Murder in the Supreme Court (Capital Crimes Series Book 3) Read Online Free Page B

the funeral.”
    He placed the palms of his hands on the table and slowly pushed himself to his feet. She came around, picked up his crutch and handed it to him.
    “Why do you have to go to that bastard’s funeral, Cecily?”
    “Because I think it’s right—”
    “Sutherland was a disgusting—”
    “I don’t want to discuss it, Temp.” She left the room. He followed, his steps slow, labored, the rubber-tipped crutch preceding his right leg as he dragged it across the floor. He reached her bedroom, opened the door and said, “You insult me by going to Sutherland’s funeral.”
    She tossed her robe on the bed and entered her private bathroom.
    “You slut,” he said just loud enough for her to hear.
    She’d been leaning over the sink and peering at herself in the mirror. She straightened, turned and said, “And you, Mr. Justice, have the gall to talk about insulting someone?”
    He tottered and grabbed the door for support. The trembling increased. It appeared he would topple over at any moment. She ran across the room and gripped his arm.
    “Don’t touch me,” he said in a strong voice. She stepped back. He raised the crutch as though to strike her, lowered it. “All right, damn you, go to his funeral, Cecily, and
celebrate
his death for me.”

CHAPTER 5
    The Episcopal priest conducting the graveside service for Clarence Sutherland glanced at the thirty people who’d come to pay their final respects. Clarence’s mother was near collapse and leaned against her husband. Their daughter, Jill, who’d arrived on an overnight flight from California, stood with her arm about her mother’s shoulders.
    A delegation from the Supreme Court headed by Associate Justice Morgan Childs stood together. Childs looked up into an angry gray sky and blinked as the first drops of rain fell. Next to him was Clarence’s clerk colleague, Laurie Rawls, who was crying.
    Martin Teller turned up the collar of a Burberry trench coat. He’d awakened with the beginnings of a head cold. He glanced at Dr. Sutherland’s secretary, Vera Jones, whostood behind the Sutherland family. She was the only person there, he realized, who’d dressed appropriately for the weather, right down to ankle-length Totes covering her shoes.
    The corpulent, ruddy-faced priest still seemed to be catching his breath after the walk from the limousine. He looked down at
The Book of Common Prayer
he held in his beefy hands. “
Unto Almighty God we commend the soul of our brother departed, Clarence, and we commit his body to the ground…
”
    Dr. Sutherland stepped forward, scooped up a handful of soil and sprinkled it over the coffin as cemetery workmen lowered it on straps. The rain fell harder and the priest held a hand over his head. He spoke faster.
    Teller sneezed loudly, momentarily distracting attention from the grave site of three security men assigned by the Treasury Department to Justice Childs.
    “
The Lord be with you
,” said the priest.
    “
And with thy spirit
,” a few responded.
    “
Let us pray. Lord have mercy upon us.
”
    “
Christ have mercy upon us
,” was the reply.
    “
Lord have mercy upon us.
”
    Teller watched the mourners return to their limousines. When they were gone, he approached the grave and looked down at the coffin. Who did you in, kid?
    “Everybody has to leave,” a workman said.
    “Oh, yeah, right. Sorry.”
    There were several phone messages waiting for him when he returned to MPD headquarters, including one from Susanna Pinscher. He called her first.
    “You were at the funeral?” she asked.
    “Yeah. Very touching. And wet. I caught cold.”
    “So fast?”
    “If it gets serious I can claim workman’s comp. You know, Miss Pinscher, I was thinking about you last night.”
    “You were?” Her voice had a smile in it.
    “Yes, I was. I finally figured out who you look like.”
    “And?”
    “Candice Bergen.”
    “That’s very flattering coming from Paul Newman.”
    “Definitely Candy Bergen.”
    “Do