“Hot?”
“Smokin’.”
“Excellent.” He sticks a legal pad under his arm and runs out of the clerks’ office. I hear the heavy pounding of his feet as he heads for the outer door. My eyes meet Sarah’s, but she looks down into her steaming mug of tea.
“You okay, Sar?” I ask her. Flush her out. Isn’t that what detectives do?
“Sure.” She takes a quick sip of tea, avoiding my gaze. “Who’s Hightower been reassigned to, Ben?” she asks.
“What makes you think I know?”
“You know Galanter’s clerks. The buzz-cut boys.”
The telephone rings at Eletha’s desk. “Shit,” she says. “Thing’s been ringing all day.” Before I can offer to get it, she kicks off her heels and is padding to her desk.
Ben flicks on the power switch, animating the machine. “Grace, hate me if you must, but I’m logging on again.”
“Tell us who got Hightower , Safer,” Sarah says, but I hold up my hand.
“Sarah, think a minute. Who’s even more conservative than Galanter?”
“Adolf Hitler.”
“On our court, I mean.”
“Judge Foudy.”
“Right. And Galanter would pick somebody to vote with him, now that Armen’s gone. He’d want to stack the deck. Change the result.”
She blinks. “Could he do that?”
“Sure. He’s the chief judge. In an emergency, he picks the panels.”
Ben pounds the keys. “I neither confirm nor deny.”
He doesn’t have to, I know it. Galanter has shifted the majority to himself, blocking Hightower in. No matter which way Robbins goes, it’ll be two votes to one for death. Poor Armen; he didn’t save Hightower’s life after all. I stand up, wanting suddenly to be alone.
“Look at this item,” Ben says, his voice tinged with sarcasm. “What a nice gesture from Senator Susan, and how like a Democrat.”
“What?” Sarah says, and I stop at the doorway.
“From The Washington Post . Says here that Susan tried to donate Bernice to a group called Service Dogs for the Handicapped. I can almost hear the wheelchairs plowing into each other, can’t you?” He laughs so hard he coughs: kack-kack-kack .
“Very funny,” Sarah says.
“Bernice is gone?” I say, surprised to feel a twinge inside.
“Gone but not forgotten,” Ben says, recovering enough to hit another key. “They didn’t want her, evidently. They only take puppies.”
“So where is she?” I ask from the doorway, only half wanting to know.
Ben hits the key again. “It doesn’t say.”
“I know,” Eletha says. She walks into the room, waving a yellow Post-it on her finger. “They just called.”
“Who did?”
She holds the paper in front of my face. On it is a phone number I don’t recognize. “I voted for Susan, but I’ll never forgive myself.”
9
“S he’s too big, Mom,” Maddie says, shuddering in her nightgown. “Look at her teeth .”
Bernice strains against her red collar, which still says A. GREGORIAN ; her wagging tail swats my thigh with each beat.
“But I’m holding her, honey. She won’t hurt you, she can’t. Just come over and let her sniff you. She’s all clean now.” I bathed Bernice right after I bathed Maddie, using green flea shampoo they sold me at the dog pound, along with a leash, two steel bowls, and a thirty-dollar trowel for shoveling a megaton of dogshit.
“Rrronononr,” Bernice grumbles, a guttural noise that makes Maddie’s blue eyes widen in fear.
“What’s that?”
“She’s talking to you, honey. She wants you to love her.”
“But I don’t love her. I don’t even like her.” Maddie tugs anxiously at the end of a damp strand of hair; her hair looks brown when it’s wet, more like my mother’s original russet color than her own blazing red.
“Aw, can’t you just give her a little pat on the head? Her hair’s washed too.” I scratch Bernice’s newly coiffed crown and she looks back gratefully, her tongue lolling out. “See? Look how happy she is to be with us.”
“But why did we have to take
“Smokin’.”
“Excellent.” He sticks a legal pad under his arm and runs out of the clerks’ office. I hear the heavy pounding of his feet as he heads for the outer door. My eyes meet Sarah’s, but she looks down into her steaming mug of tea.
“You okay, Sar?” I ask her. Flush her out. Isn’t that what detectives do?
“Sure.” She takes a quick sip of tea, avoiding my gaze. “Who’s Hightower been reassigned to, Ben?” she asks.
“What makes you think I know?”
“You know Galanter’s clerks. The buzz-cut boys.”
The telephone rings at Eletha’s desk. “Shit,” she says. “Thing’s been ringing all day.” Before I can offer to get it, she kicks off her heels and is padding to her desk.
Ben flicks on the power switch, animating the machine. “Grace, hate me if you must, but I’m logging on again.”
“Tell us who got Hightower , Safer,” Sarah says, but I hold up my hand.
“Sarah, think a minute. Who’s even more conservative than Galanter?”
“Adolf Hitler.”
“On our court, I mean.”
“Judge Foudy.”
“Right. And Galanter would pick somebody to vote with him, now that Armen’s gone. He’d want to stack the deck. Change the result.”
She blinks. “Could he do that?”
“Sure. He’s the chief judge. In an emergency, he picks the panels.”
Ben pounds the keys. “I neither confirm nor deny.”
He doesn’t have to, I know it. Galanter has shifted the majority to himself, blocking Hightower in. No matter which way Robbins goes, it’ll be two votes to one for death. Poor Armen; he didn’t save Hightower’s life after all. I stand up, wanting suddenly to be alone.
“Look at this item,” Ben says, his voice tinged with sarcasm. “What a nice gesture from Senator Susan, and how like a Democrat.”
“What?” Sarah says, and I stop at the doorway.
“From The Washington Post . Says here that Susan tried to donate Bernice to a group called Service Dogs for the Handicapped. I can almost hear the wheelchairs plowing into each other, can’t you?” He laughs so hard he coughs: kack-kack-kack .
“Very funny,” Sarah says.
“Bernice is gone?” I say, surprised to feel a twinge inside.
“Gone but not forgotten,” Ben says, recovering enough to hit another key. “They didn’t want her, evidently. They only take puppies.”
“So where is she?” I ask from the doorway, only half wanting to know.
Ben hits the key again. “It doesn’t say.”
“I know,” Eletha says. She walks into the room, waving a yellow Post-it on her finger. “They just called.”
“Who did?”
She holds the paper in front of my face. On it is a phone number I don’t recognize. “I voted for Susan, but I’ll never forgive myself.”
9
“S he’s too big, Mom,” Maddie says, shuddering in her nightgown. “Look at her teeth .”
Bernice strains against her red collar, which still says A. GREGORIAN ; her wagging tail swats my thigh with each beat.
“But I’m holding her, honey. She won’t hurt you, she can’t. Just come over and let her sniff you. She’s all clean now.” I bathed Bernice right after I bathed Maddie, using green flea shampoo they sold me at the dog pound, along with a leash, two steel bowls, and a thirty-dollar trowel for shoveling a megaton of dogshit.
“Rrronononr,” Bernice grumbles, a guttural noise that makes Maddie’s blue eyes widen in fear.
“What’s that?”
“She’s talking to you, honey. She wants you to love her.”
“But I don’t love her. I don’t even like her.” Maddie tugs anxiously at the end of a damp strand of hair; her hair looks brown when it’s wet, more like my mother’s original russet color than her own blazing red.
“Aw, can’t you just give her a little pat on the head? Her hair’s washed too.” I scratch Bernice’s newly coiffed crown and she looks back gratefully, her tongue lolling out. “See? Look how happy she is to be with us.”
“But why did we have to take
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