The Rose Conspiracy (32 page)

“Will be glad to,” Hartz said with a smile.

“One more thing,” the judge said. “The media has now begun to file motions asking that the trial be televised. I don't like cameras in my courtroom. You both know that. And the Court of Appeals has given us guidance on that too. So, before I render my decision on those requests, where do you stand?”

“The government is taking no position on that issue,” Hartz announced.

“The defense objects to cameras,” Blackstone said. “I think that juries can do strange things when they know they are being filmed. This is a capital murder case, not a TV reality show.”

“There, you and I agree,” the judge said. “Okay. I'll be releasing my decision on that issue pretty soon. Anything else?”

Both attorneys shook their heads.

Judge Templeton dismissed them all.

Out in the corridor, on the way to the parking lot, Blackstone started bulleting out assignments for Julia.

“First thing,” he said, “I want you to do a complete public record check on Vinnie. All her vital statistics. Birth certificate. Verification of schooling. Landlord-tenant leases for her apartment as well as her art studio. Get a criminal background check, any civil lawsuit filing with her name on it, and a credit check. We have to screen her with a fine mesh. Anything negative in her background that we don't know about, the government will, and Henry Hartz will destroy her with it if she testifies. And, of course, there is another reason for getting all of that together.”

Blackstone was now rolling at a fast walk, and Julia was having a hard time keeping up in her high heels.

“Yes, I realize,” she said, “why else we need it. For the death-penalty phase of the case if the government gets a conviction. I've been accumulating some of that information already. I'll get the rest.”

“Second,” Blackstone continued, “I want you and Jason to schedule a mock cross-examination of our client,” he said. “Set up the video camera in the office. Get Vinnie on a DVD so I can study it. I want you to really lay into her. I have a feeling that won't be hard for you,” he said, laughing. “I need to assess how she is going to hold up at trial if we decide to have her testify in her own defense. Then I'll schedule my own additional testimony run-throughs with her after that.”

Julia was still walking next to him and giving him a polite but restrained nod as he talked.

Then she slowed down the pace to a halt. Blackstone realized it, and he stopped and turned around in the parking lot to face her.

That's when she spoke up.

“I told you the other day that I was going to be making a decision…about continuing on with your office.”

“It's not my office,” he blurted out. “It's
our firm.
We're partners.”

“Funny,” she said. “It never feels that way. Well, the point is this. I will help you through this Vinnie Archmont trial. That's the least I can do for my legal mentor. But that's it. I've pretty well decided that after the trial is over, I'm leaving the firm.”

“You're kidding.”

“How can you doubt it—that I'm serious on this?” she said in disbelief. “I've spelled it out for you. I'm tired of being stepped on, and walked over, and—”

“Taken for granted?”

“Yes.”

“And not given ample professional encouragement?”

“Exactly.”

“And romantically jilted?”

Julia gave an open-mouthed gasp of exasperation.

“The truth is,” Blackstone said, “you and I had a very…good thing going, at least for a while…and then something happened. And it ended. I'm not sure why.”

“You ended it,” she said. “That's what happened. And like a fool I stayed on at the firm with you, even after the fires of romance had all died out.”

“You're no fool, Julia. You're bright, talented, and beautiful. All that captivated me. But then…well, anyway, that doesn't mean we can't continue on as partners,” Blackstone said.

Julia stopped and lowered her head as she decided to select her words carefully.

“My decision is not emotional, J.D. It is purely professional. I am giving you notice.”

Julia turned and clip-clopped in her high heels over to her car where she beeped the door open, tossed her briefcase onto the passenger seat, and climbed in the driver's side.

CHAPTER 43

W
hen Blackstone was back at the law firm after the court appearance in Vinnie's case, the first thing he did was to sit down in front of the computer in his office and log onto the United States Senate Web site.

He had to check out something that had been nagging him for a while. About Senator Bo Collings's motivations. He needed to come to a conclusion, somehow, about the Arkansas senator's involvement in the background of Vinnie's prosecution, where he had been like a character in a theatrical play lurking behind a thin, scrim curtain. Was Collings's meddling in the case through his contacts with Henry Hartz simply a matter of defending his own self-interests? Or was there something much more sinister at play?

In Blackstone's criminal practice he had learned to spend a great deal of time ruminating on the varieties and mysteries of human motivation. His psychological training came in handy. All crimes, and complicities, were committed for reasons, he had concluded. Even those that didn't seem to fit the premeditated mold—the random, senseless acts that probably terrified the public the most—also had their reasons. Just not the typical ones.

But he had formulated a theory on the senator's heightened interest in Vinnie's case and in the Langley note. Now he had to determine whether there was any real data to back it up.

On the Senate Web site he typed in a few key words and did a search
of pending legislation. He scrolled down a few entries. And then it was there, right in front of him on his computer screen:

Senate Resolution 217

Suddenly, Blackstone was aware of someone behind him.

He turned around. It was Jason, the paralegal, standing in the doorway of his office.

“Professor Blackstone,” he said. “I was working on the list of potential witnesses you gave me for the Vinnie Archmont case. You know, so I could help you get the subpoenas ready. But I had one really big question.”

“Yes?”

“You got a name on this list…I don't know exactly what the deal is with this one…but Julia—uh, I mean Ms. Robins—told me there is a real serious problem with him.”

“You're talking about Senator Collings?”

“Right. That's the one.”

“Don't issue his subpoena yet,” Blackstone said. “I was just working on that issue.”

Jason nodded and disappeared.

Blackstone knew what he had to do. It was a gambit with a risk. He was virtually certain he was right. But he had to test his hypothesis.

He dialed the number.

“Judiciary Committee,” the person at the other end said.

“I'm looking for Billy Baxter,” Blackstone said, with a sly smile. “I need to talk with him. This is Professor Blackstone. Tell him I'm calling with the results of his bar exam…and it doesn't look good.”

After a few minutes Baxter picked up and announced himself in an unamused monotone. Blackstone jumped into the deep end.

“Billy, this is J.D. Blackstone calling,” he started out. “Let's forget the bad blood, shall we? I know you are Senator Collings's guy over there at Judiciary. You've obviously got future career plans. Department of Justice? Office of White House Legal Counsel? Or maybe a big law firm or lobbying shop down on K Street. Whatever it is, I really don't think you want me on your enemies list, do you?”

“What is your point, Professor?”

“I would like to avoid serving the good senator with a subpoena for the trial of Vinnie Archmont,” Blackstone began. “Because if I do serve him—well, I recall all your threats about what would happen if I do—and we all know what ‘mutually assured destruction' means. Thermonuclear war—I'm speaking metaphorically, of course—ruins everybody's day. So here is what I am proposing. I need to meet with the senator right away. Just a short conversation. Off the record. Then I can refrain from bringing him into the middle of this sordid criminal trial. How about it?”

“I doubt,” Baxter said, “that the senator wants to ever see you again. For any purpose.”

“Then tell him that I want to discuss Senate Resolution 217. Tell him that.”

Then Blackstone added, “And when his office calls me back indicating that the senator will meet with me, you need to know I will only be here in the office for another hour or so.”

Less than an hour later, Blackstone received a call from Senator Collings's scheduler.

She said that it was very fortunate that there were no votes on the floor of the Senate that day, and that the senator “had an unexpected opening in his schedule” and would like to meet with him in two hours.

“Where?” Blackstone asked.

The scheduler gave him the address. Then she added, “Very top deck.”

Very strange,
Blackstone thought to himself when he pieced together the site of the meeting. But then again, he realized that this was a very strange case he was defending.

Two hours later, Blackstone drove his black Maserati cross-town to Union Station, in the heart of the government landscape of Washington. He motored up the winding ramp to the parking area and then headed up a few flights to the very top. Once there, he headed over to the far corner and parked his car. Now that it was rush hour, it was almost barren of any other cars.

He climbed out of the Maserati and surveyed the city. From there he could see, off in the distance, the Capitol dome, with its top light burning,
and in another direction, the outline of the Lincoln Monument in the waning light that would soon turn to dusk.

Blackstone glanced at his watch. He was right on time. But Senator Collings wasn't. It didn't surprise him. Now the question was whether Collings was going to show at all.

After strolling around his car for a while, Blackstone called his office from his cell phone. No, Frieda said, there had been no messages from Senator Collings's office regarding a change in the meeting. Then he checked his BlackBerry. No e-mails from Collings's office.

Twenty minutes went by. He checked his cell phone one more time to make sure the ringer was on. But his ringer was on full volume. And no calls.

Five more minutes went by.

Then he heard something. The sound of a car coming up the ramp.

A large black limo appeared, slowly prowling onto the top deck. It made its way over to Blackstone and stopped.

The door swung open.

Senator Bo Collings squeezed his considerable girth out of the limo and strode directly over to Blackstone. He had stripped his coat off, and he was in his shirtsleeves.

“Over here,” Collings said, motioning to the concrete guard rail at the perimeter of the upper deck, away from Blackstone's car.

When they positioned themselves there, Collings crossed his arms and raised a questioning eyebrow.

“Nice location,” Blackstone remarked. “Very clandestine. So, does this mean you're ‘Deep Throat'? Which would make me—let's see—was it Woodward or Bernstein?”

“You can knock off the smart-aleck banter,” Collings snapped, “and cut to the chase. You wanted this meeting. So talk.”

“I am willing to forgo serving you with a subpoena. But I need some information.”

“I'm listening.”

“Yes or no—you tried to intervene in the Vinnie Archmont case because you didn't want certain information hitting the newspapers—like the contents of the Horace Langley note. Correct?”

“I would never ‘intervene' in an ongoing criminal prosecution,
Professor. That wouldn't be right. You know that.” Collings was smiling.

“You talked to Henry Hartz.”

“I talk to a lot of people.”