CHAPTER TWELVE
1
Jack Holden slipped the letter from the envelope and, his heart pounding like a basketball on asphalt, he began to read.
Dear Jack,
I have to start out by saying I’m sorry for not writing sooner. There is a reason for that, and now is the time to tell you.
On the plane back to D.C. I was thinking about many things. About my accident, that vision I had when I almost died, about Mom, and a lot about what you had to say in that legal brief of yours. It was getting under my skin, and I was a little angry at you about it. I did not want to think about those things because I was coming back here to assume the most important responsibility of my life.
But I could not stop thinking about what you wrote. I think I know now what was happening. God was not letting me off the hook.
Then there was this moment, I was listening to Beethoven on the headphones, and the plane broke out into this lovely sky, and light was everywhere, it seemed.
Not just light, but the essence of all light. Am I making sense here? I don’t know… think about the most beautiful light you’ve ever seen.
I said to myself, “Watch it, Millie. Watch out!” Because I knew the door was opening and I was going to go through it. Behind the door I heard the music. My heart wanted to dance. But my mind didn’t want to.
I know now I went through the door, kicking and screaming. I could not not believe in God anymore.
And I kept thinking about what you told me about Moody. I believe he saw those children. I believe my vision was from God, too. It was his gift, as you said.
I want to see Mom again. That’s all part of this, too. I can’t deny that, nor would I want to.
But fear is here as well. What is all this going to mean? How is it going to change me? How is it going to change the way I work? Will my opinions on the law change?
Well, I’ve been trying to figure all that out! But I’ve been trying to do it like I always have – alone. Think it through. Figure out the best course of action to take. All before the first Monday in October when I go back to work!
But the only thing I’ve figured out so far is that I can’t do this on my own. So last night I called Bill Bonassi. Yes, William T. Bonassi, the retired justice. I served my first two years with him, almost always on the opposite side of the decision. We all knew he was a Christian. I have to find out what this faith I’ve so tentatively embraced actually means. He has given me some books and the offer to talk more. I feel like this is the most productive step I’ve taken since I got off the plane.
Please forgive me for waiting so long to tell you. But until now I didn’t know if these thoughts of God would last. I really didn’t want it to last, to tell you the truth. It has thrown me for a loop.
But I know one thing for certain: the door has closed behind me, and I am on the other side, and my heart is learning how to dance.
Please don’t stop praying for me. And for the Court. I love this institution and want to serve it so much, so well.
I promise I will call soon to talk with you. I know right now you must be rejoicing. I join you in that. For the moment, at least, I feel more joy than I have ever felt.
Stay out of the lake. Write to me again. Thank you for everything.
Millie
Jack Holden put the letter on his desk. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. Then he went outside and with thankfulness overflowing in him, shot hoops for an hour, his longest stretch in a long time.
2
Anne Deveraux met Cosmo for drinks at License at five-thirty. Her friend was already at the bar nursing a martini.
“I want two of those,” Anne said over the loud music. They were blaring classic rock today. Jethro Tull.
“Tough day?” Cosmos asked.
“Usual. Had to bust some chops.”
“Ooh, you sound like Joe Pesci or something.”
“Joe Pesci?”
“You know, like some Mafia guy.”
Anne said nothing, motioned for the bartender, pointed at Cosmo’s glass. He got the message.
“So, are you some Mafia guy?” Cosmo asked.
“You’re weird.”
“Or are you dating some Mafia guy?”
Anne looked at her. Cosmo’s eyes were full of mischief. “What brought this on?” Anne asked, trying not to sound like she was a kid with a hand in the cookie jar.
“I don’t know, your mysterious boyfriend and all. It’s like a movie. I was trying to think, why won’t she tell me? It’s because he’s Mafia, or a Republican, or something like that. Maybe you’re seeing a Catholic priest, I don’t know. You won’t tell me.”
“Fine, I’ll tell you.”
“I thought so.”
“He’s in construction. In New York.”
“Construction?”
“Buildings. He builds buildings.” It was better that Cosmo didn’t know. Someday, maybe.
“Like a Donald Trump?”
“Sure, like Donald Trump.”
“The guy loaded?”
“He’s got some money.”
“When can I meet him?”
“Sometime. Enough about him. What about – ” She stopped when someone dropped onto the chair next to her. She gave a quick glance and saw a man staring at her. Markey.
She almost slipped off her chair.
“Hi,” he said.
“Who’s this?” Cosmo asked.
“Detective Markey,” he said. “Glad to know you.”
Anne felt her stomach twist around like one of the bar pretzels. “Who said you could sit here?”
“This is a public place.”
“I’m having a private conversation.”
“I just need a minute or two,” Markey said. The female bartender asked him what he’d like. “Ginger ale,” he said.
“Maybe I should go,” Cosmo said.
“No,” Anne said. “You don’t have to go anywhere.”
“Maybe that would be best,” Markey said. “Just for a minute or two.”
Something in Markey’s look told Anne this was not going to be a casual conversation. “Give me a couple of minutes,” she told Cosmo.
“Just call me later,” Cosmo said. She dropped a five dollar bill on the bar and walked off.
“Thanks a lot,” Anne said to Markey. “You’re a real social asset.”
“Just doing my job.”
“As what? Keeper of the cop cliché book?”
“I don’t want this to be unpleasant.”
“It already is. Detail me.”
He looked at her quizzically.
“Tell me what this is all about,” Anne said slowly.
“Your boss, Senator Sam Levering. A year and half ago there was talk about a bimbo eruption. Remember that?”
Anne was silent. He obviously knew the facts.
Markey went on. “Three women were supposedly going to come forward and make statements about Levering and his, well, his peculiar tastes in the bedroom. I’ve got the names written somewhere. Want me to find them?”
“Just go on,” Anne said.
“Anyway, there was noise made about these three going on Larry King and spilling their guts. It was apparently the work of a very conservative lawyer out in Tulsa who did not like Levering one bit. But the story never got on the air. Remember why?”
Anne returned his look with iron resistance.
“This lawyer was suddenly caught with a sixteen-year-old prostitute out on Highway 20. And then the women clam up.”
“The guy was trying to make money and a name for himself,” Anne said. “Sham artists are all over the place.”
“And three women change their stories?”
“Happens.”
“Sure it does. When somebody gets to them.”
A woman screamed from across the room. Anne’s heart almost jumped out of her chest. She looked and saw the woman, her head thrown back, dissolving into a huge, obnoxious laugh.
“Must have been a funny one,” Markey said.
“This whole conversation is a funny one,” Anne said. “Why don’t you get to the point and then leave me alone?”
“I always wondered about that lawyer,” Markey said. “It wasn’t my jurisdiction, of course, but I take an interest in things. I make connections all the time. It just happens. And this morning I’m thinking to myself, what has become of our witness? The one I told you about. Remember?”