Authors: William Bernhardt
61
B
en knew he had better things to do—most of his senatorial duties had waited on the back burner while he was obsessed with the Roush confirmation—but he couldn’t help himself. He was addicted to the CNN coverage of the whole affair. The Roush confirmation vote had been dramatic enough, but coupled with the discoveries about Judge Haskins and his subsequent suicide, it became an even more major news event. Pundits bickered about every aspect of the case, whether it held hope for a more bipartisan approach to judicial confirmation or evidenced a gross eroding of standards. Everyone weighed in on the subject—everyone except the President, who had remained silent. Ben’s final speech in the Senate had been replayed and sound bit almost nonstop, and after the twentieth viewing or so, Ben finally stopped wincing every time he saw himself on the screen.
“Ready to go?”
Christina stood in the office doorway wearing a bright blue tea-length dress with a brilliant opal brooch.
“You look stunning,” Ben said.
She curtsied slightly and fluttered her eyelashes. “Well, I try.”
“Where have you been?”
“In Senator Hammond’s office. We’re still working double shifts, trying to get that Wilderness Bill out of committee. We think there’s a chance. If anyone can do it in the current political climate, it’s him.”
Ben placed his hands on her hips and smiled. “How is it we work together every day but still don’t see enough of each other?”
She returned the smile. “Well, part of the problem is that we live in separate apartments.”
Ben coughed into his hand. “Yes, well, umm…one thing at a time. May I escort you to the Capitol steps?”
“I’d be honored,” she replied, offering him her arm.
The President was present on the East Wing balcony, feigning pleasure that his nominee had been confirmed, but what pleased Ben most was to see Ray Eastwick in attendance. He was seated in the front row behind the podium, just beside Roush, the seating sending an unequivocal message to every spectator or viewer. He wondered if they’d made up—or had even had time, given all that had happened so quickly. He felt certain the wounds would heal, eventually. They were two intelligent, successful men; they knew better than to waste their lives sulking when they could be celebrating life to the fullest.
And today was a great day to celebrate.
On cue, Roush took his position, put his hand on a very large Bible, and gazed across at the Chief Justice of the United States.
“Please repeat after me.”
Roush closed his eyes, said a silent prayer, and began. “I, Thaddeus Ronald Roush, do solemnly swear to protect and defend the Constitution of the United States…”
The newly appointed Justice Roush’s remarks were brief, so in less than half an hour the entire ceremony was over. Ben was anxious to congratulate Roush, but so were about a thousand other people, so he patiently waited his turn. Now that the excitement was over, he was back to being a less-than-one-term junior senator from Oklahoma, and as such did not get cuts to the front of the receiving line.
“He’ll make a fabulous Supreme Court justice,” Christina said. “I can tell already.”
“And what makes you so sure?” Ben asked. “His probity? Honesty? Integrity?”
“I was more focused on that pin-striped suit he’s wearing. What a snappy dresser! I’m always impressed by a snappy dresser.”
“I assume that’s what attracted you to me.”
“Mmm. No comment.”
Ben heard a buzzing sound from her purse. She took her cell phone out and reviewed the screen.
“Gina’s Instant Messaging me. Seems the police have learned even more about Haskins’s victim. She’s been linked to at least five different heists. And they’ve uncovered the name of her partner on that museum job, the one she killed. Jerome Charles.”
A synapse fired inside Ben’s brain. “Where was he from?”
Christina continued to scroll through the message. “Doesn’t say where he’s from. But they’ve disinterred the body from a Beaumont cemetery and—”
Ben’s head jerked around. “Where?”
“Beaumont. South Texas.”
Ben pressed the heels of his hands against his head. “No,” he gasped.
Christina’s eyebrows scrunched together. “What is it?”
“How could I have been so stupid?”
“Ben, you’re creeping me out. What is it?”
“I’ve got to get out of here.”
“You’ve—Ben! What’s going on?”
“I’ll tell you as soon as I know. As soon as I know for sure.”
“But where are you going?”
Ben kissed her on the cheek. “To have a very serious talk with Ray Eastwick.”
62
B
en had to wait almost two hours. It wasn’t enough for him to talk with Eastwick; he needed to talk with the man in private. Eventually, after all the well-wishers had finished well-wishing, while Roush was still chatting with the press, Ben managed to pull Eastwick away. They reentered the Capitol building, found the nearest empty conference room, and locked the door.
“Ben—what’s this all about?”
“I need to talk to you, Ray. And I thought you’d want to do this in private.”
“Why? I have no secrets from Tad.”
Ben just hoped that was true. “You two getting along better?”
One corner of his mouth tugged upward. “Yes, thank you. It seems there’s nothing quite like being appointed to the Supreme Court to buoy a man’s spirit. Even when you only slip past the Senate by the hairs of your chinny-chin-chin. We finally sat down and had a heart-to-heart.”
“And?”
“Well, I’m not going to suggest that everything’s all perfect now. But I think I understand a little better what was going on in his head. It really was a spontaneous act—revealing his sexual orientation at the press conference. Outing me. Outing us. I’m not saying I think it was smart, or even acceptable. But I’m beginning to understand.”
“I’m glad.” Ben wished he didn’t have to go any further, but he knew he did. “Ray, I have to ask you about something.”
“Then get to it. What is it you want to know?”
“The day of the press conference. In your garden.”
“Yes?”
“You…saw the woman. The woman who was killed?”
“Yes. I’ve never made any secret of that. I told the police I saw her. What’s the problem?”
“The problem is, I think you more than just saw her. I think you knew who she was.”
“I’ve already told you I knew she was the woman Tad had the affair with. The woman who had the abortion. I just…sensed it. The moment I saw her.”
“No. I think you knew she was the murderer of Jerome Charles. That’s the real reason you became so agitated when you spotted her on the premises, isn’t it?”
Eastwick peered deeply into Ben’s eyes. “What makes you so sure?”
“Something you told me the first time we met.” Ben pulled out a chair. “Sit down, Ray. We’re going to be here awhile.”
Senator Hammond pushed open the door and leaned into Ben’s office. “Coming to the victory celebration?”
Ben barely looked up. “I’d like to.”
“Then what’s stopping you, son?”
“I’m not sure what to do.”
Hammond stepped inside. “What’s the problem?”
“The problem is, I know something. About someone I admire. And I’m not sure what to do about it.”
“I take it this something you know is something bad.”
“Very bad.”
Hammond pulled up a chair. “Well, son, I’ve been around a long while, and in my experience, no matter how bad it is, the best approach is to confront the person straight on. Just come out with it. Put it on the table.”
“Yes, but—” Ben sighed. “It’s very hard to do.” He looked up at Hammond. “Because I’m talking about murder. The murder of Victoria Danvers.”
“What?” Hammond’s forehead creased. “I thought that was all over and done with. Judge Haskins committed the crime.”
“I thought it was over, too. I was wrong.”
“But the police found the bloodstained gloves at his home. And the man killed himself.”
“The man had a lot to feel guilty about. Paying someone to set that fire, for instance. But he wasn’t feeling remorse about the murder of Victoria Danvers. Because he didn’t do it.”
“But he put the gun in his mouth—”
“The shame of having people think he was a murderer—wrongfully—may well have contributed to his suicide. The gloves were planted in his home.”
“How could anyone know the police would be coming to search?”
“Because the murderer—the real one—knew I was going to expose Haskins as an arsonist on the floor of the Senate. And he figured that once people swallowed that, it would be a short hop in the public eye from arsonist to murderer. Which it was.”
Hammond’s back stiffened for a moment, then he slowly settled back into his chair. “How did you figure it out?”
Ben shrugged. “It wasn’t hard. Not once I heard the name of the man Victoria killed all those years ago after the Boston museum robbery. Not once I heard he was buried in your hometown. You told me about the loss of your son, how it devastated you, all those years ago. You even told me you named him Hieronymous Carroll—and that you loved Latin. I guess your son did, too. Because Hieronymous is the Latinate form of Jerome. And Carroll is Latin for Charles. Hieronymous Carroll became Jerome Charles. He never took your last name because he was born out of wedlock. That’s why most people didn’t know about him. That’s why even now, his disappearance hasn’t been linked to you. But I figured it out. And then I confirmed it by talking with Ray Eastwick. Your former clerk.”
Hammond’s eyes slowly drifted downward. “He was raised by his mother, a sweet little thing from a good family in Beaumont, Texas. Rich as the devil. But married. And she had no use for me, other than as an occasional plaything.” He sighed heavily. “I thought she’d be a good mother to him. But apparently I was wrong, given the way he turned out. They had some disagreement, she cut him off, and he turned to crime to keep himself in the style to which he had become accustomed.”
Hammond turned his face upward to keep his eyes from spilling. “I loved that boy, in my own way. Only child I ever had. I kept an eye on him from a distance—she wanted it that way. Too distant, as it turned out. Next thing I knew, he’d vanished into the European underworld without a trace. Got messed up with some art thieves. And then he disappeared—until he turned up dead. No one knew what had happened to him. So I hired a detective to find out. Took the man years to piece it all together. That woman—Victoria Danvers—had not left many clues behind. Smart. She was a philosophy major, did you know that, Ben?”
“No,” he said quietly.
“How does someone go from being a philosophy major to being a coldhearted killer? It was incomprehensible. But true. The detective finally found some snitch who put him on the right track. He identified Danvers.”
“But Senator—why murder?”
“She killed him, Ben.” His voice reacquired some of its usual fire. “Killed him in cold blood. Killed him mean. Some kind of falling-out after the Boston job. He got greedy, probably, and she challenged him. I don’t doubt that he did something to provoke her irritation. But she murdered him. Murdered the only son I ever had. Ever would have. More than that—she punished him. She was deliberately cruel, hurting him long after he had any ability to defend himself. Dragging his face in the gravel. She mutilated him, Ben. So I started looking for her, without success. Hired even more detectives to find her, but they couldn’t. I understand why, now. She’d changed her name, changed her whole appearance. Even changed her damn fingerprints. After a while, I almost started to forget—or at least to not obsess over it every day and night.”
“What changed?”
Hammond wiped away the tears that streaked his face. “Where I come from, we were taught that murder is wrong, no matter what the circumstances. We were also taught, an eye for an eye.”
“You recognized her at the press conference.”
Hammond nodded. “The detective had shown me photos of the woman. No amount of plastic surgery was going to fool me. Her face was burned into my brain. Knew her the second I saw her. Felt it in my gut. And she didn’t deny it, either. She laughed at me, wanted to know what I was going to do about it. And—and—I don’t know what happened to me. Something just broke. Something inside me. I saw the gloves and the garden shears and I grabbed them and—well, you know the rest. I didn’t have time to hide the body, so I did just the opposite. Put the body where it was certain to be found.”
“And certain to divert suspicion to Thaddeus and Ray.”
Hammond looked down, his face somber. “I like to think that if the police had ever gotten serious about charging either one of them, I would’ve come forward.” He paused. “But I guess we’ll never know, will we?”
“You didn’t seem to have any problem framing Judge Haskins.”
Hammond laughed bitterly. “The man caused a fire that could’ve killed hundreds of people. If he wasn’t a murderer, it was only by happenstance. I didn’t have any moral qualms about pinning the murder on his sorry little ass.”
Ben rubbed his eyes. It had been a long day. And it wasn’t over yet. “Thank you for telling the truth.”
Hammond looked away. “Sounds as if you knew most of it already anyway.”
Ben nodded sadly. “You don’t know how much this pains me, Senator. You’ve been my mentor—at times, my only friend in Washington. I wish there was some alternative. But there isn’t. I’m going to have to tell the authorities.”
Hammond drew in a deep breath, wiped his face again. “No, Ben. I don’t think you will.”
“What—is that a threat?”
“Of course not. I just know that you’re a reasonable man.”
“You can’t imagine that I’m going to keep silent just because we’re friends.”
“No, son. I think you’re going to remain silent because I’m the Minority Leader of the Senate. And in a year, I just might be the Majority Leader. And you don’t want to screw that up.”
Ben stared at him uncomprehendingly. “You must have mistaken me for someone who cares about politics a good deal more than I do.”
“Really. And does that pretty little fiancée of yours feel the same way?”
Ben stopped short.
“You know, if I’m not in the Senate, that Wilderness Bill your little filly cares so much about will go down in flames. Will never get out of committee, in fact.”
“What are you saying?”
“Just a simple fact. If I go down, so does the Alaskan wilderness. How will Christina feel about that? And how will she feel when she finds out it was your fault?”
“Christina will understand.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. How will you feel about it? Do you want to see oil rigs in our last unblemished wilderness?”
“You know I don’t.”
“For that matter, what about the antipoverty bill? That’ll go down in flames if I leave the Senate. The education bill? History. Fifty million dollars to fund education in the state of Oklahoma alone—gone. All thanks to you.”
“I won’t listen to this.”
“I know you care about the death penalty. This is the time to strike. I could get an anti–death penalty bill passed if you like, and with Thaddeus on the Supreme Court, it’ll be upheld. Don’t you see, Ben? You need me to keep my job.”
“That doesn’t matter,” Ben said, pacing agitatedly behind his desk. “This is a question of justice.”
“Is it? Is it just that all those people living below the poverty line should go on suffering so you can fulfill some quixotic quest to punish a man for executing the career criminal who murdered his only son? Does that really make sense to you?”
Ben ran his fingers through his hair. “This—this is all confusing and—and irrelevant. What it comes down to, is—”
“I’ll tell you what it comes down to, son.” Hammond rose to his feet. “What it comes down to is what do you care about most? Your sense of justice? Or Christina? Because if you care one whit for that girl, you won’t let the projects she cares so much about and has worked so hard on go down in flames.”
Ben felt an ache in the pit of his stomach. His head throbbed. He felt hot, stifled. He desperately wanted to be gone, anywhere but here.
“It’s a simple decision, Ben,” Hammond continued, in the same even, measured tones. “Lock up an old man. Or save the world. What’s it going to be?”
Ben closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, then opened them. He walked to Hammond and stood barely an inch away from him. “Listen to me, Senator. And listen very closely. You will not always be the Senate Minority Leader. You will not always be a senator at all. And the second that you’re not—I’ll be waiting for you.” He paused a moment, then added, “There’s no statute of limitations on murder.”
The corner of Hammond’s mouth turned up slightly. He stepped toward the door. “I guess we understand each other.”
“I guess we do.”
“I’m sorry it had to be this way, Ben.”
“Not as sorry as I am.”
“Don’t take it personally, son. It isn’t personal. It’s politics.”
And he closed the door behind him.