Sean had a lump in his throat. Abby was trying to protect him. Whatever she believed about Japan, she still thought Sean was worth saving. He turned his head, eyeing Martinez. “You’re not going to get away with it.”
“Tell that to the Baldwins.” The chief smirked. “Or to Justice Carr.” Martinez pushed the gun’s barrel into Sean’s back, directing him through the curtains. Behind the bench, there was a medical gurney, presumably in the event of an emergency with one of the justices, and the place was a bit of a mess with some electronic cords and pads and pens strewn about. There was a large trash bin. Large enough to stuff a body in. He needed to stall.
“Why kill Justice Carr? He had nothing to do with any of this.”
“Collateral damage,” Martinez said, seeming to take pleasure in using the same phrase Sean’s father had used about Juan. “Once they started to realize that Malik wasn’t the one, it was only a matter of time before they started looking closer at everyone else.”
Sean digested the words, rearranging the storyboard in his head. Finkle and Brice, Martinez and Kenny had been ships passing in the night, not knowing about one another. Their paths intersected only with Abby.
“Get in,” Martinez said, pointing the gun at the trash bin.
Sean stepped toward the bin. He placed a hand on either side of it to allow him to climb inside. He imagined Martinez stuffing Carr in a similar trash can and wheeling him to Carr’s BMW in the garage, forcing the justice to drive them out of the building, coercing him to write the incriminating note, cutting out the justice’s GPS security chip, then disposing of his body and leaving the car at Union Station. Sean had a pang of guilt that it was his actions that led to Carr’s murder.
No more.
In one fluid move, he lifted the heavy gray plastic container and whipped it around, connecting with Martinez’s head. The gun went off with a quiet pop, and Sean ran through the curtains behind the bench.
There were more pops and stuffing poofed out of one of the justice’s leather chairs. He heard the clank of metal on metal, bullets flying by and hitting the Kevlar lining of the mahogany bench, the shield to protect the justices from any attack. Sean dove over the bench to the black marble partition below.
He caught his breath, protected for a moment by the Kevlar. But then the police chief came soaring over the bench, gun still in hand. Sean darted under the counsel table. He rolled away just as there was a cracking sound and holes appeared through the tabletop. He felt a bite in his arm as he scrambled behind a marble column. He sat on the ground, back against the cool marble. He waited for officers to charge in, but the gunshots were faint and the chamber was largely soundproof.
Before he could stand up, Sean felt the wet thud of metal to the head. His face hit the carpet. In the haze, he turned his head and saw Martinez standing over him. He gave Sean a last, long look. Then he raised the barrel of the gun to Sean’s forehead.
Sean managed a hard sweep at the chief’s legs—giving it everything he had—knocking him to the ground. The gun flew out of the chief’s hand, and Sean clawed on top of the man, his fists pummeling Martinez’s face. He was yelling now, primal noises. He hit him again and again and again until his knuckles felt raw.
He would have crushed his skull but for an image that flittered through his head. A skinny Hispanic kid, crying, hugging his knees, in a vacant lot in Misawa, Japan. Juan.
Sean stopped hitting him. Martinez emitted a quiet moan, his face awash in red. Sean hung there, straddling the man, realizing that much of the blood was his own. There was the sound of a building alarm, footfalls and shouts, until he fell beside the man and things went dark.
EPILOGUE
The first Monday in October, the start of the Supreme Court’s new term, came and went. Chief Justice Mason James was receiving high marks, though the National Law Journal’s Supreme Court correspondent Tony Mauro reported that behind the scenes the new justice was not popular with his brethren.
Sean had withdrawn his nomination. The official reason was to spend time with his family. That was true enough. But he also couldn’t afford the scrutiny that went along with the job.
The public would never know why Carlos Martinez killed Abby or Justice Carr. He hung himself in his cell, a sad parallel given the death of his son. The media speculated that Martinez had been obsessed with a young woman and had killed Carr and framed Malik to cover his tracks. They never connected Martinez to the death of a petty criminal shot in the head outside a flophouse motel. No one asked Sean’s opinion about it all. They just wanted it buried.