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“As you can imagine, rumors abound in the Court. We’re always in each other’s chambers, gossiping, telling each other where our Justices stand on this or that issue and what we’re working on.” She paused a moment. “I’m really sorry about Danny. I’ll tell you, Callie, if I had him here in the kitchen with me, I’d punch his lights out for being so damned stupid.” She stood there, tears sliding down her cheeks. “Oh, poor Danny. It’s scary. This is just too close to home, you know?”

CHAPTER

20

THE KETTERING HOME

FAIRFAX, VIRGINIA

SUNDAY EVENING

BEN STOPPED OFF in Georgetown to let Savich get his Porsche, then led the way to the Kettering home in Fairfax. They pulled into the driveway just after seven o’clock that evening.

There weren’t any reporters or TV vans hanging around. The media hadn’t yet learned where the widow was stashed.

But there were four cars parked along the curb, two Mercedes, a Lexus, and a BMW. Callie said to Ben, “It looks like Mom’s friends are here.”

Ben wasn’t listening. He was staring at the display of automotive affluence, and grunted. He wasn’t a snob, dammit, but couldn’t any of them drive a plain old Ford? A truck, something useful, something that didn’t smack you in the face with dollar signs and twelve cylinders, something like his? The Crown Vic had plenty of muscle, but that was different.

He realized Callie was staring at him, and grunted again. “I drive a Beemer too,” she said, and gave him a shameless grin. “All right, so it’s one of the cheaper models. You’re a truck guy, right? Maybe you’ve got a dog hanging out the window?”

Savich and Sherlock joined them at that moment.

“I know it’s late, Callie,” Sherlock said, taking her arm, “but we’d like to see how your mom’s holding up, see if she’s remembered anything more. We won’t keep her long. Looks like she’s got lots of company in any case.”

Callie nodded. “All her longtime friends are here. There’s a couple of cars I don’t recognize.”

The snow was melting, the air was sweet and cold. The forecast predicted a dip below freezing tonight, turning what snow was left into ice. It was perfectly dark, not even a sliver of a moon. Callie felt colder than she should have, probably because she was stressed and tired, her stepfather was dead, and now Danny O’Malley was dead too. There was a monster out there, and she didn’t have a clue if they were getting any closer. Savich kept stuff to himself, she’d realized that soon enough. So did Sherlock, for that matter. How odd that a husband-and-wife team worked together for the FBI. They were so in tune with each other. She wondered how long they’d been together. She looked over at Ben and wondered if she could ever be in tune with him like that. That stopped her in her tracks. Good grief, she was letting Sonya’s remarks get to her.

She heard Savich laugh at something his wife said. Would they let her review all the interviews that Savich was putting on his laptop? She hoped so. She had a good eye. According to Savich, MAX was going to help highlight inconsistencies, red-flag interviews that were glaringly at odds with others, and do the analysis much more quickly than a person could. Evidently MAX was even going to suggest specific questions to ask. It sounded amazing, and she wanted to see it work.

She unlocked the front door and led them all in. When she went into the living room, she stopped cold.

In addition to Janette Weaverton, Juliette Trevor, Bitsy St. Pierre, and Anna Clifford, Justice Wallace and his wife were cozied up next to Justice Alto-Thorpe and her husband, both couples sitting on a sofa across from Margaret.

“This is an unexpected find,” Savich whispered, and strode in, drawing all eyes to him immediately. He wondered for a moment how the two Justices had found out where Margaret Califano was squirreled away, then remembered the federal marshals assigned to them. They were probably parked discreetly outside.

Savich walked directly to Margaret Califano and took her hand. He smiled down at her. “I hope you’re feeling better, ma’am.”

“Callie called me about