The Advocate's Daughter (6 page)

“A fight?”

“She said she didn't want to see me anymore.”

Pacini held Malik's gaze. “She broke up with you?”

Malik chewed on his lip. He nodded.

“That make you angry?”

“It didn't make me happy, but—” Malik stopped himself. “But we weren't very serious so it's not like I'm, like, devastated or anything.”

“Did she say why she wanted to break up?”

“She showed up kinda agitated. Said she had too much going on in her life right now. She needed a break.”

“What was going on in her life?”

Malik shrugged. “I don't know. When she asked to meet for dinner, I kind of knew she was going to end it, but she never would admit the real reason why.”

“The
real
reason? You thought there was something else?”

“Yeah,” Malik said. “She's been doing disappearing acts, gone at night—I'm not an idiot. And I've heard some rumors.”

“What kind of rumors?”

“That she's seeing somebody.”

“Do you know who that somebody is?”

“I don't know. I asked her and she got angry. She wanted to know who was gossiping about her and all that.”

“Who told you she was seeing someone else?”

“One of the other clerks. He was giving me shit about it. He'd heard it from this girl at Georgetown or something.”

“Did Abby say anything about leaving town or going somewhere with this other guy?”

“No. Once I brought up this other dude she got
pissed.
She stormed out of the place.”

“She just got up and left you there?” Pacini asked.

“Yeah, it was embarrassing.”

Sean could no longer restrain himself: “If she just left you there, how'd you know she went to the library after dinner?”

Malik blew out another long sigh. “I didn't want to leave it that way. It was stupid. I got my car from the valet and caught up with her on the street. She said sorry for storming out. Said she just has a lot of shit happening in her life”—his gaze flicked to Sean—“family shit.”

“Did she say what it was?” Pacini asked.

Malik shook his head.

Pacini looked to Sean. “No idea,” Sean said.

Pacini turned back to Malik. “So she has you drop her at the library. What library, the one at the law school?”

“No, the Supreme Court's library. She likes to get away from the drama of campus. And the court's library is really quiet. Hardly anyone even uses the library—everything's online now. I'm a law clerk and I'd never even been in the library until Abby took me there.”

“I've been to the downtown D.C. public library and it's pretty crowded,” Pacini said.

Sean interjected, “The court's library isn't public.” Sean was no stranger to the Supreme Court building, and the kid was right, the basketball court on the top floor got more use than the court's library. It must have been ten years since Sean had set foot in there. He knew Abby liked it, though. She'd told him she loved imagining all the justices of the past working by candlelight.

“If it's not public, how'd Abby get access?” Pacini asked.

Malik said, “I thought her dad got her a pass.” His gaze shifted to Sean.

“I didn't. She's Jonathan Tweed's research assistant. I think she said he got her a pass.” Sean looked at Pacini. “Jon's a professor at Georgetown and an old friend of mine.”

Pacini moved closer to Malik. “The last place you saw her was the Supreme Court?”

“I dropped her off right out front of the building. I waited until I saw her go around to the side entrance.”

“If that's right, how did her phone get in your house?”

“I have absolutely no idea.”

“You didn't hear it ringing?”

“No.”

“Have you had anyone in your place since you had dinner with Abby?”

Malik shook his head again. “Just you two.”

“Any ideas how the phone got here?”

Malik looked at Pacini then stared intently into Sean's eyes. “No idea. I swear.”

 

CHAPTER 13

Sean bumped a tire over the curb in front of the Supreme Court building. Pacini had called ahead, and the chief of the Supreme Court Police was waiting for them on the oval plaza. While Pacini spoke to the chief, Sean stayed in the SUV and called Emily. He'd missed three of her calls. He was surprised that she sounded calm. Ryan had woken up, she said. Sean realized that she was putting on a front for their son.

“Just tell him it's my new job,” Sean said. “I don't want him worried.”

“That makes sense. Don't work too late,” Emily said. He imagined how hard she must be struggling to look and sound normal. He heard her say, “Everything's okay. Just a work situation. You really need to get up to bed.” Then something muffled, then “Goodnight, sweetie.”

“Is he gone?” Sean asked.

“Yes,” Emily whispered. “Michelle texted me and said she hadn't seen Abby since class on Friday. What did Malik say?”

Sean noticed that Pacini and the police chief were stealing glances into the SUV. “We're still looking for her, but I can't talk now. Frank is waiting on me. I'll call you soon. I love you.” He clicked off. Nothing good would have come from telling Emily about finding Abby's phone or that all of Abby's texts, e-mails, and call logs had been wiped from the device. Or that agents had taken Malik in for questioning. Sean swung open the door and climbed out.

“Sean, this is Carl Martinez, the chief of the Supreme Court's squad,” Pacini said. The chief was a buttoned-up Hispanic guy in his fifties, or maybe even sixties. It was hard to tell because he was one of those fit ex-military types, though he had a tired face—deep lines and serious bags under the eyes. He gave Sean's hand a firm shake.

Although the Supreme Court community was like Mayberry (everybody knew everybody else), Sean had never met the chief. The court's police force had more than one hundred officers and Sean vaguely recalled hearing that the former chief had retired recently.

“I've heard a lot about you,” the chief said. “Sorry to meet under these circumstances.”

“I can't thank you enough for coming in tonight.”

“I live nearby and it's no problem at all,” the chief said. “I've spoken with the officers on duty last night. They don't remember seeing your daughter, but there were a lot of people in the building for a function. The good news is that we have cameras, so we can check the video.”

Chief Martinez walked Sean and Pacini to the right of the plaza. The white marble steps that led up to the massive portico seemed to emanate light even at night. They went in through the southwest door, dumped their pockets into little baskets, and stepped through the metal detectors. The lone officer manning the entrance didn't make eye contact with Sean.

The chief then guided them to his office. The long hallway was dimly lit and the chief's shoes clacked on the polished marble floor. In his years roaming the building, Sean had never been inside the police office.

On the walk, Martinez and Pacini engaged in small talk. The weather, the court's recent renovations, how the new job was going for the chief, the do-you-know-so-and-so game cops play. When they seemed to sense that their forced nonchalance wasn't making Sean feel less anxious, they turned the chatter in his direction.

“I was an MP early in my career and once served under your father,” the chief said. “He was quite a guy.”

Quite a guy.
A phrase that could mean so many different things. Everyone who'd ever served in the Armed Forces seemed to have once crossed paths with “the General.” Sean made no reply.

The three entered the police office causing the lights, which were set on motion detectors, to click on, a domino of fluorescents. The reception area had a display cabinet filled with police-uniform hats from different countries with a tall, bell-like London Bobby helmet displayed prominently at the center of the collection.

Martinez steered them down another hallway to an interior office. He tapped on the door and escorted them inside. They were met with a nod from a man who sat at a long desk, facing several security monitors. A stack of what Sean assumed were digital recorders were built into the wall. Each device had masking tape on its face with locations—
GREAT HALL, CAFETERIA, GIFT SHOP, E. CONF. RM., W. CONF. RM.
—written in black Sharpie.

The chief said, “Tom, this is Deputy Director Pacini from the Bureau and you may know Sean Serrat.”

The man, who was all shoulders and neck, stood. He hitched up his trousers and shook hands with Sean, then Pacini. Sean didn't recognize him either, but pretended they'd met before.

Chief Martinez said, “Can you pull up the video for last night, the southwest entrance?”

The officer nodded and started pecking his thick fingers on his computer.

“We had a full house last night,” the chief said. “A reception from 7:30 until about 9:30, so we can pull the guest list and see if anyone saw your daughter.”

“Here we go,” the officer said, his gaze fixed on a monitor. The southwest entrance fluttered on the screen and the officer spun a knob that made the images scroll in fast-motion. The bottom right of the screen had a digital clock, which clicked forward rapidly. Men and women in suits put their bags on the conveyer and emptied their pockets. At 19:25, the clock showed a large group entering the court, each going through the same security procedures: keys, change, phones, in the small baskets, large bags on the belt through the X-ray machine. It was basically like an airport. When the clock rolled to 20:20, the screen showed only the doors with an officer occasionally coming into the frame. The clock wound forward.

At 21:23, the camera caught the door open. “This may be her,” the officer said.

Sean stared at the screen. The officer clicked the mouse and there she was. His Abby. A smile crossed her lips and he could see the dimples even in the grainy image at this awkward angle. She said something to one of the officers. Though she gave a faint smile when she collected her book bag at the end of the conveyer, he saw the upturned mouth and slightly furrowed brow.

“I don't see anyone with her,” Sean said.

“Can we look at other recordings that trace her path?” Pacini asked. “And how about cameras in the library?”

“Yeah, we can hit up the other cameras that would have caught her on the way to the library. But the building doesn't have the coverage you'd expect. The justices don't want images of what goes on here leaked, so many of the non-public areas don't have cameras.”

“The library?” Pacini repeated.

The chief's eyes dropped to the floor.

“Nothing in the library?”

“I'm sorry, there's not.”

Sean didn't know what to make of that.

Pacini pointed at the screen. “We've got someone else coming in the door.”

On the monitor, the court's bronze and glass door opened. The officer working the computer said, “That's just one of the law clerks.”

From Sean's own days as a Supreme Court law clerk he knew that the officers were required to memorize the faces of all thirty-six of the justices' clerks. Sean stared at the screen and a familiar face looked back at him: Malik Montgomery.

The monitor went dark. The rest of the recording had been erased.

 

CHAPTER 14

Sean sprinted out of the police office and down the long hallway to the elevator. He stabbed the button several times. Abby hadn't been at the library since yesterday, but he was desperate to close the distance between himself and the last place he'd known his daughter to be.

The elevator opened and he slapped the button to the third floor. The stool where the elevator operator normally sat, a throwback Sean never understood why the court continued, had a folded newspaper sitting on it.

He got off the elevator and turned left into the librarian stations. He took another left into the massive Reading Room. The carved oak walls and balconies were lit by only a few reading lamps, and shadows cast about the room. The library smelled of old books and wood polish. Sean walked the center aisle, looking at the long stretches of wood with lanterns and globes perched on them. The tables were bare, except for two with tablets and some books and papers spread across them. Sean walked over to one and saw a blank legal pad and two
U.S. Reports
opened, but nothing else. Abandoned research.

At the next table, he pulled the chain on a brass lantern. In the shallow light he saw a Tax casebook, not a source someone working on a Supreme Court case would normally consult. Something a law student would read. Under the book was a spiral notepad. He picked it up and flipped through the pages: Abby's meticulous handwriting. Then he saw her book bag, its contents scattered across the red carpet. Dread gouged into him.

Pacini and Police Chief Martinez came into the library, and he called them over.

“Abby's things,” Sean said, his voice echoing.

Pacini looked at Sean, then darted his eyes about the Reading Room. More officers came into the library. “Get the lights on,” Pacini shouted.

The chandeliers from the high gilded ceiling came on, and Sean paced the shelves along the north wall. Pacini and Martinez directed officers to the back of the Reading Room. Pacini pointed to the narrow stairs that led up to the stacks. Sean continued clicking on the lamps affixed to the tall bookshelves. He told himself to stay calm, but he started running from aisle to aisle.

“Abby!”
He tore through the federal reporters, the state reports, the congressional record sections.
“Abby!”

He heard a voice from above. One of the officers on the balcony near the stacks. Pacini raced up the small iron staircase. Sean couldn't hear them, but the speed at which Pacini ran to the officer sent a tremor through Sean's body. He watched as an officer staggered out toward Pacini. He was a young guy and he bent over, vomiting near the staircase.