Travis said. “I don’t know about jail, though. Civil commitment would probably be more appropriate for some of my colleagues.”
“Being a senator is a bit like being an inmate in a fancy asylum,” Rittenhouse chimed in.
“I don’t think I could win an insanity defense for a politician, Carl,” Jaffe said. “They’re crafty, not crazy.”
“Yes,” the judge said. “Look at the way Harold tricked us into letting him partner with you.”
“I did read somewhere that not all sociopaths are serial killers,” Jaffe said. “A lot of them become successful businessmen and politicians.”
“Imagine what an asset it would be in business and politics to be free of your conscience,” Kerrigan mused.
“Do you think guilt is innate or is it taught?” Travis asked.
“Nature versus nurture,” Jaffe answered with a shrug of his shoulders. “The eternal question.”
“I believe the potential to experience guilt is part of God’s design,” Grant said. “It’s what makes us human.”
Harvey Grant was a devout Catholic. He and the Kerrigans attended the same church, and Tim knew that the judge never missed a Sunday.
“But serial killers, professional criminals and, as Frank pointed out, some politicians and businessmen, don’t seem to have a conscience. If we’re born with one, where does it go?” Kerrigan asked.
“And what if there is no God?” Travis asked.
“Hey,” Rittenhouse interjected with mock alarm, “let’s not say that too loudly. All we need is a headline in the Oregonian : senator travis questions the existence of god.”
But Travis wasn’t finished. “If there is no God then morality becomes relative. Whoever runs the show sets the rules.”
“The point is moot, Harold,” Frank said. “The fact that the judge missed that putt on eighteen proves beyond question that there is a God.”
Everyone laughed and Travis stood up.
“On that note, I’ll leave you gentlemen. Thanks for the game. It was a welcome break from work and campaigning.”
“Our pleasure,” Grant told him. “Let me know when you can sneak away again so I can win back my money.”
Frank Jaffe stood, too. “Thanks for inviting me, Harvey. I love the course.”
“You should think of joining the Westmont. I’ll sponsor you.”
“Hey, Harvey, I’m just a simple country lawyer. I’d be in over my head in the company of you sophisticates.”
“Get out of here, Frank, before we have to start shoveling the patio clean,” the judge answered.
Travis, Jaffe, and Rittenhouse headed for the locker room. “Harold was in a good mood,” Kerrigan observed when they were out of sight.
“Why wouldn’t he be? He’s going to be the next president of the United States.” Grant signaled the waitress for another round. “So, Tim, how have you been?”
“Overworked.”
Grant smiled. “And Megan? How is she? I haven’t seen her in a while.”
“You don’t need an invitation to drop over.” Kerrigan smiled. “She asks about you.”
“Maybe I’ll come over next weekend.”
“She’s so sharp. I read to her every night. Lately it’s been Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland . A few days ago I caught her sitting on the floor in her room with the book in her lap sounding out the words.”
“It’s her good genes.”
Talking about Megan made Kerrigan want to go home. For a moment, he wondered if he should desert the judge, who lived alone and who, Kerrigan imagined, must be lonely at times, despite the parties he threw and his constant round of social engagements. Then he thought about his own situation. He was married to a good woman, he had a wonderful daughter, but he still felt lonely. Maybe the judge was okay on his own. He had his work and the respect of the legal community. He also had integrity. Kerrigan stared out across the green expanse of the eighteenth fairway and wondered what that would feel like.
* * *
“Don’t forget, we’ve got that fund-raiser at seven-thirty, tonight,” Carl
“Being a senator is a bit like being an inmate in a fancy asylum,” Rittenhouse chimed in.
“I don’t think I could win an insanity defense for a politician, Carl,” Jaffe said. “They’re crafty, not crazy.”
“Yes,” the judge said. “Look at the way Harold tricked us into letting him partner with you.”
“I did read somewhere that not all sociopaths are serial killers,” Jaffe said. “A lot of them become successful businessmen and politicians.”
“Imagine what an asset it would be in business and politics to be free of your conscience,” Kerrigan mused.
“Do you think guilt is innate or is it taught?” Travis asked.
“Nature versus nurture,” Jaffe answered with a shrug of his shoulders. “The eternal question.”
“I believe the potential to experience guilt is part of God’s design,” Grant said. “It’s what makes us human.”
Harvey Grant was a devout Catholic. He and the Kerrigans attended the same church, and Tim knew that the judge never missed a Sunday.
“But serial killers, professional criminals and, as Frank pointed out, some politicians and businessmen, don’t seem to have a conscience. If we’re born with one, where does it go?” Kerrigan asked.
“And what if there is no God?” Travis asked.
“Hey,” Rittenhouse interjected with mock alarm, “let’s not say that too loudly. All we need is a headline in the Oregonian : senator travis questions the existence of god.”
But Travis wasn’t finished. “If there is no God then morality becomes relative. Whoever runs the show sets the rules.”
“The point is moot, Harold,” Frank said. “The fact that the judge missed that putt on eighteen proves beyond question that there is a God.”
Everyone laughed and Travis stood up.
“On that note, I’ll leave you gentlemen. Thanks for the game. It was a welcome break from work and campaigning.”
“Our pleasure,” Grant told him. “Let me know when you can sneak away again so I can win back my money.”
Frank Jaffe stood, too. “Thanks for inviting me, Harvey. I love the course.”
“You should think of joining the Westmont. I’ll sponsor you.”
“Hey, Harvey, I’m just a simple country lawyer. I’d be in over my head in the company of you sophisticates.”
“Get out of here, Frank, before we have to start shoveling the patio clean,” the judge answered.
Travis, Jaffe, and Rittenhouse headed for the locker room. “Harold was in a good mood,” Kerrigan observed when they were out of sight.
“Why wouldn’t he be? He’s going to be the next president of the United States.” Grant signaled the waitress for another round. “So, Tim, how have you been?”
“Overworked.”
Grant smiled. “And Megan? How is she? I haven’t seen her in a while.”
“You don’t need an invitation to drop over.” Kerrigan smiled. “She asks about you.”
“Maybe I’ll come over next weekend.”
“She’s so sharp. I read to her every night. Lately it’s been Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland . A few days ago I caught her sitting on the floor in her room with the book in her lap sounding out the words.”
“It’s her good genes.”
Talking about Megan made Kerrigan want to go home. For a moment, he wondered if he should desert the judge, who lived alone and who, Kerrigan imagined, must be lonely at times, despite the parties he threw and his constant round of social engagements. Then he thought about his own situation. He was married to a good woman, he had a wonderful daughter, but he still felt lonely. Maybe the judge was okay on his own. He had his work and the respect of the legal community. He also had integrity. Kerrigan stared out across the green expanse of the eighteenth fairway and wondered what that would feel like.
* * *
“Don’t forget, we’ve got that fund-raiser at seven-thirty, tonight,” Carl
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