While Justice Sleeps(13)
Avery smoothed her hair with her fingertips and took a final deep breath as she approached the Chief’s offices. Flanking her inner sanctum doors were the desks of Debi and Mary. “Ms. Gonzalez? Mrs. Starnes?” Avery approached Mary’s desk. The taller woman, her burnished black hair pulled into a severe bun at her nape, lifted her head.
“Ms. Keene. The Chief said you should go right in.” Mary pressed a button on her phone, and the faint buzz echoed and lingered.
“I’m so sorry,” murmured Debi as Avery passed between them.
Avery looked back, wondering fatalistically what waited on the other side. She’d never rapped lightly on the door to announce her presence. Never turned the brass knob before.
“Come in, Ms. Keene.” Teresa Roseborough, the most powerful judge in the world, stood in front of a broad partners desk that even Avery’s untutored eye knew was a Chippendale. Out of her robes, the Chief looked almost diminutive in a dove-gray suit piped at the lapels in black brocade. Barely five-four, she often wore three-inch heels that added height, but not stature.
Feigned stature was unnecessary. One listen to the famous voice provided all the authority she needed. The crisp tones had been marinated in a smoky voice that edged on husky. With a sharp face that boasted a pointed chin and almost beaked nose, the Chief was a study in angles and planes. Observers of the Court called her striking. Political foes preferred haughty.
The Court family simply recognized the power.
“Please come in.” The Chief stepped away from the doorway and ushered Avery inside. When she pushed the door closed, it shut with a click of the lock. “Have a seat.”
Avery chose the creamy taupe leather sofa closest to her knee. Unsteady, she lowered herself, trying not to gape at the supple fabric. Instead, she focused on the man standing across the room at the windows, nearly hidden.
Following her gaze, the Chief nodded. “This is Major William Vance, the president’s liaison from the Department of Homeland Security.”
“Major Vance.” Avery turned back to the Chief. “Ma’am?”
“I have some troubling news, Avery.” The Chief crossed to Avery and sat on the sofa, angled toward her. “How close are you and Justice Wynn?”
Puzzled, Avery responded, “I’m his clerk, ma’am. He gives me instructions, and I follow them.”
“Nothing more?”
“No, ma’am. I work for him. That’s all.” Wondering where the question had come from, Avery glanced at the tall, hulking figure at the window. Built like a defensive lineman, Vance stood stiffly and said nothing, simply looked back at her. The hooded blue gaze carried no expression. Turning back to the Chief, she asked, “Why? Is there something wrong?”
“Yes.” The Chief reached out, covered Avery’s hands with tapered fingers bare of polish.
“What happened?”
“It is imperative that you tell me the truth, Avery.”
“Of course.” What in the hell is going on? Did something happen to Justice Wynn after his speech? Avery nodded sharply. “You can trust me.”
Major Vance sent a look to the Chief, who ignored the warning glare. It was her office, her court. Her choice. “Last night, Justice Wynn fell into a coma.”
“Oh, God.” Avery whipped her head around to the agent, then turned back to the Chief. “He wasn’t sick. He’s never sick.”
“His nurse found him early this morning. Unconscious. It may explain his recent outbursts.” She gave Avery’s hand a gentle squeeze. “Howard has been ill for some time, Avery. He has a degenerative brain disorder known as Boursin’s syndrome.”
“A brain disorder? Why—what—” Avery fumbled through the questions. “He’s been moody lately, and short-tempered, but that’s not really out of character.” She didn’t mention the odd instructions he’d given her several weeks ago to rewrite an order to nullify a contract between two milk producers, using the Dutch Defense as a metaphor. No one else would care about an obscure chess opening move. Avery loved the game, but even she barely understood Wynn’s point. Besides, it didn’t prove anything.
“He wasn’t erratic,” Avery stressed. “Just more—himself. I never guessed he was ill.”
“Howard is a stubborn man. I know about his condition only because I had to authorize his private nurse care.”
Several months ago, her judge had added a third secretary who didn’t know how to type. This was the same man who refused to hire the three clerks to whom he was entitled because he “didn’t like being surrounded by too many fools at once when he wasn’t on Capitol Hill.” Putting it together, Avery asked, “Mrs. Lewis?”
“Yes. Jamie Lewis is a registered nurse.”
“Matt thought she was his girlfriend,” Avery mumbled, still processing the news. “But I thought she seemed too—” Remembering where she was, and with whom, she closed her teeth on a snap. “Sorry.”
“Too what?” the Chief Justice prompted, fingers tightening slightly. “What did you think?”
Avery replied slowly, “That she was too sharp. I mean, insightful. She didn’t think like a lawyer or someone who worked for lawyers, but she had a good ear for politics. And she was always nice, but never too friendly.”