The FBI Thrillers Collection Books 6-10 - Catherine Coulter [467]
Savich said loud enough for everyone in the big living room to hear, “We don’t know for sure, ma’am, but it would seem Danny O’Malley knew something and may have tried to blackmail the killer or the person who hired the killer.”
A loud voice, anger simmering just below the surface said, “Given the general incompetence of the people who are supposed to protect us, I am not at all surprised. It is a disgrace, and I shall see to it that Congress does something about it.”
He’d know that voice anywhere, Savich thought, and the words, and turned to Justice Alto-Thorpe, who was sitting on the edge of the sofa, mouth pinched, a cloud of disapproval hanging over her head. Her husband was looking off toward the windows, seemingly paying no attention.
Savich said easily, “I’m not surprised at your attitude, ma’am, given that you’ve already told Agent Sherlock and me your feelings on the subject at length.”
“I shall see to it that new laws are passed. Murder done in the highest Court in the land! It will go down as a disgraceful point in our history.”
“Yes, indeed,” Sherlock said. “As it should.” She proceeded to introduce all of them to the Justices and their spouses. She got the distinct impression that neither Justice was pleased to see them.
Callie moved to sit beside her mother. Bitsy St. Pierre quickly scooted over to give her room.
Savich said to Harry Thorpe, “I had wanted to meet you, sir. I’ve been told that you own and operate Harry’s.”
Harry Thorpe looked up at Savich, his mouth opening to reply when Justice Alto-Thorpe said, “He sells fish. What are you doing here, Agents?”
Savich said, “We wanted to see how Mrs. Califano was doing. I assume that’s why you are all here?” His question included Justice Wallace and his wife.
Justice Wallace said quickly, “Yes, of course. Beth and I are friends of the family, have been for many years. Naturally we’d want to see how Margaret is holding up.”
Thankfully, Justice Alto-Thorpe remained silent, but she continued to look at Savich, Sherlock, and Ben as if the murders were all their fault.
Savich said, “I assume your federal marshals brought you here?”
Justice Wallace nodded. “Fine fellows. We feel quite safe with them around.” Beth Wallace didn’t say a word. From her expression it was obvious she didn’t want to be here. Sherlock saw her look directly at Margaret, and there was something in those faded eyes of hers, something that bothered Sherlock, something that wasn’t quite right. Then it was clear. She knew, Sherlock realized, she knew very well that her husband had wanted to add another notch to his aging belt. Sherlock would wager she also knew that Stewart Califano knew about it as well and had been upset at her husband. But why was she looking at Margaret like that? Margaret wasn’t the one in the wrong. Then Beth Wallace looked at her husband, saw that he was staring at Margaret. Sherlock saw her wince, look down at her clasped hands, slumping her shoulders, as if in defeat. She’d said everything she felt and knew without speaking a word. She was dressed in lovely black wool trousers, a pink cashmere sweater, and a matching black wool blazer. She looked good on the outside. But her insides?
Margaret said, “Would you like some coffee? Tea? No, not you, Anna, you’ve done enough.”
“That would be lovely,” Sherlock said. Janette Weaverton quickly rose. Did the women have a rotation schedule? Sherlock could easily picture Janette in tennis whites, skillfully wielding a racket. Yes, Janette looked like she’d be a winner at tennis. Sherlock smiled. “Why don’t I help you fetch the goodies?”
The Kettering kitchen was large, the walls a pale yellow, the appliances sparkling new. A large pine table was set in the center, and Sherlock remembered the meal they’d had here with Miles and Katie and the children before they’d returned to Jessborough, Tennessee.
“This is a lovely home,” Janette Weaverton said, and went efficiently to the