Tags:
Fiction,
Suspense,
Thrillers,
Suspense fiction,
Crime,
Political,
Murder,
Washington (D.C.),
Investigation,
Murder - Investigation,
Political Fiction
the roof of her car. As soon as Miller and Ginny Striker drove off to their election-night parties, Millie had slipped the envelope under Miller’s door and driven away. There had been no repercussions then and Clarence assured her that there would be none this time. All he was asking her to do was mail a letter.
Chapter Three
B rad Miller had not been kidding when he told Dana Cutler and Jake Teeny that he hoped the rest of his life was dull as dirt. And Brad knew about dull as dirt. He had grown up and gone to college in the less than exciting suburbs of Long Island, then studied law in Manhattan. Living in New York sounds exotic if you’re from Nebraska or South Dakota, but it is much less exciting if you’re on a strict budget and studying most of each day. Brad had always been a straight arrow, so not once during his three years in school did he snort cocaine with swimsuit models while partying all night with the rich and famous at a new, in club. In fact, his only contact with drugs and wild goings-on occurred while reading police reports during an internship at the Manhattan DA’s office during the summer between his first and second year in law school.
Brad fled the East Coast when his fiancée dumped him shortly before the wedding that was supposed to take place after law school graduation. What seemed tragic at first turned into a blessing in disguise when he met Ginny Striker, another associate toiling in Portland’s modern-day salt mine, Reed, Briggs, Stephens, Stottlemeyer and Compton.
Brad also knew the flip side of dull as dirt. From the moment a sadistic senior partner ordered him to file an appeal in the sure loser, pro bono case of Clarence Little v. Oregon , his life had consisted of one terrifying incident after another. Once his investigation into Clarence’s case brought down President Farrington, he thought he’d find peace and quiet clerking in the sedate halls of the United States Supreme Court, but once again he’d almost lost his life—twice.
So Brad was not lying when he said he craved boredom. He was madly in love with his wife, and his happiest moments were when he and Ginny, dressed in sweats, held hands while watching old movies on television.
Brad and Ginny lived on the third floor of a four-story redbrick apartment house on Capitol Hill. Their apartment was walking distance from the Senate and a longer walk or a Metro ride from the Department of Justice. They had moved in a little over a year ago, when Brad started clerking at the Supreme Court. They had been able to afford the rent because Ginny was pulling down a six-figure salary at one of D.C.’s biggest law firms. The rent was less affordable now that Ginny worked at the DOJ, but they loved the location, the exposed brick walls, and the small garden in the back.
The day after Judge Case handed down his decision, Brad was getting ready to leave for work while Ginny finished her breakfast in their roomy kitchen. Brad was slipping into his suit jacket when he saw the color drain from Ginny’s face.
“Did you know about this?” Ginny asked, holding up page 3 of the Washington Post .
Brad leaned forward and read, COURT REVERSES CLARENCE LITTLE CONVICTIONS AND DEATH SENTENCES . His stomach did a swan dive.
“No,” he said. “I haven’t been involved in Clarence’s case for over a year.”
Brad reached across the kitchen table and took the paper from his wife.
“I’m not surprised,” Brad said as soon as he finished the story. “They had to give him new trials once it became clear that he’d been framed in the Erickson case.”
“He won’t get out, will he?” Ginny asked. Brad could hear the fear in her voice.
“I don’t know. They convicted him every time he was tried. The question is how great an impact the evidence from Erickson had on the jurors in the other trials. But I don’t think we have anything to worry about even if he’s acquitted. Clarence and I got along pretty well. He knows I’m