Vickers and Justice Califano were indeed good actors if the law clerks hadn’t known. But Justice Xavier-Foxx had noticed.
Sherlock rose, and everyone rose with her. She gave Fleurette her card and told her exactly what Savich had told Eliza Vickers. “Anything, doesn’t matter if you think it’s silly, you call me. We’ll catch this guy, Fleurette, you can take that to the bank.”
They drove six blocks over to Indiana, only a block from the Daly Building, to the Beau Monde Coffee Shop. Savich took his chances and ordered tea, the other three, coffee.
“So, Callie, tell me what you think of Fleurette,” Sherlock said.
“She’s really scared.”
Ben slowly nodded. “You’re right. I realize that now, but I didn’t pick up on it when we were with her.”
Savich said, “Do you think she was holding back?”
“She sure didn’t seem like she was,” Callie said. “I have to tell you, though, I’m surprised that she hadn’t picked up on the affair Eliza was having with my stepfather. Such close quarters, in each other’s faces every day. And yet Justice Xavier-Foxx, who’s not around them that much, picked up on what Eliza felt for him.”
“Yes, I was surprised, too,” Ben said.
Callie sat back in the booth, fiddled with her fork. “I still can’t come to grips with it. He wanted to marry my mom so much. I don’t understand how that can be. My poor mother. Do you think she knew? Maybe guessed?”
“I hope not,” Savich said. “Fleurette was scared,” Savich continued as he selected a bag of Earl Grey tea from a box the waitress held out to him. “I wonder if she has something specific to be scared about.”
“Justice Califano and Daniel O’Malley are dead,” Ben said. “If I were Vickers or LaFleurette, I’d be scared on general principles.”
“But Danny was acting strange, if they’re telling the truth,” Sherlock said. “You don’t think either of those two women would be stupid enough to be in on it, do you, Dillon?”
“I wouldn’t think so, no. The agents assigned to guard them, they’ll keep an eye on them. They should be on the job pretty soon.” Savich picked up his teacup, sipped cautiously, and sighed with pleasure. “Who knew I’d find good tea not a block from the Daly Building?”
Sherlock laughed, patted his arm. “Since Ben hangs out here, you can make it something of a hangout yourself. Callie, did you pick up anything else?”
Callie shook her head. “No, I don’t believe so. Did Eliza Vickers think my stepfather would divorce my mom and marry her?”
“No. She seems philosophical about the future. I don’t doubt her, Callie. She’s a good woman, works hard, probably learns at a prodigious rate, but most of all, she enjoys being on the inside, close to power, which is one of the trimmings your stepfather provided her. But she knew that he loved your mother and you. She said so. You’ve got to let it go. It doesn’t matter now.”
But Callie couldn’t let it go. “How could my mother not know? Not guess? I know if I were married to a man for as long as they were married, I’d know if he wasn’t faithful.”
“She’s never given you any inkling that she had any suspicions at all?”
“No, she hasn’t.” Callie looked at Ben, whose expression surprised her. It was austere as a monk’s, his eyes very cold. “What?”
Ben Raven said, “I don’t approve of infidelity.”
Savich raised his teacup and gave Sherlock’s cup a tap. “Well, neither do we.”
“But if Callie’s right, why was Fleurette scared? Did you pick up on Eliza Vickers being scared as well?”
Both Savich and Sherlock shook their heads.
Savich said, “I need to get back and spend some time with MAX. We’ve got a whole crew inputting all the background information and interviews on all the players—the law clerks, the Justices, and your mother’s and stepfather’s friends and acquaintances, Callie. It’s time for me to sort through some of that.”
“Does that include financials? Bank stuff?”
Savich merely shrugged. “MAX went platinum a good while ago. He can find out almost anything at all. If he’s in the mood, he can data-mine in Siberia.”
“Okay, okay, I get it. You cut corners.”
Ben said, “You aren’t going to call that into your editor at the
Callie struck a pose that Sherlock thought was very effective. It nearly put Ben Raven right under the Formica table. “I hadn’t really thought about it, but now that you bring it up—ah, so many possibilities.”
“To think I told this woman what an excellent butt she has,” Ben remarked to the cafe at large.
Sherlock laughed and tapped Ben on the shoulder. Before she could say anything, Ben added, “She also thinks your husband is cute. What do you think of that, Sherlock?”
“A woman of excellent eyesight and taste,” Sherlock said. “Hmm. Dillon, what do you think?”
“I’d be stupid to disagree with you,” Savich said.
“You know what I think, Ms. Markham?”
“I’m sure you’re going to tell me within the next three seconds, Detective Raven.”
“I think I’ll take you to the Tidal Basin and throw your black-belt ass in the snow. No one would hear your yells over the waterfalls at the Roosevelt Memorial.”
“You could try, Detective Raven, you could try.” She gave him a salute with her empty coffee mug.
“You guys put on a pretty good show,” Savich said, peeling bills out of his wallet. “If you’re through sniping, we’re outta here. I want to stop off to talk to Dr. Conrad and to forensics again. Then it’s back to headquarters and MAX.”
“You’ll want to see what MAX has turned up on Samantha Barrister’s husband and son,” Sherlock said.
“Who is Samantha Barrister?” Callie asked, her reporter’s ears on alert.
“Oh,” Sherlock said, and smiled at her. “She’s a ghost who desperately needs Dillon to find out who killed her thirty years ago.”
“Yeah, okay. Right. I got that.” Callie stared from Savich back to Sherlock. But they were putting on their coats and gloves, and didn’t say anything else. Callie touched Sherlock’s sleeve. “Do you know what? I think I believe you.”
CHAPTER
18
L ATER THAT AFTERNOON , the four of them drove in Ben’s Crown Vic to Bobby Fisher’s apartment on Hinton Avenue. “I wanted us to stay together today,” Savich said. “Sorry about the Porsche, Ben, but it only holds me and Sherlock.”
“I’m trying to be philosophical about this,” Ben said. “A red Porsche classic 911. I’ll bet your son’s going to go nuts when he’s old enough to drive it.”
Savich grinned. “Possibly so, but thankfully, I can’t imagine Sean doing anything right now but pulling spaghetti apart and wrapping it around his ears.”
They found Bobby with three other Supreme Court law clerks in his apartment, part of a big complex near George Washington University, all eating pizza and drinking Heineken. The place wasn’t a mess, but it wasn’t all that large and there were four young bodies sprawled everywhere. There were nice pieces of furniture, and that surprised Savich.
The law clerks jumped to their feet when Bobby brought the four of them into the living room. They were all mid-twenties, dressed casually, and from their expressions it looked like they’d been talking nonstop about Justice Califano’s murder. No surprise there. Bobby Fisher stood in the archway a moment, as if uncertain what he was supposed to do.
Savich said, “I’m Agent Savich and this is Agent Sherlock. We’re FBI—this is Detective Ben Raven, Metro, and Callie Markham. Since all of you are here, it’ll save us time.”
“But, sir, we’ve already talked—”
“I don’t know anything, Agent, I work for Justice Gutierrez who loved Justice Califano, loved him—”
“I’ve been in the bathroom all day with diarrhea.”
