April 19
Nik’s iPhone alarm buzzed at five thirty a.m., an ungodly hour for an avowed night owl, but he wanted to make sure he was at the Northern Virginia County Courthouse in plenty of time when doors opened at seven. He was tipped to a possible major development in the Geoffrey Tate case, and he assumed it had to do with the grand jury, which had been meeting secretly ever since the district court, as expected, promptly referred the case for consideration.
Nik hurriedly showered, brushed his teeth, towel-dried his hair and combed it in place with his fingers. He pulled on a pair of charcoal-gray slacks, an oxford cloth blue button-down shirt, black loafers, and checked the weather app on his phone. It predicted showers, and he made a mental note to grab his Brooks Brothers raincoat from the hall closet on the way out the door. Gyp raised his head from his spot on the floor of Nik’s bedroom and watched him with sorrowful eyes.
“Don’t give me that look, Gyp. Your favorite dog walker, Sara, will be here at seven, and I promise you and I will go for a long run when I get back home later this afternoon. I need it as much, if not more, than you do,” Nik said, patting his stomach. “No more Sugar Shack donuts for me until I drop five pounds.” He grabbed his satchel off the kitchen counter, paused at the closet to get the rain jacket, and then dashed out the door.
He arrived at the Northern Virginia County Courthouse in a light drizzle and was surprised, but not shocked, to find Elizabeth Blake from Channel 13 already there, a large cup of coffee tucked in the crook of her elbow and pressed against her body, a notebook in one hand, her phone held pinned to her ear by her shoulder as she scribbled notes on the pad. Wind whipped her hair across her face.
Blake clicked off the call when she saw Nik approaching, stuffed the phone in the pocket of her fawn-colored trench coat, and brushed the strands of hair away from her eyes.
“Lizzy.” Nik nodded as he drew near. “You look a little beat. Must not have gotten much sleep after closing the bars down last night, huh?”
“Nik,” Lizzy scoffed. “I thought that was your nasally Midwestern whine I heard coming from the back of the room at St. Mary’s press conference the night of the shooting.”
He scratched his chin and looked around. The Channel 13 van with its telescoping satellite mast was parked out front next to a homeless guy asleep on a sidewalk grate, a sheet of plastic for a cover. The Metro’s Orange Line ran below the courthouse, and warm air funneled out the opening. The historic courthouse had had its façade scrubbed recently, and its red bricks looked as new as the day they were first laid in 1799.
“Don’t worry, Lizzy, I’m not going to scoop you.”
“In your dreams, paperboy.”
“I’m working on a long-range reporting assignment,” Nik assured her.
“Oh, that’s right, I forgot. You’re Mr. Podcast now. How fucking precious. I downloaded one of your shows the other night when I had a touch of insomnia. After about two minutes of listening to you drone on, it was lights out. Better than Ambien, and I can guarantee you’re nowhere near as addicting.”
“Sends a chill down my leg just to know we were in the same bed together, Lizzy. I can die a happy man now.”
Lizzy’s phone burred in her coat pocket. Other members of the media and spectators started to stagger up the courthouse steps to get a place in the queue. Nik saw Mo’s car parked down the street and scanned the crowd for his Newshound colleague but didn’t see him. It seemed every news organization in town had gotten the same “anonymous tip” Nik had received.
Lizzy answered her phone and held her finger up to Nik. “I’ve got to take this,” she said, “but remember I’m first in line when I get back.” She walked off barking at the caller, demanding a story she was working on be offered to the national network for its evening news program.
Nik continued to search the crowd for Mo with no luck before turning back toward the entrance. He noticed movement inside the courthouse and pressed his nose to the window of the door to see what was happening. It was dark inside, but he could make out a small knot of people standing between two large marble columns that framed the entryway to the courtrooms.
He cupped his hands on either side of his face to block the glare from the outside, and after a moment, his eyes adjusted to the light imbalance and he was able to identify some members of the small group.
Northern Virginia County Commonwealth Attorney Lance St. Mary, with his back to Nik, was standing in the middle of a semicircle, gesturing and forcefully chopping his hand into his open palm to drive home some point he was trying to make. On his far left was Sheriff Korum; next to him, Sam; then a man and woman Nik didn’t recognize; and finally, on St. Mary’s far right, Maggie, Nik’s ex-wife and Jewel Tate’s attorney.
When St. Mary finished talking, he pivoted 180 degrees and was now facing Nik. He placed one hand on his hip and ran his other hand through his hair, an exasperated look on his face. St. Mary took several deep breaths before turning back to face his audience once again.
The unidentified woman picked up the conversation and jabbed her finger at St. Mary, who crossed his arms in front of his chest and rocked back on his heels as if he were about to pitch over backward. This went on for several minutes before St. Mary stormed off. When he returned, the whole group walked down the hallway and filed through a door marked “Judge’s Chambers.”
“Whaddya looking at?” It was Lizzy.
“Nothing,” Nik said, startled.
“Didn’t look like nothing,” she said and shouldered her way past Nik to peer through the window. She stared into a vacant corridor. “You’re up to something, Byron. I know it.”
“No, I’m not,” Nik defended himself. “I was just looking to see if the judge’s bailiff might let us in early,” he said, pointing and shrugging at the doors. “I don’t see anything stirring, so I guess not.”
“Uh-huh.”
“That coffee looks good,” Nik said, motioning to the Starbucks cup Lizzy was holding. “I need to get a mug before I nod off. Now, it’s your turn to hold my place in line until I get back.”
Lizzy watched Nik disappear around the corner. He pulled out his phone and texted Sam:
Seconds later, he got a reply.
___________
As was his habit, Northern Virginia County Circuit Court Judge Roy Pickett was in his chambers at six thirty when there was a knock on the door. He opened it to find Lance St. Mary and a small band of followers on the other side.
“Lance.” The judge acknowledged the attorney, craning his neck to see who else he knew. He nodded to Sheriff Korum and Sam. He didn’t recognize the others.
“Judge, I’m sorry to bother you, but we need to clear the air about a matter, and it can’t wait,” Lance said.
“I’m assuming this is related to the Tate case.”
“It is.”
The judge waved them through and took a seat behind his desk while the others found chairs. Sheriff Korum and Sam remained standing in the back.
The judge’s chambers were homey, with pictures of grandkids arranged on his desk, large black-and-white photos of the Virginia landscape on the walls, a small fly-tying table in one corner with a vise and magnifying glass clamped to its side, pheasant feathers and colorful yarn scattered everywhere. Directly behind his desk on shelves crammed with case studies and law books was an eight-by-ten portrait of a striking dark-haired woman in her twenties. It was Judge Pickett’s late wife, Sophia.
“Lance, perhaps you should introduce the folks I don’t know,” the judge suggested after they had settled.
“Right. This is Margaret Stone, counsel for Jewel Tate,” St. Mary said, gesturing to Maggie.
“I’m familiar with your work, Ms. Stone,” Pickett said with an approving nod, “from your days in the US attorney’s office, but weren’t you Margaret Byron then?”
“Thank you, Judge. Stone’s my maiden name, and it’s Maggie.”
The judge acknowledged Maggie with a nod.
“This lady and gentleman,” St. Mary continued and gestured to the pair seated to his right, “are from the attorney general’s office in Richmond, and, in my opinion, they have wasted a trip up here for absolutely no good reason.”
“Hold on a second, Lance,” the judge intoned and held up his hand. “Before we go any further, I’d like to point out there is no court reporter present and this is an informal proceeding, not in camera. And if everyone is comfortable with that, I’ll hear what you have to say and see where it goes from there.”
“Yes, Your Honor,” they replied in unison.
“Okay, continue,” the judge said.
“Judge, if I may. My name is Lisa Cranwell, state’s chief deputy attorney general, and this is my associate Kenneth Larsen, assistant attorney general.” Larsen dipped his head to acknowledge the judge. “We’re here today because of statute 19.2-155 of the Code of Virginia Law,” Cranwell continued.
“Ah, I see,” Judge Pickett said, adjusting a patch he wore over his left eye, the result of an old college rugby injury. He reached across his desk and picked up an antique gold pocket watch. He fingered a hasp on the side of the watch, releasing its casing. He set the dials, wound the stem, and closed the case before replacing it back on his desk. “A wedding gift from my wife,” he explained.
Cranwell was sturdily built and wore her auburn hair cropped close with bangs. She was dressed in a tan pantsuit and pumps, and her delivery was precise. Larsen was gangly with bony wrists and an Adam’s apple the size of an avocado pit. His dark hair was long and stringy and hung limply over his shirt collar and the tops of his ears. The shoulders of his gray suit were covered in dandruff flakes as if seasoned with salt.
“As you no doubt are aware, Judge Pickett, that section speaks to the disqualification of commonwealth attorneys in the event of a conflict of interest . . .”
St. Mary bolted out of his chair. “I need to stop them right there, Judge.”
“. . . or a perceived conflict of interest.”
“I have not acknowledged a conflict in this case because there isn’t one.”
“And therein lies the problem, Your Honor.” It was Larsen now, tag-teaming with Cranwell, his Adam’s apple yo-yoing up and down. “Whether Commonwealth Attorney St. Mary acknowledges it or not, he has both a real and a perceived conflict.”
St. Mary paced around the office and, when Larsen paused momentarily, fired back, “Geoff Tate made a piddling donation to my campaign one time. I barely knew the man, and, besides, he’s dead now. This is politics, all this is, Judge. Their boss sent them up here to torpedo me because she knows the case is going to receive national attention and she doesn’t want me getting any exposure before next fall’s election.”
“Your Honor,” Larsen continued, “it has only recently come to the attention of our office that the prosecutor was involved in the potential cover-up of an alleged crime involving Mrs. Tate.”
“Now just one minute,” St. Mary protested.
“Please sit down, Lance,” Judge Pickett said in a grandfatherly tone. “So this explains why all the press is out front this morning. I wondered. Proceed.”
“It appears that some time back, Mrs. Tate left a young man who had overdosed on drugs at the emergency room of a local hospital and then drove away. The young man later died.”
“It was her car, Judge. We could never establish she was driving it. She claimed it was stolen.”
“The campaign donation Mr. St. Mary just now referenced came after his office declined to press charges,” Larsen said.
Judge Pickett looked at Sheriff Korum with arched eyebrows. “It was before I was in office, Your Honor.”
“Ms. Stone, were you aware of this, and do you have an opinion on the matter?”
“Yes, Your Honor, my client informed me about the incident and swore she had no involvement, and I strenuously object to the assistant attorney general’s characterization of Mrs. Tate and a cover-up. As to your second point, no, I do not have an opinion on whether the prosecutor should recuse himself.”
“Very sensible of you,” the judge said with a wink from his one good eye. “Depending on the outcome of this case, it might offer you an issue to latch onto in appeal if need be.”
Maggie cocked her head to one side, a thin smile on her lips, but did not reply.
Judge Pickett sat quietly, smoothing his mustache with the thumb and forefinger of his left hand. “For what it’s worth, Lance,” he said after a pause, “I happen to agree with you.”
“Thank you, Your Honor. That’s a relief to know.”
“It does seem political, but there’s no denying you do have a perceived conflict. Perceptions matter, and I’m afraid it would be negligent of the court to look the other way, especially in a case with this much notoriety. If you refuse to recuse yourself, you will leave me no option but to disqualify you if an official petition is placed before the court, which seems likely.”
“But, Judge,” St. Mary pleaded, “this is the biggest case of my career.”
“Your choice, Counselor.”
St. Mary sank silently into his chair.
“Don’t take it so hard, son,” the judge said. “Look at it this way. There’s a mob of reporters standing outside this courthouse this very moment dying to hear something. You can call a press conference and say you have major news to announce. They will be hanging on your every word, and you can claim that you’re stepping aside for the good of the commonwealth.”
St. Mary brightened. “Hey, that’s not a bad idea.”
Judge Pickett continued. “As for the rest of you, I’m not going to impose a gag order. You are free to describe this discussion as you see fit, if asked. It’s going to take a couple days to sort everything out and name the prosecutor’s replacement. Lance, in the meantime, one of your assistants, as long as they played no role in the prior investigation, will handle the grand jury inquiry as it pertains to this case.”
“Your Honor, the state’s attorney general believes our office is in the best position to step in and take over the case, no matter the eventual disposition. She asked that I convey that message to you.”
“No doubt she does, and please thank the madam attorney general for her offer. I will take it under advisement.”
The group shuffled out of the judge’s chambers and into the hallway. Sam ducked into the ladies’ restroom and texted Nik.
Nik replied.
Sam hurriedly typed out.
Nik responded. He had turned the corner back to the courthouse when he saw St. Mary emerge from the front doors, the crowd out front surging toward him.