That’s why when I walked into the quiet Barnes & Noble, I wondered if I’d gotten my days wrong. Then I found the area where author Julia Raz was speaking to six people in the front row of a nearly empty seating area. There were four more rows of ten folding chairs, each empty behind the six fans.
I sat quietly about halfway back. The author was in her mid forties and dressed in a sleek, professional skirt suit that would be a perfect fit for a corporate boardroom. Her dark hair was cut short, and expressive eyebrows flared behind designer glasses.
I listened as she gave a brief review of some of the justices who’d served on the Court over the past one hundred years. Then she started talking about the current Court. Nothing she said was particularly surprising or shocking.
I waited until after she’d finished speaking. Three of the six people brought copies of the book up for her to sign. I hung back until the others finished and then moved forward hesitantly with a copy of her book, The Best Hundred Years of the Supreme Court. She smiled warmly and opened the book to its title page, where she signed her name with a flourish.
I said, “I didn’t want to cut in front of the other people in the seats.”
Ms. Raz laughed. “One of them is my niece, one of them is my publicist, and another is my publicist’s sister she brought along to make the crowd look bigger.”
I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to laugh or if she was making light of a bad situation. I said, “It’s the middle of the week. I wouldn’t expect many people to be free.”
She laughed and placed her hand on my forearm. “You’re just being nice. And I absolutely appreciate it. But these are the realities of being an author. It matters a lot more how many books I sell on Amazon than it does how many people come to my book signings. This was fine. I live right in Georgetown so it’s not even a long ride home.”
“I’m anxious to read your book.”
“Is there anything in particular you’re interested in? I’m happy to answer questions for anyone who ventured out for my signing.”
“I had a few questions about Justice Robert Steinberg. But I don’t want to keep you from your friends.”
“Don’t worry. They know how to keep themselves occupied for a few minutes. Besides, I could use a cup of coffee. Can we take this to the café?”
A few minutes later, I had learned that Julia Raz had been an attorney for twenty years and appeared in front of the Supreme Court on a regular basis.
I had to ask, “Do you still practice or just write books?”
“I love the law, but lawyers were starting to annoy me. After I was part of a big tobacco settlement, I decided to retire and do exactly what I wanted. This is my second book on the Supreme Court.”
I asked about Justice Steinberg, and she told me a lot of what I’d already read. He was considered a great legal mind. He was somewhat nonpartisan, especially considering who his father-in-law was. And he was private. He rarely gave interviews, and when he did, his chief of staff always sat in with him. Blah, blah, blah.
I asked, “Do you know his chief of staff?” I downplayed my knowledge of the justice.
“Everyone knows his sister, Beth.”
“His sister is on the payroll?”
“She doesn’t take a salary but acts in a purely administrative role. She’s very bright. Went to Stanford. But she’s not an attorney.”
“If she’s not an attorney, is she that much help to the justice?”
“She’s everything for him. Mostly, she protects his privacy. She could be a bouncer at a high-end nightclub. Athletic, no-nonsense. I think she’s the perfect chief of staff for a town like Washington.”
“So Beth is the key to the justice?”
“That’s a good way to put it. Why so interested?”
“Just curious. The fact that he’s married to my senator’s daughter is one thing. We have some other people in common.”
“Justice Steinberg’s wife is also very bright. She may not be as tough as his sister, but she got her law degree from Columbia.”
“Is she going to get one in the US as well?” That made Ms. Raz guffaw, and I had another lead: Justice Steinberg’s sister, Beth.
Chapter 18
When I came to DC to find Emily Parker, I realized that I might run into some roadblocks. I anticipated petty FBI people wanting to keep the investigation to themselves. DC police could do a lot to discourage me. Now I’d been told in no uncertain terms that they didn’t want me here.