Supreme Justice

Chapter Twenty-one

The offices of Exposed, Washington’s most widely read supermarket tabloid, took up two floors of a renovated warehouse within sight of the Capitol dome in a section of D.C. that was equal parts gentrification and decay. Abandoned buildings and vacant lots peopled by junkies and the homeless could be found within blocks of trendy restaurants, chic boutiques, and rehabilitated row houses owned by urban professionals. Exposed was an unrepentant rag that had gained a measure of respectability when it broke the Farrington case, thanks to a deal between Dana Cutler and Patrick Gorman, the paper’s owner and editor. But its bread and butter still consisted of Elvis sightings, accounts of UFO abductions, celebrity gossip, and guaranteed miracle diets.

Dana found Gorman eating an extra large pepperoni and cheese pizza in his second-floor office. A good deal of the wall space was given over to framed copies of the paper’s most outrageous headlines. The fact that none of them made Gorman blush said a lot about his regard for journalistic integrity. Dana stared at a section of one wall displaying the Pulitzer Prize the paper had won for its coverage of the Farrington scandal.

“That’s a nice addition to your wall of shame,” Dana said.

Gorman hated to be interrupted when he was working or eating, but he broke into a grin when he saw who was standing in the doorway.

“How’s my favorite anonymous source?” he asked as he motioned Dana into a chair. Most gentlemen would have stood when a lady entered, but Gorman was grossly obese. Dana knew it took a real effort for him to heave himself to his feet, so she forgave him for his lack of chivalry.

“I’m well, thank you. And you? How are you handling being a legitimate journalist?”

Gorman waved his hand. “I got over that months ago. Though I do get the occasional flashback in which I’m standing on the podium with our Pulitzer and looking down at the sickly green complexions on the faces of those effete snobs at the Times and Post.”

“I have noticed that you haven’t stooped to including any more legitimate reporting in your rag,” Dana said.

“I didn’t know you were a reader.”

“It’s one of my guilty pleasures. I hide Exposed in between the pages of my dominatrix magazines.”

Gorman laughed hard enough to make his jowls shake. Then he pointed at the remnants of his dinner. “Pizza?”

“No, thanks.”

“If you didn’t come here to eat with me, to what do I owe this visit? You don’t happen to have another juicy exposé for me, do you?”

“No, I’m here to ask a favor.”

“For you, anything within reason.”

“I want press credentials for Exposed, and I want you to back me up if anyone calls to verify that I’m one of your reporters.”

“I’m intrigued. Why do you need the cover?”

“I’ll tell you but I need your promise that this will stay between us.”

“Sure, with the proviso that Exposed gets exclusive rights to any juicy stories.”

“If I can. I’d need permission from my client.”

“Who is?”

Dana wagged a finger at the editor. “You know better than that.”

Gorman shrugged. “You can’t blame a guy for trying. What can you tell me?”

“I’ve been hired to look into a fascinating Oregon murder case. Sarah Woodruff is on death row for murdering her lover, twice.”

Gorman’s eyebrows went up. “That sounds ready-made for Exposed.” He lifted his hand and formed them into a frame for an imaginary headline. “I MURDERED MY DEAD LOVER. I like this story already. Tell me how it’s possible to kill someone twice.”

“It’s not. Woodruff was arrested for killing a man named John Finley. The charges were dismissed in the middle of the trial. Several months later, Finley’s body was found; she was tried again and sentenced to death. My client wants me to go to Oregon and look into the case.”

“Why not tell whoever you talk to that you’re a private investigator? Why do they need to think that you’re a reporter?”

“What was the first thing you asked me when I told you what I was doing?”

“Ah, I see. They’ll want to know the identity of your client.”

“And they may not talk to me if I refuse to tell them. I won’t run into that problem if I’m an employee of the Pulitzer Prize-winning editor of Exposed.”

Dana waited while Gorman pondered her request for a minute, but only a minute.

“Deal. I’ll let everyone know you’re on the payroll, and you’ll give me the scoop, if your client consents.”

“You got it.”

Brad had hand-delivered the transcript and briefs in Woodruff earlier in the day. When Dana returned home from Exposed, she fixed a cup of coffee and a sandwich and looked at the mass of paper piled on her dining room table. The transcript was over one thousand pages long, and she decided that it would help to get an overview of the case before she tackled it. So she grabbed the petition for cert and read the Statement of Facts, which provided a summary of the two trials in which Sarah Woodruff had been accused of killing her lover.