Deadlock (28 page)

“How so?”

“Well, we have faith that there is such a thing as existence. And that we are rational creatures capable of finding answers. We have to make that leap of faith or there’s nothing to talk about, is there?”

“I suppose not,” Millie said with a slight laugh.

“Faith precedes knowledge. It makes knowledge possible.”

“But how did your faith influence you on the bench?”

Bonassi thought about the question, his fingertips touching in steeple fashion. “It certainly influenced my view of the basis of law. I believe the principles of justice to be real, not merely manmade ideas. May I inquire, dear Millie, why you are asking?”

Millie took in a deep breath. “I didn’t know who else to come to. I had an encounter with God — ”
Does this sound stupid?
“I mean, I have come to believe in a God. I hadn’t thought about him for a long time, but I’m thinking about him now and I’m pretty shaken up about it.”

Dorothy Bonassi immediately put an understanding hand on Millie’s arm. She said nothing, only smiled. “Tell us about it,” she said at last.

Millie did, starting from the accident all the way through to the moment on the plane when she felt like a door was opening for her.

When she finished, the Old Lion had a sparkle in his eyes. He seemed fifty years younger. “I didn’t embrace Christianity until I was out of law school. It threw me for a large loop, too. Changed the way I looked at the law, that is for certain.”

Yes, and that was what terrified her. The law, for her, had been a solid piece of ground for over thirty years. It was shaky now, and she could not see the sinkholes. “Tell me how,” she said.

“I started thinking about the rights of people,” Bonassi said. “That’s what the law comes down to. It’s about people. What gives people that sort of dignity, I started to wonder. And I decided that it was God. I came to see that without principles of law firmly rooted in a source outside of ourselves, the very idea of law becomes an absurdity. That’s what Jefferson said in the Declaration of Independence, after all. We are endowed by our Creator with certain inalienable rights. Without that source, where do rights come from? It can only be from the subjective preferences of whoever happens to be in power, including judges.”

Millie had, of course, heard that argument many times before. “But I have always believed that the principles in the Constitution itself bind us.”

“What are those principles, Millie?”

“Equal justice under law, to start.”

“And how do we define justice?”

“That’s always the question, isn’t it? Each case is different.”

“The principles, however, are not. The founders set this country up on a foundation of biblical metaphysics.”

“On what?”

“They were steeped in the Bible. It was the one book that everyone knew. The Bible teaches this: that nature is intelligible, the product of a loving Creator. It teaches the dignity of every man. It was Jefferson who said, ‘The God who gave us life gave us liberty at the same time.’ He really believed this, contrary to what some revisionists claim.”

“Jefferson wasn’t a deist?”

“There’s a lot of flapdoodle taught about Jefferson. Just read what he wrote. In his
Notes on the State of Virginia
, he said” — Bonassi closed his eyes, finding the words — “ ‘Can the liberties of a nation be thought secure when we have removed their only firm basis, a conviction in the minds of the people that these liberties are the gift of God? That they are not violated but with his wrath?’ That is what I’m talking about.”

“Jefferson wrote that?”

“And Madison, father of the Constitution, said the belief in a ‘God all powerful wise and good is
essential
to the moral order of the world and to the happiness of man.’ As Casey Stengel used to say, you could look it up.”

Millie lifted her glass. It slipped out of her hand, slamming hard on the glass table.

“I’m sorry,” Millie said quickly.

“Think nothing of it, dear,” Dorothy Bonassi said. “Bill sometimes has that effect on people.”

Millie saw William T. Bonassi give his wife a look of such deep love that her heart filled with something like music. In that instant she thought of Jack Holden.

“Sorry about the lecture,” Bonassi said. “I could go on.”

“But you won’t,” Dorothy said.

“I won’t,” Bill Bonassi said obediently. “How about I give you some books instead? They’re less crotchety than I am.”

“Yes,” Millie said, “I’d like that.”

“You have a Bible?”

“I think so.”

“Good. Remember what old John Adams said in 1807. ‘The Bible contains the most profound philosophy, the most perfect morality, and the most refined policy, that was ever conceived on earth.’ ”

Millie shook her head. The Old Lion’s memory, at eighty-nine, was still absolutely amazing.

“This is a strange feeling,” she said.

“I know,” Bonassi said. “Use your noodle, Millie.” Bonassi tapped his head with his index finger. “I’ve always considered you one of the sharpest tacks on the bench. If you’ll pray and read, the answers will come.”

“Prayer,” she said. “I’ve forgotten how.”

“Start with an easy one.
Help me.”

“I think I can handle that.” Millie realized the feeling of disquiet she’d had when she first got here was suddenly gone. “May I come again?”

“Please come down here and argue with me anytime.” Bonassi added, “It’ll be just like old times.”

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1

Jack Holden slipped the letter from the envelope and, his heart pounding like a basketball on asphalt, he began to read.

Dear Jack,

I have to start out by saying I’m sorry for not writing sooner. There is a reason for that, and now is the time to tell you.

On the plane back to D.C. I was thinking about many things. About my accident, that vision I had when I almost died, about Mom, and a lot about what you had to say in that legal brief of yours. It was getting under my skin, and I was a little angry at you about it. I did not want to think about those things because I was coming back here to assume the most important responsibility of my life.

But I could not stop thinking about what you wrote. I think I know now what was happening. God was not letting me off the hook.

Then there was this moment, I was listening to Beethoven on the headphones, and the plane broke out into this lovely sky, and light was everywhere, it seemed.

Not just light, but the essence of all light. Am I making sense here? I don’t know . . . think about the most beautiful light you’ve ever seen.

I said to myself, “Watch it, Millie. Watch out!” Because I knew the door was opening and I was going to go through it. Behind the door I heard the music. My heart wanted to dance. But my mind didn’t want to.

I know now I went through the door, kicking and screaming. I could not
not
believe in God anymore.

And I kept thinking about what you told me about Moody. I believe he saw those children. I believe my vision was from God, too. It was his gift, as you said.

I want to see Mom again. That’s all part of this, too. I can’t deny that, nor would I want to.

But fear is here as well. What is all this going to mean? How is it going to change me? How is it going to change the way I work? Will my opinions on the law change?

Well, I’ve been trying to figure all that out! But I’ve been trying to do it like I always have — alone. Think it through. Figure out the best course of action to take. All before the first Monday in October when I go back to work!

But the only thing I’ve figured out so far is that I can’t do this on my own. So last night I called Bill Bonassi. Yes, William T. Bonassi, the retired justice. I served my first two years with him, almost always on the opposite side of the decision. We all knew he was a Christian. I have to find out what this faith I’ve so tentatively embraced actually means. He has given me some books and the offer to talk more. I feel like this is the most productive step I’ve taken since I got off the plane.

Please forgive me for waiting so long to tell you. But until now I didn’t know if these thoughts of God would last. I really didn’t want it to last, to tell you the truth. It has thrown me for a loop.

But I know one thing for certain: the door has closed behind me, and I am on the other side, and my heart is learning how to dance.

Please don’t stop praying for me. And for the Court. I love this institution and want to serve it so much, so well.

I promise I will call soon to talk with you. I know right now you must be rejoicing. I join you in that. For the moment, at least, I feel more joy than I have ever felt.

Stay out of the lake. Write to me again. Thank you for everything.

Millie

Jack Holden put the letter on his desk. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. Then he went outside and with thankfulness overflowing in him, shot hoops for an hour, his longest stretch in a long time.

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2

Anne Deveraux met Cosmo for drinks at License at five-thirty. Her friend was already at the bar nursing a martini.

“I want two of those,” Anne said over the loud music. They were blaring classic rock today. Jethro Tull.

“Tough day?” Cosmos asked.

“Usual. Had to bust some chops.”

“Ooh, you sound like Joe Pesci or something.”

“Joe Pesci?”

“You know, like some Mafia guy.”

Anne said nothing, motioned for the bartender, pointed at Cosmo’s glass. He got the message.

“So, are you some Mafia guy?” Cosmo asked.

“You’re weird.”

“Or are you dating some Mafia guy?”

Anne looked at her. Cosmo’s eyes were full of mischief. “What brought this on?” Anne asked, trying not to sound like she was a kid with a hand in the cookie jar.

“I don’t know, your mysterious boyfriend and all. It’s like a movie. I was trying to think, why won’t she tell me? It’s because he’s Mafia, or a Republican, or something like that. Maybe you’re seeing a Catholic priest, I don’t know. You won’t tell me.”

“Fine, I’ll tell you.”

“I thought so.”

“He’s in construction. In New York.”

“Construction?”

“Buildings. He builds buildings.” It was better that Cosmo didn’t know. Someday, maybe.

“Like a Donald Trump?”

“Sure, like Donald Trump.”

“The guy loaded?”

“He’s got some money.”

“When can I meet him?”

“Sometime. Enough about him. What about — ” She stopped when someone dropped onto the chair next to her. She gave a quick glance and saw a man staring at her. Markey.

She almost slipped off her chair.

“Hi,” he said.

“Who’s this?” Cosmo asked.

“Detective Markey,” he said. “Glad to know you.”

Anne felt her stomach twist around like one of the bar pretzels. “Who said you could sit here?”

“This is a public place.”

“I’m having a private conversation.”

“I just need a minute or two,” Markey said. The female bartender asked him what he’d like. “Ginger ale,” he said.

“Maybe I should go,” Cosmo said.

“No,” Anne said. “You don’t have to go anywhere.”

“Maybe that would be best,” Markey said. “Just for a minute or two.”

Something in Markey’s look told Anne this was not going to be a casual conversation. “Give me a couple of minutes,” she told Cosmo.

“Just call me later,” Cosmo said. She dropped a five dollar bill on the bar and walked off.

“Thanks a lot,” Anne said to Markey. “You’re a real social asset.”

“Just doing my job.”

“As what? Keeper of the cop cliché book?”