Well, okay, she had done a lot and she had given them a day’s warning, he’d hand her that. And she had uncovered more evidence than they had, dammit. He decided to give the devil her due. “Well, maybe you did okay. It was federal racketeering for the bastards. The Attorney General brought them all down. There were big names among their clients, lots of money.”
“It was the children that got to me. They were stolen from all over the world. They weren’t physically hurt, actually, they were just prisoners with anything they wanted—so long as they did exactly what they were told.”
“They were all returned to their families.”
“Yes, but their lives will be messed up in the short term at the very least. Poor kids.”
“All right, so why didn’t you pull a Pulitzer?”
“Olsen Tynes at
“So you’re telling me you’re philosophical about that?”
“What do you want me to do? Go blow up
“The least you could have done was not date that moron
She grinned at him. “Thank you, Detective Raven. I feel all sorts of warm and breathy getting advice from such an alpha male.”
“Breathy?”
“Do you know, I’m beginning to think you’re becoming resigned to me hanging around you.”
“Not in this lifetime. Well, you’re not as bad as I thought you’d be. Look, now we’re heading into the hills of Virginia, horse country, that’s where Justice Xavier-Foxx lives. I can’t imagine how she can help us, but who knows?”
“Did you know Justice Holmes said the nine Justices were like nine scorpions trapped in a bottle?”
He grinned at her, shrugged. “Well, all the Justices are in the same small area for hours on end. Maybe she heard something, saw something. I will live in hope until the contrary is shoved in my face. Did Holmes really say that?”
She nodded. “Okay, let me fill you in. As you know, she’ll go down in the history books as the first black woman appointed to the Supreme Court. She was at the top of her class at Stanford, law review, all extremely accomplished for a black woman back in the sixties—pretty remarkable. She wanted to clerk for Justice Raines, a noted conservative on the Court. She was recommended by two top Federal Appeals Court judges, none of which mattered since only men were taken by both parties, and still are, for the most part. You’ll appreciate this—she has three women law clerks out of ten in the total count of thirty-six.
“She’s much like my stepfather, usually votes conservative—pro death penalty and against attempts to increase prisoners’ rights. Like him she can go the other way as well—she’s very much a proponent of women’s rights, rabidly against sexual discrimination, and pro abortion, except partial birth abortion, which she is very much against.
“Her husband trains horses, races them, has quite a stud program. She uses a hyphenated name—Elizabeth Xavier-Foxx. It’s interesting, isn’t it, how the two women Justices have kept their maiden names? I guess it gives them more heft, like they really were somebody before they got married.
“Even though she’s black and a woman, there were attempts to derail her confirmation, the excuse being that there was lots of money on her husband’s side, with perhaps the taint of corruption.”
“What was the accusation? That she’d be influenced unduly whenever there was a case about federal horse racketeering?”
Callie laughed. “Nah, it was just politics as usual.”
“What do you know about her confirmation?”
“Well, after some huffs and puffs because she wasn’t staunchly pro abortion all the way, and she was— gasp—pro death penalty, the Senate confirmed her. They knew it was an historic moment. No one was willing to try to shoot her down. She’s expecting us?”
“Oh yeah. Do you like her?”
“Yes, I do. She’s got lots of class; her husband stands behind her like this huge silent power, as if daring anyone to come after her. I personally don’t believe he’s guilty of anything other than not being a Democrat.”
“But if he had been, then the Republicans would have blown a fit.”
“True. Ain’t politics fun?” She grinned over at his profile.
“Yeah, right.”
“Savich,” she said, then frowned, paused.
He arched an eyebrow.
“He’s cute. Whenever I see him, I think of that actor James Denton.”
Ben rolled his eyes. “I’ll be sure to tell him that, it’ll make his day.”
“As for his butt—”
“Get yourself together, Ms. Markham. We’re here at Foxx Farm. Oh yeah, happy birthday.”
She gave him a perfectly blank look.
“You’re twenty-eight today.”
“Oh my, imagine that. Yeah, I guess you’re right. I forgot. Isn’t that something? Thank you.”
CHAPTER
13
SUMMERTON, VIRGINIA
F OXX F ARM WAS HUGE , judging by the miles of white fence that bordered it, a score of white paddocks, rolling hills and forests. There was a huge barn, two big stables, all dusted white with snow, looking still and impossibly beautiful on a Sunday morning. It looked magical to Ben, and utterly alien.
A lone media van idled outside a gated entrance.
When Ben pulled up to the intercom, a reporter jumped out of the van and ran over.
“Hey, you FBI? Can you get us in? They won’t even let us through the gate.”
“Sorry,” Ben said. “Why don’t you head back to Washington? I hear it’s really pretty about now, a nice Sunday morning. You can go to a park for a picnic.”
“That’s what we told him,” said a tall man in a thick black wool coat, a federal marshal’s hat on his head. He stood behind the gated driveway, his arms crossed over his chest. Good, they were here protecting Justice Xavier- Foxx. “We figure as long as the media is camped out all over the place, ain’t no assassin going to get to the Justice. All we’ve got to do is protect her from these baboons.”
“Probably true,” Ben said as he handed over his badge. “We’re here to interview the Justice.”
The federal marshal studied the badge, raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything. “Go on through. I’ll keep this charming gentleman out here.”
“Hey, you’re Callie Markham,
The gate buzzed open, and Ben gave a small wave to the guy. He ran back toward the van, trying to make it through the open gate after him, despite the fact that two federal marshals were standing in front of the gate, guns at their belts, legs spread. They could hear him shouting after them, probably something about the freedom of the press. The gate closed smoothly behind them. Still, the guy stood there, shaking his fist at the exhaust of the Crown Vic.
Ben parked in front of a sprawling white one-story house with a porch all along the front. He could imagine sitting on this porch in the summer, maybe drinking a beer, listening to his hair grow. Justice Xavier-Foxx answered the front door herself, greeted them politely, gave a cursory look at Ben’s I.D., then ushered them into a long narrow entrance hall, where they removed their coats and scarves. Then she led them into the living room. Ben sighed with pleasure as he paused in the arched doorway. It was a long, deep room with a very old floor-to-ceiling
