“What is this, a sequel to the Kinsey Report?”

“I have to think the cops would have asked,” I tell her.

“We lived together for a while. We had an apartment in Georgetown. It wasn’t much. Given Terry’s traveling schedule, he was never there. You have to understand that with Terry there was only one person who mattered in life, and that was Terry. The live-in thing lasted about seven months. In the end I decided that living alone in Terry’s apartment wasn’t what I had in mind. I found other people, another life. So I moved out and got my own place. That’s the long and short of it.”

“No angry words? No late-night disagreements?”

She shakes her head. “I can give you the address, and you can check with the neighbors if you like,” she says. “The parting was quite amicable. I left. When Terry got back from his latest fling on Court TV or CNN or whatever it was, I was gone. Simple as that. Sorry to disappoint,” she says. “No big blowup, if that’s what you’re thinking. I sometimes wondered when he returned whether Terry even noticed that I was gone. That was Terry.” She smiles. “You had to love him. I guess you could say the relationship just sort of ran its course. In the end we simply went our separate ways. There’s a lot of that in this town, politics and human ambition being what they are.”

“And when was this parting of the ways?”

“About a year ago. We still talked every once in a while.”

“When was the last time?”

“That we talked?”

I nod.

“I’d have to think.” She does. “It must have been last Christmas.” She toys with the fingers of one hand at the arm of the chair. “Yes, it was Christmas. We had some mutual friends who’d invited us to a Christmas party. I don’t think they’d gotten the word that we weren’t living together any longer. Terry got the invitation and wanted to know what to do with it. He called me, and we talked for a while.”

“Mind if I ask what you talked about?”

“What do two former live-ins talk about? The weather, our health, mutual friends we’ve seen…”

“Did you happen to discuss Justice Ginnis?”

With the mention of his name, she looks up directly at me. “No. Not that I recall.”

“You did clerk for him?”

“Yes.”

“I’d been told that Mr. Scarborough and he were friends.”

She laughs at this. “I don’t know who you’ve been talking to or what you’ve been reading, but they weren’t friends. I mean, they knew each other. They were acquainted, but they operated in different orbits. Terry was a hanger-on around the Court. Arthur Ginnis is the genuine article, a member of the Court.”

“That’s funny.”

“Why?”

“I’d gotten the sense that they were quite close, that in fact Justice Ginnis may have been the impetus for Mr. Scarborough’s book.”

“You mean Perpetual Slaves?”

I nod.

“That’s ridiculous.”

“That’s what I heard.”

She sits upright in her chair, hands gripping the arms until her knuckles turn white. “I don’t know who told you that,” she says. “But I can say with certainty that Arthur-Justice Ginnis-had nothing to do with that book, and in fact he believed that the entire concept of dredging up dead-letter law from the Constitution and using it in that way was, in a word, despicable. It would have been an embarrassment for him. A sitting Supreme Court justice. No. It was part of the reason he distanced himself from Terry. He was concerned about Terry’s lust for publicity. The fact that Terry was constantly on television, flogging his books and trying to pretend that he was some kind of a Court insider, when he wasn’t.”

As I listen to Scott, she confirms one of Harry’s witticisms: that there are two classes of people who wield immense power and who shun the public light-mobsters if they have a brain and members of the Supreme Court.

“Do you know how the two of them met, Scarborough and Ginnis?” I ask.

“As a matter of fact, I do. I introduced them. I don’t know if they’d ever actually spoken before that. It was at a reception when I was clerking. At the time I didn’t fully understand why Justice Ginnis was so reticent. But he was gracious. Arthur is always the gentleman. Terry was my date. They shook hands and talked. Briefly,” she says. “Why is all of this so important?”

“I’m looking for information regarding a letter that belonged to Mr. Scarborough. Actually, I don’t know if it was his or if he was just borrowing it.”

“A letter. What letter?”

“It could be an important historical piece, correspondence dating back to the time of the Constitution, late eighteenth century. I’m told that Scarborough had this letter in his possession when he was killed.”

“Go on.” There’s a look in her eyes. Perhaps it’s the way they’re darting at the moment, taking in everything in the room except me.

“It’s possible that the police found it. Except for one thing: It hasn’t shown up on any of the lists of evidence that they’ve produced. You wouldn’t know anything about it? This letter, I mean?”

“No.”

“Well, you lived with Scarborough for a while. I thought maybe you might have seen it?”

“Oh, I understand. No. I don’t know anything about a letter.”

“Then I guess you wouldn’t know whether Scarborough might have obtained it from Justice Ginnis?”

“What? What makes you think that?” she says.

“Some people think he might have gotten the letter from the justice.”

“Who?”

“Some people,” I tell her. “But since you don’t know anything about the letter, perhaps you would know how I might get ahold of Justice Ginnis? While I’m here in Washington, that is.”

“Why would you want to talk to him?”

“To see if he knows anything about the letter.”

“Why is this letter so important? I mean, what does it have to do with Terry’s murder?”

“I’m not sure. But that’s what I’d like to find out.”

“No!” This seems to light a spark, a point of ignition deep inside her. “I’m sure there’s nothing he could possibly tell you-Justice Ginnis. He wouldn’t know anything about any letter. He barely knew Terry. I think they met only once or twice. At social functions. They hardly knew each other.”

“Still. Is there any chance I could talk to him? I figured you being a former clerk, you might be able to open some doors for me. Just a brief conversation is all I’m looking for. Five minutes of his time. I could truck on over to the Supreme Court building alone. But getting through the phalanx of marshals downstairs is another matter.”

She laughs. “You’re right. You wouldn’t get in.”

“I suppose I could call over there, talk to one of his clerks, mention the letter…”

“You’d be wasting your time,” she says. “I’ll tell you what I will do. I can make a phone call. But he’s a very busy man. I really don’t think he’s going to appreciate being bothered by all this. In fact, I’m not even sure he’s in town. The Court’s in recess, and Justice Ginnis is recuperating from hip surgery.”

“I understand. But if you could check, make a phone call. Perhaps he’d agree to see me. Just a very brief conversation. I really would appreciate it.”

She looks at the phone on her desk, then at me. “Where are you staying?” she asks.

“The Mayflower.” I give her my cell-phone number in case I’m out when she calls.

“It’ll take me a few minutes. I am busy this afternoon. But let me make a few phone calls. I’ll get ahold of you either at your hotel or by cell. I wouldn’t hold out much hope, though. Justice Ginnis is almost always out of town when the Court’s in recess.”

I thank her. She shows me back to the elevator, and five minutes later I’m standing on the hot concrete of the sidewalk waiting for a taxi.