Blowout

forest. Sherlock heard Dillon say, “Remind me to review the financials on her later. Nice buildings, nice setting. I wonder how much law clerks at the Supreme Court make?”
    “Probably not all that much. It’s such a prestige thing, I imagine. Sort of like being a Rhodes scholar.”
    Eliza Vickers was a surprise. She was tall, about five-foot-ten, full-figured, big-breasted, with long, straight dark brown hair. She wore white socks, jeans, and a huge creamy knit sweater. Big glasses distorted her eyes a bit, then she gave them a smile, and Sherlock saw a wealth of beauty on her face. The smile was brief, though, and it was clear she’d been crying. She rubbed her fists over her cheeks, trying to keep control, and whispered, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. Come in, let me get myself together.”
    The living room was good-sized, filled with light from a dozen windows that looked onto the woods, a modern fireplace, and a white sofa and chairs with a dozen accent pillows scattered artfully about. The carpet was white. Sherlock automatically took off her shoes, Savich followed suit.
    “Yes, I know—why ever did I choose white? I guess it was during my off-guys phase, you know, back to virginal for a while. It’s a pain now. Please come in. Can I get you coffee or tea?”
    “Tea would be marvelous,” Sherlock said. “Straight.” That made Eliza smile a bit, that beautiful smile, and her eyes cleared behind those big glasses. “I’ll be back in a moment.”
    “I smell him,” Sherlock said.
    “Who?”
    “Justice Califano. I smell him. The same smell in his inner office at the Supreme Court Building.”
    “So it was an affair, then, not just Eliza Vickers worshiping Justice Califano from afar. He came here.”
    “Yes. And it was recent.”
    When Eliza Vickers walked back into the living room, she was carrying two mugs that each said UVA. “A good school,” Savich said. “With one of the best law schools in the country, I understand. I thought you went to Harvard Law.”
    “I did. My younger brother goes to UVA.” She gave them each a mug. “It’s plain old Lipton. I hope you don’t mind.”
    “It’s excellent,” Sherlock said, taking a sip.
    Eliza wasn’t a lightweight, nor was she fat. She was simply solid, statuesque. She took off her glasses a moment, and wiped them on the hem of her big sweater. Savich looked at her eyes. There was grief there, and confusion, but obvious intelligence as well. He felt immediate respect for her.
    He said matter-of-factly, “Everyone tells us you’re a real ballbuster, Ms. Vickers.”
    “Call me Eliza, please, Agent Savich. Goodness, yes, I suppose I am. Someone has to do it, or things don’t get done quickly enough, and believe me, speed is of the essence. So much paperwork comes into a Justice’s chambers, and all of it has to be reviewed, responded to. I keep things going, have from the day I walked into Stew—Justice Califano’s chambers. I don’t think anyone particularly dislikes me for it, but who knows? Who cares? We accomplish what needs to be accomplished.”
    “We understand that Justice Califano didn’t want to lose you when your second year comes to a close in July, either as his law clerk or his lover.” Savich paused a fraction of a second. “He was your lover, wasn’t he, Eliza?”
    Her mouth opened, shut, and then she sighed. “I don’t know why I’m surprised you found out. It’s just that I didn’t think anyone knew. Actually I’m not certain that Stewart believed me as good a lover as a law clerk.” She tried to smile, but this time she couldn’t. “I didn’t want to leave him and he certainly didn’t want me to leave, but I was leaving, in July. I’d made up my mind. I would very much appreciate it if you wouldn’t say anything about my relationship with Stewart to anyone, particularly to Margaret.”
    Sherlock said, “How long had you been lovers?”
    “Four months now. Please, I don’t want Margaret to know. Why hurt her needlessly? It would be cruel.”
    Sherlock said, “She’ll have to know if it turns out your affair had anything to do with Justice Califano’s murder.”
    That knocked her back against the colorful pillows that lined the back of the white sofa. “How could I have anything to do with Stewart’s murder? He was the finest man I’ve ever known in my life. He was brilliant, he was kind, he was gentle, he was unfailingly thoughtful. He loved being a Supreme Court Justice, and best of all,