one man, and whether we will execute him—'
'Thank you,' Fini said dismissively.
* * *
No sooner had Laurence Pell launched his rebuttal than Caroline Masters broke her silence. 'Why shouldn't we agree with the Ninth Circuit that this man is retarded? Are you relying on his impressive score of seventy- two?'
'In part—'
'The man couldn't cope,' Caroline Masters cut in. 'From day one. Are you arguing that that was a lifestyle choice?'
Pell hesitated. 'According to our expert, it was antisocial behavior—'
'Like getting himself tied to a space heater?'
Pell tried to adopt an attitude of patience. 'In capital cases, virtually every habeas corpus petitioner portrays his childhood as a Dickensian nightmare. But that doesn't go to retardation. Both the California Supreme Court and Judge Bond found the evidence of retardation less than persuasive—'
'Oh, I know,' the Chief Justice said with a wave of her hand. 'Judges Sanders and Montgomery just got carried away by Mr. Paget's blandishments, and found Mr. Price retarded under Atkins and innocent under AEDPA. But did they rule on anything else?'
Pell paused, demonstrably unhappy. 'Freestanding innocence—'
'As a fallback. Anything beyond that?'
'No.'
'So would you agree that this Court need not issue some gratuitous advisory opinion on whatever else Mr. Price's lawyers might have argued?'
Peremptorily, Justice Fini looked from Caroline Masters to Laurence Pell. The lawyer paused again, plainly reluctant to be diverted from his argument by the chamber of horrors conjured by Fini, yet chary of offending his fiercest partisan on the Court. 'Such a ruling,' he ventured, 'could clarify the law surrounding executions.'
Caroline Masters gave him a dubious smile. 'Perhaps we'd be better off proceeding one execution at a time. All this case requires, I submit, is for this Court to determine whether Rennell Price lives or dies—a weighty enough matter for most of us. But it does make one wonder why we granted your petition.'
Nettled, Fini grimaced. Beside him, the Chief Justice finished airily, 'But thank you for the enlightenment, Mr. Pell. Case submitted.'
All at once, it was over. 'So who won?' Chris quietly asked Terri.
Still watching the justices, she touched his hand.
TEN
THE PRICE CASE WAS ARGUED ON A TUESDAY, THE VOTE AMONG the justices scheduled for Friday. But in ways small and large, the uncertainty of its outcome reverberated within the Court.
On Tuesday afternoon, Adam Wendt—finding Elizabeth Burke unresponsive—called another of Justice Glynn's clerks, Conor Farrell, and suggested they shoot some hoops on the 'Highest Court in the Land,' the top-floor gym reserved for those who worked in the building. Amidst the blare of rap music from a boom box which accompanied a spirited half-court game among the marshals, Adam and Conor played a leisurely game of Horse at the opposite end of the court.
Ever the competitor, Conor grinned at Adam. 'Why don't we ratchet up the pressure?' he proposed. 'Winner takes the loser to a Wizards game. Or are you wilting under the spotlight?'
'The disciples of Justice Fini,' Adam said gravely, 'never wilt—'
'Or experience doubt.'
The sardonic remark brought a tighter smile to Adam's lips. 'Why not this—two Wizards tickets against your justice's vote in the Price case. Think you can swing that, Conor?'
Conor regarded him with a more serious expression. 'Doubt is sometimes better than confidence. And I'd never stake anyone's life on my jump shot.'
'What about our legal system?' Adam retorted. 'How many of these cases can this Court take? How many should it take?'
Absentmindedly, Conor began dribbling the basketball. 'Two good questions,' he answered. 'I think that's what Justice Glynn's asking himself. What he's not looking for, I'm guessing, is a chance to make grand statements. I don't believe that's how your justice will get my justice to sign on.'
Which, after graciously losing to Conor, Adam reported to Justice Fini.
* * *
'The Supreme Court,' Rennell asked Terri. 'What that be like?'
Terri considered this, wondering how to describe the Court to a retarded man in a plastic cubicle. 'Grand,' she said, 'like a church, or a cathedral.' Then she realized that Eula Price's modest church in the Bayview was so little like her own that the reference had no meaning. 'It has high ceilings,' she continued, 'with marble statues and pillars everywhere, and drawings of great lawgivers. And there's a long bench for the justices, because there's nine of them.'
Rennell strained to imagine this. Softly, he asked, 'Those men all be wearin' them black robes?'
The question, Terri perceived, carried echoes of his trial—fifteen years ago, the last man in a black robe, Angelo Rotelli, had sentenced Payton and Rennell to death. And now only Rennell survived, his life hanging on the
