Mr. Justice (16 page)

Billy Joe Collier asked, “What did Senator Burton say?”

Clay answered, “That we need to dispose of Uncle Earl’s body. And that we need to do so ASAP.”

“Then what?”

“I don’t know.”

Clay knew. But he didn’t want to tell Collier.

CHAPTER 55

Alexandra Burton burst through the committee room door. “Sorry I’m late,” she said. “My AA forgot to remind me about the meeting.”

Jeffrey Oates, who, as usual, was walking three paces behind his boss, reddened when she faulted him for her own tardiness. He was used to taking the blame, however. Politicians never liked to admit they were wrong. Their egos wouldn’t permit it.

“I’m surprised that you needed reminding, Alexandra. Professor McDonald’s fate seems to be about all that you think about these days.” Jonathan Wells sat back in his leather captain’s chair and chuckled. Wells was the senior Democrat on the Judiciary Committee. His job was to see to it that Peter McDonald got confirmed to the Supreme Court. Burton, of course, had other ideas.

Burton snapped, “Some of us have to work for a living, Jonathan… . How is Kate, by the way?”

Kate Wennington Wells was Jonathan Wells’s wife of two years. She was his third wife, and by far the wealthiest of the three. Her father had made a fortune on the commodities market during the height of the stock market run-up in the mid-1990s.

Wells said, “She’s fine, Alexandra. She’ll be pleased to know that you were asking about her. Now, can we get to the business at hand? I’ve got an Armed Services meeting at eleven.”

Burton took her seat at the head of the conference table. She reached for a pitcher of ice water and poured herself a glass. She took a long sip and then said, “I’m concerned about how long Professor McDonald’s confirmation hearing is taking. As members well know, the Court’s docket is chock-full of important cases this term.”

Wells interjected, “Including one in which you’ve got a particular interest. Right, Alexandra?”

Of course Senator Wells was referring to
Tucker v. University of South Carolina
.

Senator Gregory Carpenter rocked forward in his chair and pounded his fist on the table. “I resent that remark, Senator Wells! The entire committee should resent it! It’s the chairwoman’s responsibility to see to it that these hearings proceed in an expeditious fashion!” Carpenter glanced at the senior senator from South Carolina … at the woman to whom he owed his own Senate seat. “The honorable chairwoman should be commended for her concern, not criticized for it.”

Wells said, “What a load of horse manure, Gregory. Don’t you think it’s about time you removed your nose from Alexandra’s butt?”

Burton struck her gavel. It sounded like machine gun fire in a Hollywood war epic. “Enough! Enough! We’re
United States senators,
for God’s sake, not high school bullies!” She struck her gavel again. The committee room grew as quiet as a classroom during final exams. “Believe me, I know that many members of this committee think that I’m only interested in helping my daughter and son-in-law win their case, but that’s not true. It’s simply not true. Sure, I want them to win. Alexander was my grandson—my namesake. Any grandparent would feel the same. But this process is about more than my family. It’s about more than any of us. It’s about making sure that the Supreme Court—the nation’s highest court; the most powerful court in the world—is operating at full capacity. It’s about making sure that the justice system in this country isn’t shortchanged because one man is either too sad or too sick to go through the confirmation process. I know this seems harsh, but it’s time to put the nation’s interests ahead of Peter McDonald’s. The Court got along fine without him in the past, and it’ll get along fine without him in the future.”

Wells said, “What are you suggesting, Alexandra? That the president withdraw Professor McDonald’s nomination?”

“I’m afraid that might be best, Jonathan.”

“Best for you, maybe. But not best for the American people.”

Carpenter again came to Burton’s defense. “I agree with Alexandra. Professor McDonald is a very smart man; there’s no question about that. He’s also been through a lot recently, what with his wife and daughter getting murdered and a second attempt on his own life. But this process is bigger than he is. Shoot, this process is bigger than any of us in this room. It’s even bigger than the president himself. We can’t wait anymore, Jonathan. I wish we could, but we can’t. I know you don’t believe me. I know you think I’m saying what I’m saying because it’s what Alexandra wants to hear. I’m not, though. I’ve sworn an oath to protect the Constitution. I take that oath seriously. And at this point, that oath requires me to think that the committee should recommend to the president that he find someone who is physically able to serve. Unfortunately, Professor McDonald doesn’t appear to be that person.”

Wells rocked back in his chair.

Print journalists scribbled feverishly in their notepads. One of them said to another, “I didn’t think Carpenter had it in him. I didn’t think Carpenter could make so much sense.”

“Have you discussed this with the president?” Wells finally said. He wasn’t addressing his question to anyone in particular, but everyone knew who was supposed to answer it.

Burton said, “Not yet. I wanted to get the sense of the committee first. What does everybody think?”

A Republican senator from New Mexico said, “I think the president needs to find another nominee. Professor McDonald impresses the hell out of me, but Alexandra and Greg are right. The Supreme Court is too important not to be operating at full strength.”

A Democratic senator from Iowa said, “I hate to say it, but I agree with my colleagues from the other side of the aisle. It pains me to say that—it pains me more than you can ever know—but the committee has been more than generous in accommodating Professor McDonald during this process. Don’t get me wrong; we did the right thing—the
moral
thing—in delaying the hearing both times the White House asked us to. But, as others have already said, the nation can’t afford to let this process drag out forever … . I think it’s time the chair notify the president to that effect.”

Burton tried her best to suppress a smile. It was difficult for her to do. Her plan was progressing better than she could have anticipated.

Then …

“Why can’t we question Professor McDonald via video hookup?” the senior senator from Virginia said. He was a Republican, but he clearly felt territorial about a Supreme Court nominee from his home state. He knew that his constituents would accept nothing less than a full-throated defense of the nominee.

“That’s a terrific idea!” Wells said. “I knew all this newfangled technology was good for something. I can’t figure out how to send an e-mail, but I’ve got to believe that someone in the building can make a video hookup happen. If they can’t, I’ll ask my granddaughter. She knows more about computers than Bill Gates does.”

Wells’s reference to his granddaughter drew smiles from his colleagues. The little girl was only seven years old. Wells had introduced her to the members of the Judiciary Committee on several occasions in the past.

Burton said, “I’m not so sure conducting the hearing by video is such a good idea. I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“This is the twenty-first century, Alexandra. I think we should give it a try.” The Republican senator from New Mexico had done a 180 in his stance about whether the committee should continue to press forward with Peter McDonald’s confirmation hearing.

Senator Burton—
Imperial Wizard
Burton—knew that sealed the deal.

CHAPTER 56

Cat Wilson pulled her cell phone from her purse. She had the ringtone set to Willie Nelson’s
On the Road Again
. She hated the song, but it was Earl Smith’s favorite. She had never heard it before she met him. She downloaded it at his insistence as a remembrance of him. “What do ya got to remember me by?” she had said at the time. Smith had smiled and grabbed her ass.

“Hello,” Cat said as she snapped open the phone. Smith had promised to call when he reached D.C. and Cat was hoping it was him. It wasn’t. It was her manager at the Waffle House. He wanted to know whether she could come in at midnight to work an extra shift. She said she would let him know after she tried to find a babysitter.

Cat normally tried to avoid babysitters, both because they were expensive and because she had seen an episode of the Tyra Banks Show a couple of months earlier entitled
Babysitters Who Kill
. The program had scared her to death. She was grateful to Tyra for airing it, though. Tyra cared about regular folks like Cat. Oprah only talked about things rich women liked.

Cat’s dislike of babysitters notwithstanding, she needed to figure out a way to work the extra shift. She was desperate for money. Kids were expensive. And even though Cat avoided buying her daughter fancy toys, the child needed to be clothed and fed. Cat pushed the button for her contacts list and dialed her mom.

Cat hadn’t been on speaking terms with her mom for years. Her mom seemed to resent the fact that Cat—an unexpected pregnancy from an unexpected man—had disrupted her dreams of becoming a nurse. High school students with a baby on the way weren’t attractive candidates to college admissions officers—at least not in South Carolina. So Cat’s mom, Beth, had foregone college for a life as a chambermaid at the Charleston Holiday Inn. Beth loved her daughter, obviously, but it was too much to bear when Cat repeated her own mistake: an unexpected pregnancy from an unexpected man. But all was forgiven when Isabel Tamara Wilson entered the world on a sun-splashed Tuesday in March at 9:22
A
.
M
.

“Hi, Momma, it’s me,” Cat said into the phone.

“What’s wrong?” Beth Wilson said. “Is Bella all right?”

Bella was Isabel’s nickname.

“Bella’s fine, Momma. But she is why I’m callin’.”

“Let me guess,” Beth said next. “You need me to babysit, and you need me to babysit
now
.”

“Yes, Momma. Sorry I didn’t give you more notice, but my manager just called. He needs for me to pick up an extra shift at the diner. I need the money, but I don’t need to tell you that.”

Indeed, Cat didn’t need to tell her mother about how short she was on cash at the moment. She was
always
short on cash. And that was why Beth Wilson had hoped that Cat Wilson would go back to school—so her daughter, and granddaughter, could stop the cycle of poverty.

Beth said, “You know how much I love that baby doll. Of course I’ll babysit Bella. But don’t forget to bring me a couple of them waffles when you come to pick her up after your shift’s over. I love them things, too.”

Cat said, smiling, “I’ll remember. I always do.” She terminated the phone call by snapping her cell phone shut and headed to Bella’s room to get her daughter ready for yet another night at grandma’s house. She called her manager to tell him she was on her way.

Cat turned into the Waffle House’s parking lot. A knot formed in her stomach, as it always did when she arrived. Working a dead-end job in a decaying part of town in the middle of the night wasn’t how she expected her life to turn out. But after Bella was born, she had to put food in her daughter’s mouth, and waitressing was the only job she could get with a GED.

She parked her car in her usual spot next to the newspaper boxes. She exited her car and pushed open the door to the diner. Her manager said hello to her. He was a nice man, but she froze. Fear washed over her. “I gotta go,” she said to him. “Sorry, but I gotta go.”

She jumped back into her car and headed north to the nation’s capital.

CHAPTER 57

“The senator will see you now,” the heavyset secretary said with a cheerful smile.

Clay Smith returned the copy of
The Washington Times
that he was reading to the coffee table in front of him, straightened his tie, and stood.

The secretary escorted Clay to the private office in the corner of the suite, knocked lightly on the door, and turned the knob.

Senator Alexandra Burton greeted Clay with a warm handshake.

The secretary exited the room.

Burton said, “It’s nice to finally meet you, young man. Your uncle was very proud of you. You’ll have the world at your feet after you graduate from law school.”

“Thank you, Senator. But that’s what I needed to talk to you about.”

Burton motioned for Clay to take a seat on the couch behind them. Clay did. Burton sat in the chair across from Clay. “So this isn’t a courtesy call from a grateful constituent?” Burton knew it wasn’t.

Clay shook his head. He studied the scuffs on his shoes. “May I speak freely? I mean, is there anyone listening?”

“Of course there’s no one listening. You’ve seen too many movies, son. Hidden tape recorders went out the window when Richard Nixon was forced from office.”

Well, not really. But Burton didn’t think that Clay needed to know about
her
recording system.

“Thank you, Senator,” Clay said. Then, without a moment’s hesitation, he added, “Akia. Kigy.”

Burton smiled and nodded. “Akia. Kigy.”

“Is it true, Senator? Are you who my uncle said you are?”

For some reason, Burton had let her guard down with Clay Smith. Perhaps it was because Clay reminded her of her grandson; they were both tall, dark, and irresistibly handsome, as the cliché went. She knew what Clay was asking her. “Yes, it’s true.”

Clay dropped to his knees and kissed the imperial wizard’s ring.

“Come on, son. Let’s go somewhere we can really talk.” Burton stood and walked toward the bookcase. She removed a two-volume set of David Duncan Wallace’s
The History of South Carolina
from the shelf and pressed her palm against the marble block behind the books. The bookcase swung open and revealed a secret room.

Clay felt as if he were witnessing an episode of
24
, the over-the-top spy show that most UVA law students watched as a guilty pleasure to break the monotony of studying contracts law and the like. He glanced around the room to see if Kiefer Sutherland had somehow appeared out of nowhere, as he so often did on the TV show. Obviously, Mr. Sutherland was nowhere to be found.