“Okay, Jed, you’ve got a point on that one. The instant things get nailed down, I’ll call you.”
“But—”
“I don’t even know when the M.E. will release my stepfather’s body.” She swallowed, tears pooled in her eyes.
“Callie, you there? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, Jed. Look, I’ve got to go now. I’ll probably see you at the funeral. Thanks for authorizing a week’s leave of absence.”
“I don’t know, Callie, you’re a big part of the team here and you’ve got to realize that—”
Callie shut off her cell and slipped it back into her pocket. It began ringing within three seconds. She turned it off. She wondered what Jed Coombes would do if someone in his own family was murdered. He was such a news junkie, such a hard-ass when it came to getting a story, he’d probably give himself an exclusive.
CHAPTER
7
THE KETTERING HOME
COLFAX, VIRGINIA
C ALLIE WALKED INTO the living room of the lovely Colonial house in Colfax where she and her mother were stashed. One of her mother’s oldest friends, Anna Clifford, was with her. Poor Anna had a son in jail for dealing cocaine. Her other two children, however, were upright citizens and gainfully employed. Her husband was a quiet man who owned a large Virginia construction company. Anna was speaking quietly to her mother, holding her hand. Callie paused a moment, then went on upstairs. She’d gotten her clothes hung in the closet when she heard the front doorbell, then Anna’s voice, and her mother’s.
It was agents Savich and Sherlock, and Detective Raven. She imagined they’d be regulars in her daily life until this was over.
She pulled on jeans and a fleece sweatshirt and went down into the kitchen to make coffee and tea for Agent Savich and her mother. She found some croissants on the counter, stuck them in the oven to heat up, and stood there in the bright kitchen, watching the snow sheet down outside the window.
When she carried the big silver tray into the living room, her mother was weeping, Detective Raven looked acutely uncomfortable, and Agent Sherlock was gently stroking her mother’s arm.
Callie had never in her life seen her mother so wrecked. She looked up then, and gently pulled away from Anna Clifford and Agent Sherlock. She tried a smile. It wasn’t much of one, but it was a start. “Callie, I would love some tea and then—and then we need to talk.”
Her voice was suddenly calm. Callie smiled at her mother, served everyone, then sat down with her own cup of coffee. She realized soon enough that Agent Savich and Agent Sherlock were taking time with their coffee and tea, nibbling on the croissants, giving her mother time to collect herself. Detective Raven, however, seemed impatient, prickling with nervous energy. She watched him pick up his second croissant. He looked over at her and grinned. “It’s true, you know, that all we ever have at the station is jelly donuts, all sugar and lard, not like the pure butter that holds these delicious things together.”
Margaret Califano said, “Everyone is acting normally, and I suppose that’s a relief. Do you worry about your cholesterol, Detective Raven?”
“I’m genetically blessed, Mrs. Califano.”
“You’re also very young.”
Callie looked at his long solid athlete’s body and laughed. “Yeah, I bet you just gorge yourself on donuts.”
Margaret sipped her oolong tea, shuddering at the delicious dark flavor.
Savich said, “I’m sorry we have to ask you questions at a time like this, Mrs. Califano, but a murder investigation requires it. Do you feel up to talking to us now?”
“Yes, Agent Savich, of course.”
He said, “Did your husband behave differently in the days before he was killed? Did he seem concerned about something or someone?”
“No, he was the same as always, even yesterday. At least I didn’t notice anything different. Oh God, maybe there was something that I simply didn’t see because I was in a rush to get to one of my stores.”
“No, Mrs. Califano, don’t blame yourself. I need you here with me, now.”
Margaret drew a deep breath. “Yes, of course you’re right. I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right. Now, did your husband tell you why he was going to the Supreme Court Building last night?”
“No, he didn’t. And I didn’t ask. Everyone knew he went there whenever the spirit moved him. Even Anna knew, didn’t you?”
Anna nodded. “Oh yes. It was Stewart’s refuge.”
Margaret said, “He told me once that it was the only place he could hear himself think.” Her voice quavered. She quickly lowered her head and sipped more tea. Then she straightened her shoulders. “If he was studying something specific, I don’t know what it would have been. Perhaps in their weekly Friday meeting, a minority of Justices wanted to grant a cert. that Stewart didn’t believed warranted a hearing.”
“A cert.?” Savich’s eyebrow went up.
“I’m sorry. A cert., as it’s called, stands for
“Were you and Justice Califano having any personal problems, Mrs. Califano?”
Callie hissed quietly through her teeth, but Margaret merely patted her arm. “No, Agent Savich, no problems. Yes, we disagreed sometimes like every married couple does, but in the nine years we’ve been married, I’ve never thought about killing him. Surely you don’t think our personal life had anything to do with this. Terrorists, or some sort of extremists, must have killed Stewart.”
Sherlock said, “Did he express any concerns about terrorists?”
“No, he didn’t. Stewart was quite moderate, not at all controversial. To the best of my knowledge he didn’t overly offend either side. That’s why it would be so strange if some sort of fringe madman did kill him. Why, for heaven’s sake? Why not Chief Justice Abrams? Why not Justice Alto-Thorpe, who’s far to the left, or Justice Alden Spiros, who’s far to the right? Both held very strong opinions on all the hot-button issues, like abortion, the death penalty, affirmative action, that sort of thing. That makes more sense, doesn’t it?”
“Perhaps it does,” Savich said.
Ben Raven said, “Did he ever speak to you about someone he was having a conflict with? Someone he didn’t approve of? Someone who hated him?”
“Detective Raven, Stewart was a very private man. His best friend was Justice Sumner Wallace. Perhaps he would know if there was something troubling Stewart or if he was having a major problem with someone, particularly someone out of his past.” She fanned her hands in front of her. “Everyone pictures the Justices sitting around a big mahogany table, wearing their robes, sober and stately, spouting big words and discussing esoteric legal precedents. The truth is they spend very little time together. They usually work alone, reading, or meeting with their law clerks.
“Their weekly meetings are Wednesday and Friday, and it always sounded to me like it was all business. That doesn’t mean, naturally, that they don’t argue and yell and be furious with each other when they’re in conference. No one but the Justices are allowed in that conference room on Fridays, so they can be rancorous without fear of anyone gossiping or leaking information to the media.
“Politics plays a bigger role than Stewart liked. Every Justice has an agenda very strongly colored by his or her political beliefs, more so now than say thirty years ago, before Watergate.
“Stewart would laugh about some of the really nasty comments everyone knew would not be written down.
