The Pelican Brief by John Grisham Read Free Book Online Page A

good morning.
    “Thomas!” She leaned toward the television. Callahan kicked at the sheets and sat up, rubbing his eyes and trying to focus. She handed him the coffee.
    The President had tragic news. His eyes were tired and he looked sad, but the rich baritone exuded confidence. He had notes but didn’t use them. He looked deep into the camera, and explained to the American people the shocking events of last night.
    “What the hell,” Callahan mumbled. After announcing the deaths, the President launched into a flowery obituary for Abraham Rosenberg. A towering legend, he called him. It was a strain, but the President kept a straight face while lauding the distinguished career of one of the most hated men in America.
    Callahan gaped at the television. Darby stared atit. “That’s very touching,” she said. She was frozen on the end of the bed. He had been briefed by the FBI and CIA, he explained, and they were assuming the killings were related. He had ordered an immediate, thorough investigation, and those responsible would be brought to justice.
    Callahan sat upright and covered himself with the sheets. He blinked his eyes and combed his wild hair with his fingers. “Rosenberg? Murdered?” he mumbled, glaring at the screen. His foggy head had cleared immediately, and the pain was there but he couldn’t feel it.
    “Check out the sweater,” Darby said, sipping the coffee, staring at the orange face with heavy makeup and the brilliant silver hair plastered carefully in place. He was a wonderfully handsome man with a soothing voice; thus he had succeeded greatly in politics. The wrinkles in his forehead squeezed together, and he was even sadder now as he talked of his close friend Justice Glenn Jensen.
    “The Montrose Theatre, at midnight,” Callahan repeated.
    “Where is it?” she asked. Callahan had finished law school at Georgetown.
    “Not sure. But I think it’s in the gay section.”
    “Was he gay?”
    “I’ve heard rumors. Evidently.” They were both sitting on the end of the bed with the sheets over their legs. The President was ordering a week of national mourning. Flags at half-staff. Federal offices closed tomorrow. Funeral arrangements were incomplete. He rambled for a few more minutes, still deeply saddened, even shocked, very human, but nonethelessthe President and clearly in charge. He signed off with his patented grandfather’s smile of complete trust and wisdom and reassurance.
    An NBC reporter on the White House lawn appeared and filled in the gaps. The police were mute, but there appeared to be no suspects at the moment, and no leads. Yes, both justices had been under the protection of the FBI, which had no comment. Yes, the Montrose was a place frequented by homosexuals. Yes, there had been many threats against both men, especially Rosenberg. And there could be many suspects before it was all over.
    Callahan turned off the set and walked to the French doors, where the early air was growing thicker. “No suspects,” he mumbled.
    “I can think of at least twenty,” Darby said.
    “Yeah, but why the combination? Rosenberg is easy, but why Jensen? Why not McDowell or Yount, both of whom are consistently more liberal than Jensen? It doesn’t make sense.” Callahan sat in a wicker chair by the doors and fluffed his hair.
    “I’ll get you some more coffee,” Darby said.
    “No, no. I’m awake.”
    “How’s your head?”
    “Fine, if I could’ve slept for three more hours. I think I’ll cancel class. I’m not in the mood.”
    “Great.”
    “Damn, I can’t believe this. That fool has two nominations. That means eight of the nine will be Republican choices.”
    “They have to be confirmed first.”
    “We won’t recognize the Constitution in ten years. This is sick.”
    “That’s why they were killed, Thomas. Someone or some group wants a different Court, one with an absolute conservative majority. The election is next year. Rosenberg is, or was, ninety-one. Manning is