Murder in the Supreme Court (Capital Crimes Series Book 3) (11 page)

Sutherland resisted the temptation to respond sharply. Instead he said, “Clarence’s death was a tragic loss to all of us close to him, and we’re trying to cope with the horror
of it as best we can. If there isn’t anything else, Bill, I’d just as soon get back to my family.”

Stalk came around the desk and draped his arm around Sutherland’s shoulders. “Chester, I’m sorry if I’ve intruded on sensitive ground. There’s no need for that, national security or no national security. But I have an obligation to explore any possible area of weakness. You understand, I’m sure.”

“Yes, of course. I enjoyed lunch, Bill, it was good seeing you again.”

Stalk pushed a buzzer on his desk, then walked Sutherland to the door, his arm still over his shoulder. “You know, Chester,” he said, “I realize we’ve discussed this before, and I promise you this will be the last time. Are you certain you didn’t keep files of your own on MKULTRA?”

Sutherland placed his hand on the doorknob and turned it. He looked into Stalk’s eyes and said flatly, quietly, “Yes, I’m certain. Enjoy the skeet shooting.”

Eight of the nine Supreme Court justices sat in the main conference room. Missing was Temple Conover. He had called to say he was ill but promised to come in later in the day.

Jonathan Poulson had presented his argument in favor of the state of Illinois in the
Nidel
v.
Illinois
case. Much of what he said had been contained in a long memorandum from him earlier in the week. It was a typical Poulson memo, long and rambling, filled with redundancies and lacking in clarity of writing and thought. At least that was the way most of the clerks viewed his written work, and their justices tended to agree.

What some of the justices found particularly upsetting about the memorandum was its stress on achieving a unanimous
decision within the Court so that a clear and strong message on abortion would be available to lower courts across the nation. Poulson seemed to be saying that in this particular case it mattered less what each individual justice believed represented the facts of law in
Nidel
v.
Illinois
than a need to reflect the administration’s antiabortion posture, which in turn reflected the nation’s morality. “It’s ridiculous,” was the way one justice put it to his clerks. “If there’s ever been a case that didn’t lend itself to unanimity, this is it.”

When Poulson had completed his arguments in the conference, the senior justice was next to speak. Since Conover wasn’t present, his turn was passed on. One after another the justices presented their views of the case based on their reading of the briefs and the oral arguments heard in open court.

“I don’t understand why we continue to deal with this matter beyond the scope of the legal issue,” Justice Tilling-Masters said. “If it’s the intention of members of this Court to render a sweeping opinion on abortion from legal, philosophical and moral perspectives,
Nidel
v.
Illinois
is not the case to base it on. I said that from the beginning. That’s why I voted against accepting it for review.”

“I agree,” Morgan Childs said from his chair near the door. “This case is too narrow for that. In accepting it for review we’re being asked to determine whether the federal government has a right to tell a state what it must do with its funding for health care. It isn’t federal money we’re discussing, it’s state money.” He picked up law books that had been opened to specific pages and quoted from previous cases he felt had bearing on
Nidel
v.
Illinois
. “It’s my view that the state of Illinois has a right to determine its policies on state-funded medical care. Naturally, if an individual’s rights are in question another
element would be introduced, but I find that situation lacking in this instance.”

Poulson nodded enthusiastically. “Can we take a preliminary vote?”

They went around the table, beginning with the Chief. It ended up four to four.

“I’m afraid I can’t accept this,” Poulson said. “Perhaps there are overlooked factors that we might reconsider.” He started to present his views again when another of the justices, a thin, scholarly man named Ronald Fine, who was second in seniority to Temple Conover, and who often voted with the senior justice on social issues, interrupted. “Chief Justice,” he said in a quiet, level voice tinged with a southern accent, “I believe we have a preliminary vote on this case. Naturally, Justice Conover’s vote will be the deciding one, and I’m sure we are all… well, shall we say, relatively certain how the senior justice will vote.”

Poulson knew Fine was right on both counts. Still, he did not want to leave the conference in the minority.

“Let me call Justice Conover,” Fine said, “and inform him of the vote.”

“Yes,” Poulson said. A wave of anxiety had swept over him; he was anxious to return to the quiet of his chambers.

There was silence in the room as Fine placed the call to Conover’s house. “Yes, Justice Conover, that’s the way the vote went… Pardon?… Of course, I’ll pass that information on to the others… Oh, just a second, Justice Poulson wants to speak with you.”

He handed the phone to Poulson. “Temple, how are you feeling?… Good, glad to hear it. You’re voting for Nidel I take it… Yes, I understand. I would like to speak with you when you come in this afternoon… Yes, thank you, you too.”

“That makes it five to four,” Childs muttered, “for the
plaintiff. Somehow, I can’t help but feel that this won’t represent a final vote.”

“It usually doesn’t,” said Justice Augustus Smith, the Court’s only black member. Known as “Gus” to his friends, he was the most easygoing of the nine; quick-witted and filled with gentle humor. “With Temple writing the majority opinion,” he said, “there’s no way somebody won’t see some light on the other side. Did he say he’d write it himself?” he asked Fine.

“No, but it’s a fair assumption.”

Under the rules of the Court, the senior justice in the majority was empowered either to write the initial opinion or assign it to another member of the majority. Had Chief Justice Poulson been in the majority, that authority would have gone to him. As it now stood he would assign the minority opinion, and each justice was free to write a personal, dissenting judgment.

Poulson hid his anger until reaching his chambers. He realized that his failure to gain unanimity was not particularly relevant in light of the way the initial vote had gone. Not only would the Poulson Court fail to utter a call to the nation that would reflect President Jorgens’s campaign promise to return decency to American life, but a distinct blow would be delivered to that pledge, resulting in an important victory for the social libertarians he and Jorgens abhorred.

But as he sat back in his high-backed leather chair and soaked in the calm of his office, his initial anger and anxiety faded. This was only the beginning. If there were ever a time for a chief justice to effectively lobby his colleagues on the Court, this was it. He thought about Augustus Smith’s comment and realized how accurate it had been. Temple Conover would write a majority opinion that would go too far. Conover couldn’t help it. His zeal for social reform, combined with the influence of age and
his natural irascible personality, would see to it, and more moderate justices who’d voted in the majority just might shift their final votes.

Poulson lunched with an old friend from law school and his friend’s son, also an attorney, at the National Lawyer’s Club. The young man asked questions, which pleased Poulson. Poulson told him that of all the institutions in America, it was the Court that stood apart from political wheeling and dealing. It was, he said, a body of nine individuals who, by virtue of their backgrounds, education and experience could interpret the Constitution without being mortgaged to any person or group. He ended up by giving the young man what had become a canned speech, but as he continued, checking now and then to measure the son’s interest, he felt genuine pride. He’d always revered the sanctity of the law, which was why he’d worked as hard as he had to gain his first appointment to a bench to escape practicing law with all its deals and bargaining, its infighting and corruption.

The young man asked about Poulson’s views of secrecy in the Court. He phrased the question carefully so as not to hint at recent media criticism of the Poulson Court as being the most secretive in history.

Poulson smiled. “I’ll answer that by quoting my predecessor, Chief Justice Warren Burger. I always remember a speech he gave to the Ohio Judicial Conference about ten months before being sworn in as chief. I may not have it 100 percent correct, but it will be close enough. Justice Burger said, ‘A court which is final and unreviewable needs more careful scrutiny than any other. Unreviewable power is the most likely to engage in self-indulgence and the least likely to engage in dispassionate self-analysis.’ But these words really sum up Justice Burger’s feelings, and mine. ‘In a country like ours no public institution, or the people who operate it, can be above public debate.’”

The young attorney’s father kept his smile to himself. His friend, now Chief Justice, had, in fact, clamped a heavy lid on the Court far beyond anything experienced in the past. He couldn’t help thinking back to his younger days when he and Poulson were struggling to get started. A mutual friend had termed Poulson “the most paranoid guy I’ve ever met.” When told of the comment, Poulson had laughed and said, “Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they aren’t following you.”

“Well, I really must be getting back,” Poulson said. “Good luck to you, young man, in your career. If there’s anything I can do for you, please feel free to ask. Your dad and I go back a long way together.”

As they prepared to leave the dining room Poulson’s friend asked about major cases pending at the Court. Poulson hurriedly listed a few, including
Nidel
v.
Illinois
.

“How does that one look?” his friend asked.

A laugh from Poulson. “You know better than that, Harold. If there’s one thing in the Court that demands secrecy it’s the voting on cases. You’ll have to read the papers like everybody else.”

Poulson had his driver stop at a drugstore on the way back to the Court to buy Preparation H and a bottle of aspirin. They were for different problems. Once back in his chambers he took two aspirins for a headache that had begun during lunch, instructed his secretary that he did not want to be disturbed, settled in his chair and picked up a private phone. He dialed. It was answered on the first ring. “The office of the attorney general,” a woman said.

“Hello, this is Chief Justice Poulson. Is Mr. Fletcher available?”

“Just a moment, Mr. Chief Justice.”

A few moments later Attorney General Walter Fletcher came on the line. “Good afternoon, Mr. Chief Justice,” he said. “What can I do for you?”

“Nothing at the moment, Walter. I just thought I’d better call and tell you that preliminary voting on the abortion case did not go well.”

There was a pointed silence on Fletcher’s end.

“I’m not discouraged,” Poulson said. “These things shift, especially something as sensitive as this. I wouldn’t be surprised if we ended up with an almost unanimous decision in favor of Illinois once the dust settles.”

“But as of now, it doesn’t look good. Is that what you’re saying?”

Poulson tried to act nonchalant. “No need to worry, Walter. You might tell the President that we’ve got things under control.”

“Can I tell him that with conviction, Mr. Chief Justice?”

“Absolutely.” (Well, you can tell him, but it’s not in the bag.)

“Fine. Thank you for calling. By the way, if the President wants to discuss this with you, will you be available later today or tomorrow?”

“I’ll make myself available any time that’s convenient for him, Walter.”

It was appropriate, but these were difficult times, he told himself, rationalizing. If the nation under President Jorgens’s leadership were to regain its former balance and prestige—and the need for that he
was
unequivocal about—it would take definite, even bold steps by every governmental institution to bring about that change.

“‘The law, wherein, as in a magic mirror, we see reflected not only our own lives but the lives of all men that have been,’” Poulson said aloud, quoting Oliver Wendell Holmes, Jr., and felt a sense of relief displace his doubting mood. He poured himself a glass of vodka and sternly addressed himself. “You’ve been appointed Chief Justice of
the Supreme Court by the President of the United States,” he said, “and you’ll do what’s
right
, damn it, for the President, for the Court, and for the American people.
No matter what
…”

“Who?” Teller asked the desk sergeant who’d called from downstairs the following morning.

“Mrs. Temple Conover. She wants to see you, says it’s urgent.”

“Send her up.”

He couldn’t imagine the senior justice’s young wife visiting MPD headquarters unless she had something that related to the Sutherland murder. Well and good. He’d just come from his nine o’clock meeting with Dorian Mars and it hadn’t been pleasant.

Cecily Conover was ushered into Teller’s office.

“I’m sorry to barge in on you this way,” she said, “but it couldn’t wait.”

“Please sit down, Mrs. Conover. Now, what couldn’t wait?”

She crossed her legs, fussed at her blonde bangs. Teller couldn’t help but react to her sexiness. She was a naturally attractive woman who seemed to feel a need to reinforce what came naturally. She also acted nervous; acting or for real, he wondered?

“I’m not sure I should be here,” she said, “but I didn’t know what else to do.”

He leaned forward on his desk and smiled. “Whatever brings you here, Mrs. Conover, I’m sure we can talk about it.”

“I’ve never been so confused in my life,” she said as she shifted her weight in the chair, her skirt riding up on her thighs.

“How is your husband?” Teller asked.

“Fine, just fine. He’s an amazing man, Lieutenant Teller, but I’m sure you know that. Every American knows of my husband’s contributions to the law… and justice.”