The 37th Amendment: A Novel by Susan Shelley Page A

answered.
    “It’s me, again, Casey,” Howe said. “I can’t get this thing to work.”
    “I’ve been trying to tell you, Mr. Howe,” Casey said, “I have nothing to send you. Ted Braden said he’s still waiting for the material.”
    “Oh, no,” Howe said. “Does he have anything at all? Get him on the phone. I’ll hold on.”
    It took Casey less than a minute to track Ted down in a West Hollywood restaurant and connect him to Howe in a conference call.
    “Ted? Dobson Howe.”
    “Yes, sir,” Ted said, unwilling to mention Howe’s name in front of the client who was seated across the table from him.
    “It’s critical that you tell me everything you’ve found out to this point about Robert Rand’s television appearances the week before his arrest,” Howe said. “Whatever you have. I need it immediately.”
    “I’ll have to call you back from the office a little later,” Ted said, giving the client a reassuring smile. “There’s nothing I can tell you right now.”
    It was 6:05 p.m. on the East coast when Ted finally called Dobson Howe’s hotel room. “Yes,” Howe answered. His voice sounded dispirited, or perhaps just exhausted.
    “All right, I’ve got it,” Ted said. “There was a 30-second promo, plus a :15 and a :10. Robert Rand was in the :30 and the :15. I won’t have the actual videos until tomorrow night but I have the complete list of every time those two promos ran. Between May 7th and May 11th they were seen a total of sixteen hundred and seventy-two times in forty-five different places. Okay?”
    “Better than okay,” Howe said. “Send it right over to Casey and she’ll figure out a way to get it to me.”
    “Thank you for calling the office of Justice Joshua Weiss. The office is currently closed. Please call back between the hours of 8:00 a.m. and 6:00 p.m. If this is an emergency, please dial 0 for an operator.”
    Howe jabbed the zero button on the hotel room phone. “Operator,” said a man’s voice.
    “Good evening, this is Dobson Howe,” the lawyer boomed into the phone.
    “Yes, sir,” the voice said respectfully. “How may I help you?”
    “I must speak to Justice Weiss immediately,” Howe said. “Can you ring through to his office? Someone must still be there, it’s only seven o’clock.”
    “One moment, sir.”
    Howe listened to silence for forty-five seconds. “Mr. Howe, this is Daniel Fox,” said a voice. “I’m one of Justice Weiss’ clerks. Can I help you?”
    “I have some material that Justice Weiss insisted he must see tonight,” Howe said. “Is he still there or may I reach him at home?”
    Daniel Fox paused. “Justice Weiss is in the hospital,” he said. “He was rushed there an hour ago with severe abdominal pain.”
    “Oh, no,” said Howe. “Do you think they’ll let me see him?”
    At eight o’clock the next morning, Dobson Howe was seated in the anteroom outside the chambers of Associate Justice Anne Crawford, the 55-year-old former chief justice of New York’s high court. He did not have an appointment. Justice Crawford had been assigned by Chief Justice Seaton to take responsibility for Justice Weiss’ circuit while he was incapacitated, and Daniel Fox had promised to arrange for Howe to meet with her before Robert Rand’s execution could be carried out. He had four hours.
    At ten a.m., Howe was shown into Justice Crawford’s chambers. She was a tall woman, elegantly dressed. She greeted him with a warm smile.
    “Mr. Howe, so nice to meet you,” she said.
    “Justice Crawford,” he said, shaking her hand politely. “Thank you for seeing me.”
    “No thanks are necessary,” she said. “I understand you’re here on an emergency matter.”
    “Yes, ma’am. In exactly two hours, the State of California is going to execute an innocent man. I’m here to ask you for a stay.”
    “I see,” Justice Crawford said. “Well, sit down and let’s discuss it.” She gestured to a chair opposite her desk, then walked around