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Authors: John Grisham
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pending in the eleven circuits below.”
Justice McDowell shook his head. “Come on, Ben. That’s over five thousand cases, a small fraction of which will eventually end up here. It’s a wild-goose chase.”
Manning was equally unimpressed. “Listen, fellas. I served with Abe Rosenberg for thirty-one years, and I often thought of shooting him myself. But I loved him like a brother. His liberal ideas were accepted in the sixties and seventies, but grew old in the eighties, and are now resented in the nineties. He became a symbol for everything that’s wrong in this country. He has been killed, I believe, by one of these radical right-wing hate groups, and we can research cases till hell freezes over and not find anything. It’s retribution, Ben. Pure and simple.”
“And Glenn?” Thurow asked.
“Evidently our friend had some strange proclivities. Word must have spread, and he was an easy target for such groups. They hate homosexuals, Ben.”
Ben was still pacing, still ignoring. “They hate all of us, and if they killed out of hatred the cops’ll catch them. Maybe. But what if they killed to manipulate this Court? What if some group seized this moment of unrest and violence to eliminate two of us, and thus realign the Court? I think it’s very possible.”
The Chief cleared his throat. “And I think we’ll do nothing until after they are buried, or scattered. I’m not saying no, Ben, just wait a few days. Let the dust settle. The rest of us are still in shock.”
Thurow excused himself and left the room. His bodyguards followed him down the hall.
Justice Manning stood with his cane and addressed the Chief. “I will not make it to Providence. I hate flying, and I hate funerals. I’ll be having one myself before long, and I do not enjoy the reminder. I’ll send my sympathies to the family. When you see them, please apologize for me. I’m a very old man.” He left with a clerk.
“I think Justice Thurow has a point,” said Jason Kline. “We at least need to review the pending cases and those likely to arrive here from the lower circuits. It’s a long shot, but we may stumble across something.”
“I agree,” said the Chief. “It’s just a bit premature, don’t you think?”
“Yes, but I’d like to get started anyway.”
“No. Wait till Monday, and I’ll assign you to Thurow.”
Kline shrugged and excused himself. Two clerks followed him to Rosenberg’s office, where they sat in the darkness and sipped the last of Abe’s brandy.
________
In a cluttered study carrel on the fifth level of the law library, between the racks of thick, seldom-used law books, Darby Shaw scanned a printout of the Supreme Court’s docket. She had been through it twice, and though it was loaded with controversy, she found nothing that interested her. Dumond was causing riots. There was a child pornography case from New Jersey, a sodomy case from Kentucky, a dozen death penalty appeals, a dozen assorted civil rights cases, and the usual array of tax, zoning, Indian, and antitrust cases. From the computer she had pulledsummaries of each, then reviewed them twice. She compiled a neat list of possible suspects, but they would be obvious to everyone. The list was now in the garbage.
Callahan was certain it was the Aryans or the Nazis or the Klan; some easily identifiable collection of domestic terrorists; some radical band of vigilantes. It had to be right-wingers; that much was obvious, he felt. Darby was not so sure. The hate groups were too obvious. They had made too many threats, thrown too many rocks, held too many parades, made too many speeches. They needed Rosenberg alive because he was such an irresistible target for their hatred. Rosenberg kept them in business. She thought it was somebody much more sinister.
He was sitting in a bar on Canal Street, drunk by now, waiting on her though she had not promised to join him. She had checked on him at lunch, and found him on the balcony upstairs, drunk and
Justice McDowell shook his head. “Come on, Ben. That’s over five thousand cases, a small fraction of which will eventually end up here. It’s a wild-goose chase.”
Manning was equally unimpressed. “Listen, fellas. I served with Abe Rosenberg for thirty-one years, and I often thought of shooting him myself. But I loved him like a brother. His liberal ideas were accepted in the sixties and seventies, but grew old in the eighties, and are now resented in the nineties. He became a symbol for everything that’s wrong in this country. He has been killed, I believe, by one of these radical right-wing hate groups, and we can research cases till hell freezes over and not find anything. It’s retribution, Ben. Pure and simple.”
“And Glenn?” Thurow asked.
“Evidently our friend had some strange proclivities. Word must have spread, and he was an easy target for such groups. They hate homosexuals, Ben.”
Ben was still pacing, still ignoring. “They hate all of us, and if they killed out of hatred the cops’ll catch them. Maybe. But what if they killed to manipulate this Court? What if some group seized this moment of unrest and violence to eliminate two of us, and thus realign the Court? I think it’s very possible.”
The Chief cleared his throat. “And I think we’ll do nothing until after they are buried, or scattered. I’m not saying no, Ben, just wait a few days. Let the dust settle. The rest of us are still in shock.”
Thurow excused himself and left the room. His bodyguards followed him down the hall.
Justice Manning stood with his cane and addressed the Chief. “I will not make it to Providence. I hate flying, and I hate funerals. I’ll be having one myself before long, and I do not enjoy the reminder. I’ll send my sympathies to the family. When you see them, please apologize for me. I’m a very old man.” He left with a clerk.
“I think Justice Thurow has a point,” said Jason Kline. “We at least need to review the pending cases and those likely to arrive here from the lower circuits. It’s a long shot, but we may stumble across something.”
“I agree,” said the Chief. “It’s just a bit premature, don’t you think?”
“Yes, but I’d like to get started anyway.”
“No. Wait till Monday, and I’ll assign you to Thurow.”
Kline shrugged and excused himself. Two clerks followed him to Rosenberg’s office, where they sat in the darkness and sipped the last of Abe’s brandy.
________
In a cluttered study carrel on the fifth level of the law library, between the racks of thick, seldom-used law books, Darby Shaw scanned a printout of the Supreme Court’s docket. She had been through it twice, and though it was loaded with controversy, she found nothing that interested her. Dumond was causing riots. There was a child pornography case from New Jersey, a sodomy case from Kentucky, a dozen death penalty appeals, a dozen assorted civil rights cases, and the usual array of tax, zoning, Indian, and antitrust cases. From the computer she had pulledsummaries of each, then reviewed them twice. She compiled a neat list of possible suspects, but they would be obvious to everyone. The list was now in the garbage.
Callahan was certain it was the Aryans or the Nazis or the Klan; some easily identifiable collection of domestic terrorists; some radical band of vigilantes. It had to be right-wingers; that much was obvious, he felt. Darby was not so sure. The hate groups were too obvious. They had made too many threats, thrown too many rocks, held too many parades, made too many speeches. They needed Rosenberg alive because he was such an irresistible target for their hatred. Rosenberg kept them in business. She thought it was somebody much more sinister.
He was sitting in a bar on Canal Street, drunk by now, waiting on her though she had not promised to join him. She had checked on him at lunch, and found him on the balcony upstairs, drunk and
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