James Bell - Deadlock

“Can’t you see the horrible damage you’ve done?”

His words could not have hurt more if they had been knives cutting her skin. Then anger began to well inside her. “I was not the one who leaked the lies to the press.”

“It was inevitable,” Riley countered. “And the damage might have been greater.”

“Greater?”

“How many cases might you decide if…”

She looked at him coolly. “If I’m not impeached?”

Riley did not back down. “The Court is what’s important.”

“No,” she said. “The Court is important only if it reflects the views of Thomas J. Riley. That’s it, isn’t it?”

Justice Riley stood up and started for the door. “I have given thirty years of my life to this institution. The things I have built up…”

“The things you have built up? This is an institution, Tom. It is greater than any one person.”

He glared back at her. “You said it. That’s why you should step down.”

Riley’s face was like winter stillness. His mouth twitched, as if readying to speak of its own accord. But he was silent. It was a silence of finality, like death. He walked out of the conference room.

Millie sat several minutes without moving. She felt as if her body was incapable of emotion, lest it be consumed. And then the grief came, the stark loss, and she bit down hard on her lower lip to keep from crying.

She felt like the walking dead as she returned to her chambers. How could this possibly go on, day after day?

Oh God - she realized she was praying – show me what to do.

A knock on the door. Rosalind stepped in. “May I see you a moment?”

“Of course,” Millie said, relieved to have the company. For the last week Rosalind had been a quiet support, doing the work of two clerks. It was, Millie knew, Rosalind’s way of saying she would stick it out.

“I have something on my mind I have to talk about,” Rosalind said. “It’s driving me crazy.”

Rosalind looked at her hands, rubbing the palms together. “I…” She stopped suddenly, turning her head back toward the door as if she might leave.

“Please,” Millie said. She went to Rosalind and gently guided her to one of the two leather chairs that faced her desk. It was obvious that whatever Rosalind was trying to say troubled her greatly. “It’s all right,” Millie said. “Whatever it is.”

Rosalind took a deep breath. “I did something and I feel bad about it. I went out with Russell, Riley’s clerk.”

That wasn’t a big deal. Clerks sometimes went out on dates, even crossing ideological lines. Still, the fact that it was Riley’s clerk made her wonder what was coming next.

“He wanted to buy me a drink to start, and I said okay. Only I got up and went to the bathroom, and I told the waiter instead of a Seven and Seven, bring me just 7-Up with a dash of Coke in it. And keep them coming.”

“But why?”

Rosalind looked at her boss, eyes smoldering. “Because I can’t stand what they’re doing to you.”

“Who is they?”

“Everybody. The whole machine. And I had to find out what Russell knew.”

“About what?” Millie’s whole body was starting to tense up.

“That day Riley walked out of conference, and you went to see him in his chambers?”

“Yes.”

“Well, Russell was on the other side of the door, listening to the whole thing.”

“He was eavesdropping?”

“He called it spying. Riley’s other clerk wasn’t even in at the time. So he did that thing with the glass on the wall. And he listened.”

Millie recalled that conversation with absolute clarity. She had told Riley she was a Christian. He had said he would have to fight her.

“He admitted this to you?” Millie asked.

“We kept getting drinks. I’d finish ahead of him, he’d be amazed, we’d order another round. It finally got to the point where he actually bragged about it. He wrote a memo about your conversation with Riley. He told me he knew a guy that knew Biff Burrow, you know, of the Burrow Bulletin ?”

“I know it,” Millie said, “only too well. So Russell leaked the story?”

“Well…”

“There’s more?”

Rosalind looked distressed, as if this were the most painful part. “Just before Russell left with it, he printed a hard copy. He had it on his desk. He went to the bathroom. And when he got back he said Riley was standing there, reading it.”

Millie felt an emptiness starting to swell inside her. It was getting upsettingly familiar.

“And Russell thought he was going to get in trouble,” Rosalind said. “But then Riley threw it back on the desk and walked away.”

Now the emptiness engulfed her.

“I’m so sorry,” Rosalind said, and then her eyes filled with tears. “I wish I hadn’t done that. I feel dirty. And I feel dirty telling you. But I couldn’t keep it to myself.”

Millie came to Rosalind and put her arm around her. “No, don’t. You wanted to help me. That means more to me than anything.”

Rosalind wiped at her eyes. “What’s going to happen to us?”

Us. That this young woman had used that word was more important to Millie than Rosalind would probably ever know. Millie squeezed Rosalind’s shoulder.

“I don’t know,” Millie whispered.

Anne could not shake the feeling that the walls were closing in. Was it just a panic attack?

She hadn’t heard from Levering, hadn’t been able to track him down. Where was he? Off in an alcoholic stupor? It wasn’t like him to be so far removed from communication. That had to be part of it.

Then there was Ambrosi. He was going to do something, and she didn’t know what. That wasn’t like him, either. It meant something big. She’d get caught up in it, maybe that was the thing. He was going to bring her down with him.

But there was something else, worse than mere professional anxiety. It was a deep disquiet of some kind, a big black hole inside her, swirling, sucking up galaxies.

Self-analysis was not something she was into. No money in it. No time for it. She usually dealt with uneasiness through action. Planning things, twisting arms. Even shopping. But this was something worse. She knew it wasn’t going to shake loose with a few purchases from Saks.

So what was this?

It felt like something calling to her. Searching for her.

The knock on her apartment door jarred her back into the present. She was startled to see that detective, Markey, through her peephole.

“What is it?” she said through the door.

“Ms. Deveraux, open the door, please.”

It was official-speak. She had no choice. Not to open would be like an admission of guilt.

She let him in.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Deveraux, but you’ll have to come with me now,” Don Markey said.

“Whoa, whoa,” she said. “Not now. I’ve got a meeting in ten – ”

“You don’t understand. You are under arrest.”

Her skin started to climb upward. “Arrest?”

“For complicity in the murder of Tad Levering.”

“Look,” she said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but you’re way off base.”

“You have the right to remain silent,” he said.

“Wait a second, hold it. Can’t you explain all this?”

“You have the right to an attorney – ”

“This is ridiculous.”

“Are you waiving your right to an attorney?”

“I’m not waiving anything.”

“Then come with me and we’ll talk about things at the station.”

“Things?”

“Unless you want to talk right now, tell me the whole thing. Corroborate what the senator said.”

Anne tried to keep her face from twitching. “Senator?”