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ladies in a coffee clatch and discuss the justices’ private matters. To suggest anything else is . . .”
    “Relax.” Adam’s ruined voice could never sound soothing, but the woman responded to the note in it, regardless. “We’re not suggesting otherwise. But I can’t imagine that it’s any different than cops on the same task force sitting around with their buddies. Eventually the topic of the current case is going to come up, right?” He waited for the woman’s reluctant nod before going on. “So I’m guessing you’d all talk about how your justices might vote on a particular case they were hearing or one that was on the docket.”
    “Yes. Of course.”
    “And just from interacting with the other clerks over time, you probably got a pretty good idea of the personalities of the other justices. Even if you didn’t work directly for them.”
    With a sideways look at Jaid, Temple answered, “We knew their politics before taking the job, of course. But sure, you get to know which of the justices are the workhorses. Who’s a health nut. Who uses the gym daily. That sort of thing.”
    “So it’s fair to say that the other justices’ clerks knew similar things about Reinbeck.”
    “I’m sure they do. Although it’s doubtful any of them would know that he stopped at that place for flowers, since I don’t think any of us did.”
    But they’d know Reinbeck was writing the dissenting opinion yesterday. Jaid recognized where Adam was leading the woman. And it would be common knowledge that his clerks worked late when he did. Given the man’s penchant for privacy, would anyone realize his wife was giving a dinner party that evening? And extrapolate from there that his workhorse habits would have him running late for it? It seemed a long shot.
    But there had to be some reason the shooter had chosen that particular evening to take up position on that rooftop. Once an attempt on Reinbeck’s life had been made, the assassin wouldn’t have gotten another opportunity before the justice had been surrounded by a protective contingent of marshals.
    “I understand that Byron was a private man,” Shepherd put in. “Who was likely to know the most about his personal life?”
    “Mara Sorenson,” came the unhesitating reply. “She’s his administrative assistant and came here from the circuit with him. I think they’ve worked together for over ten years.”
    “When did you hear about Justice Reinbeck’s death?”
    “On the news.” The memory had tears filling Krista’s cornflower blue eyes. “I couldn’t believe I’d heard correctly. I called Sam . . . Samantha Kingery to ask if she’d heard.” Kingery was another of Reinbeck’s clerks. “She hadn’t. She was out at dinner with a friend. Then I called Larry Dempsey and Cort Phillips, the other clerks. They’d heard the same thing.” Her chin wobbled. “We all met at the Black Diamond, a place we hang out a few blocks from here about an hour later.” Tears streamed freely down the woman’s face. “We just couldn’t believe it. Who would want Justice Reinbeck dead? He’s worked his whole career to help people.”
    Which was, Jaid thought, as the woman struggled to compose herself, the million-dollar question. After a few more questions, Temple was dismissed. When the door had closed behind the woman, she asked, “How good did the shooter have to be to make that shot?”
    “A lot better than average,” Adam mused. “But certainly not sniper quality. He had a clear angle. No wind to compensate for yesterday. With the high-powered scopes they make these days, he didn’t have to be an expert.”
    Not, she thought with a pang, like the one who had almost killed him a few months ago.
    “But he had to be very skilled,” Shepherd put in. “And maybe we shouldn’t read too much into the ease of yesterday’s shot. We don’t know what conditions the shooter could have been successful in.”
    “Easier to lie in wait for someone and plan the kill