Read Online The Pelican Brief by John Grisham - Free Book Online Page A

Jensen’s mother wanted a small, private Episcopal service Friday in Providence. Rosenberg’s son, a lawyer, had delivered to Runyan a list of instructions the Justice had prepared after his second stroke in which he wanted to be cremated after a nonmilitary ceremony and his ashes dropped over the Sioux Indian Reservation in South Dakota. Though Rosenberg was Jewish, he had abandoned the religion and claimed to be agnostic. He wanted to be buried with the Indians. Runyan thought that was appropriate, but did not say so. In the outer office, six FBI agents sipped coffee and whispered nervously. There had been more threats during the day, several coming within hours of the President’searly morning address. It was dark now, almost time to escort the remaining justices home. Each had four agents as bodyguards.
    Justice Andrew McDowell, at sixty-one now the youngest member of the Court, stood in the window, smoking his pipe and watching traffic. If Jensen had a friend on the Court, it was McDowell. Fletcher Coal had informed Runyan that the President would not only attend Jensen’s service but wanted to deliver a eulogy. No one in the inner office wanted the President to say a word. The Chief had asked McDowell to prepare a few words. A shy man who avoided speeches, McDowell twirled his bow tie and tried to picture his friend in the balcony with a rope around his neck. It was too awful to think about. A Justice of the Supreme Court, one of his distinguished brethren, one of the nine, hiding in such a place watching those movies and being exposed in such a ghastly manner. What a tragic embarrassment. He thought of himself standing before the crowd in the church and looking at Jensen’s mother and family, and knowing that every thought would be on the Montrose Theatre. They would ask each other in whispered voices, “Did you know he was gay?” McDowell, for one, did not know, nor did he suspect. Nor did he want to say anything at the funeral.
    Justice Ben Thurow, age sixty-eight, was not as concerned about burying the dead as he was about catching the killers. He had been a federal prosecutor in Minnesota, and his theory grouped the suspects into two classes: those acting out of hatred and revenge, and those seeking to affect future decisions. He had instructed his clerks to begin the research.
    Thurow was pacing around the room. “We have twenty-seven clerks and seven justices,” he said to the group but to no one in particular. “It’s obvious we won’t get much work done for the next couple of weeks, and all close decisions must wait until we have a full bench. That could take months. I suggest we put our clerks to work trying to solve the killings.”
    “We’re not police,” Manning said patiently.
    “Can we at least wait until after the burials before we start playing Dick Tracy?” McDowell said without turning from the window.
    Thurow ignored them, as usual. “I’ll direct the research. Loan me your clerks for two weeks, and I think we can put together a short list of solid suspects.”
    “The FBI is very capable, Ben,” the Chief said. “They haven’t asked for our help.”
    “I’d rather not discuss the FBI,” Thurow said. “We can mope around here in official mourning for two weeks, or we can go to work and find these bastards.”
    “What makes you so sure you can solve this?” Manning asked.
    “I’m not sure I can, but I think it’s worth a try. Our brethren were murdered for a reason, and that reason is directly related to a case or an issue already decided or now pending before this Court. If it’s retribution, then our task is almost impossible. Hell, everybody hates us for one reason or another. But if it’s not revenge or hatred, then perhaps someone wanted a different Court for a future decision. That’s what’s intriguing. Who would kill Abe and Glenn because of how they might vote on a case this year, next year, orfive years from now? I want the clerks to pull up every case now