Текст книги "The Simple Truth"
Автор книги: David Baldacci
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Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 26 страниц)
The reply was automatic. This is a maximum-security prison facility and every prisoner here is classified as violent and dangerous. Im here for your safety.
The men hereweredangerous, both prisonersandguards, and that was just the way things were, Rider knew.
I understand that, replied the lawyer. Im not asking you to abandon me, but Id be obliged if you could stand farther away. Attorney-client privilege you understand, dont you?
The guard didnt answer, but he did move to the far end of the room, ostensibly out of earshot. Finally, Rufus Harms looked over at Rider. You bring the radio?
A strange request, but one that I honored.
Take it out and turn it on, would you?
Rider did so. The room was immediately filled with the mournful tunes of country-western music, the lyrics contrived, shallow in the face of the genuine misery sensed at this place, Rider thought uncomfortably. When the lawyer looked at him questioningly, Harms glanced around the room. Lotta ears around this place, some you cant see, right?
Bugging the conversations of an attorney and his client is against the law.
Harms moved his hands slightly, chains rattling. Lot of things against the law, but people still do em. Both in and out of this place. Right?
Rider found himself nodding. Harms was no longer a young, scared kid. He was a man. A man in control despite being unable to control one single element of his existence. Rider also observed that each of Harmss physical movements was measured, calculated; like he was engaging in chess, reaching out slowly to touch a piece, and then drawing back with equal caution. Here, swift motion could be deadly. The inmate leaned forward and started speaking in a tone so low that Rider had to strain to hear him above the music. I thank you for coming. Im surprised you did.
Surprised the hell out of me to hear from you. But I guess it got my curiosity up too.
You look good. The years have been kind to you.
Rider had to laugh. I lost all my hair and put on fifty pounds, but thank you anyway.
I wont waste your time. I got something I want you to file in court for me.
Riders astonishment was clear. What court?
Harms spoke in even lower tones, despite the cover of the music. Biggest one there is. Supreme Court.
Riders jaw went slack. You got to be kidding. The look in Harmss eyes would not brook such a conclusion. Okay, what exactly do you want me to file?
With smooth increments of motion, despite the restraints of the manacles, Harms slid an envelope out of his shirt and held it up. In an instant, the guard stepped across and snatched it from his hand. Rider protested immediately. Private, that is a confidential attorney-client communication.
Let him read it, Samuel, I got nothing to hide, Harms said evenly, eyes staring off. The guard opened the envelope and scanned the contents of the letter. Satisfied, he returned it to Harms and resumed his post across the room. Harms handed the envelope and letter across to Rider, who looked down at the material. When he looked back up, Harms was leaning even closer to him, and he spoke for at least ten minutes. Several times Riders eyes widened as Harmss words spilled over him. Finished, the prisoner sat back and looked at him.
You going to help me, aint you?
Rider could not answer, apparently still digesting all that he had heard. If the waist chain had not prevented such a movement, Harms would have reached out and put his hand over Riders, not in a threatening manner, but as a tangible plea for help from a man who had experienced none for almost thirty years. Aint you, Samuel?
Finally, Rider nodded. Ill help you, Rufus.
Harms rose and headed for the door. Rider put the paper back in the envelope and tucked it and the radio away in his briefcase. The lawyer had no way of knowing that on the other side of a large mirror that hung on the wall of the visitors room, someone had watched the entire exchange between prisoner and attorney. This person now rubbed his chin, lost in deep, troubled thought. ["C6"]CHAPTER SIX
At tenA.M., the marshal of the Supreme Court, Richard Perkins, dressed in charcoal-gray tails, the traditional Supreme Court dress of lawyers from the Solicitor Generals Office as well, stood up at one end of the massive bench, behind which sat nine high-backed leather chairs of various styles and sizes, and pounded his gavel. The packed courtroom grew silent. The Honorable, the Chief Justice, and the Associate Justices of the United States, Perkins announced. The long burgundy-colored curtain behind the bench parted at nine different places, and there appeared a like number of justices looking stiff and uncomfortable in their black robes, as though startled awake and discovering a crowd next to their beds. As they took their seats, Perkins continued. Oyez, oyez, oyez. All persons having business before the Honorable, the Supreme Court of the United States, are admonished to draw near and give their attention, for the Court is now sitting. God save the United States and this honorable Court.
Perkins sat down and looked out over a courtroom with the square footage of a mansion. Its forty-four-foot ceiling made the eye look for drifting clouds. After some preliminary business and the ceremonial swearing in of new Supreme Court Bar members, the first of the days two morning cases would be called. On this day, a Wednesday, only two cases during the morning would be heard, afternoon sessions being held only on Monday and Tuesday. No oral arguments were held on Thursday and Friday. On it would go, three days a week every two weeks, until the end of April, approximately one hundred and fifty oral argument sessions later, the justices assuming the modern-day role of Solomon for the people of the United States. There were impressive friezes on either side of the courtroom. On the right were figures of lawgivers of the pre-Christian era. On the left, their counterparts of the Christian period. Two armies ready to have go at each other. Perhaps to determine who had gotten it right. Moses versus Napoleon, Hammurabi against Muhammad. The law, the handing down of justice, could be damn painful bloody, even. Right above the bench were two figures carved in marble, one depicting the majesty of the law, the other the power of government. Between the two panels was a tableau of the Ten Commandments. Swirling around the vast chamber like flocks of doves were carvings Safeguard of the Rights of People, Genii of Wisdom and Statecraft, Defense of Human Rights representing the role of the Court. If there ever was a stage of perfect proportion for the hearing of matters paramount, it seemed that this landscape represented it. However, topography could be deceiving. Ramsey sat in the middle of the bench, Elizabeth Knight at the extreme right. A boom microphone was suspended from the middle of the ceiling. The moms and pops in the audience had noticeably tensed up when the justices appeared. Even their gangly, bored kids sat a little straighter. It was understandable enough even for those barely familiar with the reputation of this place. There was a discernible feeling of raw power, of important confrontations to come. These nine black-robed justices told women when they could legally abort their fetuses; dictated to schoolchildren where they would do their learning; proclaimed what speech was obscene or not; pronounced that police could not unreasonably search and seize, or beat confessions out of people. No one elected them to their positions. They held their positions for life against virtually all challenge. And the justices operated in such levels of secrecy, in such a black hole, that it made the public personae of other venerable federal institutions seem vainglorious by comparison. They routinely confronted issues that had activist groups all over the country banging heads, bombing abortion clinics, demonstrating outside prison death houses. They judged the complex issues that would bedevil human civilization until its extinction. And they looked so calm. The first case was called. It dealt with affirmative action in public universities or, rather, what was left of the concept. Frank Campbell, the counsel arguing on behalf of affirmative action, barely got through his first sentence before Ramsey pounced. The chief justice pointed out that the Fourteenth Amendment unequivocally stated that no one shall be discriminated against. Didnt that mean affirmative action of any sort was impermissible under the Constitution?
But there are broad wrongs that are trying to be
Why does diversity equate with equality? Ramsey abruptly asked Campbell.
It ensures that a broad and diverse body of students will be available to express different ideas, represent different cultures, which in turn will serve to break down the ignorance of stereotypes.
Arent you premising your entire argument on the fact that blacks and whites think differently? That a black raised by parents who are college professors in a well-to-do household in, say, San Francisco will bring a different set of values and ideas to a university than a white person who was raised in the exact same affluent environment in San Francisco? Ramseys tone was filled with skepticism.
I think that everyone has differences, Campbell responded.
Instead of basing it on skin color, doesnt it seem that the most impoverished among us have a greater right to a helping hand? Justice Knight asked. Ramsey looked over at her curiously as she said this. And yet your argument draws no distinction on wealth or lack thereof, does it? Knight added.
No, Campbell conceded. Michael Fiske and Sara Evans sat in a special section of seats perpendicular to the bench. Michael glanced over at Sara as he listened to this line of questioning. She didnt look at him.
You cant get around the letter of the law, can you? You would have us turn the Constitution on its head, Ramsey persisted after finally taking his eyes off Knight.
How about the spirit behind those words? Campbell rejoined.
Spirits are such amorphous things, I much prefer to deal in concrete. Ramseys words brought scattered laughter from the audience. The chief justice renewed his verbal attack, and with deadly precision he skewered Campbells precedents and line of reasoning. Knight said nothing more, staring straight ahead, her thoughts obviously far from the courtroom. As the red light on the counsel lectern came on indicating Campbells time was up, he almost ran to his seat. As the counsel opposing affirmative action took his place at the lectern and began his argument, it didnt seem like the justices were even listening anymore. *����*����* Boy, Ramsey is efficient, Sara remarked. She and Michael were in the Courts cafeteria, the justices having retired to their dining room for their traditional post-oral argument luncheon. He sliced up the universitys lawyer in about five seconds.
Michael swallowed a bite of sandwich. Hes been on the lookout for a case for the last three years to really blow affirmative action out of the water. Well, he found it. They should have settled the case before it got here.
You really think Ramsey will go that far?
Are you kidding? Wait until you see the opinion. Hell probably write it himself, just so he can gloat. Its dead.
I can partly see his logic, Sara said.
Of course you can. Its evident. A conservative group brought the case, handpicked the plaintiff. White, bright, blue-collar, hardworking, never given a handout. And, even better, a woman.
The Constitution does say no one shall discriminate.
Sara, you know that the Fourteenth Amendment was passed right after the Civil War to ensure that blacks wouldnt be discriminated against. Now its been forged into a bat to crush the people it was supposed to help. Well, the crushers just guaranteed their own Armageddon.
What do you mean?
I mean that poor with hope starts to push back. Poor without hope lashes back. Not pretty.
Oh. She looked at Michael, his manner so intense, so mercurial. Serious beyond his years. He climbed on the soapbox with regularity, sometimes to an embarrassing degree. It was one of the elements about him that she both admired and feared.
My brother could tell you some stories about that, Michael added.
Im sure he could. I hope to meet him someday.
Michael glanced at her and then looked away. Ramsey sees the world differently than it actually is. He made it in the world by himself, why cant everybody else? I admire the guy, though. He sticks it equally to the poor and the rich, the state and the individual. He doesnt play favorites. Ill give him that.
You overcame a lot too.
Yeah. Im not blowing my own horn, but Ive got an IQ over one-sixty. Not everybody has that.
I know, Sara said wistfully. My legal brain says what happened today was correct. My heart says its a tragedy.
Hey, this is the Supreme Court. Its not supposed to be easy. And by the way, what was Knight trying to do in there today? Michael was perpetually in the loop on everything that happened at the Court, all the inner secrets, the gossip, the strategies employed by the justices and their clerks to further philosophies and points of view on cases before them. He felt behind on whatever Knight had alluded to in court this morning, though, and it bothered him.
Michael, it was only a couple sentences.
So what? Two sentences with a ton of potential. Rights for the poor? You saw the way Ramsey picked up on it. Is Knight posturing for something down the road? A case she was trying to set up in there?
I cant believe youre asking me that. Its confidential.
Were all on the same team here, Sara.
Right! How often do Knight and Murphy vote together? Not very. And this place has nine very separate compartments, you know that.
Right, nine little kingdoms. But if Knight has something up her sleeve, Id like to know about it.
You dont have to know everything that goes on at this place. Christ, you already know more than all the clerks combined, and most of the justices. I mean, how many other clerks go down to the mail room at the crack of dawn to get a jump on the appeals coming in?
I dont like to do anything halfway.
She looked at him, was about to say something, but then stopped herself. Why complicate things? She had already given him her answer. In reality, although a driven person herself, she could not imagine being married to someone with standards as high as Michael Fiskes. She could never reach them, sustain them. It would be unhealthy even to try.
Well, Im not betraying any confidences. You know as well as I do that this place is like a military campaign. Loose lips sink ships. And you have to watch your backside.
Im not disagreeing with you in the grand scheme of things, but I am in this case. You know Murphy, hes a throwback a lovable throwback, but hes a pure liberal. Anything to help the poor hed go for. He and Knight would be aligned on this, no doubt about it. Hes always on the lookout to throw a wrench in Ramseys machine. Tom Murphy led the Court before Ramsey got the upper hand. Its no fun always being on the dissenting end in your twilight years.
Sara shook her head. I really cant go into it.
He sighed and picked at his meal. Were just pulling away from each other at all points, arent we?
Thats not true. Youre just trying to make it seem that way. I know I hurt you when I said no, and Im sorry.
He suddenly grinned. Maybe its for the best. Were both so headstrong, wed probably end up killing each other.
Good old Virginia boy and a gal from Carolina, she drawled. Youre probably right.
He fiddled with his drink and eyed her. If you think Im stubborn, you really should meet my brother.
Sara didnt meet his gaze. Im sure. He was terrific during that trial we watched.
Im very proud of him.
Now she looked at him. So why did we have to sneak in and out of the courtroom so he wouldnt know we were there?
Youd have to ask him that.
Im asking you.
Michael shrugged. Hes got a problem with me. He sort of banished me from his life.
Why?
I actually dont know all the reasons. Maybe he doesnt either. I do know it hasnt made him very happy.
From the little I saw, he didnt strike me as that sort of person. Depressed or anything.
Really? How did he strike you?
Funny, smart, identifies well with people.
I see he identified with you.
He didnt even know I was there.
You would have liked him to, though, wouldnt you?
Whats that supposed to mean?
Only that Im not blind. And Ive walked in his shadow all my life.
Youre the boy genius with a limitless future.
And hes a heroic ex-cop who now defends the very people he used to arrest. He also has a martyr quality about him that I never have been able to get around. Hes a good guy who pushes himself unbelievably hard. Michael shook his head. All the time his brother had spent in the hospital. None of them knowing if he was going to make it day to day, minute to minute. He had never known such fear, the thought of losing his brother. But he had lost him anyway, it seemed, and not because of death. Not because of those bullets.
Maybe he feels like hes living in your shadow.
I doubt that.
Did you ever ask him?
Like I said, we dont talk anymore. He paused and then added quietly, Is he the reason you turned me down? He had watched her as she observed his brother. She had been enraptured with John Fiske from the moment she saw him. It had seemed like a fun idea at the time, the two of them going to watch his brother. Now Michael cursed himself for doing it. She flushed. I dont even know him. How could I possibly have any feelings for him?
Are you asking me that, or yourself?
Im not going to answer that. Her voice trembled. What about you? Do you love him?
He abruptly sat up straight and looked at her. I will always love my brother, Sara. Always.
["C7"]CHAPTER SEVEN
Rider wordlessly passed his secretary, fled to his office, opened his briefcase and slipped out the envelope. He withdrew the letter from inside, but barely glanced at it before tossing it in the wastebasket. In the letter Rufus Harms had written his last will and testament, but that was just a dodge, something innocuous for the guard to read. Rider looked at the envelope closely while he punched his intercom.
Sheila, can you bring in the hot plate and the teakettle? Fill it with water.
Mr. Rider, I can make tea for you.
I dont want tea, Sheila, just bring the damned kettle and the hot plate.
Sheila didnt question this odd request or her bosss temper. She brought in the kettle and hot plate, then quietly withdrew. Rider plugged in the hot plate and within a few minutes steam poured out of the kettle. Gingerly grasping the envelope by its edges, Rider held it over the steam and watched as the envelope began to come apart, just as Rufus Harms had told him it would. Rider fussed with the edges, and he soon had it completely laid out. Instead of an envelope, he now held two pieces of paper: one handwritten; the other a copy of the letter Harms had received from the Army. As he turned off the hot plate, Rider marveled at how Rufus had managed to construct this device an envelope that was actually a letter and how he had copied and then concealed the letter from the Army in it as well. Then he recalled that Harmss father had worked at a printing press company. It would have been better for Rufus if he had followed his daddy into the printing business instead of joining the Army, Rider muttered to himself. He let the pieces of paper dry out for a minute and then sat behind his desk while he read what Rufus had written. It didnt take long, the remarks were fairly brief, though many words were oddly formed and misspelled. Rider couldnt have known it, but Harms had scrawled it out in near darkness, stopping every time he heard the steps of the guards draw close. There wasnt a trace of saliva left in Riders throat when he had finished reading. Then he forced himself to read the official notice from the Army. Another body blow.
Good God! He sank back in his chair, rubbed a trembling hand over his bald spot, and then lurched to his feet, rushed over and locked his office door. The fear spread like a mutating virus. He could barely breathe. He staggered back to his desk and hit his intercom button again. Sheila, bring me in some water and some aspirin, please.
A minute later Sheila knocked on the door. Mr. Rider, she said through the door, its locked.
He quickly unlocked the door, took the glass and aspirin from her and was about to shut the door again when Sheila said, Are you okay?
Fine, fine, he replied, hustling her out the door. He looked down at the paper Rufus wanted him to file with the United States Supreme Court. Rider happened to be a member of the largely ceremonial Supreme Court Bar, solely by virtue of the sponsorship of a former colleague in the military who had gone on to the Justice Department. If he did exactly as Rufus asked, he would be the attorney of record in Harmss appeal. Rider could envision only personal catastrophe resulting from such an arrangement. And yet he had promised Rufus. Rider lay down on the leather sofa in one corner of his office, closed his eyes and commenced a silent deliberation. So many things hadnt added up the night Ruth Ann Mosley had been killed. Rufus didnt have a history of violence, only a constant failure to follow orders that had enraged many a superior, and, at first, had bewildered Rider as well. Harmss inability to process even the simplest of commands had been finally explained during Riders representation of him. But his escaping from the stockade never had. Confronted with no defense, factually, Rider had made noises about an insanity plea, which had given him just enough leverage to save his client from possible execution. And that had been the end of it. Justice had been served. At least as much as one could expect in this world. Rider looked once more at the notice from the Army, the stark lie of the past now firmly revealed. This information should have been in Harmss military file at the time of the murder, but it wasnt. It would have constituted a completely plausible defense. Harmss military file had been tampered with, and Rider now understood why. Harms wanted his freedom and his name cleared and he wanted it to come from the highest court in the land. And he refused to entrust the prospect of freedom to the Army. Thats what Harms had said to him while the country-western music had covered his words. And could he blame him? All things good were in Rufuss corner. He should be heard and he should be free. But despite that, Rider remained immobile on his couch of worn leather and burnished nails. It was nothing complex. It was fear a far stronger emotion, it seemed, than any of the others bestowed upon humankind. He planned to retire in a few years to the condo he and his wife had already picked out on the Gulf Coast. Their kids were grown. Rider was weary of the frigid winters that settled into the low pockets of the area and he was tired of always chasing new pieces of business, of diligently recording his professional life in quarter-hour increments. However, as enticing as that retirement was, it wasnt quite enough to prevent Rider from helping his old client. Some things were right and some things were wrong. Rider rose from the couch and settled behind his desk. At first he had thought the simplest way to help Rufus was to mail what he had to one of the newspapers and let the power of the press take over. But for all he knew, the paper would either toss it as a letter from some crazy, or otherwise bungle it such that Rufus might be put in danger. What had really made up Riders mind as to his course of action was simple. Rufus was his client and he had asked his lawyer to file his appeal with the United States Supreme Court. And thats what Rider was going to do. He had failed Rufus once before; he wasnt going to do it again. The man was in dire need of a little justice, and what better place for that than the highest court in the land? If you couldnt get justice there, where the hell could you get it? Rider wondered. As he took out a sheet of paper from his desk drawer, sunlight from the window glanced off his square gold cuff links, sending bright dots around the room helter-skelter. He pulled over his ancient typewriter, kept out of nostalgia. Rider was unfamiliar with the Supreme Courts technical filing requirements, but he assumed he would be running afoul of most of them. That didnt bother him. He just wanted to get the story out away from him. When he had finished typing, he started to place what he had typed, together with Harmss letter and the letter from the Army, into a mailing envelope. Then he stopped. Paranoia, spilling over from thirty years of practice, made him hustle out to the small workroom at the rear of his office suite and make copies of both Harmss handwritten letter and Riders own typewritten one. This same uneasiness made him decide to keep, for now, the letter from the Army. When the story broke he could always produce it, again anonymously. He hid the copies in one of his desk drawers and locked it. He returned the originals to the envelope, looked up the address of the Supreme Court in his legal directory, and next typed up a label. He did not provide a return address on the envelope. That done, he put on his hat and coat and walked down to the post office at the corner. Before he had time to change his mind, he filled out the form to send the envelope by certified mail so he would get a return receipt, handed it to the postal clerk, completed the simple transaction and returned to his office. It was only then that it struck him. The return receipt could be a way for the Court to identify who had sent the package. He sighed. Rufus had been waiting half his life for this. And, in a way, Rider had abandoned him back then. For the rest of the day Rider lay on the couch in his office, in the dark, silently praying that he had done the right thing, and knowing, in his heart, that he had. ["C8"]CHAPTER EIGHT
Ramseys clerks have been pestering me about the comment you made the other day, Justice Knight, about the poor being entitled to certain preferences. Sara looked over at the woman, sitting so calmly behind her desk. A smile flickered across Knights face as she scanned some documents. Im sure they have.
They both knew that Ramseys clerks were like a well-trained commando unit. They had feelers out everywhere, looking for anything of interest to the chief justice and his agendas. Almost nothing escaped their notice. Every word, exclamation, meeting or casual corridor conversation was duly noted, analyzed and catalogued away for future use.
So you intended for that reaction to happen?
Sara, as much as I may not like it, there is a certain process at this place that one must struggle through. Some call it a game, I dont choose to do so. But I cant ignore its presence. Im not so much concerned with the chief. The positions Im thinking about taking on a number of cases Ramsey would never support. I know that and he knows that.
So you were floating a trial balloon to the other justices.
In part, yes. Oral argument is also an open, public forum.
So, to the public. Sara thought quickly. And the media?
Knight put down the papers and clasped her hands together as she stared at the younger woman. This Court is swayed more by public opinion than many would dare to confess. Some here would like to see the status quo always preserved. But the Court has to move forward.
And this ties into the cases youve been having me research about equalizing educational rights of the poor?
I have a compelling interest in that. Elizabeth Knight had grown up in East Texas, the middle of nowhere, but her father had had money. Thus, her education had been first-rate, and she had often wondered how her life would have been if her father had been poor like so many of the people she had grown up with. All justices carried psychological baggage to the Court and Elizabeth Knight was no exception. And thats all Im really going to say right now.
AndBlankley? Sara said, referring to the affirmative action case Ramsey had so thoroughly decimated.
We havent voted on it yet, of course, Sara, so I cant say one way or the other how it will turn out. The voting conferences took place in complete secrecy, without even a stenographer or secretary in residence. However, for those who followed the Court with any consistency, and for the clerks who lived in the place every day, it wasnt too difficult to predict how votes were lining up, although the justices had surprised people in the past. Justice Knights depressed look made it clear, however, which way the votes were aligned on theBlankleycase. And Sara could read the tea leaves as well as anyone. Michael Fiske was right. The only question was how sweeping the opinion would be.
Too bad I wont be around to see the results of my research come to fruition, Sara said.
You never know. You came back for a second term. Michael Fiske signed up with Tommy for a third. Id love to have you back again.
Funny you should mention him. Michael was also asking about your remarks at oral argument. He thought Murphy might welcome anything you were trying to put together concerning preferences for the poor.
Knight smiled. Michael would know. He and Tommy are as close as clerk and justice can be.
Michael knows more about the Court than just about anyone. Actually, sometimes he can be a little scary.
Knight eyed her keenly. I thought you and Michael were close.
We are. I mean, were good friends. Sara blushed as Knight continued to watch her.
We wont be getting any announcements from the two of you, will we? Knight smiled warmly.
What? No, no. Were just friends.
I see. Im sorry, Sara, its certainly none of my business.
Its okay. We do spend a fair amount of time together. Im sure some people assume that theres more there than just friendship. I mean, Michaels a very attractive man, obviously very smart. Great future.
Sara, dont take this the wrong way, but you sound like youre trying to convince yourself of something.
