Judge had a second coffee in the cafeteria while Owen ate a pastry. The marshal was getting antsy, checking and rechecking his earpiece. It was almost eleven p.m., and they were tired. Judge wanted to get back to the B&B, see Geenie, hold her, comfort her, have her comfort him.
The marshal cupped his ear to answer a call. “Yessir, I’m here.” He scanned the cafeteria. “A few nurses, a doctor and a cashier, sir. And us. No one else…Roger that.” To Owen and Judge he said, “We’re getting some company. After that, we’re good to go.”
Some noise swelled the hallway outside the cafeteria’s swinging doors. A blob of new customers entered.
No. Shit.
It was the senior white-haired senator from Texas plus a guy in a suit, a New York lawyer type, talking into her ear. They had escorts, all law enforcement, six of them. The two men trailing them swung the cafeteria doors shut, remaining outside. The cafeteria was now temporarily closed.
“I am here,” the senator said to the marshal in charge, her Texas-sized senatorial indignation on display, “to see Associate Justice Coolsummer. I understand someone tried to kill her. I want to offer my help. Why did you redirect me to the cafeteria, Marshal…?”
“Director Egan.”
“Egan. Right. Is Madam Justice all right?”
“Senator Folsom, the judge is in stable condition and is resting. There have been other casualties. You won’t get in to see her tonight.” Director Egan paused, pursed his lips. “Or tomorrow, or maybe ever.”
“What? Why is that?” Senator Folsom’s chin was up, with her doing her best to stare down her nose at him. He towered over her by at least eight inches.
“Because, Madam Senator, we have a warrant for your arrest.”
“You have what?”
“A warrant for conspiracy to commit murder, for conspiracy to commit blackmail, for terrorism, coercion, illegal wiretapping, and misappropriation of public funds. There’s more you’ll hear later. I won’t cuff you, Senator, but only if you follow me in an orderly fashion after I read you your rights. Senator Folsom, you have the right to remain silent…”
Judge was piecing this together and coming up short. Conspiracy, murder, blackmail, terrorism. The target, Justice Coolsummer. There was also a warrant for the blowhard televangelist Higby Hunt, to be served when they located him. Two alleged perpetrators, maybe more. Few other details were discernible.
Voices rose, the senator not going anywhere without her say, which forced the director to be true to his word. A marshal relieved her of her handbag and slapped the cuffs on her. Another marshal relieved her protesting lawyer friend of his briefcase. “Hey! You need a warr…”
“Not tonight, counselor. Patriot Act. Might be a weapon of mass destruction in there.”
Director Egan’s nod to their marshal babysitter was the call they’d been waiting for. The marshal extended his arm toward the doors. “After you, gentlemen.”
Once back upstairs, they were allowed in Justice Coolsummer’s room, sentries still posted outside her door. They were there to grieve, and to help her grieve also. To offer their condolences, and to say their goodbyes. Madam Justice Coolsummer was cried out, exhausted, and in her condition was no source of additional information. But she was adamant about having them stay, so the hospital staff kept its distance. Her two children were on their way from Austin to see her. Like a two year old fighting a nap, she finally began nodding. Unable to dissuade the nurses, Judge and Owen stood to leave.
Justice Coolsummer had energy enough, barely, for one more exchange. “Mister Wingert. Get yourself…another hat…and send me the bill. I insist.”
“I knew you liked it, ma’am. All the ladies do. Will do, Madam Justice.”
Judge was going to miss Owen.