Supreme Justice

Chapter Fifty-two

When Brad arrived at his office the next morning, Harriet Lezak was already toiling away at her computer. She stopped working when Brad walked in.

“Can we talk?” Harriet asked. She sounded worried.

“Sure, about what?”

Harriet shut the door. “I’ve been going back and forth with myself all week, and I’ve decided that I have to tell somebody.”

Brad had no idea what Harriet was talking about.

“You know I went out for a run the evening Justice Moss was attacked?”

Brad nodded.

“I came back just before the assault. I was probably taking a shower when it happened. But I didn’t know a thing about it because it was in the garage. As soon as I was dressed, I went to see Kyle Peterson, one of Justice Price’s clerks. Do you know him?”

“We’ve met. He’s on loan from Rankin Lusk, where Ginny works.”

“Price circulated an opinion, and Justice Moss wanted my take on it. I came across a problem with one of the footnotes. Kyle worked on the draft, so I went to see if he was still in. The door to his office was closed, but I was absorbed with the legal issue and I was distracted, so I opened it without knocking. Kyle was seated at his desk and he was bent over, stuffing something into his attaché case. He was shocked to see me. Not surprised-shocked. He stared at me for a second. Then he pushed the attaché under his desk.”

“What did Kyle put in the attaché?”

“I can’t be one hundred percent certain. That’s why I didn’t talk to anyone immediately. But it’s been eating at me. I mean, what if I kept my mouth shut and something else happened?”

“What was it, Harriet?”

Lezak looked at Brad. She was usually opinionated and very sure of herself, and he was not used to her being uncertain.

“I think it was a black ski mask.”

“A ski mask?” Brad repeated dully.

“You can see why I waited. It made no impression on me at the time, because I didn’t know about the attack. A few days after the attack, I heard that the person who tried to kill Justice Moss wore a black ski mask.”

Brad remembered that Millard Price had brought Peterson to the Court after one of his clerks had an accident. Was the “accident” planned so Price could insert an assassin into his staff?

“How certain are you about this?” Brad asked.

“I just saw it for a second.”

“Why are you talking to me? Why haven’t you gone to the police or the FBI?”

“You have experience with stuff like this, and you saw the attacker. Before I tell anyone, I want to know if you think he could have been Kyle. If I accuse him and I’m wrong, his career could be ruined.”

Brad closed his eyes and tried to remember the fight in the garage. Did Kyle resemble the killer?

“Kyle has an athletic build and so did the assailant,” Brad said, “but I only saw the man for a few moments. At the beginning, I was above him on the ramp. Then I was on the floor looking up. Then he had me from behind. Then I was on the floor again. None of those positions make it easy to gauge the assailant’s height. And everything happened so quickly.”

“Damn. I was hoping you’d be sure.”

“I can’t be.”

“What should I do?”

“I think you should tell what you told me to my friends from the FBI.”

Justice Moss was in Texas giving a speech, so Brad met Maggie and Keith in her chambers. Keith could tell Brad was nervous.

“What’s up?” Keith asked as soon as Brad shut the door.

“I share an office with Harriet Lezak, another law clerk. She just told me something she saw shortly after Justice Moss was attacked. It might give you the break you need to solve the case.”

“If that’s true, why do you look so uncomfortable?” Keith asked.

Brad hesitated. “There are some things that have happened that I can’t tell you about right now.”

Keith looked confused. “Do you know something that makes you question what this witness is going to tell us?”

“No, it’s nothing like that. I just can’t talk about it for reasons I can’t explain, but I’m hoping that will change soon. In the meantime, listen to what Harriet has to say. She may be able to tell you who attacked Justice Moss. If her information pans out, I may be able to tell you why she was attacked.”

As soon as they finished questioning Harriet, Keith Evans and Maggie Sparks walked over to the office Kyle Peterson shared with Wilhelmina Horst. When Maggie knocked on the doorjamb, Horst looked up from the case she was reading.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

“Is this Kyle Peterson’s office?” Maggie asked.

“Yes.”

“Is he around?”

“No, he hasn’t come in yet.”

Keith looked at his watch. “Does he usually come in after ten, Ms…?”

Horst looked back and forth between the agents. “Who are you?” she asked suspiciously.

Maggie flashed her identification. “Maggie Sparks and Keith Evans. We’re special agents with the FBI,” she said with what she hoped was a disarming smile. “And you are?”

“Willie Horst. I clerk for Justice Price too.”

“So, Ms. Horst, is Mr. Peterson usually here by ten?”

“Yeah. He’s usually in before I get here.”

Sparks frowned. “Do you have his cell or home phone and his address?”

“What’s this about?” Willie asked.

“We needed to ask him some routine questions about the attack on Justice Moss,” Keith answered.

“Well, I can’t just give out that information, even if you are with the FBI. You need to talk to the Clerk’s office or someone on our police force.”

“You’re right,” Maggie said. “By the way, were you in the building when Justice Moss was attacked?”

“I already talked about this to one of our police officers. They’ll have a report.”

“I’m sure they do. But while we’re here…”

“I was working out in the gym.”

“Do you know where Mr. Peterson was?”

“No.”

“Did anyone see you while you were working out?”

“Do you mean, do I have an alibi witness? No. And I’ve already told all this to the police.”

“We appreciate that, Ms. Horst,” Maggie said. “We’ll follow your suggestion and get Mr. Peterson’s address from the Clerk. And we’d appreciate it if you didn’t call him to say we’re on our way.”

An hour after securing a search warrant, Keith Evans and Maggie Sparks parked outside Kyle Peterson’s apartment building and waited for backup. The attorney lived in a new condominium complex a few miles over the state line in Bethesda, Maryland. A Starbucks, a sushi restaurant, and other establishments catering to young professionals stood on either side of the entrance. When the backup arrived, Sparks went inside and flashed her ID at the security guard. After getting a master key, Evans, Sparks, and four more armed agents rode the elevator to the eighth floor.

“Mr. Peterson,” Evans called out after pressing the doorbell twice. When there was still no response, Evans nodded at Sparks, who inserted the key and eased open the door.

Guns drawn, the agents stepped cautiously into a spacious living room with sliding glass doors that opened onto a narrow balcony and found themselves surrounded by chaos. Bookshelves had been overturned, their contents strewn across the floor. A glass coffee table had been turned on its side, and a lamp, its bulb still glowing, lay on a faux Persian rug. In the kitchen, cabinet doors had been flung open, and cookware and shards of glass covered the floor.

“This does not look good,” Evans muttered.

“You think?” Sparks whispered back.

The agents spread out and edged toward a narrow hall. At the end was a closed door. Evans took a deep breath and pushed it inward. The bedroom was a wreck. Closets and drawers were open and clothes littered the room.

“Fuck,” Evans said as he holstered his gun. The curse had been elicited by the nude body sprawled across the black silk sheets on Kyle Peterson’s bed. Duct tape sealed his mouth, and Peterson’s hands had been cuffed behind him, causing his back to arch. The law clerk’s body was disfigured by burn marks and razor cuts.

“Keith!”

Evans turned and saw an agent pointing at something in Peterson’s closet. He and Sparks walked over and looked down at a stack of racist propaganda: newsletters from white-supremacist groups mixed with neo-Nazi literature and anti-Semitic tracts.

“Pardon the pun,” Evans said, “but it looks like our boy was a closet racist.”

“What’s that?” Maggie asked as she pointed toward a black mound stuffed into a corner of the closet.

Keith prodded it with his toe, and a black turtleneck flopped over, exposing a black ski mask and black slacks.

“It looks like Lezak did see Peterson stuff a ski mask into his attaché,” Maggie said. “Do you think his buddies decided they couldn’t trust him when he muffed the hit on Moss?”

“That’s one theory,” Evans answered.

“What’s another?” Sparks asked.

“I don’t really have one, but Brad seems to. It’s useless to press him. I know he’ll tell us what he knows when he’s ready. Right now, let’s ask Justice Price about his law clerk.”

“Ridiculous!” Millard Price said. “Kyle wasn’t a racist.”

“There’s a lot of evidence to the contrary in his apartment.”

“Then someone planted it. Do some police work. Check into his history. I’ve known him for years, and I’ve never seen him do anything or heard him utter a word that would make me believe he is-was-a bigot.”

Price shook his head. He appeared to be genuinely shaken by the news that his clerk had been murdered.

“We will follow up, Justice Price, but we have a witness who saw Mr. Peterson stuffing a ski mask into his attaché case right after Justice Moss was attacked, and we found the ski mask and clothing that matches the clothes the assailant wore in Mr. Peterson’s apartment.”

“I just can’t believe it.”

“It would explain how the killer disappeared,” Maggie Sparks said. “All Peterson had to do was strip off his clothes in an area that wasn’t covered by a surveillance camera, return to his office, and leave the Court as he would normally.”

“Have you reviewed the tapes to see if that’s what happened?” Price asked.

“We have someone on it right now.”

“I’m betting you won’t find any incriminating evidence on the tapes. This is a setup.”

“So you never saw anything that would lead you to believe that Kyle Peterson would do something like this?” Maggie asked.

“That’s what I’ve been telling you.”

“I understand your reaction,” Keith said. “When you work with someone every day, and you think you know him, and something like this happens, it can be very disconcerting. We get the same reaction from the neighbors of serial killers.”

“It’s inconceivable to me that Kyle was a racist, let alone a killer,” Price insisted.

“I hope there’s another explanation,” Keith said. “We certainly won’t stop investigating. Thank you for taking the time to talk to us.”

“Of course.”

“If you do think of something, please call,” Maggie said as she handed the judge her card.

As soon as the door closed behind the agents, Price closed his eyes and leaned his head against the back of his chair. Dennis was behind this. He was sure of it. That poor young man. Kyle was a decent, hardworking sort. He didn’t deserve this.

Price leaned forward and put his head in his hands. Was Kyle murdered by the person who tried to kill Felicia Moss? Price was overwhelmed with guilt because he was responsible for getting Masterson’s assassin a job at the Court. Dennis had told him he needed someone to keep an eye on the case. He’d never said anything about the law clerk being a trained killer. If he’d only refused, Price thought. There probably weren’t enough votes to grant cert in Woodruff. And what if the case did get a hearing? Was it worth killing people to keep the China Sea operation hidden?

Price ran a hand down the side of his face. He didn’t know what to do. Maybe the killing was over. Maybe this insanity would stop if the FBI decided that Kyle was the person who tried to kill Felicia. If Audrey Stewart became a member of the Court, the Woodruff case would die, and everything would be OK. That was a hope he had to hang onto.