Untitled Read Online Free PDF Page A

off, and made her exit.
      The lounge exploded into conversation. The attorneys and staffers understood that the investigation would center in Detroit, and that meant they all were in a position to see some action on the case.
      "Well, I'm done for the day," said Walter. "And it looks like a lot of judges will be adjourning cases in the coming week in order to go to Douglas's funeral."
      "You sound happy about it," said Marshall.
      "I like it when judges let me go home early, Marshall. Besides, I hated that damned Douglas. It's sad, but that's what you get when you do what he did."
      "And what did he do?" asked Marshall.
      "He betrayed his people," said Walter. "He's like those black men who used to round up freed slaves and sell them back into slavery."
      "That's a little harsh, don't you think?" asked Marshall. "Douglas was a judge, not some turncoat in a war."
      "Really? Tell that to my cousin. He didn't get into medical school because of one of Douglas's rulings. After all the struggle we've done in this country, the best we could get on the court was him? I don't think so."
      "The man had a family, Walter, kids."
      "I know and I feel more sorry for them, but I can't lie. I despised the man."
      Marshall said good-bye to Walter then walked to his office. It was a small but sufficient place. On his wall hung pictures of Dr. King, Mandela, and Jesse Jackson. Next to them were pictures he'd taken with federal judges Thurgood Marshall, Damon Keith, Leon Higginbotham, and Stephen Bradbury, all of whom he greatly admired.
      Marshall's door was open, and the chatter from the office was loud. He was restless. Even though he played it cool with Walter, he was already thinking that he wanted in on the Douglas prosecution. Maybe Deacons would assign him to the team.
      Marshall had only a few years in the office, but he'd prosecuted many capital cases and had an impressive winning record. Farrel Douglas was not his idol, but no one could just kill a federal judge and get away with it. It struck him as a little corny, but it offended his sense of justice. Also, he knew that if he were ever going to become a federal judge, which was his goal, he was going to have to prosecute cases like this, something more noteworthy than a wounded ATF officer and a scumbag like Lewis Quince.
      Marshall sat down but couldn't keep still. He jumped out of his chair and was headed for the door when he noticed that the chatter had stopped. He looked up to see Nathan Williams, the head of the U.S. attorney's office, walking into his doorway.
      Nathan was a fiercely intelligent lawyer and a good friend. He'd been in office for five years or so. The U.S. attorney changed when the president changed, so there was always a new man coming. But Nate had held on for a while and was rumored to be going to Washington. He'd made headlines after he helped solve the murder of Harris Yancy, the Detroit mayor, with the help of a state prosecutor named Jesse King.
      Nate walked into the office. He was normally a spit-and polish kind of guy. But today he was disheveled, his tie was undone and coat rumpled. Then Marshall remembered that Douglas had been a mentor to Nathan when the latter was just a young lawyer. They were friends, and he was probably feeling all of the pain you felt when someone was taken before his time.
      "Sorry about your loss, sir," said Marshall.
      "Yes. He was . . . a great man," said Williams. "We were actually scheduled to have dinner tonight. I'm expecting my first grandchild soon. We were going to celebrate."
      "I guess the court will be in mourning for a while."
      "Yes, but I've already heard rumors of replacements for him."
      "Jesus," said Marshall. "What's wrong with people?"
      "It's just business, Marshall. There are several important cases coming to the Supreme Court. They need a full bench. If the president doesn't start now, his enemies will undermine him." Williams looked sad