Supreme Justice

Chapter Fifty-eight

Two days later, Justice Moss and Brad Miller sat quietly in the judge’s chambers while Keith Evans brought them up to speed on the investigation.

“Justice Price passed away last night,” he said.

“Oh my,” Felicia said. A tear drifted down her cheek. “He saved my life, you know. When Harriet pulled the gun, he begged her to spare me. Then he took the bullet that was meant for me.”

“Lezak would probably have killed him anyway,” Keith said. “When we swept your chambers, we found a listening device. She could hear everything you said in here, which means she heard you and Brad lay out the investigation. She couldn’t let Price talk, and you were a witness and you were going to vote to grant Woodruff’s cert petition.”

“Has Harriet-or whatever her real name is-has she said anything?” Brad asked.

“She’s still not able to speak.”

“How did she become a clerk?” Brad asked. With everything that had gone on, he’d never had a chance to find out how Keith knew “Lezak” was an impostor.

Keith told them everything Daphne Haggard had discovered in Inverness.

“Without Price, we can’t prove everything,” Keith said, “but here’s what I think happened. Masterson would have kept track of Woodruff’s case. When the Oregon Supreme Court denied her appeal, he must have told Price that they needed a mole on the Court to keep track of the way some of the more liberal judges were leaning and to try and influence them. I’m guessing that Masterson made a study of the students at the top of second-tier law schools until he found one who looked like one of his operatives. Daphne Haggard told me how excited Dean Ostgard was at the possibility of placing a La Follette grad in a Supreme Court clerkship. It wasn’t much of an effort to get him to keep Price’s experiment secret, and the real Harriet Lezak was thrilled by the opportunity to get the most prestigious law job in the country.

“A few months before the offer was made, the impostor befriended Lezak. She may have posed as a fellow runner and killed Harriet in the forest during a run. Then she chopped up the body to hide it and stall identification as long as possible in case someone stumbled across the body parts.”

Keith addressed Justice Moss. “Once Price hired Lezak, he maneuvered you into taking her on as your clerk. Her first chance to influence your decision in Woodruff came when you assigned her to write a memo about the legal issues raised by the case. Brad has reviewed the phony Lezak’s legal work. He said it was pretty high quality. She’s probably a lawyer or had legal training. She used her memo to convince you to vote against granting cert, but you had reservations about the case. That made you a potential target. I’m guessing that Masterson told her to take you out when Price told him that you were responsible for convincing the justices to defer the vote on Woodruff in the conference.”

“Do you have a case against Masterson?” Justice Moss asked.

“I’ll be honest with you, Judge. If we can’t get the phony Lezak to talk, we have nothing.”

“Agent Evans,” the judge said, “I will do everything in my power to see that the events on the China Sea receive as much publicity as they possibly can. Once the other justices learn what’s happened, I’m guessing that cert will be granted. There are going to be congressional inquiries, investigative reports. Dennis Masterson will not get away scot-free.”

“I wish I shared your enthusiasm,” Keith said. “Masterson is a powerful man, and the CIA has a vested interest in keeping its dirty secrets hidden from the public eye.”

“You’re right, of course. But the Agency has got to draw the line somewhere, and I hope it’s at the murder of a United States Supreme Court justice.”

“One can always hope,” Evans said, but he didn’t sound like he expected the Agency to act honorably. He looked at his watch. “I’ve got to run. I’m driving Haggard to the airport, and I’m cutting it close.”

As soon as Detective Haggard buckled her seat belt, Evans handed her a copy of the Washington Post. The headline read “Small-Town Ivy League Detective Solves Supreme Court Murder Case.”

“I thought you might like to show that to your husband and your boss,” he said.

Daphne blushed. “I’m afraid I’ve been given more credit than I deserve.”

“Not true. And I’m not the only one who thinks that was one great piece of detective work. In fact, I’ve been authorized to ask you if you have any interest in joining the Bureau. The people who make the big decisions have spoken to your boss in Chicago, and he had great things to say about you. Personally, I think you’d make one hell of an agent.”

Daphne’s breath caught in her chest. Joining the FBI was like making the majors if you played baseball. She’d thought about it a lot when she was in Chicago, but she hadn’t dreamed about it at all since she’d moved to Inverness.

“I appreciate the offer, but I’m going to have to talk it over with my husband. He has a good job teaching, and he’ll have to be part of any decision I make.”

“You’ll be back in D.C. to testify, so take your time. The offer is serious.”

Daphne thought about the offer to join the Bureau while she checked in and went through security. And the offer wasn’t the only thing distracting her. Daphne had become a celebrity during her time in D.C. As soon as the press learned about her academic background and her brilliant detective work, she had been the subject of stories like the one Keith Evans had shown her. She’d also fielded a number of book and movie offers, as well as invitations to appear on TV and radio shows.

Daphne had called Brett every night before she went to bed to tell him what had happened during her day. She treasured their talks because they introduced a note of normalcy into her insanely hectic D.C. routine. As soon as she was in the boarding area, Daphne called Brett.

“Where are you?” he asked.

“I’m waiting for my plane. It’s going to board in twenty minutes.”

“I missed you.”

“Ditto.”

“So, tell me, are the rumors true? Are they really thinking of having Charlize Theron play you in the movie?”

“Not you, too,” Daphne moaned.

“Hey, I need to know who I should fantasize about when we’re making love.”

“You are such an asshole.”

Brett laughed. Then he got quiet. “Are you going to be able to settle down and go back to writing traffic tickets?” he asked.

“Detectives don’t hand out traffic tickets,” Daphne answered, but she knew the question was serious. It was another version of “How you gonna keep ’em down on the farm after they’ve seen Paree?”

“I was invited to apply to join the FBI,” Daphne said after a pause. “It was a serious offer. The implication was that the application was just a matter of form.”

“What did you tell them?” Brett asked.

“That I had to think about it and that I wouldn’t do anything without talking to you.”

“So, how are you leaning?”

Daphne could hear the tension in Brett’s voice.

“The agent who tendered the offer started out as a small-town cop in Nebraska. I asked him about the adjustment, and he was pretty honest. He told me he got his offer the same way I was getting mine, after he found a serial killer who had stymied the Bureau. He told me that agents move around a lot and they’re not home much. The work is exciting but it’s high pressure, and it doesn’t leave much time for friends and relationships. His marriage was a casualty of the move.”

“When I couldn’t get a teaching job, you stood by me,” Brett said. “And when I got the offer from Inverness, you gave up a future on the Chicago force so I could be happy. If you really want to make this move, I’ll support your decision. I can always find a teaching job. What I don’t want is to have you wondering about what could have been and regretting that you didn’t make the best of your big opportunity.”

Daphne smiled. “You have always been my big opportunity, Brett. I did move to Inverness for you, and I’ll admit there were times when I wondered whether I’d made too big a sacrifice. Then I’d see how happy you are when you come back from class, and I’d know I’d made the right choice. I like Inverness. We’re known and respected there. Chicago or D.C. would be a rat race. My career might take off, but would our marriage survive the separation and constant moves that would be inevitable if I worked in the Bureau? I’m not willing to risk your happiness and what we have. So, yes, I’m ready, willing, and able to hand out traffic tickets and kiss my brilliant future in the Bureau good-bye.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“So, you never answered my question about Charlize Theron…”

Daphne laughed. “Call me Charlize when we’re in bed, and I’m going to Taser you.”

Brett laughed. “Hurry home, kiddo, and we’ll see what happens.”