Capitol Threat (32 page)

Ben lifted an envelope from his desk and removed several documents encased in plastic. “But to make a long story short, since I’m already talking on borrowed time, the investigation of that woman’s past led to the discovery of another crime. An arson-for-hire job at the downtown Denver Hilton. She was paid ten thousand dollars, which might not seem like much to you, but was the score of a lifetime for her, especially since she owed money to an extremely dangerous trafficker in stolen art.”

He took a breath and continued. “My office manager is very clever with computers. Always has been. Even before I could afford one.” In the back of the room, he saw Jones beaming. “He was able to go online and find all of Judge Haskins’s bank accounts. Even the secret one in the Cayman Islands.” The buzz began to build again. “To be perfectly honest, I’m not entirely sure that this squared with the federal privacy laws, but I figured we had a good reason. Because, as this printout shows, there’s a ten-thousand-dollar cash withdrawal just before the date of the fire. Of course, there could possibly be some other explanation…” He tilted his head to one side. “But I doubt it.”

Ben glanced up into the gallery. “No wonder you reacted so much more quickly and heroically than anyone else, Judge Haskins. You knew the explosions were coming. You knew exactly where they were and how dangerous they would be. Because you planned the whole thing.”

Up in the gallery, Haskins rose to his feet, his knees trembling. “It’s…it’s not true! It’s…”

Ben tossed a stack of paper down on his desk. “The documents speak for themselves. You probably arranged for the doors to be stuck, too, didn’t you? To create a crisis situation that only you would be prepared to resolve.”

Senators and spectators rose from their seats, whispering and shouting, waving their arms in the air. Ben clasped his hand over the microphone, causing a skull-shattering feedback. In the aftermath, the room fell quiet.

“Well, that worked nicely,” Ben said. “You might consider that as an alternative to the gavel, Mister Chairman.”

Keyes gave him a small salute.

“One last thing,” Ben added. “I can’t prove Judge Haskins killed that woman at Thaddeus Roush’s home during the press conference. But I can prove he was there. And I know he was willing to put hundreds of lives in danger as part of his quest to get himself a higher profile, and we know he was willing to deal with the devil to smear Tad Roush. Is it really so difficult to imagine that he would kill one woman to insure there was a vacancy he could fill? I’ve contacted Lieutenant Albertson of the Washington PD and suggested that they get a subpoena for the Haskins local residence. I think they might just find something that will eliminate all doubt about what really happened.”

The room was almost completely out of control, but Ben insisted on finishing. “Just one last thing,” he said, shouting above the fray. “Now that the dessert is out of the way, why don’t we confirm the meat and potatoes? Thaddeus Roush is a good man and you all know it, a good man who’s been subjected to a frame and a smear campaign and a lot of other trouble he never asked for. He is enormously qualified and he deserves to sit with the other Supremes. So for once, let’s do the right thing.”

Ben turned toward the front of the room. “Mister Chairman, this is a democracy. So I move that we put this thing to an immediate vote.”

Keyes was about to speak, when at the front of the room, he saw Senator Matera rise slowly to her feet.

The chamber became quiet once more and everyone strained to hear her voice. “I’d like to say one thing. This is the last time I will be present in the Senate chamber, and the last vote I’m going to cast. I’m going to vote for Thaddeus Roush to be confirmed in his appointment to the Supreme Court. I’d be obliged if the rest of you would do the same.”

All at once, Ben heard someone clapping, then another, and another, and then it grew until it became a groundswell of thunderous applause. The senator to Ben’s right rose, still clapping, then the other Democrats did the same, and before long, more than half the Senate was on its feet.

Ben raised his hand upward toward Judge Roush. Roush stood and returned the salute. Their eyes met. And that was enough.

59

C
hairman Keyes let a few more people speak after Ben so everyone could have a clip for their local news, but less than an hour later, he called for the vote.

“The matter presently before the chamber is the nomination of Judge Thaddeus Roush to the Supreme Court of the United States. The question before us is this: Does the Senate advise and consent to this nomination by right of exercising its powers granted by Article 2 of the United States Constitution? I will direct the clerk to call the roll.”

“Senator Armstrong.”

“No.”

“Senator Bernard.”

“No.”

“Senator Byers.”

“Yes.”

And so it began. Ben sat at his desk, elbow to elbow with his fellow senators, and watched the votes trickle down. Most of the senators were voting along what passed for party lines in this convoluted mess—Republicans voting against the nominee of their President, Democrats voting for a die-hard Republican. Ben was pleased to see that at least his party was falling into line; there was considerable doubt about whether Roush could even muster that vote after the abortion revelation. So far, though, they hadn’t gotten anything from the Republican contingent. And they couldn’t win without it.

Five minutes later, the clerk was approaching the middle of the alphabet.

“Senator Matera.”

The prior rhythm was altered as the clerk paused to allow Matera to rise to her feet again. It wasn’t required, but Matera wanted to do it, and no one was going to stop her.

“I vote yes.” Her voice crackled a bit, and as she said it, she peered down at a number of her colleagues. Ben knew who she had singled out. She wasn’t glaring at random. She was staring down the handful of Republicans who were considered moderates. The precious few who might conceivably change their vote given the proper motivation.

The first moderate to vote was Senator McHenry. He voted no. Ben saw Matera give him the evil eye, but no words were spoken.

The second moderate to vote was Senator Norwood. She also voted no.

But Senator Palmetto voted yes. The second Republican to do so.

“Senator Quince.”

Ben could feel the man’s eyes burning down on him as he spoke. “I know this isn’t the time for speeches,” Quince said quietly, “but I just wanted to explain that, although I still have some reservations about this nominee, I am moved by the words of the senator from Oklahoma. This chamber should be focusing on the qualifications of the nominee for the job to which he has been nominated. When we focus on anything else, we encourage people to create scandal, which appears to me to be exactly what has happened in this unfortunate case. We must stop this before it robs the process—and the Constitution—of its dignity.” He took a deep breath. “Accordingly, I vote yes.”

Ben’s heart almost leaped out of his chest. For the first time, he allowed himself to believe confirmation was just marginally possible.

The murmur in the chamber was audible, but the clerk continued calling names as if he did not hear it. In the course of the next five minutes, five Republican senators voted yes. No one had abstained. The vote was almost even, the nays only slightly ahead.

“Senator Wellington.”

“Yes.”

“Senator Wyatt.”

“Yes.”

The chamber and gallery alike held their breath. The vote was fifty yeses, forty-nine nos.

“Senator Yarmouth.”

There was an understandable pause. He appeared to be staring at the tote board as he spoke.

“Well, under the circumstances…I vote yes.”

Ben’s eyes widened with stunned surprise. A loud hue and cry ballooned up from the gallery, but the Vice President banged his gavel, cutting it off.

“Accordingly,” the Vice President announced, “the yeses number fifty-one, while the nos are forty-nine. The Senate therefore does advise and consent to the nomination of Judge Thaddeus Roush to the Supreme Court. We are out of session.”

He banged the gavel again, and this time there was no stopping the whooping and laughing and crying, the ecstatic outcries and disgruntled grumbling. One hundred senators and six hundred spectators spoke at once, all of them amazed at the historic event they had just witnessed.

Senator Hammond pushed his way down the aisle to Ben. He grabbed his hand and began shaking it with great force. Tears were in his eyes. “Damn it,” he said, smiling, “I knew you were the right man for this job. I knew it!”

Ben shrugged. “We got lucky.”

“In politics, there’s no such thing.” He pulled closer so he could be heard above the growing tumult. “Listen to me, Ben. You have to run for reelection. You have to. We need a man like you in the Senate.”

“Well, thank you.”

“Will you run?”

“I have to admit, it hasn’t been quite as horrible as I thought it might be.”

Christina came running down the aisle, pushed several senators out of her way, and threw her arms around Ben’s neck. “I never doubted you for a minute,” she said, hugging him tightly.

“Then you were the only one,” he whispered in her ear.

“No, I wasn’t.” She looked toward the gallery where, amid the noise and the tumult, Thaddeus Roush stood in the front row looking down at them. A throng of people were trying to get to him and offer their congratulations, but for the moment he was holding them at bay.

Even though Ben couldn’t hear, he didn’t need to be a lip-reader to know what Roush was saying: “Thank you.”

Ben nodded back at him. “It was my pleasure.”

“I talked to Lieutenant Albertson on my cell,” Christina told Ben. “He’s working on a subpoena to search Haskins’s home, office, and the place he’s been renting since he came to D.C. And he’s sending a security detail to pick him up from—”

Her eyes turned upward again. Ben followed her gaze. In the front row, just to the left of Judge—soon to be Justice—Roush, Margaret Haskins still sat, her hands covering her face.

But Judge Haskins was gone.

60

L
oving practically had to promise his firstborn child before Trudy would let him leave the hospital. All that talk about his delicate condition—it was almost as if they were married. Which wasn’t likely to happen, at least not in this universe. Still, Loving had to admit, his association with her—
him
—had loosened him up a little bit. Made him perhaps a little more accepting. Helped him see the value in people very different from himself. Trudy had saved his life. After that, minor details such as gender and wardrobe choice seemed pretty minor.

Loving was waiting covertly in Haskins’s front yard when his Cadillac came careening around the corner and down the circular cul-de-sac. Haskins’s eyes were wild; his movements were frenetic. Sweat dripped from his face.

As soon as he left his car, Loving stepped out of the bushes.

“Evenin’, Judge.”

Haskins froze as if he had hit an invisible wall. “Who—who are you?”

“Name’s Loving. I’m here to make sure you don’t do nothin’ you shouldn’t.”

“Like what?” Haskins snapped.

“Like destroyin’ evidence.”

“What makes you think there’s any evidence here?”

“Well, you were drivin’ in an awful big hurry.”

“You have no proof. You just came because that damned Kincaid said all those horrible lies about me.”

“The Skipper has been wrong, once or twice. And if he’s wrong today, fine. But I think I’ll keep an eye on you, just the same.”

“You can’t do that. You’re not with the police.”

“No, I’m not. But the police have obtained a search warrant and they’re on their way. I’m just babysittin’. Till they get here.”

Haskins tried to push past him. Loving blocked his way.

“You have no right to be here.”

“You know, I ’spect you know a heck of a lot more about rights and stuff than I do, bein’ a judge and all.” He looked at the man levelly. “But I’m still not gonna let you destroy evidence.”

Haskins rushed forward, tackling Loving. Loving’s feet hit the porch steps and he tripped, falling backward. Haskins caught him with a punch to the jaw on his way down, then rushed past him.

Ow!
Loving wasn’t sure which hurt more—the slug to his face or his head thudding against the concrete sidewalk. As if he hadn’t taken enough pounding lately. For an old geezer, Haskins had a darn good right arm.

He pulled himself up and rushed to the front door. Haskins had locked it, but hadn’t had the time to secure the dead bolt. Two good body slams with Loving’s strong right shoulder and the door began to crack. Two more and he was inside.

He found Haskins in the living room, crouched by the sofa, clutching a gun in both hands.

“Don’t make me shoot,” the judge said, his voice trembling.

Loving held his place, barely five feet in front of Haskins. The man shook from head to toe. Judging from his wild-eyed expression, he had taken complete leave of his senses. Loving had no confidence that he was in control of his trigger finger.

“You don’t wanna do that,” Loving said, holding out one arm.

“Stay back!” Haskins cried, shaking the gun back and forth. “I
will
shoot! Why shouldn’t I? I’ve got nothing left to lose.”

“Lemme tell you somethin’, friend—everyone’s got something left to lose.”

“Not anymore. I’m ruined. I’ve lost my job, my reputation. My freedom.”

“You still got a wife who loves you, right?”

Haskins hesitated, his gun wavering.

“How’s she gonna feel when she comes home and finds out you plugged someone in the living room? What’s she gonna think about you then?”

Haskins’s face contorted with pain and desperation. His hands quivered even more wildly than before.

“Margaret…always believed in me,” he said, his voice choking. “Even when I didn’t deserve it.” He stared at the gun in his hands. “Like now.”

Loving took a step forward. “Look, just gimme the gun. We can work out all the details later. I’m sure—”

Outside, they both heard the sound of sirens approaching.

“Oh, no. Oh, no.” Haskins’s voice was barely a whisper. “They really are coming. They’re going to lock me up and humiliate me and—and—”

“Whoa,” Loving said, taking another step closer. “Let’s stay calm here. The police are just comin’ to help.”

“No one can help me now. My life is over.”

Loving watched as Haskins slowly turned the gun barrel away, toward his own face.

“Hang on there,” Loving said. “You don’t wanna do that. Think about your wife. Think about—”

“Prison,” he muttered, staring at the gun. “Instead of the Supreme Court. Prison. Public disgrace. Margaret.” His eyes grew even wider. “I’m sorry, Margaret. I’m so sorry!”

“Don’t!” Loving shot forward, but he wasn’t fast enough. Haskins put the gun inside his mouth and pulled the trigger.

“No!”
Loving turned away just before he fired. The scattered remains of Haskins’s head rained down, blood and brain tissue showering the room like a filthy rain.

The front door opened and two police officers rushed inside, their weapons drawn. “What the hell happened?” one of them asked.

“A tragedy,” Loving muttered. “A damned tragedy. Or maybe the end of one.”

Loving sat on the front porch of Haskins’s rented home, hands on his chin, disgusted with himself.

“Don’t take it so hard.”

Loving turned and saw Lieutenant Albertson standing behind him.

“There was nothing more you could have done. The man thought his life was over, ruined. So he took the easy way out.” Albertson frowned. “Hard thing for a good Catholic boy to say, but I’m not so sure he did the wrong thing.”

Loving didn’t attempt a response. “What’s in the Baggie?”

Albertson held up the plastic evidence bag he was carrying. “A pair of garden gloves. Found them hidden in the bedroom closet. They’ve been washed, but a luminol bath has already revealed microscopic traces of blood, and my expert says it’s the victim’s type. We’ll do DNA typing on the blood, if there’s enough, but there’s no real doubt in my mind. He must’ve found the gloves in Roush’s garden and put them on to avoid leaving prints when he killed the woman. When you wouldn’t let him get to them, he knew the game was up. He was going down for murder.”

“So he shot himself in the face.” Loving felt a mixture of disgust at the thought of what Haskins had done, and disgust at himself for not preventing it.

At the far end of the driveway, Loving saw another patrol car silently pull up, lights swirling. A moment later, a plainclothes police officer helped Margaret Haskins out of the car.

“Man, I do not want to be here for this,” Loving said, pushing himself to his feet. “Do you need me for anythin’ more?”

Albertson shook his head. “I know where we can find you. Thanks for your help.”

Loving took a deep breath, then marched down the driveway, his head hung low. “Yeah. Anytime.”