Finally, Bobby said, “What you did wasn’t cool.”
“You mean keep someone from being wrongfully charged with murder?”
“You know exactly what I mean. You’re supposed to be an observer. You were present as my guest. Anything you say or do in a situation like that reflects on me. When this is over, you can just go back to New York and the life you have there. Some of us have to stay in DC and work with these cops on a daily basis.”
I understood what he was saying. Most cops would. They have their way of doing things and I have mine. I refused to apologize for doing the right thing. But I understood why Bobby was angry. And he had expressed it pretty clearly.
I looked at the younger FBI man and said, “So what does this mean going forward?”
“There is no ‘going forward’ as far as you and I are concerned. We can talk on the phone. Maybe even chat in person. But I’m not going to take you to any crime scenes or interviews. And—I can’t stress how important this is—I don’t want to know about it if you talk to Justice Steinberg. Or his wife. Or his sister. That can be your part of the investigation. The FBI has already spoken to them. I doubt our agents pushed any of them particularly hard. I can see the value in you talking to them. But I can’t see losing my job over it. So not only will this give me plausible deniability. I also can outright deny any knowledge of your dealings with the Steinbergs.”
I made the calculated move to keep quiet. People hate awkward silences, and they fill in the gaps by putting forward how they really feel. I didn’t have to wait too long.
Bobby blurted out, “This doesn’t affect how I feel about you. You’re a sharp detective. Clearly you’re a loyal friend. But I can’t risk it anymore.”
I slowly nodded my head and said, “I understand.”
Bobby took a swig of the water I’d bought him. Then he looked down at his phone. The guy got more texts than a teenager on a Saturday night. I took the opportunity to look up at the TV.
It was midway through the local afternoon newsbreak. I saw protesters in front of the Supreme Court Building. I looked more closely and realized from The Burning Land T-shirts that the group was stirring up shit. The closed-captioning confirmed it.
I watched carefully for a few seconds, hoping to catch a glimpse of Jeremy Pugh or one of the others I might recognize. The closed-captioning mentioned that the anarchist group was protesting a Supreme Court ruling about schools requiring vaccinations for students.
As they were interviewing one of The Burning Land protesters—a woman, about twenty-five, with a spear tattooed on the side of her face—I looked past her to the people swarming the front of the Supreme Court Building. That left those who worked inside only one exit route.
This would be my best chance of finding Justice Robert Steinberg.
Chapter 60
Even in my sluggish Prius, I made it to the Supreme Court Building in less than half an hour. The protest seemed to have gone downhill from the time when I’d seen it reported on the TV. Bottles smashed in the street right in front of the Prius. A rock sailed past the windshield. I knew I couldn’t assist the DC and Supreme Court Police in their containment efforts.
A young woman wearing a sundress held a flower up to a police officer. She smiled as she stepped forward. I wanted to yell through the car window to the cop, Move back! Keep space between you! But I couldn’t.
The cop stared at the young woman with the flower just as she raised a plastic cup. She splashed something into his face. He dropped his nightstick and reached up to grab his eyes as two other cops moved him off the front line. I hoped it wasn’t pool acid or something as dangerous. I’d seen the chemical used in other protests. The media rarely picked up on it.
I knew the justice typically drove a black Mercedes sedan. I’d barely pulled my Prius to the curb when I saw the gate to the underground parking garage open.
I held my breath as a blue Cadillac SUV emerged from the exit. Before I could react, I saw a black hood ease out behind it. A moment later, Justice Steinberg’s Mercedes pulled into the street and headed north. There was no way he would notice something like this Prius following him.
Not long after leaving the Supreme Court Building, he pulled into the one place most Americans looking to complete a home project eventually go: The Home Depot. This one was on Rhode Island Avenue in the Brentwood section of DC. And I had an opportunity to intercept him.
I hung back in the parking lot and let him walk inside. He’d gone for the casual disguise of removing his suit coat and loosening his tie. As I sat in my rented car, I realized this was the first live view I’d gotten of the justice. I’d never heard Justice Steinberg speak other than answering some not-so-difficult questions during his televised confirmation hearing.