choose. You know we have cases in the pipeline that will test that. Are you going to rule like a Bill Bonassi now?”
A ripple of anger spread through Millie. “Why is everybody trying to nail me down?”
“Because if you change your mind on that issue, the country will be torn apart.”
This truly was the heart of the issue. Millie had known Tom Riley for ten years, had joined him on most decisions, and knew he took the long view of the law. With abortion rights being the central moral question for society, Riley had long argued – and she had agreed – that its threads must be handled gently or there could be social upheaval. If Millie held a different view now, it was possible that the Court could radically alter its past decisions by way of a new 5-4 slant. That was what Riley was asking.
“I haven’t seen a specific case yet,” Millie said. “The time will come, I’m sure.”
“Come on, don’t duck this. Do you still believe that right is Constitutional?”
Did she? All of the arguments from her days in law school, on the Court, in briefs and at orals, came rushing back to her. For a moment it all seemed a jumble, a thicket she had no hope of fighting through.
“I’ll word my question another way,” Riley said. “Do you believe a fetus has the rights of a person?”
“Tom, until I get a case – ”
“Let me help you. You know that verse in the Bible, the one we always see in
Millie’s head was starting to feel the grip of some huge fist. “I find this offensive, Tom.”
“Are you telling me you are the same today as you were last term? Or any previous term?”
“I am a different person in some ways – ”
“At the core, Millie. You have had a religious
“I don’t know!”
“And if it does, what will that do to our reputation?”
Millie’s stomach twisted. Riley’s logic was solid, as always. His ability to foresee the consequences of laws made him one of the most insightful of the justices. His insight cut like a knife.
“One thing has not changed,” Millie said. “I care just as much about the Court as you, Tom. And I am not going to let politics influence what I do here. I will fight this bogus impeachment business. And I will continue to do what I think is right as a judge.”
“I am going to fight back,” Riley said. “I – ” He seemed then, for the flicker of a moment, to break down. But his face clamped back any emotion. “That’s enough,” he said.
Millie wanted to say something, but could find no other words. She stood and walked out. The loneliness Millie felt on the way back to her chambers was overwhelming, a cavernous feeling of loss. Even Rosalind, her clerk, seemed to have put up, if not a wall, a veil. And Paul had resigned. At least Rosalind had said she didn’t want to leave Millie in the lurch.
“Ready for argument?” Rosalind asked. “I have the briefs and bench memo ready.”
“Thank you, Rosalind.”
The young woman nipped at her bottom lip with her front teeth. “It didn’t help, did it?”
“What didn’t help?”
“Talking to Justice Riley. I saw you go in.”
“No, not much.”
The clerk nodded, concern on her face. Millie put a hand on her shoulder. “I know it hasn’t been easy on you,” Millie said. “And I am truly sorry. But I want you to know how grateful I am that you’ve stayed. It means a great deal to me.”
Rosalind nodded.
“Come on,” Millie said. “It’s time to get to the bench.”
4
Hardball.
Sam Levering played hardball, played to win, always had. He was never sorry, though sometimes he felt a little pang when an opponent went down in flames. He felt a little sorry for Millie Hollander. The photos that the smarmy reporter took, and the insinuations about her love life, were almost below the belt. Almost. But it had to be done. And he still had Anne Deveraux to take the fall if worse came to worst.
There was also something arousing about hardball. Whenever he hit one out of the park, as he’d just done with Hollander, he found his libido returning to youthful levels. At such times he wanted two things. A drink and a woman. The former would be sour mash whiskey. The latter could be just about anyone. Tonight it was a blonde named Sondra.
The Capitol building’s nearly one hundred “hideaway” offices were virtually unknown by the public, roped off from tourists with snapping cameras. Marked only by door numbers, many of the hideaway offices had gilded crystal chandeliers, floor-length mirrors, fireplaces, and frescoed walls. They were ostensibly for members of Congress to escape the demands of their regular offices. But Levering had discovered the real use was far more personal. LBJ, when he was Senate Majority Leader, had made legendary use of them for his “hideaway honeys.” What was good enough for a president, Levering reasoned, was good enough for him.
And room S-326-A, where Daniel Webster had once stored his wine, was his favorite.
Sondra – she must have been about twenty-five – giggled as Levering led her inside.
“Shh,” he said. “It’s past ten. The walls have ears.”
“So do you,” she said, playfully biting Levering’s right lobe.
“Okay, okay,” he said. “But keep it down.” The Capitol police were sometimes nosy.
Levering kept a bottle of bourbon in a cabinet near the window. The little minx did not drink anything except wine, but the bottle at dinner seemed to have done the trick.
As he poured himself a bourbon, Sondra snuck up behind him and kissed his neck. She giggled again. That could get old, he mused. Better to drink and get down to business.
His cell phone bleeped in his pocket.
“Oh, no,” Sondra said like a pouting coquette.
“I’ll turn it off, honey,” Levering said. “Just let me take it.”
He flipped the phone open.
“Levering.”
“This is Detective Markey.”
Something like steam heat – part anger, part alcohol, part unfulfilled desire – flushed Levering’s face. “How did you get this number?”
