Blow Out

“Sounds like he was escaping,” Savich said. “I wonder why.”

CHAPTER 25

SUPREME COURT BUILDING

WASHINGTON, D.C.

FRIDAY MORNING

ELAINE LAFLEURETTE WASN’T in Justice Califano’s chambers, only Eliza Vickers, who had a phone tucked under one ear, her finger poised above the button of another ringing line. She looked up, nodded at them, and began speaking more quickly into the phone. Ben and Callie moved to the visitors’ chairs and sat down.

Two minutes later, Eliza laid the phone gently back into its cradle, leaned back in her chair, and closed her eyes. “Sorry for the delay. Detective Raven, Callie, it’s good to see both of you.” She ran her hand through her straight hair. “It hasn’t stopped. We’re having to review all of Justice Califano’s unfinished work, decide which Justices and clerks will take over drafting majority and dissenting opinions on case votes already taken, and so much more—concurrences, join memos, bench memos, certs., but that’s not your concern.

“I’ve been offered help, but somehow, I need to do it myself. I also need to speak to Mrs. Califano about all of Stewart’s things.” Her voice trembled a bit, but almost immediately she had herself in control again. She even smiled at them. “I haven’t been able to reach her. Do you know where she is, Callie?”

“She went to the High Style Boutique at Tyson’s Corner,” Callie said. “Don’t you have her cell phone?”

“Yes, but I didn’t want to intrude like that, it’s more personal.” Eliza slowly rose and stretched. “I’ve been here since six o’clock this morning, trying to get all the stuff cleaned up. Now, would you like some coffee? I’ve made some in Stewart’s office.”

“No, thank you. Actually, we were looking for Fleurette. Where is she? Why isn’t she here helping you?”

“What time is it?”

Callie said, “It’s nearly eleven.”

“Her uncle was killed in Vietnam on this date in 1975. She visits the Wall every year at this time. She won’t be back until noon.”

Ben nodded, paused a moment, studying her face. “Are you okay? Is there anything we can do, Eliza?”

For a moment Ben thought she hesitated, but then the phone rang, she shrugged, and said over her shoulder, “No, everything is under control. Well, not really, but it will be. The funeral, it was very nice, Callie. The President was eloquent. Your mother and her friends all did very well.”

“Yes, the President was eloquent, but then my stepfather was such a good man. It wouldn’t be difficult for anyone to say wonderful things about him.”

“No, it wouldn’t,” Eliza said, then again, looked as if she might say something more—but then she reached for the phone, gave them a small wave, and turned away. Callie heard her say, “Justice Califano’s chambers. Eliza Vickers.”

Ben said, “We’re only about ten minutes from the Vietnam Memorial. You ever been there?”

“Yes. It’s always a two-handkerchief occasion, no matter how many times I go there. I think the Wall is the most moving memorial in all of Washington.”

“Yes, I agree with you. Nearly everyone lost someone in Vietnam. One of my father’s best friends managed to ship home with two shattered legs that healed in time, but his psychological wounds were more difficult. My father came here right after the Wall was finished. He saw his friend in a wheelchair in front of the Wall, looking for other friends who’d been lost over there. My father told me they spoke for some time, but he never saw him after that.”

It took them eight minutes to get to Constitution Gardens, a beautiful open space that pointed east to the Washington Monument and west to the Lincoln Memorial. Callie looked around the vast empty space as they pulled into a parking place on the street. “Well, it is January, cold, and the only tourists likely to be here have to be from North Dakota.”

They walked down the path toward the Wall. They saw Fleurette immediately, standing at the middle of the Wall, completely still except for a single finger she was tracing over a name.

Ben cleared his throat as they came down the walk so as not to startle her. There were only three other people scattered along the Wall, three older men who looked cold and determined. Even from ten feet, Ben could see a sheen of tears in their eyes and hear their low voices. He knew they were talking about young men who hadn’t come home, but who’d left their names on a beautiful granite wall.

“Fleurette? It’s Detective Raven and Callie Markham.”