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

blouse. She suddenly stopped, looked over her shoulder and asked, “Coming?”
    “I’m with you.” So far.
    They told a uniformed black maid who they were, and she asked them to wait in the foyer. Teller looked around and whistled softly. “It’s bigger than my whole apartment.”
    “He’s a successful psychiatrist,” Susanna said.
    “There are poor ones?”
    The maid returned and led them across a vast expanse of study and through another door, then along a corridor until reaching a separate wing. She knocked on heavy sliding doors. They opened and the maid stepped back to allow them to enter.
    “Good morning, I’m Vera Jones, Dr. Sutherland’s secretary. I hope you don’t mind waiting. This dreadful thing has taken a toll on everyone, especially the immediate family.”
    “Of course,” Susanna said.
    The patient-reception area, which was also her office, was decorated in subtle earth tones, spacious and strikingly neat. Two sharpened pencils were lined up perfectly parallel to each other on top of a yellow legal pad on her polished desk. A large leather appointment book was squared with the corner of the desk.
    Everything in order, like the woman, Teller told himself.
    Vera Jones appeared the last word in a dedicated, organized secretary. Fortyish, tall and slender, her clothing was like her hair, matter-of-fact, nondescript, functional andnot likely to detract from whatever business was at hand. She held herself erect and moved through the office like a blind person who knows her surroundings so intimately that a stranger would assume she was sighted. Her face was a series of sharp angles. Her mouth, wide and thin, was undoubtedly capable of being drawn even thinner under pressure.
    Still, Teller thought, this could well be a sensuous woman. He’d come to the conclusion after his divorce that sexuality had nothing to do with sexiness. The overtly sexual female wearing provocative clothing, flirting, leading conversations into sexual innuendo was likely to be deceptive. He’d come to appreciate and trust subtlety, respond to it. He glanced at Susanna, who’d taken a leather wing chair next to Vera’s desk, and wondered at her style.
    Vera sat behind her desk and checked the pencils’ alignment. She sighed; her breasts rose beneath a forest green sweater. Teller noticed their fullness. He took a matching chair across from Susanna and asked, “How long have you worked for Dr. Sutherland, Miss Jones?”
    The turn of her head was abrupt, as though the question had startled her. “Twenty-two years,” she said.
    “That’s a long time.”
    “Yes, it is.” She paused, looked down at the desk top. “Is there any possibility of postponing this interview?”
    “Why?” Teller asked.
    “It seems so… so unnecessary considering the personal tragedy the family must face. The boy hasn’t even been buried yet.”
    “That’s tomorrow, isn’t it?”
    “Yes.”
    Teller looked at Susanna before saying, “I don’t like it either, Miss Jones, but I don’t make the rules.”
    A faint light came to life on a compact telephone consoleon her desk, accompanied by a gentle bell. “Excuse me,” she said. She got up and disappeared through a door.
    “What do you know about him?” Teller asked Susanna.
    “The doctor? Probably the most famous psychiatrist in Washington, confidant to the rich and powerful, a special advisor to the former administration on mental health issues, very rich and powerful, a world figure in his profession.”
    “What about his kid?”
    “Clarence? Very little except that he’s dead, murdered in the Supreme Court, of all places. He graduated from law school with honors and probably had a prestigious law career ahead of him.”
    “What else?”
    She shrugged.
    “I understand he was considered one of Washington’s most eligible bachelors.”
    “That’s natural in a city with more women than men.”
    Vera returned and said in a soft voice, “Dr. Sutherland will see you