Supreme Justice

Chapter Forty-eight

At seven thirty the next morning, Ginny booted up her computer and typed “Sarah Woodruff” into Google. She was worried that her search would be traced back to her, so she entered a password she’d seen one of the junior partners use. It didn’t take her long to find the case that was before the Supreme Court and newspaper articles about Woodruff’s two trials for killing the same man.

When she was finished, Ginny could see why digging into the case was very dangerous. Once the China Sea disappeared, Masterson must have thought he was home free. Then Max Dietz charged Woodruff with murder, and Mary Garrett started poking her nose into the China Sea affair. Masterson must have taken another deep breath when the first case was dismissed and no one had any reason to look into what happened in Shelby anymore. But the specter of the China Sea rose again when John Finley turned up dead for real and the only way Mary Garrett could defend her client was by proving that Finley was involved with CIA assassins and drug dealers.

Masterson must have thought he was safe when the trial judge blocked Garrett after the government asserted the state-secrets privilege, but Sarah Woodruff was sentenced to death, the Oregon Supreme Court ruled that the defendant’s right to exculpatory evidence in a death case doesn’t trump the state-secrets privilege, and the issue in the case became one of national importance. If cert wasn’t granted, the case would die. If cert was granted, the case would get national scrutiny. While Masterson was with the CIA, he had a million ways to keep the lid on it, but he was on his own now, and he had to get rid of Justice Moss because she stood in the way of the Court denying cert.

As soon as Ginny felt she knew enough about the facts of the case, she ran an internal search in the firm’s files for TA Enterprises. She was disappointed when the computer could not make a match, but she wasn’t surprised. Anyone clever enough to run a major drug-smuggling operation under the nose of the federal government was going to cover his tracks.

If Price had created the papers used to incorporate the company and they weren’t stored on a hard drive, there was another place they might be stored. During her first week on the job, Ginny had needed a file from a closed case that had been handled for a major client in 1970, before the firm had computers. When she couldn’t find the file online, she had asked the secretary for the partner who’d assigned her the project where she could find it. The secretary had taken a distinctive key from a drawer in her desk and sent Ginny to the subbasement where the paper files were stored.

Ginny’s secretary wasn’t in yet, but her desk wasn’t locked. Ginny found the key and took the elevator to the subbasement. When the doors opened onto the reception area of Rankin Lusk, they revealed a world of sparkling glass, shiny chrome, and polished wood. The subbasement was the dark side of the force. When Ginny got out of the elevator, she walked into an unpainted concrete corridor dimly lit by low-wattage bulbs. The air was clammy, and the odor of decay hung in the stagnant air. Both sides of the corridor were divided into storage bays. The file cabinets in the bays were vague shadows protected by chicken wire attached to a wood frame. The strands of a cobweb brushed across her face and she started before wiping it away. A flashlight would have come in handy, and she cursed her lack of forethought.

Each bay had a number. From her previous visit, Ginny knew that the first four digits referred to the year. She found a bin labeled with the year in which the smuggling operation had occurred. Gray metal filing cabinets filled the space. Each drawer in each cabinet had a label with letters in alphabetical order, so she opened the drawer labeled “Ta-Tm.” She had to move aside to let the ceiling light shine on the files. To her delight there was a file for TA Enterprises. Ginny opened it. The file contained papers of incorporation in the Cayman Islands for the company, and correspondence. The letter on top had Millard Price’s name on it. Ginny took out her cell phone and snapped pictures of each page in the file. She was almost through when she heard the elevator doors open. Ginny replaced the file and closed the drawer. Then she snapped her phone shut and hid it in her pocket. When she turned around, Greg McKenzie was standing in the doorway, his massive body blocking the light from the corridor.

“What are you doing?” McKenzie demanded.

Ginny had prepared a fallback position in case someone discovered her in the basement. Her heart was tripping, but she smiled and held up a thick file from an insurance case with a claimant whose last name began with a “T.”

“I’m checking to see if there were any prior insurance claims by this guy. We think he might be a flake. What are you doing here?”

McKenzie stared at her for a few seconds before answering.

“Mr. Masterson sent me. He wants to see you.”

“I’ll be right up.”

“He wants you now.”

Ginny debated telling McKenzie to back off, but she was all alone and he scared her. McKenzie stood aside to let her out of the bay. Then he followed her to the elevator. The associate made no effort to give Ginny space. One massive shoulder was only inches from hers and she could smell the cloying scent of his aftershave.

On the ride up, Ginny wondered how Masterson knew she would be in the subbasement. Did he suspect she was looking into TA Enterprises? She wondered if her computer inquiries had raised a red flag somewhere. But how would anyone know that she was making them? She’d used the partner’s password. But she’d used her own computer. Was the CIA or NSA tracking anyone who looked into TA Enterprises? Was there technology that could trace her search back to her computer?

When Ginny returned to the surface, the sight of people on the other side of the elevator doors made her feel safe, at least for the moment. McKenzie herded her toward Masterson’s office.

“Tell Mr. Masterson that I’ve got Ginny Striker,” McKenzie snapped at Masterson’s secretary. Ginny assumed that a secretary for a senior partner would normally be shown a lot of deference by someone who wanted to be made a partner, but McKenzie showed the woman none, and the secretary was clearly intimidated. She buzzed her boss. A moment later, she told McKenzie to go in and told Ginny to wait. Ten minutes later, McKenzie came out and glared at Ginny.

“He wants you,” he said. Then he turned his back on her and walked off.

Masterson smiled when Ginny walked into his office, but he didn’t offer her a seat. He was sitting at his desk, the sleeves of his white silk shirt rolled back to reveal corded forearms. The knot of his tie was pulled down and his shirt collar was open.

“How are you getting along at the firm?”

“Fine. It’s very interesting work, especially my assignment with Miss Stewart’s nomination hearing.”

“And you’re fitting in, feeling comfortable?”

“Definitely.”

Masterson leaned back in his chair. “I imagine a day at the firm is a lot less exciting than what you were used to in Oregon.”

“Quite honestly, Mr. Masterson, not having to dodge reporters is a big relief.”

“I can empathize with you from my days at the CIA. Everywhere I went, there were cameras flashing and microphones shoved in my face. Knowing what we know, I wonder how you and I would have voted if we were back in colonial times and considering what to do with the First Amendment.”

Ginny forced a laugh. Maybe it was a coincidence that she’d been sent for while she was looking for the TA Enterprises file.

Masterson picked up a thick folder and held it out to Ginny. “There are articles in here that Audrey has written on national-security issues and memos from her days in the CIA. I want you to make a digest of them with a synopsis of her position on torture and the limits of interrogation. She’s going to be grilled on that for sure, and we need to be able to cite her actual opinions word for word.”

“I’ll get right on it.”

“Good. I’d like it by the day after tomorrow.”

“No problem,” Ginny assured him, though she knew that creating the digest and finishing her other assignments by the deadline meant working late into the night.

“Is your fiancé enjoying his work at the Court?”

Ginny felt a chill pass through her. “Very much.”

“And he likes working for Justice Moss?”

“Yes.”

“That was something.” Masterson shook his head. “If a Supreme Court justice isn’t safe in the sanctuary of the Court, none of us are.”

Ginny nodded, afraid to speak.

“I understand you were in the subbasement.”

“Yes,” Ginny answered.

“That place has always unnerved me. It’s like a medieval dungeon, don’t you think? A woman was attacked down there a few years ago. A janitor tried to rape her.”

Ginny’s stomach rolled.

“Retrieving files from that graveyard is the job of a secretary or legal assistant. Who sent you down there? I’ll make certain it doesn’t happen again.”

“Actually, no one sent me. I was just looking for a file in an insurance case.”

“You won’t need to go to the subbasement to complete this assignment,” Masterson said. “It was nice talking to you.”

Ginny felt sick as she walked to her office. What had McKenzie told Masterson? Had the associate seen Ginny taking pictures of the TA Enterprises file? Had Masterson assigned her the task of digesting Stewart’s articles and memos because it would make her work into the night? There would be few other people in the office after six. She would be vulnerable. How could she protect herself? There was only one person she could think of to call. As soon as she was in her office, Ginny shut her door and phoned Dana Cutler.