Deadlock Read online

  Charlene could only shake her head.

  “He took a step to the right, caught the ball, and slammed it into Cobb’s face. Bloodied his nose. And Cobb never tried that again with Beauregard Winsor. So, darlin’, instead of getting bloody over this, why don’t you take four hundred thousand dollars home with you? Give two thirds to your client, who will be very happy. And you’ll have more in your pocket than you’ve seen in your whole career.”

  A flame ignited inside Charlene. “I’m not in this to make money,” she said. “This is about punishing an organization that scars young women.”

  Winsor hardly blinked. “Why don’t you just think about it? Talk to your client. You see, if we go to trial, we’ll have to come at you with spikes high, just like ol’ Ty Cobb.”

  Charlene bristled. “Then maybe we’ll have to bloody your nose.”

  Winsor smiled. “Brave words, darlin’. But you ought to know one more thing. We added Larry Graebner to the team, as of this morning.”

  If he had literally spiked her, the shock would not have been as great. Larry Graebner! The Yale law professor reputed to be the finest Constitutional lawyer in the country, a man on the short list of possible Supreme Court nominees, a scholar whose treatise on Constitutional law Charlene had used in law school… he was now part of the largest, most frightening legal opponent Charlene had ever seen?

  “So you be sure to think it over,” Winsor said, “and get back to me now, ya hear?”

  3

  “You beat God back with a stick,” Senator Sam Levering said to Millie. “That’s no small feat.”

  They were seated in Levering’s oak paneled office in the Senate building. The senator sipped a bourbon on the rocks. Millie drank a sparkling water. She did not drink much more than a little champagne on New Year’s. She had made her career with a clear, sharp mind, and did not want that to change. Especially now.

  “You’re overestimating the role of one justice,” Millie said. She was still trying to figure Levering out. She’d spoken to him maybe half a dozen times in the past, but only cursorily and in a semi-official manner. Now they were face-to-face, chatting amiably.

  Levering smiled his charming Oklahoma grin, the one that had gotten him reelected four times. He was sixty years old with perfect chestnut hair. “You know better’n that, Madame Justice. Which is precisely why I invited you here.”

  With a short nod Levering took a sip of his drink. He wore a perfectly pressed white shirt and a maroon tie. There was a rumor he’d be in the next round of presidential candidates. Millie had no doubt he’d acquit himself like the winner he’d always been.

  “They’re gonna look back on this time in history, Madame Justice, and you know what they’re gonna say about you? That you stood in the breech. That the country could have veered off in a terrible direction, but Justice Millicent Mannings Hollander was the woman fate had selected to keep her country from dying a horrible death. How’s that sound?”

  Millie cleared her throat. “A little like Justice Hollander, Warrior Princess.”

  With a laugh Levering said, “Maybe just like that. I mean, you handed that fancy lawyer his head today, didn’t you?”

  “A justice has to ask the hard questions,” Millie said. “The lawyers know that going in.”

  Levering waved his glass dismissively. Ice clinked on the sides. “You know what I’m saying. We can be open here.”

  “I’m not sure I follow, Senator.”

  “I’m a plain talker, Madame Justice,” Levering said. “The people in my state get up, go to work, raise kids, and what you and your colleagues do is going to affect them for a long, long time. Maybe forever. And you, Justice Hollander, are the five on the most important 5-4 majority in the history of this country.”

  Deep down, she knew what he said was true. But that was not how she liked to think of herself. She wanted to be just another justice sworn to uphold the Constitution to the best of her ability. That she happened to be the key swing vote on a highly polarized court was simply the way the gavel slammed.

  Levering went on. “We’d have a law against partial-birth abortion if it wasn’t for you. Can you imagine what that would have done? To women? To girls? We’d have Pat Robertson and James Dobson arresting doctors for murder. What a nightmare.”

  Millie stared at the lime slice floating in her glass. That had not been an easy decision, even if Levering liked the outcome.

  “And this case about religion in the schools,” Levering said. “Again with the Christian Right. You can’t get rid of ’em. But you held them back, Madame Justice, and next term – ”

  “Senator,” Millie interrupted, “I would prefer that we don’t discuss anything about next term or about cases that might be considered. You know I can’t do that.”

  “Well, can’t is a pretty strong word. A little bit of chat wouldn’t hurt, would it? Just between friends?”

  “Senator,” Millie said, gripping her glass thoughtfully in two hands, “when FDR tried to pack the Court, you will recall, he was at the height of his popularity. He had a huge majority in the Senate and a 4-1 majority in the House. But his plans failed. You know why?”

  Levering waited for her to answer.

  “Because the American people knew it would hurt. They knew it was wrong even for a great president to blatantly meddle with the Court. I believe in the judgment of the people, Senator. Not only that, I hold it in trust.”

  For a moment Levering looked at her, then finally nodded. “That’s all I need to hear. How’d you like to be Chief Justice of the United States Supreme Court?”

  There it was. She had been certain he was going to ask. It was still amazing to hear it. The first woman chief justice. Through all the political machinations of the last decade – the fractious Court appointments and hearings, the calculations and in-fighting, the public outcries and battling newspaper editorials – she had wondered if this moment would ever come. And now it was here.

  Any justice with an ounce of ambition – and that was all of them – had thought about the CJ’s chair. She thought about it because the Court was her whole life, and she wanted to serve it in the highest and best way possible. To be named as the first woman CJ would be something even her mother might finally applaud.

  “I can make it happen,” Levering said. “We all know Pavel wants to retire. That would mean the president would appoint the next chief, and the president and I are very good friends.”

  “What about Justice Riley?” Millie said.

  “Too old, too controversial.”

  “He deserves it.”

  “We don’t always get what we deserve in this life. Much as I admire Tom Riley, there is no finer mind on the Court than yours.”

  Millie looked again at her water glass. The little bubbles seemed to be exploding everywhere.

  “Now don’t be modest about it,” the senator said. “It’s true. You are a towering intellect, your opinions are models of style. Larry Graebner says he uses you as the model in his classes at Yale. The question is not, can you do it? The question is, do you want it?”

  Millie paused, took a deep breath, and met the senator’s eyes. “Senator Levering, I love two things in this world above all else. The law, and the United States Supreme Court. I would do my level best to lead it in the finest traditions of the greatest judicial body in the world.”

  Levering smiled and nodded slowly. “That’s about the most eloquent acceptance speech I’ve ever heard.” He put his glass down on his ornate mahogany desk. “You are the right woman at the right time, like I said. And that brings me to my next question. It’s rather personal. Do you mind?”

  It was clear he was going to ask anyway. “All right.”

  Levering leaned forward. “I wonder if you’d do me the honor of having dinner with me sometime.”

  Before Millie could respond, Levering added, “I know I dropped that kind of sudden, but I’m a sudden sort of fella.”

  4

  Sarah Mae Sherman l
ooked as skinny and scared as the first time Charlene Moore met her. She had big eyes, like the children in those black-and-white photographs taken during the Depression. Sarah Mae, if she had not been a real girl in terrible torment, would have been a perfect casting choice for a remake of The Grapes of Wrath.

  She looked lost in the wooden chair in Charlene’s office, even though her mother was with her. Aggie Sherman was a larger, plumper version of Sarah Mae. Unlike her daughter, who wore her hair in long strands, Aggie had hers cut short, a look that matched the severity of the expression she always wore.

  It was even more severe now, after Charlene had advised them to turn down the settlement offer from Winsor & Grimes.

  “That’s almost half a million dollars,” Aggie said, sitting on the edge of her chair. “That’s more money than we’ll ever see in our whole lives. You sayin’ not to take it?”

  Charlene folded her hands, trying to stay calm. “What I am saying is that we started this case because we wanted not only to compensate Sarah Mae, but also to punish the abortion clinic and doctor who did this to her. To send a message. The amount they are offering is just the insurance company’s idea of nuisance value. They want to get rid of us. They do not want to try this case.”

  Aggie grunted dismissively. “When we went into this, we warn’t in no federal court. You told me that’s a lot harder.”

  “I can’t deny it is very different from our state courts,” Charlene said. “But the jury is still made up of people, just like you and me.”

  “We ain’t their kind,” Aggie said. “And they ain’t our’n.”

  “When Sarah Mae first came to see me with Pastor Ray, we had a long talk about how she felt about filing a lawsuit. She said she wanted to do it so the whole country could hear what happened to her. So it wouldn’t happen to other girls. You remember that, Sarah Mae?”

  The girl nodded slowly.

  “And do you still feel that way?” Charlene asked.

  “You talk to me now,” Aggie said. “Sarah Mae ain’t old enough to make that decision.”

  Charlene noticed a slight twitching in Sarah Mae’s cheeks when her mother said that.

  “Of course, Mrs. Sherman.” Charlene needed to respect this woman, a single mother struggling day to day. It was a precarious situation. Her daughter’s suicide attempts had shaken Aggie to the point where her defensiveness was understandable.

  Charlene continued. “Sarah has undergone such trauma that her story needs to be told. The abortion industry is engaged in a willful practice of deceiving women about the dangers and consequences of abortion. They are especially deceptive about the psychological dangers. They refuse to admit such dangers exist. And women continue to suffer depression, guilt, shame. Studies show that the guilt gets worse as time goes on.”

  At least Aggie Sherman appeared to be listening. When Charlene had first interviewed her, Mrs. Sherman seemed to be completely oblivious to the long-term effects of abortion. Most people were. The media never reported on the studies that indicated such effects.

  “Post-abortion trauma is real, Mrs. Sherman, and it will continue unless people find out about it. I believe most Americans are fair-minded but aren’t getting the whole story. If they hear Sarah Mae’s story it will make a difference.”

  “Why can’t we tell the papers or the TV or something?” Aggie said.

  “Leverage,” Charlene said. “As it stands now, your daughter’s story might make the local news, but that’s where it will stop. A lawsuit has a way of getting attention.”

  Aggie Sherman chewed on this for a moment, then her eyes narrowed. “That’s what you’re after, ain’t it?”

  The tone in her voice puzzled Charlene. “What do you mean, Mrs. Sherman?”

  “Attention. This’ll bring a lot of attention to you.”

  Charlene shook her head. “That is the furthest thing from my mind.”

  “Is it? You ain’t the busiest lawyer in these parts. And you’re a…” She stopped short.

  Charlene didn’t have to hear the word to know it was in Aggie’s throat. A black lawyer, especially a female, was rare in the region. Charlene fought hard to keep her emotions in check. “I am a lawyer, Mrs. Sherman. When someone like your daughter is hurt, the law should provide justice and maybe prevent the same thing from happening again. That’s all I am interested in.”

  “Well,” Aggie said, “my daughter is what I’m interested in. And four hundred thousand sounds more than interesting to me. I want you to get us that money.”

  “Mrs. Sherman, please – ”

  “No. I don’t want to have to go through a whole trial. Sarah Mae don’t either.”

  Charlene’s heart plummeted. She had invested not only time and money in this case, but her very soul. It was a case she passionately believed in. A battle she was sure God had entrusted to her. It couldn’t be yanked away.

  “You can’t do this, Mrs. Sherman,” Charlene said desperately.

  “I can!” Aggie Sherman said. “You get us that money.”

  Charlene looked at Sarah Mae. The girl said nothing. Her mother grabbed her arm, pulled her off the chair, and out of the office.

  5

  The first time Millie Hollander saw the Supreme Court she was on her father’s shoulders. He had a business trip to Washington, D.C., and insisted on taking her along. She was eight. They had turned the corner, Daddy giving her a ride that was bracing in the cool breeze, and suddenly there it was.

  It literally took her breath away.

  Great white steps led up to a main portico flanked on either side by two large marble figures. Seated majestically, the twin statues looked ready to hand down decisions of timeless wisdom. The portico itself was supported by sixteen massive Corinthian columns. It was like some palace of the gods.

  And over everything, etched in stone for all the world to see, were the immortal words: Equal Justice Under Law.

  The impression was overwhelming. Millie knew there had to be something of incredible importance housed here.

  Perched on her father’s shoulders, she felt ten feet tall. She also sensed immediately that whatever she was going to do in her life would, in some way she couldn’t possibly know, have something to do with this building.

  Millie recalled those feelings at the end of every term. Today was no exception. Official Court business was wrapping up. She gave her clerks her traditional sendoff – her famous cheesecake – along with a gold watch with the Supreme Court symbol on the face.

  Other than her mother in California, Millie’s clerks were her only family. Each year she grew close to each of them before they left to make their way in the world of law. Of course they sent cards, letters, e-mails; but they had, in a sense, left the nest. Though that was the way it should be, Millie always felt more than a pinch of sadness about it.

  Now she was alone in her chambers, getting ready to leave for the summer recess. And she began the little ceremony she’d started ten years ago.

  First, she paused to look at her judicial hero. From the start of her legal career she’d kept a portrait of Justice Oliver Wendell Holmes in her office. Beneath the famous face – the sweeping white mustache and Yankee patrician nose – were his words: “Every calling is great when greatly pursued.”

  Then she walked through the Great Hall, passing the marble busts of the former chief justices, and exited into the late D.C. afternoon.

  Finally, descending the magnificent steps, she paused to look back at the Supreme Court building itself. It seemed as if she were on holy ground. She drew strength from the thought, knowing she had been given the greatest privilege in the law – to serve on the Supreme Court.

  “Never gets old, does it?” Thomas J. Riley had come up to join her. He was dressed in his usual manner – a suit about ten years out of fashion – and carried his favorite walking stick.

  “Did you follow me out?” Millie asked.

  “We all know this is what you do. Sort of your ritual.”

  “You migh
t call it that.”

  “You bet I do,” Riley said. His eyes, sharp blue, were the most intelligent she had ever known. Behind them was a legal mind that had become legend. Millie could hardly believe that a little girl from rural California could call such a man her colleague – and friend.

  “This is our temple,” Riley said. “And ritual is an important part of our practice. When we don the robes, shake hands before taking the bench, listen to the oyez – it is all part and parcel of our religion.”

  Millie laughed. “We wouldn’t want our friends at the ACLU hearing that word now, would we?”

  The old justice smiled. “A purely secular religion, my dear, that flows from our allegiance to the Great Paper.” That was Riley’s name for the Constitution, which he always carried with him in small paperback form. He’d gone through roughly twenty copies in the ten years she had known him.

  “I suppose that’s true,” Millie said.

  “’Course it’s true. Walk with me.” He began his descent of the steps, his cane clicking briskly. The town was beginning to light up as evening slipped in. Riley headed toward Maryland Avenue. Millie had to move fast to keep up with him.

  “Ed’s making noise about retiring again,” Riley said. Edward Ellis Pavel, the chief justice, was a spring chicken at seventy-five.

  “Do you really think he will?” Millie asked.

  “If it looks like President Francis will be reelected.”

  Millie nodded. “People seem to think it’s a lock.”

  “That’s the trouble. Everybody thinks about what everybody else thinks. Nobody thinks for himself. Millie, you’re going to get the nod.”

  He stopped and turned to her. She felt his knowing gaze bore into her. “It just makes sense,” Riley added. “Anybody approached you yet?”

  “I had a meeting with Senator Levering a couple of days ago.”

  Riley’s eyes narrowed. “Levering’s a good man to have on your side. If he’s for it, it’s a done deal. I just want you to know I’ll support you all the way.”