Mrs. Wallace led them down a long hallway. Every wall, every surface, was covered with Art Deco art and artifacts from the 1930s. Their footsteps sounded loud on the oak floors, echoing up to the twelve-foot ceiling.

“Sumner is devastated by this,” Mrs. Wallace said again, as if there were simply no other words available to her, “as you can well imagine.” She paused a moment, drew herself up, knocked on a door at the end of the hall, and immediately opened it.

The room was dark. Mrs. Wallace sighed, walked into the gloom, and turned on a lamp. It sent out a circle of stark light, and in the center of that circle sat an older man on a small sofa, perfectly upright, his hands clasped between his legs, eyes staring straight ahead.

“Justice Wallace,” Ben said as he walked to the man, his badge out. “I’m Detective Ben Raven from the Metro Police. I’d like to speak to you, sir.”

Justice Wallace slowly turned his head to look up at Ben. Then he looked beyond him to Callie. “Callie? What are you doing here? Why are you with this police officer?”

“I’m not here as a reporter, sir. I’m here as part of my stepfather’s family.”

Slowly, Justice Wallace rose, walked to Callie, and took her in his arms. She was nearly as tall as he was. He felt strong as an ox, she thought as she hugged him tightly. “Stewart was a fine man, a fine Justice,” he said, his voice choking. “Dear God, I will miss him.” He hugged her more tightly.

Callie wanted to cry; it was odd, but what held her back was the thought that this man had actually made a pass at her mother, the wife of another Justice who was supposed to be his best friend. So she merely comforted him as best she could, wondering if he was bitterly sorry now for what he’d done.

After a few more moments, Justice Wallace straightened. His shoulders went back. His bearing was once again that of a Justice of the Supreme Court, strong and in control.

He turned to Ben. “Won’t you sit down, Detective? Beth, would you please get us coffee?”

Callie didn’t want any coffee, but Mrs. Wallace had already turned away.

“Why are you here, Detective? Where is the FBI? As you saw, we already have two federal marshals to guard us. From a murder attempt or to protect us from the media, I don’t know. Do you?”

“I would say both, sir,” Ben said. “As for the FBI, they’ll be here to talk to you, Justice Wallace. I’m part of the team put together by the Bureau. I really appreciate you seeing me. If you don’t mind, sir, any information you could give me about Justice Califano would be helpful.”

Justice Wallace sighed. “So many guards, so much security assigned to keep us safe. How could this have happened? In the Supreme Court Building, the bedrock of the rule of law in our nation, the symbol of freedom and balance in our government?”

Now that was eloquent, Ben thought, a lot more statesmanlike than hitting on Margaret Califano. Ben decided there was no reason for him not to tell him. “It appears that the killer knew one of the guards would go outside for a smoke. He hit him on the head, took his uniform, and came right back in. It was after midnight, quiet, and unfortunately he succeeded.” It was a lousy excuse, Ben knew, but it was the truth. “Justice Wallace, I understand you were Justice Califano’s closest friend. Did you notice anything different about him on Friday? Or during the past week? Did Justice Califano appear distracted, perhaps worried about something?”

“No, not at all. Stewart appeared the same as always on Friday, and throughout the week as well. I knew he didn’t want to revisit the death penalty in the upcoming case, but then again, neither did I.”

“Why would that be, sir?”

“He believed it wasn’t a good case for the anti-death-penalty people to use since this sixteen-year-old boy had murdered three people in a particularly brutal manner. Still, he hadn’t made up his mind about overturning the ruling they’d made in 1989. The liberal Justices wanted to swing him around to their way of thinking to gain a plurality. There was lots of maneuvering. I don’t know what Stewart would have ended up deciding to do.”

“But you don’t believe he was in the Supreme Court Library to think about this particular case?”

“It’s possible. Whenever Stewart wanted to be alone to think, to study a case or a contentious issue like this one, he went to the library. He simply felt an affinity for it. He enjoyed being among those thousands of books that give us the roots of what we are as a people. They helped focus his mind, he said, on the meaning of his work.”