Mistress of Justice

with him and …” She again attended to the stalks of weird flowers. “And when I was in Connecticut with Mr. Clayton and you … Well, afterward, he came on to me, Mr. Clayton, you know and … well, we sort of slept together.”
    Taylor nodded, recalling that she’d overheard the trystfrom Clayton’s den. The poor girl, suckered in by the vortex of the partner’s eyes and charm.
    “So, Sean found out and he had this big fight with Clayton. It was really vicious. I think Sean threatened to go to the executive committee about what happened and Clayton was afraid he’d get fired and he killed himself.”
    Taylor was frowning. So he and Lillick had had a fight. It had never occurred to her that
Lillick
might have killed Clayton.
    Then she focused on the distraught Carrie once more. She couldn’t, of course, say anything about Clayton’s death but she could reassure the girl. “No, Carrie, that had nothing to do with it.” A woman-to-woman smile. “Wendall Clayton slept with half the firm and he couldn’t care less if anybody knew about it. Besides, I talked to Donald. I know why Clayton killed himself. I can’t tell you but it had nothing to do with you or Sean.”
    “Really?”
    “Promise.”
    “Despite what happened, I really kind of like him—Sean, I mean. He’s weird, but underneath he’s not as weird as he seems to be. We kind of patched things up. I think he likes me.”
    “I’m glad to hear that.”
    Taylor decided it was time to get out of the hospital. She feigned a yawn. “Listen, Carrie. I’m going to get some sleep now.”
    “Oh, sure. Feel better.” Carrie hugged her. Then she asked, “Oh, one thing—do you know where the United Charities of New York general correspondence file is?”
    “No idea. I never worked for them.”
    The girl frowned. “You didn’t?”
    “No. Why?”
    “I was down in the pen this morning and I saw Donald Burdick’s wife in your cubicle.”
    “Vera?”
    “Yeah. She was looking through your desk. And I asked what she needed and she said she was doing a fund-raiserfor the UCNY and needed the file. She thought you had it. But we couldn’t find it.”
    “I’ve never checked out any of their files. Must be a mistake.”
    Carrie glanced at the TV and her face lit up. “Hey, look, it’s
The Bold and the Beautiful.…
That’s my favorite! I used to love summer vacations so I could watch all the soaps. Can’t do that anymore. Things sure change when you start working.”
    Well, that’s the truth.…
    Taylor’s eyes strayed absently to the screen, watching the actors lost in their own intrigues and desires. When she turned to the doorway to say good-bye to Carrie, the paralegal had already left.
    Taylor felt uneasy. Lillick, Dudley, Sebastian, Burdick … or somebody else had tried to poison her. They might find out that she was no longer in a coma and try again. She summoned the floor nurse, who in turn managed to track down a resident. The young doctor, seeing the urgency in her eyes, reluctantly agreed to discharge her as soon as the paperwork was finished.
    After he’d left, she lay back in bed and looked through her purse for her insurance card.
    She found a folded sheet of paper stuck in the back of the address book.
    It was the poem that Danny Stuart had given her. Linda Davidoff’s poem, her suicide note. She realized that she’d never read it, which she now did.
    When I Leave
    By Linda Davidoff
    When I leave, I’ll travel light
    and rise above
    the panorama of my solitude.
    I’ll sail to you, fast and high
,
    weightless as the touch of night
.
    When I leave, I’ll become a light
    that shows our love in a clear, essential way
    (
After all, what is a soul but love?
).
    After all is reconciled, and the darkness pitched away
,
    I’ll travel light, transported home to you
    in the buoyancy of pure and peaceful flight
.
     
    Taylor Lockwood thought of Linda, the beautiful, quiet, gypsy poet. She read the lines again very slowly.
    Then she read them once more.
    A moment later a huge orderly appeared in the door. “Ms. Lockwood, good news: The warden called.”
    He grinned; she frowned, not understanding.
    Then the man delivered the rest of what would be his stock joke. “It’s a full pardon. You’re free to go.” And he maneuvered the wheelchair into the room.

     
    Taylor Lockwood had learned early who the real power centers were at Hubbard, White.
    One of the most powerful was a short, round-faced woman of sixty. Mrs. Bendix