“Do you have any idea who could have killed him?”

Justice Wallace began rubbing his hands together, like Lady MacBeth, Callie thought, and wasn’t that a strange image to appear in her mind? He said finally, his voice slow and thoughtful, very much like a Justice rendering an opinion, “No, there was no one, either in his past or in the present, that I know of.”

“Do you know of anything on a more personal level that was bothering Justice Califano? Some disagreement he’d recently had? Some argument?”

“No, naturally not. Stewart was very well liked. He was happily married. He had a stepdaughter everybody likes.” He sent something close to a smile in Callie’s direction.

“You were his best friend, sir?”

“For many years. We both went to Harvard Law. In those years, we drank too much, spent too much time in clubs.” He fell silent, sighed.

For the good old days? Ben had to remind himself that the Justices of the Supreme Court had once been young and that meant doing stupid things, but it was still tough to believe. Justice Wallace was one of the Supremes, so high up he could call the President by his first name.

It was time to move on, time to go to the meat of the matter. He thought of what Savich had said to him. “Remember, Ben, any of the Justices could probably have you taken out and shot, so be diplomatic, be respectful.” Well, this wasn’t going to be respectful at all. Ben could almost hear the firing squad readying their rifles, but he formed the words in his mind and managed to get them out of his mouth. “Would you tell me, sir, whether you’ve been personally involved with Margaret Califano?”

Justice Wallace’s eyes flashed. What? Rage? Embarrassment? No, not embarrassment, but what? Astonishment that he’d been observed and was being called on it? That was probably it. His face paled a bit as he drew in a long, slow breath. Ben prepared himself to be lambasted, possibly threatened. He was aware that Callie was staring intently at Justice Wallace.

But all the Justice said was, “That’s ridiculous.”

“Yes, of course it’s ridiculous,” said Mrs. Wallace from the door. “How dare you, young man, intimate such a thing? You are speaking to a Justice of the Supreme Court of the United States.”

Ben wanted to apologize, but he held himself still. He looked briefly at Callie. She was still staring at Justice Wallace’s face, not moving.

Beth Wallace wasn’t through. “The thought that Sumner would ever do anything like that, it’s nonsense. Both Stewart and Margaret were our friends, both of them. It is also an insult to me, Detective. My husband is faithful to me, always has been. And to ask such a thing at this time, in the context of Stewart’s death—it’s reprehensible.” The silver tray she carried trembled in her hands. Callie quickly jumped to her feet and took the tray.

Ben wished Mrs. Wallace could have remained out of sight for two minutes more. Well, damn. Her timing couldn’t have been worse. And that was all he was going to get—a denial. He nodded as he said, “Please let me apologize to both of you. There are some questions a policeman is forced to ask even though he doesn’t want to. To return to Justice Califano’s professional career. Can you think of anyone who hated Justice Califano enough to kill him?”

“Of course not,” Justice Wallace said without hesitation. “If there were ever such a question, any threatening correspondence, for example, it was forwarded to the FBI immediately. They always follow through on such things. Of all the Justices, Stewart was least likely to receive hate mail. Realize, Detective, that the nine of us spend most of our time in the Supreme Court Building. We’re not out haranguing defense lawyers or sentencing criminals, haven’t been for many years.”

There was a moment of tense silence, then Justice Wallace said, “You don’t believe this was a terrorist act, do you, Detective?”

“I don’t know, sir. And since we don’t know, that’s why you have two federal marshals assigned to guard you. They will remain until we’ve solved this case. Now, sir, for our information, and with my apologies, would you please tell me where you were last night?”

Justice Wallace raised an eyebrow and said, “Both my wife and I were home last night, playing bridge with our next-door neighbors, the Blairs. They left at around midnight. Isn’t that right, Beth?”

Beth Wallace nodded. “Then we went to bed.” She looked down at the beautiful silver coffeepot no one had touched. “It does occur to me to mention Eliza Vickers. She was Stewart’s senior law clerk. She isn’t a very nice woman.”