Blowout

extent that he wanted not only to hurt him badly before he killed him, he also wanted to humiliate him, and maybe the Supreme Court itself, and that’s why he chose to do it here.”
    Sherlock lightly touched her fingers to the glossy library table, the rich wood glowing in the dim early afternoon light. “I think the killer had to be a professional. Otherwise, if it was someone who knew him, someone who hated him deeply, then I’ll bet he would have been smart and gotten him someplace private and killed him with as little risk as possible.”
    “So this was for enjoyment because it’s the way the guy gets his jollies,” Ben said. “For Feds,” he continued after a moment, looking back and forth between them as they both nodded, “you guys are making some sense. So you’re thinking professional regardless of the risks he took?”
    Sherlock nodded. “We’ll check on the whereabouts of all the professional assassins with anything like this M.O.—using a garrote, liking big risks. Think that might track?”
    “Yeah, I do,” said Ben. “No terrorists at all in this scenario then.”
    Savich said, “We’ll cover all the bases. The CIA is already deep into it. So far, there’s nothing, and no one has claimed any responsibility. Revenge sounds good to me, something up close and personal.”
    “Not a random madman or an extremist of some persuasion?”
    “Could be, but it doesn’t feel right.”
    As they walked from the Supreme Court Building on East Capitol Street, Ben said, “You want to know the truth about something? If someone wants you dead, you’re dead. You can have the Praetorian Guard, motion sensors, a gazillion alarm systems, it wouldn’t matter.”
    Savich said, “You’re right, of course, but no one is willing to accept that. Now, we’ve got a murdered Supreme Court Justice, so that means endless and exhaustive media attention from every talking head who’s ever been a cop, or just thinks he’s smart, and the President will likely get twice-a-day briefings on our progress. Everyone will focus on the murder for maybe a day and a half, then turn their attention to who the President will nominate to take Justice Califano’s place on the Court.
    “In the meantime, we’ll have unlimited resources, both federal and local, and huge expectations to live up to.”
    Sherlock said, “It all comes down to the fact that our Justice Califano made a big-time enemy, so this gives us another starting place, the money behind the murder.”
    “So alibis don’t mean diddly squat,” Ben said, “if this big-time enemy didn’t want to get blood on his own hands.”
    “That’s about it.” Savich yawned. He was tired to his bones what with staying up half the night thinking about what happened in that house in the Poconos and getting called so early on Saturday morning to come back to Washington. He wondered if his father, FBI agent Buck Savich, had enjoyed sleeping in on a Saturday morning sometimes, at least once a decade.
    S ATURDAY AFTERNOON
    J ED C OOMBES , editor for The Washington Post and Callie’s boss, could hardly contain himself. “What the hell do you mean you’re not coming in? Look here, Callie, I know it’s Saturday, I know you’re supposed to be in New York, but you’re back home now. I know the Justice was related to you, but that’s exactly why we really need you here—”
    Callie held the phone to her ear but tuned him out. Jed always used six sentences to say what he could say in one. He was understandably pissed, since he saw her as his direct pipeline to the background on the story, and she let him rant, even toss in condolences when a tug of his long-forgotten manners kicked in. She waited for him to run down, like a wind-up toy. He said the words Pulitzer Prize at least three times. Finally, he was reduced to panting a bit because he hadn’t taken a single breath in his entire rant.
    “I understand, Jed,” she said at last, “but the bottom line is that it was my stepfather, and my mother needs me. It doesn’t matter that I’m a reporter, I will not go against the FBI on this, and I’ve promised them I’d stay away from work for a while. Surely you don’t want to see this case compromised because I shot off my mouth.”
    “It’s not my job to care about the FBI’s case. It’s my job to run a newspaper.”
    She smiled into her cell. “I’ll speak to you again after the funeral, Jed. My mom’s in pretty bad shape, as you can imagine. I don’t know