN

  Avery entered the wide, white hallways of Bethesda Naval Hospital and found her way to the information desk. Around her, families milled with friends, many in uniform. She despised hospitals and waiting rooms, the medicinal scent of death’s arrival. Impatient to be done with her visit, she waited in a short line to explain her business to the receptionist and present her ID. “I’m here to see Dr. Toca. He’s in neurology.”

  A lanky frame ensconced in a white lab coat approached her post near the desk. “Ms. Keene,” he greeted her, extending a long-fingered hand that could have played Mozart. “Dr. Michael Toca. I appreciate you coming so quickly.”

  “You said it was urgent,” she responded as he ushered her along a tiled corridor. “His wife is here?”

  Dr. Toca led her through a maze of halls and into an elevator. As they rode up, he explained, “Not just Mrs. Turner-Wynn, but his son, Jared, too.”

  This surprised Avery. Jared Wynn bore the distinction of being the only child of Howard Wynn, a status he apparently did not covet. In her time at the Court, she’d met Mrs. Turner-Wynn a number of times, but Jared had never put in an appearance. Though his photo was the only one in the justice’s office, the man never spoke of his son or the marriage that had produced him.

  However, the secretaries of the Court provided all the salient details. The first Mrs. Wynn had been a fellow law student with Howard, one of a handful of women in her class. They’d fallen in love and married right after graduation. The union produced one son, and, ten years later, the first Mrs. Wynn died in their tony Georgetown home. Young Jared went to live with his aunt and uncle, and Howard Wynn sold the house. He bought another one two blocks away and never lived with his son again. For the next fifteen years, he lived as a bachelor, until he married socialite Celeste Turner.

  Avery had never asked about his son; nor had she inquired about the very public estrangement of his second wife, Celeste. Six months ago, under Celeste’s orders, according to the gossip, movers had parked on Reservoir Road and bundled suitcases and boxes into a truck. The next morning, she’d become a resident of the St. Regis, and Justice Wynn had once again become a bachelor. But the oft-rumored divorce from Celeste had never materialized.

  Which explained the tableau that greeted Avery in Dr. Toca’s office.

  Celeste Turner-Wynn clung to youth with a fighter’s tenacity. At forty-one, she claimed thirty-five and looked twenty-five. Ruthlessly pampered sable brown hair flowed from a high widow’s peak down to perfectly sloped shoulders. Haughty brows hovered over liquid brown eyes framed with a thick fringe of lash.

  She stood near a tall window, where sunlight cunningly gilded her hair, firing strands into gold. For today’s meeting, she’d worn widow’s weeds, as interpreted by Versace. Severe black, unrelieved by the black seed pearls at her neck and ears, befitted the mourning wife. The look of annoyance directed at Avery wasn’t a sharp departure from Celeste’s usual expression of haughty dismissal.

  Avery glanced at the room’s other occupant. The man she assumed to be Jared Wynn lounged on the single sofa in the capacious office, long legs clad in jeans frayed at the hem. Black work boots that had never seen a construction site bore the casual scuff marks of pedestrian wear. In deference to the solemnity of the occasion, he’d tossed a blue polo shirt over his white tee, the buttons half undone. The angular face with its square jaw and hollowed cheeks replicated photos of Justice Wynn from his younger days.

  She took a quick step back, surprised by the painful resemblance, only to bump into Dr. Toca. “Sorry.”

  “Wait until you talk to them,” he whispered behind her, not unkindly. Toca guided her inside and shut the door firmly, not eager to have an audience. “Avery Keene, this is Celeste Turner-Wynn and Jared Wynn,” he explained as he ushered her into a chair by his desk.

  Avery sat on the edge of the cushion, ready to spring up at any moment. Reaching for her manners, she began, “Hello. I’m sorry to be here under such difficult circumstances. Justice Wynn means a great deal to me, and I’m praying for his recovery.”

  Celeste waved imperially and spoke to Dr. Toca. “I still don’t understand why she’s here. I am his wife.”

  “Estranged,” corrected Jared, who did not move from his insolent repose. “I’m his legal next of kin, Doctor. And with all due respect to Ms. Keene here, I’m the only child he’s got.”

  Dr. Toca shot a look of apology to Avery. “As I told you both, Ms. Keene has information relating to Justice Wynn that must be taken into consideration before any actions can be taken on his behalf.”

  “She’s his clerk, Doctor. Not his attorney,” Celeste scoffed. “A cute little thing, right up Howard’s alley, and her concern is touching but irrelevant. Until I sign the divorce decree, he’s still my husband.”

  “I am as shocked by his decision as you both must have been.” Avery clutched her bag in her lap, a copy of the POA folded inside. The original had been locked away in her office right after Toca’s call. “I didn’t know until today.”

  For the first time, Jared moved, shifting forward to stare at her. “Didn’t know what?”

  With a confused look at Dr. Toca, Avery’s pulse spiked. “Didn’t you tell them?”

  He shook his head. “On advice of the hospital counsel—they thought you should be the one to do it. I’m sorry, Ms. Keene.”

  “Sorry about what?” Celeste lost her hauteur and crossed briskly from the window to slap her hands on the doctor’s desk. A diamond winked below the lights. “What exactly is this woman doing here?” She straightened and folded her arms. “I’ve expressed Howard’s wishes about this matter. He told me several times he wants no heroic measures taken on his behalf. I demand he be removed from life support today. As he has said, if God wants him to live, he’ll be able to breathe on his own.”

  “Like God gives a damn.” Jared’s muttered epithet came as he rose and advanced to the desk. His tall, lanky frame had the athletic build of a runner, and his close-cropped hair echoed the paler brown of his eyes. “I didn’t know him too well myself, but from what I recall, the judge is too self-involved to have a death wish, Doctor. But regardless, no one in this room has the right to speak for him but me.”

  “You?” Celeste challenged as she whipped her head toward Jared, lips curled into a snarl. Color streaked along razor-edged cheekbones. “You admit you haven’t bothered to speak to him in years. Now you know what he wants? What about when he wanted your forgiveness? Where were you then?”

  “What happened between me and him is none of your business, Celeste. I don’t ask why you’re living in a hotel and who visits you there, do I?” The warning was cool, direct. Anger was palpable in his voice, as was a tone that nearly sounded like sorrow. Turning from Celeste, Jared pointed to Avery. “It’s not your concern either. I’m the judge’s next of kin. I decide.”

  “Ms. Keene?” Dr. Toca gave her a look of chagrin. “I think you should explain what’s happened.”

  She’d rather feed raw meat to a den of ravenous lions with a toothpick as her weapon, Avery realized. They’d probably be less vicious.

  Trapped, Avery got to her feet, bag in hand. She looked at everyone in the room, took a deep breath, and then plunged in: “Mr. Wynn, Mrs. Turner-Wynn, there is something you should know.”

  “Unless you suddenly received a medical degree, I have no interest in hearing from
you.” Celeste skewered her with a withering glance. “Unlike Jared, I know who you are, Ms. Keene. An opportunist and a glorified legal secretary. Neither of which qualifies you to be in this room. This is a family matter, and whatever you were to my husband, you are certainly not family.”

  Jared shrugged in agreement. “With all due respect to Dr. Toca, you have no business here. If you’ll give us some privacy.” Turning his back to her, Jared shifted and cut off her view of Dr. Toca.

  Avery had never cared for Justice Wynn’s wife, and his son apparently had inherited his father’s social skills. Dr. Toca gave her a desperate look.

  Steeling herself, Avery explained without preamble, “Justice Wynn has named me his legal guardian. I hold his power of attorney.” Silence fell as Avery reached into her bag to produce the pages. “I have the notarized document right here.”

  “What?” Celeste lunged for the pages, certain there was a mistake. The White House had promised her—

  With claws tipped in carmine, she snatched the offending sheets from Avery. “No. No.” She flipped through to the last page, where Justice Wynn’s distinctive signature glared up at her. “This is a fake! It’s a forgery! He wouldn’t do this to me.”

  “But he would do it to me,” Jared said slowly. “Even at the end, he’d push me away.” He didn’t argue, didn’t reach for the papers. Instead, he moved away from the unfolding scene. “So be it.”

  “This isn’t real,” Celeste whispered, her eyes still frozen on the POA. “I’m his wife. I decide.”

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Turner-Wynn,” Avery managed.

  “Sorry? You will be.” The elegant mouth thinned into a razor’s edge, blindingly white teeth barely visible. “I know your kind, Ms. Keene. I won’t let you do this to me.”

  “I didn’t do this,” Avery protested. “Justice Wynn did.”

  “Why would he do such a thing? Unless you seduced him.”

  “Mrs. Turner-Wynn—”

  “More likely, he was senile. Which makes this invalid.” She waved the documents and then began to rip at the pages.

  Jared stepped between them and caught Celeste’s wrist, forcing her to open her hand. Avery snatched the papers back. They weren’t the original, but Celeste didn’t know that.

  “Cut it out, Celeste. This isn’t her fault. The judge did exactly what he wanted—like always—and damn everyone else.” He walked to the sofa and bent to retrieve a black canvas satchel, reaching inside the front pocket, then slinging the strap across his broad shoulders. He returned to the desk and extended his hand to Avery. As she placed hers inside, he closed his fingers tight. “Take care of him, Ms. Keene.”

  He dropped her hand and strode out of the doctor’s office. Celeste, teeth still bared, shoved past Avery and snatched up her purse.

  She tossed her head and declared, “Jared may be willing to let you steal his birthright, but I won’t. You will hear from my lawyers.”

  In outraged splendor, she sailed from the room, leaving the office door ajar. The doctor sank back into his chair and ran his fingers through the remaining thatch of graying brown hair on his scalp. “I’m sorry about that, Ms. Keene.” He looked up and caught her eyes. “May I call you Avery?”

  “Yes,” she responded absently, her fist shut hard. “I’d like to see him. Justice Wynn.”

  “He’s in testing right now. You can visit him soon.”

  “Okay. Is there anything I need to know right now, Dr. Toca? Any decisions to be made?”

  He shook his head. “No decisions, but we’d like to brief you on his condition and the prognosis.”

  “Thank you, I’d appreciate that.” She returned to her abandoned seat and set her bag on the carpeted floor beside the chair. “The Chief told me he has Boursin’s syndrome. I did some research on the Web, but I don’t know much else.”

  “Justice Wynn is stable for now, but we have no idea whether he’ll regain consciousness. I’m sorry.”

  “Can I meet with his other physicians? And the hospital’s general counsel?”

  “Certainly. I let them know you’ve arrived. They are eager to speak with you. I’ll get them and find you something to drink.”

  “Water would be fine.”

  “Just a moment,” Dr. Toca said as he stood, eager to gather reinforcements. He’d dealt with angry families, but nothing like today’s melodrama. And, given his meeting before calling Avery, Act II was about to begin. Rising, he headed for the door with undue haste. “I’ll be back soon.”

  He left the office, and Avery rose to check the door, which he’d pulled shut behind him. No one stood on the other side. Which left her free to open her clenched fist. And read the note Jared Wynn had pressed into her palm.

  ELEVEN

  Kramers Books—the patio. Midnight. Please. JW

  Then, scrawled below, in smaller, cramped letters,

  Be careful.

  Crumpling the note, Avery raced to the door and yanked it open. She bolted down the long white corridor. Nurses and white-coated physicians gave her a wide berth, matched by annoyed glares. Oblivious, she jogged toward an exit sign and shoved through the swinging doors. Seeing a tall, jeans-clad man in a blue shirt, she yelled, “Jared! Mr. Wynn! Wait!”

  As she darted forward, she caught the man’s arm, swinging him to face her. “Jared, I—”

  “Excuse me?” The man was older, the face craggier, his eyes a puzzled dark brown rather than the whiskey brown Jared had inherited from his father. “Can I help you?”

  Embarrassed, Avery released his elbow and shook her head quickly. “I’m sorry. I thought you were someone else.” She frantically scanned the other occupants. To no avail. Jared wasn’t there.

  Giving up, she swung around, only to bump into another man. She stumbled back and realized that she’d collided with Scott Curlee, one of the daytime anchors for PoliticsNOW. He stood beside a smug Celeste Turner-Wynn. Avery turned away into a blinding light perched atop a video camera, and she lifted her arm across her face. “Leave me alone.”

  “Ms. Keene, can you tell me why you’re at the hospital?” Curlee demanded, pushing a microphone forward. “Is it true you’ve stolen custody of Justice Wynn from his wife?”

  Avery backed away. “Of course not.”

  Undeterred, Scott shoved the microphone closer. “Why were you chasing Jared Wynn? What was your relationship with Howard Wynn?”

  “This is neither the time nor the place, Mrs. Turner-Wynn,” she urged.

  “You won’t get away with stealing my husband,” Celeste announced, angling to catch the camera’s eye. “I’ve told Mr. Curlee what I told you. I’m his wife and his guardian. You have no right to take him from me.”

  “I had nothing—” Avery halted, the Court press secretary’s admonishment to the staff ringing in her ears. “No comment.” She hurried toward the doors leading to Dr. Toca’s office, with Scott Curlee on her heels. The Authorized Personnel Only sign stopped the cameraman, but not the reporter.

  “Americans deserve to know your intentions, Ms. Keene.” The reporter jogged along beside her. “Did you have an affair with Justice Wynn?”

  “Ms. Keene?” Dr. Toca met her halfway along the corridor, accompanied by a pumpkin-shaped man on spindly legs whose overgrown mustache served as the only hair on his head. He cast a squinted look at her that appeared to assess and dismiss in a single motion.

  The doctor closed the distance between them and touched Avery’s shoulder, placing himself between Avery and the reporter. “This area is off-limits, sir.”

  “I don’t see any postings.”

  The portly man stepped forward. “Big red sign on the other side of this door says Authorized Personnel Only. If you have a complaint, I’m happy to summon the security staff. They’ve been well trained by the U.S. military.”

  Curlee held up his hands. “No need,�
�� he said. “I’ll see you later, Ms. Keene.”

  He walked away, and Avery slipped the wrinkled note into her suit-jacket pocket. “Thank you both.”

  “Thought you told her to wait in your office, Toca?”

  “No harm done, Robert. Did you need something, Ms. Keene?”

  Avery fibbed, “I was hunting for the bathroom. Must have gotten turned around.”

  “We can wait.”

  “That’s okay.” Avery gave a nod. “Your office?”

  “This way.” Inside, a woman waited. Dr. Toca introduced them. “Dr. Michelle Knox, and you’ve met Robert Mumford, the hospital’s general counsel.”

  “Hello.” Avery turned to Dr. Toca. “When can I see him?”

  “As I said, he’s still undergoing tests that will take some time. But I will make arrangements for you to visit as soon as possible.”

  Before she could respond, the lawyer spoke: “Ms. Keene, why did Justice Wynn give you his power of attorney?”

  “I have no idea,” she replied in stark honesty. “I didn’t know anything about it until this morning.”

  “Don’t you find that odd?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “And?”

  “And nothing. All I can do now is what he asked.” Dismissing the attorney, she focused on the physicians. “Beginning with understanding more about what’s wrong with him. What is Boursin’s syndrome? I read a bit on the Internet, but—”

  “It’s a rare degenerative neurological disorder. It mimics both Parkinson’s and brain cancer.” Dr. Knox leaned forward from her perch on the couch. “Boursin’s is aggressive and mutable. For months, it’s been attacking his nervous system. He would have been erratic at times, anxious. Short-tempered and hostile, perhaps.”

  “He’s rarely anxious, but he’s not known for his patience,” Avery protested.

  “Hmm. Justice Wynn developed a brain tumor that has been sitting on his cerebral cortex. In some patients, they display signs of paranoia and irrational fears of others.”