Supreme Justice

Chapter Thirteen

Justice Moss was working on an opinion in a securities-fraud case in which Brad was not involved. Arnie Copeland, the clerk who had researched the case, had been in and out of the judge’s chambers all day. Brad had finished a memo in a labor-law dispute out of the Deep South a little after five, and the judge had told him she wanted to see it as soon as he was done, but Brad knew better than to interrupt her. Justice Moss had tunnel vision when she was working and didn’t appreciate distractions.

Harriet went for a run at six, leaving Brad alone. He kept watching the door to the judge’s chambers, hoping to catch her before she left. At six thirty, Brad went to the restroom. When he came back to his office, he noticed the door to Moss’s chambers was open. He peeked in and saw that she was gone.

“Where’s Justice Moss?” Brad asked Carrie Harris, who was shutting down her computer.

“She just left.”

“For home?”

Harris nodded. “If you hurry, you can catch her. She’s headed for the garage.”

Justice Moss had told Brad that she wanted the memo the minute he was finished, and he hated to disappoint her. He grabbed it and raced down the corridor to the elevator that went to the underground garage where the justices parked, his footsteps echoing off the walls of the nearly deserted building.

The elevator doors opened, and Brad found himself at the bottom of the ramp that led down to the garage from the street. A policeman sat in a booth at the top of the ramp to make sure that only authorized personnel got into the Court. Barriers blocked the entrance to the ramp until the policeman pressed a button and they retracted into the concrete to clear the way.

To Brad’s right was another guard shack manned by another policeman. In front of him was the top of the ramp leading down to the first parking area. Justice Moss was limping down the ramp to her car. Brad was about to call out to her when a figure in black appeared from behind the concrete pillar at the bottom of the ramp. The intruder was wearing a ski mask and gloves and holding a gun with a silencer. Fear coursed through Brad as he flashed back to the only other time he’d encountered a man with a gun. His brain told him to flee but his legs moved on their own and he found himself racing down the ramp.

“He’s got a gun!” Brad screamed.

The assassin turned toward Brad. Justice Moss didn’t hesitate. She braced herself on the car beside her and whipped her cane across the killer’s wrist. The gun clattered to the concrete and skidded across it toward Moss. Brad launched himself and the assailant sidestepped gracefully before delivering a crushing blow to Brad’s ribs. Brad crashed to the concrete floor chin first. He was dazed but he rolled onto his side so he could keep the assassin and Justice Moss in sight.

Moss was bent over, reaching for the gun. The killer started for her. Brad buried his pain and grabbed an ankle. The killer stumbled and Moss grabbed the gun. Brad struggled to his feet and the assassin ducked behind him, encircling his neck with a forearm.

Moss was unsteady on her feet without her cane. She grasped the gun with two hands and tried to aim. The killer dragged Brad up the ramp, using him as a shield, and the judge fired into the air to attract the attention of the policeman in the guard shack.

“Help!” Brad screamed as he clawed at the arm that encircled his throat. The stranglehold tightened, cutting off Brad’s air. The policeman stepped out of his booth. The assassin dropped Brad and rushed at him. The policeman reached for his gun but a crushing kick buckled his leg. A knife strike to his throat, delivered with the killer’s rigid fingers, dropped the officer to the concrete. Moss fired. The shot was wild and ricocheted off the guard shack. Brad covered his head and ducked. Moss fired again, just as the killer disappeared into the building. This shot hit the wall and was nowhere near its target.

“Stop!” Brad shouted. “You’ll hit one of us.”

Moss lowered the gun and fell against Justice David’s tan Mercedes. Brad staggered toward his boss.

“Are you OK?” he asked.

“Better than you,” Moss said. “That might need stitches.”

Brad saw where she was looking and put his hand to his chin. It came away covered in blood.

Moss took a deep breath and shook her head. “I’ve never fired a gun before.”

Given her lack of accuracy, Brad hoped that she never did again.

“Please get me my cane, Brad. Then see to the guard. I think his leg might be broken. And get the police down here.”

Brad handed the cane to the judge and started up the ramp toward the policeman, who was holding his shin and writhing in pain. He was halfway to the officer when he noticed the pages of his memo scattered across the concrete. He picked them up on his way to help the policeman.

A security guard accompanied Brad and Justice Moss to her chambers. An EMT cleaned the cut on Brad’s chin, decided that it didn’t have to be stitched up, and applied a large Band-Aid. Then a member of the Supreme Court police force took their statements.

Brad was badly shaken. He and Dana Cutler, a private investigator from Washington, D.C., had been in a shoot-out in Oregon while investigating President Farrington’s involvement in the murders of several young women, and it had been Brad’s fervent wish to never be involved in another. His voice shook as he recounted what he remembered of the action in the garage, and his hand was trembling when he signed his statement. Before the police officer left, he assured them that a search of the building was under way, a guard was stationed outside Justice Moss’s chambers, extra security was being provided for the judge, and the FBI had been notified.

Aside from asking for a glass of water, Justice Moss seemed unaffected by the mayhem in the garage. Unlike Brad, her voice had been steady when she recounted what she’d seen.

“How can you be so calm?” Brad asked as soon as they were alone.

“When I was a teenager, I ran with a pretty tough crowd. We didn’t have the firepower that you can get so easily today, but I was in my share of knife fights, and there were chains and zip guns.” She shook her head. “Of course, that was a long time ago. I haven’t been in a fight since high school, and this took the wind right out of me.”

“You sure reacted quickly. If you hadn’t knocked the gun out of the killer’s hand, we’d both be dead.”

“Amen to that. I guess my old instincts aren’t too far beneath the surface.”

“Lucky for us.”

“Lucky isn’t the half of it. I was seconds away from being an obituary. But it’s not the attack that’s bothering me; it’s the reason I was attacked that has me worried.”