A Farewell to Legs: An Aaron Tucker Mystery by Jeffrey Cohen

A Farewell to Legs: An Aaron Tucker Mystery by Jeffrey Cohen

Author:Jeffrey Cohen
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Crime & mystery, stink bomb, washington, Fiction, Lobbyists, groucho marx, Crime & Thriller, funny, Jewish, freelance, writer, Screenwriters, Mystery, Mystery & Detective - General, lobbyist, dc, elementary school, Mystery & Detective - Series, Detective, Mystery & Detective, Humorous, Fiction - Mystery, General, New Jersey, stinkbomb, high school, Suspense, aaron tucker, Autism
ISBN: 9781890862299
Publisher: Bancroft Press
Published: 2003-11-15T21:22:02.698000+00:00


Chapter

Five

It had taken a good deal of maneuvering to get me an interview with Madeline Crosby. After all, it was Legs Gibson’s rumor-mongering that had kept her off the Supreme Court, so she was-n’t likely to acquiesce to a plea from Stephanie. And if Crosby had even heard of Snapdragon, it was likely to have been in the context of the odd classical music review they might run to fill space between the headbangers and the rappers.

So, I had had to rely on Mitch Davis, over at USA Today, to pave the way. Davis, after much grousing about “giving aid and comfort to the enemy,” had made a couple of phone calls and advised me never to call him about this story again. Spoil-sport.

Crosby maintained a home office in, of all places, the Watergate complex, on the assumption that lightning never strikes twice in the same place, I guess. I was buzzed in on Saturday morning while Abby and the kids were out looking at Archie Bunker’s chair and the Fonz’s jacket at the Museum of Cool Stuff From Television. That Smithsonian is really a fun place.

In her mid-fifties, Madeline Crosby was not (forgive me, Madeline!) a beautiful woman. But she had a face so full of wisdom and wit, and eyes with just the right hint of sparkle, that it never occurred to me she was anything but lovely.

She had been an up-and-comer out of the John Marshall School of Law in Chicago, class of 1970. A year clerking for Justice Thurgood Marshall didn’t hurt, and by the late 1980s, Crosby was too strong a candidate for the Federal bench to be denied. It wasn’t until the mid-90’s, when she was nominated to the Supreme Court, that the allegations of an abortion—a legal abortion, it should be noted—were made, not terribly surreptitiously, by Legs Gibson. Her nomination was scuttled within a week, although the abortion issue was never directly cited. Everyone knew Legs’ news leak had done the job it had set out to do—it kept Madeline Crosby from being a terrific Supreme Court justice, because her point of view wasn’t far enough to the right.

Crosby gave me a curious, but not interested, glance as I walked into her office. She was reading a document on her desk, wearing a pair of half-glasses that I would no doubt need within five years. She gestured to a chair.

“Sit down, Mr. Tucker.”

I did so, and took out my tape recorder as I waited. I also had a reporter’s notebook and a pen, but they were mostly to give my hands something to do during the interview. I don’t trust tape recorders, but I confess that I don’t take notes as carefully when I’m using one as I do otherwise.

Crosby put down the document and took off the glasses. She regarded me carefully, trying to determine if I were friend or foe.

“Why am I seeing you, Mr. Tucker?”

“A question I’ve been asking myself all morning, Your Honor.”

She chuckled. “You’re here investigating the murder of Mr.



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