While Justice Sleeps

by Stacey Abrams

  Avery said nothing, simply stood in the hallway, eyes fixed on the glowing light of the elevator arrow. She resisted the urge to wipe at a slowly forming tear. When the doors opened, she watched Rita wobble inside. Under her breath, as the doors closed, she prayed futilely, “Goodbye, Rita.”

  SEVENTEEN

  Pushing open the door to her apartment, Avery entered, then kicked the door shut behind her. She flicked on the light, dropped her keys on the table, and turned to flip the dead bolts into place. Ling had the graveyard shift this rotation, which meant she’d crawl into the apartment hours after Avery left in the morning.

  Avery considered paging her to give her an update on the day’s events, but even the thought was exhausting. In silent confirmation, the telephone flickered with blinking message lights.

  “What now?” she muttered. Avery opened her bag and removed the envelope with the pages she’d printed out from Justice Wynn’s computer, tossing it on the coffee table. She sank onto the futon that doubled as a sofa, propped her feet on the table, and picked up her memo pad to write down the messages.

  Beep. “Ms. Keene. Rebecca DeHart, Channel Nine. I’d like to speak with you about your recent appointment to serve as guardian for Justice Howard Wynn. Please call my cell at your earliest convenience. (202) 555-0105.”

  Beep. “Avery Keene, this is Wendy Kavanaugh with Talk 1280. We’d like to have you join us on air tomorrow to discuss the ethics of euthanasia. Our special guests will include Dr. Azzie Preston and Dr. Barb Marston. We go on air at seven for morning rush hour. I’ll call this number then.”

  “Crap.” Dropping the pen to her lap, she rubbed her eyes.

  Beep. “Avery, honey. Ayanay Ferguson from Spelman. I don’t know if you know this, but I’m now a producer with The Harris Hour. It would be a big favor to me if you’d agree to a one-on-one exclusive with our anchor, Michael Holloman. He’d like to discuss your friendship with Justice Wynn and why he selected you to make the final decisions about his life. I know we haven’t talked much since college, but I hope I can count on you. I’ll give you a call in the morning—will see if I can get your cell. Ciao!”

  On and on, messages begged her to come on every radio, television, and Internet broadcast in the greater DC area, and all four national morning shows. When she reached the death threats, she threw the pen across the room. Avery snatched the phone from its cradle and jabbed the familiar sequence of digits, not pausing to consider the time.

  A drowsy voice answered, “Avery, I’m on my first break following an eighteen-car pileup and a double rotation. The house had better be on fire.”

  “Have you seen the news?”

  “I’ve seen a punctured spleen, a severed thumb, a man who tried to perform plastic surgery on himself to resemble Jimi Hendrix, and I’ve seen dawn twice, but no, I haven’t been watching television today.”

  “I’m sorry. My stuff can wait. I’ll call back—”

  Ling cut her off: “I’m awake now. Tell me what’s going on.”

  Avery tucked her legs beneath her, the story spilling out. “Justice Wynn is in a coma and he appointed me his legal guardian and his son thinks I’m supposed to save both their lives and his wife wants him taken off life support. His nurse is dead and a thousand reporters have our home number. Plus, Rita found the apartment and—”

  To stop the torrent, Ling latched on to the last revelation. “Rita found us? Did she take anything?”

  “No, she didn’t make it past the front door.” Avery shut her eyes, shame warring with experience. “She’s strung out. I gave her some cash and made her leave.”

  “Good. Now, tell me what’s going on again—slowly.”

  Settling back, Avery launched into a description of her day. From the early hunt for Rita to the strange dinner with Jared Wynn. “Then I check my messages and the entire press corps has the story. It’s insane.” Her eyes fell shut, and she rested her head against the wall. “I’m just—”

  “Overwhelmed,” Ling supplied. “Rightfully so. Plus, you’re stupid.”

  Her eyes shot open. “What?”

  “I said you’re stupid.”

  “Did you hear what I’ve just told you? Exactly what part of this is my fault?”

  “You’re stupid because you waited until two in the morning to call me.”

  “I thought I could handle it.”

  “Which is also why you’re an idiot.”

  “Thanks for the support.”

  “That’s what I’m here for.” On a narrow hospital cot, Ling flipped onto her stomach, phone propped against her ear. Friendship with Avery Keene had never been dull. Avery had left their school in second semester, but Ling had stubbornly stayed in touch, tracking her wherever she landed. Unlike everyone else, she wouldn’t allow herself to be shunted aside. Avery needed her. “What’s the bottom line?”

  “I was with Jared when I realized what ‘Las Bauer’ was—from Nurse Lewis’s message. It’s a chess reference. I think Justice Wynn was saying that I’m one of the key pieces in the game, and he’s telling me that I have to find the other one.”

  “Okay. Well, if you’re important, that’s good news, right?”

  Avery waited a beat. “The novelty of Lasker Bauer was the death of the bishops. He sacrificed those pieces to win the game.”

  “Meaning you?”

  “Possibly.”

  “Then you’re going to have to refuse the power of attorney.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not refusing it.”

  “Someone killed a nurse and is making secret calls to you. Your boss thinks you’re a chess piece that’s disposable. This isn’t your fight. Get away from the Wynns.”

  “Justice Wynn asked for my help,” she replied firmly, ignoring the twist in her gut. “He said he needed me to finish this. Whatever this is. I can’t walk away. Not yet.”

  “He’s as good as told you that you’re expendable, Avery. Be smart.” Ling paused, searching for the right words. “Justice Wynn is using you. Just like Rita. He knows you’ll put his welfare before your own, because that’s what you do. Between your martyr syndrome, the years of maternal guilt, and transference of affection to a father figure, you’re a doormat.”

  “Spare me the psych rotation bullshit,” Avery shot back. “If I decide to help Justice Wynn, it will be because I think it’s the right thing to do. Not some daddy complex.”

  “Even if you put yourself in danger? And me?” Ling reminded her. “If a crack addict could find you, Avery, whoever killed that woman can too.”

  She had no answer for that. Taking a deep breath, she said, “Then it might be better if you didn’t stay here for a while.”

  “You’re kicking me out of my own house?”

  “It’s a temporary solution.” Avery dipped her head, the heel of her hand pressed tight against her forehead. “U.S. marshals are circling the building. I’ll ask the Chief to station one right outside the door.”

  “And you won’t go outside?”

  “I could be misunderstanding his message. We don’t know that I’m in danger.”

  “You don’t misunderstand puzzles, Avery,” Ling countered.

  “Then I’m going to help him because he asked me. He didn’t trust anyone else.”

  “Apparently, he trusted you so much, he left you a handful of unintelligible clues and a crazy man pulling the fire alarm.” The sarcasm traveled clearly into the apartment, but before Avery could respond, Ling warned, “He’s not your responsibility. You don’t owe him your loyalty.”

  Avery thought of the subway platform and the moment of chivalry. Her eyes closed, and her head fell against the sofa. “You’re wrong. I owe him. I just don’t know what he wants.”

  * * *

  —

  Nigel Cooper studied the dossier on Avery Keene. Like most in DC, her vulnerabilities were ea
sily discerned and exploited. His meetings with the congressional leaders had gone well, but she had to do her part. Hopefully, his gift would help her make the right choice.

  As confirmation pinged on his computer screen, Nigel dialed his partner in crime.

  “Nigel.”

  “Did you get the information I sent?”

  “I did.” In Bangalore, moonlight drifted across dark water, trailing alabaster beams in still waves. She sat on a marble bench along the footpath. At that hour, the few to wander the path were young, employees of call centers and laboratories chasing American ingenuity. Smog hung low over the city, swathing her in heat and the detritus of progress. “The restriction enzyme sequence GenWorks has been perfecting uses a disease similar to Boursin’s as a model for its sequencing.” Nigel’s lack of response forced Indira to bite off a sigh of disgust. “I forget you are not a scientist.”

  “I’m a financier and a miracle worker,” he replied. “I got you Wynn’s medical records so you could explain the situation to me in terms I’ll understand.”

  “Then I will be plain. Combine the work of Advar and GenWorks, and we can cure the disease.” On the bench, Indira’s fingers curled against the smooth stone. “The potential gene therapies would be based on use of haplogroups.”

  “Tigris?”

  “One and the same.”

  “Fuck.”

  “Precisely. Our Achilles’ heel is also a source of hope for Justice Wynn.”

  “Could we save him?”

  “No, even with our combined technology and resources, his case is far too advanced. However, Boursin’s is a hereditary neurological disease passed from father to son. Jared Wynn is thirty-one. He would not yet have begun to manifest symptoms, but the markers are there.”

  “Wynn knew about Hygeia,” Nigel said. “But he couldn’t possibly have found out about Tigris. You’ve assured me that your team has dealt with that.”

  “We did.” Indira stared across the pond. “All Justice Wynn would need to know is that we had a potential way to cure his son. His contact on the High Court gave him that already.”

  “Hell of a lot of good that does us now. Unless we can keep his guardian from doing something stupid and taking him completely out of play.”

  “That is your domain. I’ve transferred the funds authorized by the board. They should suffice.”

  “We’re all set.”

  “One more item, Nigel. Can you secure a blood sample from him?”

  “You have his complete medical records.”

  “I require a recent blood sample for my own tests.”

  “Why?”

  “I do not want to anticipate a new problem, but if I am correct, we have another issue.” Indira paused. “Secure the blood sample. I will keep looking.”

  EIGHTEEN

  Tuesday, June 20

  Avery woke at half past six, one phrase echoing in her mind. Lasker Bauer. True chess aficionados knew about the match, and how foolhardy the gambit seemed. If the man who’d called her was connected to Justice Wynn, perhaps he’d know who or what an Ani was.

  Until she heard from him, she’d try to decipher the rest of Justice Wynn’s message. Bleary-eyed, she wove her way into the kitchen and made her daily breakfast of cereal and milk. She retrieved a can of Diet Coke and climbed onto a stool at the breakfast bar. Absent motions added cereal and milk to the bowl, and she gulped deep, grateful for the hit of caffeine. Ready for her dose of news, she clicked on the television. And dropped her can on the Formica surface.

  Law Clerk and Justice’s Son’s Secret Romance, screamed the bolded headline below a grainy photo of her and Jared at the fire escape. His lips against her cheek, his hand on her shoulder. Her smiling profile clear to the hidden photographer.

  On the screen, Scott Curlee spoke into the camera: “I attempted to interview Ms. Keene for this story yesterday, but she refused to answer questions.” Footage rolled of their encounter at the hospital. “Sources report that Avery Keene has been romantically linked to both Justice Wynn and his son. This photo raises serious questions of her fitness to serve as guardian for the gravely ill jurist.”

  Avery choked as Matt Brewer appeared in front of a microphone. The words Keene’s Court Colleague ran under his image.

  “Avery is really ambitious. She keeps to herself and rarely fraternizes with her fellow clerks. I wish she understood that friendship and competition aren’t mutually exclusive. I pity her. She’s missed out on making dear friends here at the Court. It’s a tragedy.”

  Curlee continued, “Ms. Keene is remembered by her classmates at Yale as distant. Admired for her legal acumen, few contacted for this story could recount a single personal anecdote about her, though she served on the Law Journal for two years. Attempts to locate family members were also unsuccessful. The Court’s press secretary had no comment.”

  The story switched to a death row inmate’s plea for a new trial. As if on cue, the shrill of the phone filled the apartment. Numbly, Avery lifted the receiver she kept on the counter.

  “Hello?”

  “Avery, it’s Debi from the Chief’s office. She wants to see you in her office right away.” The tone was brisk and distant. Near the end of term, the Chief usually arrived at six thirty a.m. and left long after the others. But a seven a.m. summons had never happened to Avery before.

  “Is there a change in Justice Wynn’s condition?”

  Ignoring her query, Debi asked, “How soon can you be here?”

  “I’ve got to shower and get ready. The driver said yesterday he planned to pick me up at eight.”

  Debi whispered her response to someone, the words muffled. Avery waited, certain the impetus for the call was the same story she could now see on other channels as she flicked the remote.

  “Avery?”

  She focused on the voice in her ear. “Yes, ma’am?”

  “The Chief is sending a car for you. Please be outside in twenty minutes.” Without waiting for confirmation, the call disconnected.

  Avery abandoned her now-soggy cereal and rushed through her shower. With seconds to spare, she snapped on her watch and smoothed her skirt. She headed down the stairs, unwilling to chance an elevator malfunction.

  Head down, she emerged from the stairwell and pushed through the front door. A phalanx of cameras flashed lights, capturing her frozen image a dozen times. Shouted questions pummeled her from the knot of reporters, and she scanned the street desperately for the promised car. A long black sedan was parked at the curb, and Avery began to push her way through the throng.

  “Is it true you’re having an affair with Jared Wynn?”

  “What will you inherit from Justice Wynn upon his death?”

  “Are you conspiring with Jared Wynn to disinherit his stepmother, Celeste Turner-Wynn?”

  The shouted questions came from every direction. Avery reached the car and jerked open the door, tossing her bag inside. Behind her, a microphone grazed her cheek and a reporter queried, “Can you compare sex with Justice Wynn and Jared? What is it like being with father and son?”

  She shoved the tanned wrist and mike away, slid inside the car, and jerked the door shut. Gunning the quiet engine, the driver pulled away from the curb. Reporters gave chase, and Avery watched in amazement as they faded from view. The car and its silent driver wound through the early-morning traffic of Washington. On the radio, NPR recounted the story, leaving out the more salacious accusations.

  Fatigue returned with a vengeance. She gazed wearily at the driver’s closely cropped head, noticing for the first time the military cut. “Excuse me.”

  The driver’s eyes met hers in the mirror. “Yes?”

  She caught a fuller look at him in the rearview mirror. “Agent Lee?” Her driver was the FBI agent who’d grilled her the day before. Avery sank back into the seat. “What are you doing here
?”

  When he said nothing, she demanded, “Am I under arrest?”

  Cynical eyes met hers in the mirror. “Not yet.”

  They traveled in silence to the Court. Once they’d cleared security, Agent Lee opened the sedan door, took her arm in a firm grip, and guided her inside the Court. Avery tugged once at her captivity, to no avail. She was getting sick of being handled.

  In record time, the FBI agent whisked her past security and into the Chief’s office. At his usual post, Major Vance watched her silently, a living stanchion by the same window he’d glared from yesterday. Sunlight poured through the windows, but Vance was caught in the slash of shadows left in the corners.

  Chief Roseborough looked up as Agent Lee guided her to the desk, but did not rise from her seat. A quick glance at the Chief’s desk revealed a copy of the damning photo of Avery with Jared.

  With an imperious nod, the Chief indicated that she should sit. “Avery.”

  “Chief.” Avery shot a quick look at Agent Lee. “This isn’t what it looks like.”

  The Chief lifted an elegant hand to smooth ebony tendrils into place. “It looks like you do know Jared Wynn, contrary to what you indicated yesterday.”

  “I didn’t know him before yesterday.” The protest sounded feeble even to her. She tried again: “I mean, I met Jared at the hospital yesterday afternoon, and he asked me to meet with him last night. Nothing else happened.”

  “A meeting request that you failed to mention. According to the marshals, you must have snuck out through the fire escape. At least that’s what the photos show.”

  Avery winced. “I’m sorry. I won’t do it again, I promise.”

  “We’ll get to that.” With a look at Agent Lee, the Chief asked, “What is your financial status, Avery? Are you in any trouble?”

  “I’ve got what I need, Chief. The Court is very generous.”