Free Deadlock by James Scott Bell

he could concentrate on the story that seemed most relevant.
    Right now it was on Fox News. He hated Fox. It regularly held him up to scorn, but it was also the leading cable news outlet so he would just have to deal with it.
    Tonight it was all about the story that still occupied Washington, if not the entire country: Who was Millicent Mannings Hollander with the night she got hit?
    The Fox reporter in the field, standing outside Walter Reed Hospital, was saying, “All we know is that police have questioned Justice Hollander, and she has stated that she had been with a friend. That’s the word she used, friend. She was dropped off near the Lincoln Memorial, though she didn’t say why, but was going to try to catch a taxi to take her home. Here is where the story gets a little confusing. There is some speculation that the friend was . . .”
    Levering gripped his glass of bourbon like a lifeline.
    “. . . one of the other justices of the Court. Justice Hollander does not have the reputation of socializing much in Washington circles . . .”
    Levering breathed a little easier. A friend. She was not going to say anything. Good for her. Now he would not have to use the little contingency plan Anne Deveraux and he had hatched. He could save it. Keep it in his back pocket, as it were, and with it control the next chief justice of the Supreme Court. Man, he was good. With Anne Deveraux, he was unstoppable.
    His phone rang. The direct line.
    “You been watching?” President Francis asked.
    “It’s under control,” Levering said.
    “I just want to know if this is going to become a problem for us.”
    “Don’t worry. A few days and it’ll be on A–20 of the Post , and then gone.”
    “What about Hollander?”
    “What about her?”
    “She still the one?”
    “Oh, yes. This will garner her all sorts of sympathy. You’ll be a hero.”
    “I still get this feeling.”
    “Trust me.”
    “I have to, I guess.”
    And that was just the way Sam Levering had planned it all along.
     
    | 3
    From her wheelchair, Millie tried to smile gamely for the cameras. The press coverage was inevitable, and it was best to just get it out of the way now.
    Flashes burst around her and voices threw questions like baseballs.
    Dr. Cross, pushing the wheelchair, ran interference. “Allow Justice Hollander to make a statement please. Please! And then she will answer only a few questions. I will update you on her condition momentarily.”
    The reporters waited, cameras whirring and microphones thrusting.
    Millie was not an accomplished public speaker. When she made speeches she read them, preferring to prepare her statements in logical order beforehand. If she spoke off the cuff, she might say something that could be misconstrued. And the one thing she wanted to avoid as a Supreme Court justice was misunderstanding.
    “Thank you,” she said, “for your concern. And I thank the American people for their well wishes.” She had received flowers and cards and stuffed animals, along with telegrams and even a bathrobe with capitol domes on it. So much for the separation of powers.
    “I am continuing to recuperate under the care of Dr. Cross. Aside from a bad headache, I am doing quite well. I hope to take a little time to rest back home in California. I will be ready to resume my seat on the Court when the new term begins in October.”
    She paused, and immediately a reporter shouted, “Can you tell us why you were walking at night alone?”
    There were a few groans at the question, but mostly, Millie noted, keen interest from the newspeople.
    “I had been with an acquaintance, and that is all. I appreciate that you will respect the privacy of all concerned here.”
    “Are the police respecting that privacy?” another reporter asked.
    “This is not a police matter. As I told them, I was in the process of getting a taxi to go home. I lost my balance and fell into the street.”
    “What do you think of Edward Ellis Pavel’s