Callie said, “Thank you, Fleurette. I’m with them because I’m trying to help. About that jerk, you’re lucky to be rid of him so quickly. Why’d you hook up with him in the first place?”
“Well, he is cute. And smart. But thank God it hadn’t gotten serious.”
Savich and Ben followed the two women into the living room, saying nothing at all. It was a gorgeous place, with highly buffed floors and an occasional Persian carpet. The living room was filled with high-quality Early American antiques, giving the living room a cozy feel. A fire blazed in the fireplace.
Fleurette obviously hadn’t been expecting company. She was wearing old gray sweats, with only socks on her feet, and no makeup. Her blond hair was in a ponytail. Her features were sharp, her green eyes full of intelligence.
“The guy just showed up to kiss you off?” Sherlock asked.
“Yeah, you’d think he’d at least call first, give me a chance to do my face, but here he is, standing on my doorstep, wanting to tell me he’s seeing another woman now. I wouldn’t be surprised if it isn’t Sonya McGivens, Justice Wallace’s clerk.” Sonya McGivens, Savich thought, unable to recall any specifics on her. But he would find out as soon as they got back to MAX and he opened his data port.
Sherlock said, “I’m sorry to tell you this, Miss LaFleurette—”
“Oh please, Agent Sherlock, you’ve heard me screaming at my former boyfriend, seen what a mess I am, please call me Fleurette, everyone does.”
“Okay, Fleurette. I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but Daniel O’Malley was murdered, very likely by the same man who murdered Justice Califano.”
Fleurette froze like a deer in the headlights. She stood there, staring at Sherlock, uncomprehending, her eyes blank, her face slack. Finally, she moistened her dry lips. “Danny
“Yes, within the past twenty-four hours. Now, you’re a smart person, Fleurette, you must see immediately that Justice Califano’s murder and Danny’s are somehow connected.”
“But how?”
“We have to consider that Danny may have known something, maybe even tried to blackmail the murderer. We very much need your help, and we need it right now to find out who killed him.”
“Why would you think Danny would do such a thing?”
Sherlock said, “His apartment was torn apart, Fleurette. Someone had been looking for something.”
“And you think this something was some damning document that Danny had on the murderer?”
Sherlock shrugged. “Very possibly.”
Fleurette looked over at Savich, who was standing leaning against the wall next to the fireplace, then at Detective Raven and Callie. She said, “I—I don’t understand this. What could Danny possibly know about Justice Califano’s killer?”
“Sit down, Fleurette. Let’s talk about Friday.”
Fleurette sat, took several deep breaths, and nodded. “I remember Danny going into Justice Califano’s office. I remember he shut the door when he went in. None of us ever did that. If the door was cracked open, it stayed cracked open, but Danny closed it. Yes, that’s what he did.”
“So he wanted to speak to Justice Califano privately? With no one interrupting.”
“Now that you put it that way, yes, okay.”
“Who came in first Friday morning? You or Danny?”
“Me. It varied who was in first, depended on what each of us had to do on any given day. For the next couple of months things won’t be so bad. It’s the dog days—that’s what they’re called—April and May—when everyone puts in ninety-hour weeks. It’s when the major decisions pile up and—”
Sherlock brought her back. “When did Danny get in on Friday?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Around a quarter of nine, I think.”
“What did he do?”
“He drank some coffee, ate one of those rolls from the downstairs cafeteria. He was reading something, jotting down notes. I didn’t ask because I had my own stuff to do. I remember being a bit surprised that Eliza wasn’t in with Justice Califano. They always met first thing every morning. The Justice always had his bagel. But Eliza was working at her desk that morning. When I came in, we had a bit of a chat, like usual, same with Danny.”
“Do you know what Eliza was working on?”
“No, again, I had my own work to worry about. I was drafting a dissent.”
“So you’re all working. Then Bobby Fisher comes in to shoot the breeze?”
“Yeah, he’s got a thing for Eliza, but she never gives him the time of day. He’s kind of creepy, the way he worships Justice Alto-Thorpe. None of us like him. Then he left.”
“And Eliza went into Justice Califano’s office?”
“Yeah, it was time for the Friday morning meeting in Chief Justice Abrams’s chambers. Good ole Bobby had a stick up his—well, he hadn’t said a word. He’s awful, no manners, you know what I mean?”
Sherlock moved on. “So Eliza comes back out, followed by Justice Califano, who runs off to the meeting?”
“Yes, but it wasn’t right away. She was in there maybe three, four minutes. I remember looking up at the clock, knowing how Chief Justice Abrams hated a meeting to start late.”
“What time did Danny go into Justice Califano’s office?”
Fleurette looked perfectly blank. “I don’t remember that. No, wait, yes, I remember I had to go to the bathroom, but Danny still wasn’t at his desk when I got back. Eliza waved toward the door when I asked where Danny was.
“I raised my eyebrows, but she just shrugged, then the phone began ringing. The secretaries always forward the calls to Eliza if the caller doesn’t ask specifically for either Danny or me. Then both of us were tied up for a good half hour.”
“So you don’t know how long Danny was in the office?”
“Ten, maybe fifteen minutes. Oh God, poor Danny. Why would he do what you’re suggesting? Why? It doesn’t make any sense. He wasn’t stupid. He wanted a recommendation from Justice Califano that would make the New York law firms sit up and beg for him. It didn’t matter that both of us were second fiddle to Eliza. She’s really brilliant, and even better, when Danny and I came last July, she knew the ropes since she’d already been there a year.”
Fleurette looked toward the open drapes that gave onto the street in front of the brownstone. “Now it doesn’t matter, does it?”
“No,” Sherlock said. “No, it doesn’t matter now. Did Danny give you any hint at all of what he’d spoken to Justice Califano about?”
Fleurette slowly shook her head. “No, but now that I picture his face in my mind, he looked—smug, yeah, that’s it, Danny looked kind of smug. I hadn’t seen that expression on his face before, so it struck me. I remember wondering, now what’s going on here?”
“But he looked smug—like he’d found out something and rubbed Justice Califano’s nose in it?”
“I didn’t think that then, but it could have been something like that, I suppose. Oh goodness, it was only two days ago—and now Danny’s dead.”
“Do you remember seeing any papers on Justice Califano’s desk, see him put any papers in his breast pocket, hear him on the phone?”
Fleurette slowly shook her head. “Wait—when he came out to run off to Chief Justice Abrams’s meeting, he was sticking something in his breast pocket, and then patted the pocket. But he was always doing that.”
“Any ideas about what the papers were?”
“No, not a clue.”
“Did you ever hear of Justice Califano being involved with anyone at the Court?”
Fleurette rocked back with surprise. “Oh my, no, Agent Sherlock. He’s old, and all sorts of proper and married, for God’s sake.” She paused a moment. “On the other hand, Justice Wallace has a reputation, if you know what I mean. He’s a grandfather as well as a Justice of the Supreme Court. Isn’t that disgusting?”
Sherlock patted her hand.
That was interesting, Savich thought. He looked over at Ben who’d taken Callie’s hand to keep her still. Eliza
