“That would be almost any case. They’re all very important to the litigants, but I honestly can’t think of a case that would get someone so upset they would try to kill me. And what would be the point. There are eight more justices. There have been instances where a justice has had to recuse himself or herself or has been unable to sit because of illness, and the Court has conducted business as usual.”
“What about personal enemies? Can you think of a court employee who was fired or someone in your personal life with a grudge?”
Moss shook her head. “I’ll give it some thought, but right now… No, I can’t think of anyone who would want me dead.”
Chapter Fifteen
Felicia Moss had lived alone for most of her life. There had been a brief marriage to a civil rights lawyer when she was in her late thirties, but that had only lasted two years, through no fault of her spouse. After the divorce, there’d been an occasional lover, but her work had been her real significant other. Felicia didn’t regret the lack of companionship. She had decided long ago that she preferred to live alone, so the only tics and foibles she had to put up with were her own.
With the exception of her stint on Wall Street, the judge had never had an income comparable to those of men like Millard Price, but she had been a wise investor, and the returns from her portfolio allowed her to afford a pleasant apartment in an old and elegant high-rise in the Kalorama Triangle near Connecticut Avenue. Three policemen accompanied her home from the Court. One watched her door while the other two searched her apartment to make sure no one was waiting for her inside. When the search was complete, two of the officers left, leaving the third on guard in the hall outside her apartment.
Felicia could tell that Brad had been shaken by the attack in the garage, but she had always possessed the ability to shuck off the violent emotions that crippled others when they faced danger. She experienced no trembling of the hand or shortness of breath when the officers left her alone. However, she was overwhelmed by fatigue, and she dropped into an armchair and closed her eyes as soon as the door closed. She had always possessed an inordinate amount of energy, but she was in her midseventies, and age was catching up to her more rapidly than she would have wished.
After she’d been sitting for a while, Felicia became aware of a second sensation, hunger. With all the excitement, she had forgotten about eating. Her apartment building had been built in the early 1940s. An antique clock graced the mantel of the marble fireplace that was the centerpiece of the high-ceilinged living room. Felicia was shocked to see that it was after nine. She pushed herself to her feet and walked to the kitchen. Felicia was a talented chef, but she had only enough energy to slap together a sandwich made from odds and ends she found in her refrigerator. After pouring a glass of milk, she sat at the kitchen table. She barely tasted her sandwich because she was preoccupied by the events in the garage. She was too old to fear death, but she was as curious in her seventies as she’d been in her teens. What was the motive for the attack? The assassin could just be a fanatic, but she didn’t think so. There was nothing going on in her personal life that could have engendered such hate. She examined a number of possible reasons for the assault and kept coming back to the same one. The only odd things that had happened recently were Millard Price’s overreaction during the discussion of the Woodruff case and the attempts by two of Price’s law clerks to pump Brad Miller for inside information on her vote, but Felicia couldn’t believe that someone would kill her to prevent cert from being granted in a case.
On the other hand, she really didn’t know much about Woodruff’s case other than the fact that the petitioner was facing execution in Oregon and that the most interesting legal issue concerned the state-secrets privilege, something she knew little about. Was it possible that Millard Price had some connection to the case? Felicia shook her head. Even if he did, it was absurd to think that her friend and colleague would try to kill her because of it. But as absurd as her theory was, Felicia couldn’t shake the idea that she might be on to something. What to do, though? There was no way she could conduct an investigation personally. A Supreme Court justice was not allowed to go outside the record in a case that was before the Court. Even if she was permitted to play private eye, she didn’t have the time or energy. Felicia smiled as a thought occurred to her. She couldn’t play at being Sam Spade, but she knew someone who knew a real-life private eye.
Chapter Sixteen
Brad called Ginny just before he left for home and gave her a bare-bones sketch of what had happened. Ginny watched the evening news, and Brad was afraid she’d worry when she heard about the attempt on Justice Moss. The judge was concerned that her assailant might want revenge on Brad for foiling his plans, so she arranged for a policeman to drive him home and guard his apartment. When Brad opened the door, Ginny threw her arms around him, which balanced all the awful things that had happened but caused excruciating pain in his ribs where he’d been punched. Brad winced and Ginny backed off.
“What’s wrong?”
“My ribs. They’re a little sore.”
A policeman followed Brad inside.
“This is Officer Gross of the Supreme Court police,” Brad explained. “He’s going to watch the apartment tonight. Officer Gross, this is my fiancée, Ginny Striker.”
“Ma’am,” Gross said.
“Why do we need a police guard?”
Brad decided to fudge the truth. “I don’t think we do, but Justice Moss insisted. I think she wanted to protect us if reporters came around. The Court frowns on clerks speaking to the press.”
Officer Gross made a cursory inspection of the apartment before borrowing a kitchen chair to sit on in the hall.
“Are you really OK?” Ginny asked as soon as the door of their apartment closed. She had noticed the large Band-Aid on Brad’s chin and remembered Brad’s reaction to her hug.
“Honestly, the cut on my chin didn’t need stitches, and my ribs aren’t broken.”
“I was so worried when I heard the news. It said a clerk had been injured but the reporter didn’t name him. Then you didn’t come home on time.”
“I’m sorry you were worried.” Brad pulled Ginny back to him and held her tight. “The person who attacked Justice Moss is probably a nut case.”
“I just can’t stand the idea of you being in danger.”
“Well, I’m not.” Brad pushed Ginny to arm’s length. “Now enough of this mushy stuff. Is there anything I can eat? I’m starving.”
While Ginny heated up some takeout Chinese, Brad told her about the incident in the garage.
“You idiot,” Ginny blurted out when Brad told her how he’d rushed the killer. “What were you thinking?’
Brad looked down, unable to meet Ginny’s eye. “I wasn’t. I just did it,” he answered meekly.
“God, I hate this. I thought we were through with guns and killers.”
“We are, believe me. They’ll find out this guy is a member of some right-wing fringe group that hates African Americans or liberals. I was never the target.”
The microwave dinged. Brad carried his food into the living room while Ginny brought him some tea. It was time for the late news, and Brad switched on the TV. A blonde anchorwoman was looking at the camera with her most serious expression.
“The Supreme Court dominated the news today as an assassin tried to kill a justice inside the historic building and President Maureen Gaylord nominated a woman to replace Associate Justice Ronald Chalmers.”
A picture of Felicia Moss took over the screen.