“You’re the sanest person I’ve ever known. If I ever doubt you about anything, I’ll stretch out on a shrink’s couch myself.” She kissed him hard on the mouth, and eased down to tuck her head against his neck. “It’s nearly three o’clock. Sean will give us until seven o’clock. Let’s use the time wisely. We’ve got to sleep.”
When he fell asleep, Samantha Barrister wasn’t with him.
WASHINGTON, D.C.
SUNDAY
BENRAVEN FLIPPED the channel on his TV from national to local news while he ate his bowl of Wheaties. It was his mom’s favorite cereal, and she’d fed it to him every morning, which explained, he supposed, a great deal. Director Mueller’s face was everywhere on TV, as well as sound bites from the Attorney General, the President, even the Director of Homeland Security. Anyone the media could get to, which was just about every politician inside the Beltway. And they all had something important to say. The politicians and the talking heads led the charge, blaming the FBI, the Supreme Court Police, even the President for not providing the nation with enough security from terrorists. Of course Director Mueller laid out why he didn’t believe terrorists were responsible, but no one liked that. It had to be either a terrorist or a madman, like the Washington snipers of a few years ago, that was the theory everyone wanted to run with.
Not even a day had passed since Justice Califano’s murder before speculation began on who would be on the President’s short list for appointment to the Supreme Court to take Justice Califano’s place.
Ben put his cereal bowl in the sink and filled it with water. He had thirty-five minutes to pick up Callie Markham, and then they were off to interview Justice Elizabeth Xavier-Foxx, one of two female Justices on the High Court.
When he pulled his Crown Vic in front of the Kettering house in Colfax, he saw Callie Markham looking out at him through one of the living room windows. She had the door open when he was still a good six feet away.
“It stopped snowing. Is it icy?”
“Nope, it isn’t bad at all. I gather you’re ready to hit the road?”
“Oh yeah, but you said you wanted to speak to Mom some more. Oh, Ben, here are our guards, federal marshals Dennis Morgan and Howie Bentley. Gentlemen, Detective Ben Raven from Metro.”
He shook hands with the federal marshals, asked if they’d seen any reporters, to which they said all had been quiet, thank God. Screened condolence calls were coming through for Mrs. Califano, so many of them that her four women friends, who seemed to be here all the time since she’d moved in, were assisting her in dealing with them.
Things sounded under control. Ben wiped his boots off on the front step, and followed Callie into the warm living room. A restful house, he thought, full of light and high ceilings. He’d lived in condos all his adult life after graduating from the police academy, and he liked the space, the openness of the house.
“Mrs. Califano,” he said, stepping into the living room.
There were four women seated with her, all of them about the same age, all wearing subdued colors, all of their attention on the new widow who’d just hung up the phone. When he spoke, they looked up at him.
Ben said, “I hope you’re all right.”
She nodded. “It’s difficult, Detective, but yes.”
He nodded toward the phone on the end table beside her.
“Another condolence call?”
“Yes, so many people, so kind. You remember Anna Clifford?”
Ben nodded to the woman he’d seen briefly yesterday. The other women, waiting to be introduced, inclined graceful heads as Callie called out their names. “Janette Weaverton, Bitsy St. Pierre, and Juliette Trevor.” Elegant names all, rich names, trust-fund money kind of names. He’d met all sorts in his nine years on the force, but working primarily in the bowels of D.C., it wasn’t often he met society types.
They were gracious and attentive, and clearly concerned about Mrs. Califano. The team already had their addresses and phone numbers. He wasn’t certain yet if he would be the one interviewing them and their families. He asked to speak to Mrs. Califano alone. Callie gave him a look, but ushered the four women out of the living room.
Ben sat down beside Mrs. Califano. He looked for several moments at her beautiful profile, similar to Callie’s, he realized, with her clean, straight nose and high cheekbones. He supposed he could understand Justice Wallace being attracted to her even though she was his mom’s age, and when he thought of his mom, he thought of Wheaties and big laughter, not sex, for God’s sake.