The Last Justice (18 page)

10:10 a.m. United States Court of-4ppeals for the Second Circuit, New York

he call to Judge Petrov had been short and decisive. He was to come to Washington immediately, tell no one about the visit, and bring attire suitable for a television appearance. It could mean only one thing: the announcement of his nomination as a justice on the high court was imminent.

Before leaving his chambers, Petrov instructed his law clerk, Dakota Cameron, to finish taking care of the detectives' requests for Parker Sinclair's e-mails. He had already been contacted by FBI agents who wanted access to the servers, but he wanted to get them hard copies right away. It was important to send the message that he was forthcoming, cooperative, and responsive. He told Dakota not to bother with showing him the documents before they went out, but to send him a memo summarizing anything noteworthy. Petrov told the rest of his staff that he would be working from home for the next few days-something he did often.

As with Petrov's visits to Washington during the interview process, the White House had already arranged a room for him at the Willard Hotel, reserved under a fictitious name. The press, knowing that the three-three deal was finalized, had staked out the more obvious accommodations at the Hay-Adams Hotel, directly across the street from the White House. As in the past, at the appropriate time, Petrov's handlers would escort him to the Treasury Department building where they would take a little-known tunnel leading from Treasury into the White House. The cloak-and-dagger secrecy made it all the more exciting. Petrov smiled when told the name he should give at the hotel reception desk: John Jay-the first chief justice of the United States.

Stopping at his apartment on the Upper West Side, he packed his best suits and informed Katherine that she needed to accompany him immediately to D.C. He had been advised that if the three-three deal was ever finalized, it would be implemented quickly, and she may be needed to make appearances with him. The longer the administration waited, the more closely the nominees would be scrutinized, the more time the interest groups would have to go on the attack, and the more likely the deal would fall apart. If he got this call, he had been told, it would be a whirlwind. It was happening. It was finally happening.

Dakota Cameron had spent the morning reading all her former lover's personal and business e-mail correspondence for the past year. After their breakup, Parker Sinclair had become increasingly possessive and hostile, parking in front of her apartment, daily hang-up calls, and randomly showing up at her regular haunts. It had gotten so bad that she often chose to work in the library rather than their shared office. The final hostile e-mails he had sent her would not reflect well on him.

After taking out duplicate e-mails, she whittled the batch down to an even seven hundred-a neat, orderly number befitting Parker Sinclair himself. She created an Excel spreadsheet logging the documents, sorting them by date, sender and recipient, and potential relevance to the investigation. Dakota packed six hundred-ninety-nine pages into a file box and left a message for Detective Assad that the documents were available. She would destroy the seven hundredth document when she got back home tonight.

US. Supreme Court, Washington,

ilstein and Assad sat waiting for the interim Supreme Court Police chief in an office on the ground floor while Pacini made a flurry of calls about Jefferson McKenna's contact with Milstein. They were already tracing the call, which would allow them to track the cellular signal and location of the phone whenever it was turned on. Though they had no reason to believe McKenna's account of his alleged abduction by men associated with the Hassan case, there was something that gave credence to his story: Douglas Pratt had not shown up to work today at his law firm. Of course, that could also mean any number of things, including that McKenna had done something to Pratt.

A distinguished-looking woman wearing a conservative blue suit approached them.

"Good morning," she said. "I'm the Supreme Court's marshal, Penelope Teasdale." An African-American woman in her forties, Teasdale spoke with a refined English accent. "I take it you know Jim Peckham," she said, nodding to the stocky man standing beside her.

"Of course," Pacini said. "We just saw each other yesterday at the commission meeting. Jim, I don't think you've met Detectives Milstein and Assad-they're on loan to the commission from the NYPD."

"Pleasure to meet you," Peckham said.

"Jim was career Secret Service before joining the Supreme Court force," Pacini explained to Assad and Milstein.

"I understand you would like to meet again with some of the law clerks?"Teasdale asked.

"Yes, if that's possible. I know it's on short notice," Pacini said.

"Of course. I've told Jim to give you whatever assistance you need," Teasdale said. "If there's nothing else you need from me, I'll leave you in his capable hands."

After thanking Teasdale, Pacini, Assad, and Milstein followed Peckham out of his office and into the hallway.

"Thanks again for fitting us in," Pacini said as they walked briskly down the hall.

"Not a problem. I've got us a room to meet with the law clerks."

"How many are there?"

"Each justice tends to hire about four clerks, for a total clerking pool of about thirty-six, who stay for one year. Justice Carmichael asked nearly all the outgoing clerks to stay on an extra year to help prepare for when the new justices arrive, so if you add in the new class who were hired before Black Wednesday and started this summer, there are about seventy clerks working in the building right now. We've had to open up some space on the second floor for them, since the offices adjoining the justices' chambers are equipped for only about thirty."

"Can you get us a roster of the clerks?" Pacini asked. "I have a list of those who were here on Black Wednesday, but not sure I have the new

"Absolutely. Before we meet with the clerks, would you like me to walk you through the crime scene?" Peckham asked, looking at Milstein and Assad.

"Yes," they replied in unison. They had been out of their element since arriving in D.C. Walking a murder scene, though-that was something they knew. And although Pacini had spent months painstakingly studying the events of Black Wednesday and knew every inch of the room, he seemed happy to let them familiarize themselves with the crime scene.

Peckham took them up to the Great Hall on the main floor. The name fitted the vast room with its towering columns and its floors and walls of Madre Cream marble. He walked them to the end of the hall farthest from the massive oak doors that led into the courtroom chamber.

"We think the shooter entered from here-the front entrance to the building," he said. "It used to be closed to the public for security reasons, but Chief Justice Kincaid felt that allowing the public to walk about the plaza and climb the steps was part of the experience, and ordered it reopened. Against my advice, Justice Carmichael has insisted on honoring his wishes." Peckham began walking down the Great Hall toward the courtroom chamber. He pointed to his left. "That's the coat check. The visitors to the courtroom have to check their coats and bags there. They also check all cell phones and other gadgets. There used to be self-serve pay lockers, but we took them out after the shootings. Now everything's checked and scanned."

Peckham walked them past busts of the former chief justices, set alternately in niches and on pedestals along the side walls, and pointed out the new memorial containing busts of the six slain justices. He stopped when he got to the security screening station in front of the doors leading into the courtroom.

"These new screening devices are state of the art. We also now scan everyone with a handheld metal-detection wand before they enter the room-no exceptions." Peckham invited the officers stationed at the courtroom entrance to wand him and his guests after they each walked through the detectors. Then an aide opened the doors to the courtroom.

"The renovations of the courtroom have been done for about a month," Peckham said. "They replaced the carpet and bench, but everything's the same as the day of the shootings. They worked hard to maintain the historic integrity."

though grand, the courtroom was smaller than it had looked in the newspaper pictures after Black Wednesday. It was magnificent nonetheless, with its thirty-foot-high Ionic columns lining all four sides, heavy velvet drapes, and everything else seemingly of marble or mahogany.

"I don't think I've ever seen this much marble," Assad said.

"Yeah, at one time this had the most marble of any building in the world, until the National Gallery of Art was built."

Directly in front of them was a winged mahogany bench, and behind it, a burgundy velvet curtain, tied open on each side to reveal back entrances. Behind the bench sat nine high-backed black leather chairs, and directly above the center seat, a clock hung suspended on a thick metal cord.

Peckham walked past the long wooden pews farthest from the bench. "These are for the public," he said. Passing an ornate brass railing that separated another section of seating, he said, "These seats are for members of the Supreme Court bar. And this," he said, placing his hand on a long wooden table, "is where the lawyers in the next case wait their turn." He walked forward, toward three tables that stretched the length of the bench and had a podium at their center. "Finally, this is counsel's table for the case being argued. You can see the color of the justices' eyes from here."

Peckham doubled back and sat down on the end of the first row of the Supreme Court bar member seating. The wooden chairs were small and very close together. "This is where the assassin sat." Peckham touched the chair in front of him and pointed under the seat. "That's where he had the gun, taped under the chair. This close, it was like shooting fish in a barrel."

"Any idea how long the gun was there?" Milstein asked. "And who would have had access to the courtroom when court wasn't in session to put it there?"

Peckham exhaled, clearly having been through this before. "The truth is, back then we didn't routinely sweep the room closely unless there was something suspicious. Now we do it thoroughly every day. Gun could have been there for days. We pulled all surveillance tapes in the building for the months before the assassinations. The problem, of course, was that we had sloppy retention procedures, the equipment was ancient, and the cameras that still worked produced laughably bad images."