The Tenth Justice (16 page)

As Ben passed the giant statue of John Marshall, he tightened his jaw and tried his best to remain calm. On the west side of the building were the only basement offices: those of the marshals, who were in charge of all security for the Court. Entering through the main door, Ben walked through the maze of tiny cubicles and was escorted to the far left-hand corner of the room. Stopping in the doorway of a large office, Ben waited behind his guide. A heavy man in a blue pin-striped suit sat behind a faux antique desk.

“Come on in,” he said. His round face was highlighted by a fat, pockmarked nose and a beard peppered with gray. The smell of the office revealed his taste for cigars. Decorating the front of his desk was an extensive collection of batteries. “Do me a favor, close the door,” the man said, motioning to Ben’s escort. He tilted back in his leather chair as the door slammed shut. “So you’re Ben Addison,” he said. “Please. Sit.”

“Is there some sort of problem?” Ben asked nervously as he sat in one of the two seats in front of the desk. He kept his breathing slow and steady, trying to look unfazed.

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out,” the man said as Ben’s escort sat in the other chair. “In case you don’t know me, I’m Carl Lungen, chief marshal here at the Court. I oversee all of our security here. This is Dennis Fisk, our deputy marshal,” Lungen said, indicating Ben’s gray-suited escort. “The reason we brought you here today is because we have some questions that we hope you can answer about a story that appeared in today’s
Washington Herald
. If you’re not aware of the story, let me say that it suggests the possibility that the recent
CMI
decision was leaked to Mr. Charles Maxwell. Are you with me so far?”

“I saw the story,” Ben said, annoyed by Lungen’s condescending tone.

“Good,” Lungen said, grabbing a 1980 Energizer. “You see, Ben, this story suggests that the security of this Court has been compromised. As you can imagine, this reflects poorly on our office. Luckily, we have a very close friend at the
Herald
, and after a phone call to this friend, I was informed that the author of the story was a new reporter to the paper. I was also informed that this reporter happens to live with one of our clerks. That clerk is you. So, you can imagine my desire to meet you face-to-face.”

“I know what you’re thinking,” Ben said, “but I had nothing to do with the story.”

“So you’re telling me that you don’t know of anyone leaking information from this Court?”

“No one.”

“Then why did your friend write that story?”

“I don’t know. To be honest, that’s exactly where I was headed when you pulled me down here. The first I heard of the story was at seven o’clock this morning. When I went to confront my roommate about it, he was gone.”

“Ben, I’m going to ask you again. Do you know of anyone leaking information from this Court?”

“No, I don’t. I swear, I don’t know of anyone.”

Lungen placed the battery back in line with the others. He stared at Ben. After a pause, Ben said, “My only guess is that he was trying to make a good impression on his editors. I mean, he knows that we know the opinions in advance. From there he can write whatever he wants. You know the
Herald
, they print anything.” As his voice picked up strength, he continued, “And if Eric had a single shred of proof, do you really think they’d run it on page five? The story is complete conjecture. You read it; all it does is present the possibility of an inside source to explain Maxwell’s lucky guess. It could’ve appeared on the op-ed page.”

“Ben, do you know what would happen if we found out you were lying?” Lungen asked, placing his hands flat on his desk. “Naturally, you’d be removed from your position. If that happened, my guess is that the press would pick it up immediately. Whether you were responsible or not, I’d wager that you’d be implicated as the source that leaked to Maxwell. After that, I’d say your career would be over, and your only work would be as an adviser to the TV movie that tells the world your story.”

“Why don’t you just cooperate with us?” Fisk asked in a calm, soothing voice. Fisk was rugged-looking, with chiseled features offset by a bad complexion and a poorly fitted suit. Fisk’s strong Chicago accent flattened his
A
’s and rounded his
O
’s. “If you let us, you know we can help you with this.”

“Listen, I don’t need the good-cop-bad-cop routine,” Ben said, a rush of adrenaline keeping his voice from cracking. “If I leaked the story to Eric, I’d be a complete moron. I mean, no offense to you guys, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out Eric and I are roommates. Does it make any sense for me to ask my roommate to write a story that will not only jeopardize my career, but will also call attention to myself?” Letting the logic of the argument sink in, he added, “The story is bullshit. Eric probably wanted attention and—”

“We didn’t say you asked Eric to write the story,” Fisk interrupted. “We just think you’re the one that gave him the information.”

“I didn’t say word one to him. Believe me, I’ve been extremely careful about what I’ve said around everyone, Eric especially.”

“But you did tell Eric that Blake is retiring, didn’t you?”

Ben bit the inside of his cheek. Lungen continued, “Don’t bullshit us, Ben. My friend at the
Herald
said there’s a story running tomorrow about Blake stepping down. The
Herald
wouldn’t run it without a solid source, and Eric fingered you.”

Crossing his arms to look confident, Ben knew he was losing control. “I admit I told him about Blake. I told him we’d be releasing the information later this week. But I didn’t tell him about—”

“You admit that you purposely leaked information from this Court about Blake, and yet you expect us to believe you about Maxwell?” Lungen asked.

“You know there’s a difference,” Ben said. “The Blake thing was common knowledge. It was hardly confidential information. What you’re talking about with Maxwell is on a totally different level.”

“That’s exactly our point,” Lungen said. “Now, would you like to start over?”

Determined not to show his frustration, Ben said, “Look, I swear, I don’t know anything about Maxwell. If I did, do you really think I’d be sitting here, talking to you? If I leaked the decision to Maxwell, I’d be on a beach in Greece right now, counting my ten-million-dollar fee.”

“Ben, let me tell you what we think. We agree you probably didn’t leak anything to Eric. That’d be stupid, and frankly, we expect better from you. You probably didn’t personally leak any information to Maxwell, either. As you said, if you did, you wouldn’t need to work anymore. Our fear, however, is that you may’ve heard something from your co-clerk, or from a clerk in another office, about someone else leaking information. You casually mention this to Eric, or maybe he overhears it, and suddenly we have a major scandal on our hands. At this point, though, the only person we do have is you.”

“I’m telling you: I have no idea of anyone, including myself, leaking information from this Court.”

“What about Blake’s resignation?”

“You know what I mean—substantial information concerning legal decisions. When I first started at the Court, I explained to my roommates that I knew all the information in advance. But they never cared—not even Eric. The only way I can figure it is that Eric created this hypothetical situation to get published. Ask your friend at the
Herald
. You said they wouldn’t run the Blake resignation story unless they had a good source. What was the source for Eric’s story about Maxwell?”

Lungen was silent.

“Eric wouldn’t name his source, would he?” Ben asked. “You obviously asked your friend.”

“No,” said Lungen, looking away.

“So you didn’t know it was me, but you still grilled me just to be sure?” Ben asked, shaking his head.

“Ben, the
Herald
may not know the source, but they definitely believe Eric has one. If that story ran, there’s got to be some truth behind it.”

“Weren’t you ever told not to believe everything you read?”

“Don’t be a smart-ass,” Lungen said. “Until I’m sure what happened, this isn’t a closed issue.”

“Well, until you’re sure what happened, I’m out of here.” Ben stood to leave.

“I’m not playing around,” Lungen warned, standing. “If you think you’re so innocent—”

“I
am
innocent.”

“Would you be willing to take a lie detector test to back that up?”

Pausing, Ben knew there was only one answer that would satisfy Lungen. In his most confident tone, he answered, “If that’s what it takes.”

“You should realize one thing,” Fisk interrupted. “Even if we believe you, there’s no reason to assume the rest of the world will. Carl’s friend at the
Herald
said they received calls from every major newspaper about Eric’s story. They didn’t realize what they were getting into when they ran that sucker.”

“Why don’t you demand a retraction?” Ben asked.

“We demanded one first thing this morning,” Lungen explained. “Apparently, since the article only suggests the possibility of a leak, the paper doesn’t care that it’s unsubstantiated.”

“Do you think other papers will pick it up?”

“Now you know what we’re worried about,” Lungen said. “From what we hear, the press won’t touch the story until they have a source. It doesn’t have to be a good source. It can be a janitor, a secretary, a clerk, anyone. But as soon as they get a source, they’ll tear whoever’s responsible apart. To be honest, they may never get a source. But you never know. Some cafeteria worker might be pissed at how tight her hairnet is, and the next thing we know, she’s on the evening news telling the world how she overheard someone talking to someone else.

“For the next few weeks, although it may not get much play in the press, I’ll guarantee you that every journalism grad in town will be digging around this place hoping to blow it wide open. And if I were you, I’d be worried, because thanks to your roommate, the easiest person to finger in this disaster is you.”

“Thanks,” Ben said wryly, struggling to suppress his anxiety. “Can I go now?”

“I’m serious.”

“I understand,” Ben said, moving to the door.

“One more thing before you leave,” Fisk said. “If you are going to confront Eric about his story, I’d appreciate it if you could come back here tomorrow morning, in case anything new pops up.”

“We’ll see,” Ben said, sidestepping him and edging out the door.

After Ben left the room, Lungen looked to Fisk. “What’d you think?”

“You know how I feel,” Fisk said. “I hate clerks. They all think because they were picked to work at the Supreme Court, their shit doesn’t stink anymore.”

“That’s very helpful,” Lungen said. “Now what’d you think of Ben?”

“I got what I expected. He’s obviously a bright kid, and I think he laid it out pretty well. He’s not dumb enough to help Eric write that story, but that doesn’t mean Eric is full of shit either. Why? What was your take?”

“I’m not sure. I wish Ben was a bit more nervous.”

“He was definitely calm,” Fisk agreed. “So he’s either telling the truth, or he’s one of the best bullshit artists I’ve ever seen.”

“I really think he was as surprised by the article as we were. And my friend at the
Herald
said they grilled Eric for a source. He never came close to naming one, though.”

Pausing for a moment, Fisk finally said, “I don’t like these kids.”

“Fisk, you don’t like anyone who’s smarter than you.”

“I’m dead serious about this. I say that no matter what happens, we watch this guy very carefully.”

WHEN OBER RETURNED HOME, HE WAS
surprised to see Nathan and Eric sitting silently on the large blue couch. “Where’s Ben?” he asked, looking at his watch. “I thought you guys were going to blows at eight.”

“He must be stuck at the office,” Nathan surmised, looking up at Ober. “Did you get a haircut?”

“Absolutely,” Ober said, running his fingers through his blond hair. “You guys have to go to this barber. A guy in my office recommended him—he cuts all these senators’ hair. He once cut Jimmy Carter’s hair. Anyway, his name is Murray Simone, King of Hair.” Brushing his neck to remove some remnant clippings, he continued, “Naturally, I made up the ‘King of Hair’ part—his name’s just Murray Simone.”

“We get the idea,” Nathan said, immediately annoyed by the hair talk. “Finish the story.”

“So I go into the abode of Murray Simone, King of Hair, and I tell him that I like the top long and the sides short, and how I hate it when the top’s short. He surveys the terrain, and then he looks into the mirror and says to me, ‘What I’m gonna do for you is I’m gonna give you a short haircut, WITH ATTITUDE!’” Laughing at the mention of Murray’s words, Ober almost knocked himself over. “How funny is that? ‘I’m gonna give you a short haircut, WITH ATTITUDE.’” Touching his hair, he continued, “So what do you think? Did Murray Simone, King of Hair, give me attitude? I think so.” Looking at himself in the glass of a nearby picture frame, Ober said, “I have ATTITUDE!”

“Ober, maybe now’s not the time,” Nathan said, staring at Eric.

“Cheer up,” Ober said to Eric. “Your life’s only lasting another few hours—you might as well enjoy it.”

“Can you just shut up?” Eric asked, raising his voice.

“Don’t take it out on me,” Ober said, standing in the middle of the living room. “I didn’t dick over my friend.”

“Asshole,” Eric yelled, “why don’t you—”

“Ober, just shut up,” Nathan interrupted. “Both of you, relax.”

“Don’t forget what I said, though,” Ober said. “Murray Simone, King of Hair. And tell him I sent you.” When he heard a key in the front door, Ober leaped on the large blue couch and stared at Eric. “Round One. Ding. Ding.”

Ben stormed through the front door to find Ober, Nathan, and Eric on the couch. “So? What’s the explanation?” Ben said, crossing his arms.

“Ben, I know you’re mad,” Eric said. “Just let me explain.”

“Go right ahead,” Ben said. “That’s what I’m waiting for.”

“I can’t tell you if you’re pissed. You’re going to be mad at me no matter what I say.”