Free Discretion by Allison Leotta Page B

himself.
    “Whatever meeting preceded the young lady’s death could easily have been related to legislative activity,” Davenport countered. “I understand that the young lady was a constituent.”
    “Most of what’s depicted on the videotape will be legislative activity,” Judge Redwood said, nodding. “The tapes would allow the Executive Branch to see the inner workings of the Legislature. Meetings with constituents and lobbyists and the press. Exactly what the Speech or Debate Clause is meant to prevent.”
    The judge looked troubled. It was a sticky constitutional issue involving two major players: Congress versus the Department of Justice. Her decision would set a groundbreaking new rule in constitutional law and would be Monday-morning-quarterbacked by every legal analyst on cable TV.
    “I’m not going to decide this now,” she said. “This motion comes as a surprise, and I want to give the government a chance to brief the issue. I would also like to hear from the general counsel to the House of Representatives, to find out his position on the matter. We’ll reconvene in four days, on Friday, for argument.” The judge looked atAnna. “Unless the government decides to drop the issue. I think Mr. Davenport has the better of this argument. My decision may not be something the government wants on the books.”
    The proceeding was adjourned.
    Anna sat back. She felt sandbagged by Davenport’s move to keep the videos from them. And the judge’s signal was not a good one for the prosecution. A ruling against them here would subsequently make it much harder for any future prosecutors to get videotapes from Congress.
    Anna turned to Jack. “I’m sorry about the videotapes.”
    “Welcome to Homicide. Don’t expect anything in this case to be easy.”

9
    A nna understood the drill: Keep your head down, keep walking, and keep saying, “No comment.” She knew some of the reporters and liked them. But line prosecutors in the U.S. Attorney’s Office weren’t allowed to talk to the press about cases. If she stopped to chat, the journalists would try to eke some nugget of information out of her—and they were good at it. So she kept walking out of the courtroom, even as she said, “Hi, Del. I loved Rawhide Down . No comment, sorry.”
    Jack just shook his head at them. They knew him well enough not to even try. If a public statement were to be made, the head of the office would make it, or issue a written press release.
    As Jack and Anna walked out the glass doors at the front of the boxy concrete courthouse, the steamy August air condensed onto her air-conditioned cheeks. She hardly noticed. She was distracted by a fleet of news vans parked on Indiana Avenue. She recognized local channels like FOX 5 and WTOP but also saw logos for CNN and MSNBC. The story was national. An army of photographers waited by the curb. Their line of tripods reminded her of a row of aliens in Space Invaders.
    Anna was surprised to see a woman holding a printout with Anna’s picture on it. Anna recognized the article from Above the Law, a popular legal website that had covered her scandal the year before. “Here!” the woman shouted to the line of tripods. The cameras pivoted like synchronized swimmers toward Anna and Jack. She realized why the woman had printed out the article. The reporters wanted a shot of the prosecution team leaving the courthouse—cameras weren’t allowed inside—but they didn’t know what the prosecutors looked like, so they’d Googled Anna and found the picture. She hated that such a low point in her life was still her primary cyber-image. If this case turned out well, maybe newer, better articles about her would bump the old ones into obscurity.
    After a few seconds on the prosecutors, the cameras pointed back to the front door. The shot they really wanted was the Congressman exiting the courthouse. Which was exactly why he hadn’t shown up today.
    Anna was glad to leave the press behind; she was