Blowout (12 page)

Things sounded under control. Ben wiped his boots off on the front step, and followed Callie into the warm living room. A restful house, he thought, full of light and high ceilings. He’d lived in condos all his adult life after graduating from the police academy, and he liked the space, the openness of the house.

“Mrs. Califano,” he said, stepping into the living room.

There were four women seated with her, all of them about the same age, all wearing subdued colors, all of their attention on the new widow who’d just hung up the phone. When he spoke, they looked up at him.

Ben said, “I hope you’re all right.”

She nodded. “It’s difficult, Detective, but yes.”

He nodded toward the phone on the end table beside her.

“Another condolence call?”

“Yes, so many people, so kind. You remember Anna Clifford?”

Ben nodded to the woman he’d seen briefly yesterday. The other women, waiting to be introduced, inclined graceful heads as Callie called out their names. “Janette Weaverton, Bitsy St. Pierre, and Juliette Trevor.” Elegant names all, rich names, trust-fund money kind of names. He’d met all sorts in his nine years on the force, but working primarily in the bowels of D.C., it wasn’t often he met society types.

They were gracious and attentive, and clearly concerned about Mrs. Califano. The team already had their addresses and phone numbers. He wasn’t certain yet if he would be the one interviewing them and their families. He asked to speak to Mrs. Califano alone. Callie gave him a look, but ushered the four women out of the living room.

Ben sat down beside Mrs. Califano. He looked for several moments at her beautiful profile, similar to Callie’s, he realized, with her clean, straight nose and high cheekbones. He supposed he could understand Justice Wallace being attracted to her even though she was his mom’s age, and when he thought of his mom, he thought of Wheaties and big laughter, not sex, for God’s sake.

“There are a whole lot of people working around the clock to find out who killed your husband, Mrs. Califano.”

“Yes, I would imagine so.” Her voice was quite without emotion, as if she’d simply put a cork in the bottle.

“When Justice Califano went to the Supreme Court Building on Friday night, he said he had something to think about. Please, try to remember, Mrs. Califano. What could it have been? Did you have an argument? Was he worried about some business deal? Something like that?”

She sighed, clasped her hands in her lap. She was very pale. “I’ve already told you three or four times that I can’t think of anything other than that case coming up, the death penalty case in Texas. Also, before you ask again, we didn’t have an argument Friday evening. Sure, we fought occasionally. All couples do, Detective. Aren’t you married?”

“No, ma’am.”

“You should be. You’re old enough.”

“The guards at the Supreme Court thought Justice Califano seemed preoccupied Friday night, something weighing heavily on his mind.” This was a stretch, but worth a try. “You were closer to him than anyone in the world. What was eating at him, ma’am? Please, think.”

She sighed again, fanned her hands in front of her. “Oh, all right. I knew he was upset at Sumner Wallace for, well, for being inappropriate with me, but you already know that, Detective. Yes, my daughter told me that she’d passed it on to you when you were going to interview Justice Wallace. I hope it won’t come out since it has nothing to do with anything, but now I suppose you want to know the rest of it. My husband knew about what Sumner had done as well because I myself told him just last week. He was singing Sumner’s praises about something. I just couldn’t bear the hypocrisy of it, so I told him what Sumner had tried with me.”

“How did he take it?”

“He was angry, as you’d expect. I don’t know if he confronted Sumner about it since he never mentioned it to me again, which surprised me. But I wasn’t about to bring it up. Was he thinking about that on Friday night? I don’t know, Detective Raven.”

“Justice Sumner Wallace denied this, ma’am.”

“Well, naturally. Wouldn’t you?”

“I suppose I would. His wife did as well.”

She shook her head. “Poor Beth. She puts up with a lot from Sumner, and has all their married life. How was he dealing with this?”

“Not well, neither of them were. Two federal marshals were there in the house with them, reassuring I’m sure, but still an invasion of their privacy, and a constant reminder that they might be in danger. Also, since reporters were camped out in their front yard, they felt like prisoners.”

“I so wish Callie weren’t a reporter,” she said. “Doing that to people when they’re in such obvious distress, and then trying to justify it with that idiotic refrain they so quickly toss out—‘the public’s right to know.’ It’s only an excuse, of course.”

Since he agreed with that assessment wholeheartedly, he nodded. “Let me ask you this, Mrs. Califano. Sumner Wallace is not only of an age when he should be settled, he’s a Justice of the Supreme Court. This reputation you’re attributing to him, it seems so unexpected and surprising, so very incompatible with what he’s supposed to be—a reasoned brilliant legal mind, deciding huge issues for our country.”

“Yes, I suppose it would come as an unpleasant surprise, but the fact remains he’s still a man, a man who’s carried on a number of affairs all his adult life. In my experience, particularly in politics, it’s not at all uncommon for men who hold a great deal of power to exploit the women who are drawn to it.”

Ben couldn’t disagree with that, too much evidence to the contrary. He wanted to point out that Justice Wallace also had six grandchildren, but he kept his mouth shut.

“You had no hint that your husband might confront him on Friday, Mrs. Califano?”

“No, no hint at all, like I’ve already told you, Detective. No, wait a moment. Now that I think about it, I did hear Stewart on the phone—not on Friday, but last Wednesday, I think. He wasn’t happy. On the other hand, he wasn’t screaming either. Whether or not he was speaking to Sumner, I can’t say.”

“What did you hear your husband say?”

She was quiet a moment, hands clenching and unclenching in her lap.

“Something about ‘You will stop this immediately, do you hear me?’—along those lines. That’s all I really remember, Detective. His voice, as I said, wasn’t particularly angry.”

“Did he pause then? For the other person to answer him?”

“Yes, I believe he did. Then he sort of nodded into the phone, didn’t say anything more, and hung up. When he turned to see me standing there, he shrugged. ‘Nothing to worry about. It’s done,’ that’s what he said. I suppose he wanted to cut off any questions from me, and it did. In many ways, Stewart was a very private man. His first wife had died some years ago, you knew that, and in the intervening years before we met and eventually married, he became used to being alone, to keeping his own counsel. That isn’t a good thing, Detective. People shouldn’t be alone.

“Get married, Detective. It’s healthy to have another person in your life, someone so close they can feel what you’re thinking.” And she burst into tears.

Ben didn’t know what to do.

C
LOSE TO
a minute later, Ben still didn’t know what to do. He said finally, “I’m going to catch the monster who killed him, ma’am. I promise you that. Thank you for speaking to me. You remembered more, as I’d hoped you would. And thank you for telling me about Justice Wallace.”

She wiped her eyes, tried a smile. “It can have no possible relevance to any of this, but you appear to want to know about all the skeletons in the closet.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

When he came out into the entry hall a few minutes later, he nodded to the four women as they went back into the living room to rejoin Margaret Califano. Callie was standing in the hall, looking ready to leap at his throat. He splayed his fingers in front of him. “You ready?”

She waved toward the living room. “What, you’re not going to arrest any of those five killers?”

“Not your mom. We’ll see about the other four ladies. Hey, that was pretty funny, Callie.”

Federal Marshal Dennis Morgan caught a laugh, turning it quickly into a cough behind his hand.

“Yeah, right. You ready?” She was nearly dancing from foot to foot, wanting so badly to leave. He nodded toward the living room. “I’ll tell you, Callie, all of them look suspicious to me, look like they’re hiding something. Do you think I should go back in there and grill each one of them in turn, privately?”

“Har har,” Callie said. “Let’s go.”

He nodded to the federal marshals and ushered her outside. He said, “Isn’t it amazing what money can do? My mom is about their age, but believe me, she looks like she lives on a different planet. She’s cushy, her hair is always frazzled, and she has the biggest smile east of the Mississippi.”

She punched him in the arm. “You snob. Their smiles are as big as your mom’s. I’ve known them all my life. So they’re not cushy. That just means that they take care of themselves. They work out. Money doesn’t play a big part in looking good. Hey, maybe you should get your mom to work out, she’ll be healthier for it.”

He took her arm when one of her boots went out from under her. He couldn’t imagine his mother walking on a treadmill or pumping iron in a gym. But now that he thought about it, she and his dad had begun walking together in the evenings, quite a lot, in fact. He said, “Careful, this drive isn’t for wusses.”

“I wish I could have been at your meeting at the Hoover Building yesterday afternoon.”

“A reporter in the Hoover Building? Are you nuts? They would have locked you in a detention cell if you’d managed to sneak in. They would have turned you over to Big Matron Bubba, and she’d have strip-searched you and taken the fillings out of your teeth. The good Lord knows what would have happened to you then.”

She couldn’t hold back the laugh, but sobered immediately. She pulled her hat down over her ears because the temperature was sitting about three degrees above freezing. “I’ll just bet there were hardly any women included, were there? All you machos, sitting there preening, believing it’s up to you to solve all the world’s problems—”

“You’re being sexist, Ms. Markham.” His voice was perfectly easy and mild, although he was tempted to let her slide around on the driveway on her own. “Maybe if I don’t support you, you’ll go right down on your butt. Of course, the macho is here to haul you back up.” Then, of all things, he found himself looking at her butt, realized hers was an excellent butt, and looked away quickly.

But she saw it in his eyes and arched an eyebrow. “I believe that’s approval I see. Well, now, let me say that you’ve got a very fine butt, too, Detective Raven. When I don’t want to kick it, I admire it. Now, so you can get your mind onto other things, let me ask you how many female agents were important enough to be included in the meeting?”

“As I recall, more than a dozen of the special agents present were female. Your point?”

“That’s a start, pathetic though it be.” She stared at his Crown Vic, and said nothing more.

“When I’m able to get rid of you later, why don’t you shovel the driveway? Or you could arrange to have some macho guys come here and do it for you. You wouldn’t want any of your mother’s lovely rich friends to break their necks, now would you?”

She looked thoughtful for a moment, then frowned up at him. “Well, of course not. That’s a good use for macho guys.”

He’d hoped she’d take the bait, but she’d turned it around on him. Well done, dammit. “All right. You were bragging about how helpful you’d be, so tell me about the four women.”

“Well, they and their families have always been in my life. The only person I don’t like is Juliette Trevor’s son. He’s a spoiled trust-fund baby, and really smart. That combination always irritated me. No, I didn’t sleep with him, but it wasn’t for his lack of trying. I remember Mrs. Trevor gave me a Hermès scarf from Paris when I graduated high school. Wasn’t that nice?”

“What’s the big deal about a Hermès scarf?”

“They’re very expensive, and so beautiful they make you weep.”

“Yeah, right, I can see myself crying over a scarf.” He gave her a look. “Only a woman.”

When he started the car, she said pleasantly, “Did I mention that you’re a pretty sharp dresser? Maybe you’d like to hear about the shoes I bought to go with the Hermès scarf?”

He groaned, rolled his eyes. “All right, I can see where this is all going.”

“Probably so. I’ve always felt sorry for guys. Even though you obviously know how to dress, are doubtless well aware of the effect you have on the female population, you still don’t have the gift of the shoe-shopping gene. No man alive has it that I’ve ever seen. That’s the gene that forces a credit card right out of your wallet when you pass a neat pair of shoes, no matter how many are already in your closet. No, all guys have is the Home Depot hard-wired into your brains. It’s really sad.” She turned the heater on full blast.

He laughed at her. “Another good use for macho guys—fixing toilets.”

“All right, you got me fair and square. Tell me everything that happened yesterday.”

To his surprise, he did. She asked questions, grew thoughtful. She said finally, “The pancreatic cancer, that will come out soon, won’t it?”

“Oh yes, too many people know. Everyone likes to talk, everyone. No exceptions to that, unfortunately.”

She felt tears sting her eyes. Her stepfather would have died in any case. But he would have had six more months to live. Perhaps he would have had a chance, with new drugs discovered every day—

“I read up on pancreatic cancer. It’s a killer, so don’t go there, Callie. Someone brutally murdered him, that’s our only concern. Whatever fate would have dealt him we have no control over.”

“My editor called again last night, on my cell, thank God. If he’d called the house, I would have freaked. I hate leaks, I really do, and if Jed Coombes had gotten the Kettering house number, I’d be doomed.”

“What has he offered you to feed them information?”

“The inside track to a Pulitzer Prize.”

He whistled. “Hard to turn down.”