Devil's Corner (37 page)

"On the couch."

"You're overreacting!"

"I don't want her alone, and I wouldn't sleep worrying like this." Vicki checked the window, where the gray of twilight was deepening toward an inky blue. "I have no way to reach her, short of grabbing a cab and going looking."

"Don't even think about it, Vick. Bale and Strauss are still working. You have to be here."

"What if something happens to her?"

"They're already talking about you."

"What?" Vicki's mouth went dry.

"They're questioning your commitment. Even Bale, since you won't let it go."

"My
commitment
?" Vicki couldn't believe her ears. "We made the bust of the century, at least partly because I put myself out there!
Way
out there!"

"But you did things they don't want you to do. Running around, playing cop." Dan sighed. "Just because they're with the program to the media doesn't mean there aren't doubts about you around here. They're just closing ranks."

Vicki couldn't process it fast enough. So much for her fifteen minutes of fame. She felt suddenly stupid for believing the press releases. It had all gone to her head.
Is it possible to like positive reinforcement too much?

"They think you're in too deep, because of the trauma of being there, when Morty was killed. You're too emotionally involved because of Morty, and now with Reheema."

"Who thinks that?" Vicki asked, stung.

"They all do." Dan's eyes softened, and he sat back down into his chair. "They wanted to talk to me about staffing at dinner. That's why I didn't ask you to come."

Oh no
. "So what did you say?"

"I went to bat for you, of course. You're a great young prosecutor, the best in your class." Dan's mouth flattened with a sort of sadness. "But I'll tell you something, because I love you—they're watching you."

"You're making me paranoid."

"You should be. Your credibility is in question. Your reputation. To me, that's worse than being fired any day."

"But you're going to be chief. You know me."

Dan leaned over. "Vicki, listen to me. You have to stop this. This running around with Reheema. This talk. It's jeopardizing your career and it's embarrassing."

"To whom?" Vicki asked, then she realized.
To him
.

"You have to make a choice."

"Between Reheema and you?"

"No. Between Reheema and
you
."

Suddenly the phone rang on Vicki's desk, and she grabbed the receiver. "Allegretti."

"Yo, girlfriend." It was Reheema.

"Where are you? Are you okay?"

"Fine. Sorry, I had the cell phone off."

"I was so worried!" Vicki said, and in the background, Dan got up and went to the door. "Reheema, wait, hold on a minute." She covered the receiver with her hand. "Dan, wait!"

Dan turned at the door, his hand on the knob. "I'll be at a hotel tonight. You two have fun." Then he walked out and closed the door behind him.

"Vicki? Vicki?" Reheema was saying, and Vicki swallowed the tightness in her throat.

"Yeah, I'm back."

"I'm okay, but I have real bad news."

"I'm all ears," Vicki said, her gaze on the closed door.

FORTY-TWO

"What's the bad news?" Vicki asked.

"Mar's dead."

"No." Vicki looked out the window, a black, moonless square that reflected her own unhappiness. There were no stars again. "How?"

"Drug overdose. Crack."

Whoa
. "That's terrible. For her and for us."

"I know, right?"

"When?"

"July."

"Last summer. How'd you find out?"

"Long story short, I canvassed the street and got nowhere. Nobody knows Jackson, nobody sees her. Then I remember that lady near Jackson's house, who said their landlord was Polo Realty in Juniata, so I call their offices and go there."

"Good for you."

"I asked can I see the lease, I was Jackson's cousin and maybe I would rent the place, to keep her memory alive."

"And he bought that?"

"He's white. He thinks black people got some weird ways."

Vicki laughed.

"He's right. Look at Michael Jackson. Man's a freak."

"Okay." Vicki laughed again. Despite the bad news, Reheema was evidently flushed with success, and one of them needed self-esteem right now.

"Well, Jackson signed the lease, but the deposit check, for the earnest money, was from a Martella Jenkins."

"Mar."

"Right, and her address was right on the check."

"Yes! Where does she live, or did she live?"

"Northeast, so I went over. By the way, that Cabrio's a nice car."

"You're not getting the Cabrio." Vicki smiled. "The Intrepid has your name all over it."

Reheema chuckled. "Anyway, her brother told me how she died. He didn't know Jackson, though. He just got back from the army. Been gone five years."

"Great work!"

"Thank you, thank you."

"Where are you now?"

"Still in the Northeast, 'bout an hour away."

"Perfect. Pick me up at the office, will you?"

"Oh, sure. Driving Miss Vicki."

"Gimme a break. Also, I think you should stay at my house tonight."

"No way," Reheema said, and hung up.

By eleven o'clock, after a short but intense car ride, they arrived at Vicki's house, but they were barely speaking. Vicki trundled downstairs with a sheet, a thermal blanket, and a feather-filled pillow, while Reheema sulked on a chair in the living room. Zoe rubbed against the leg of her jeans, her tortoiseshell tail curled into a question mark.

"Here we go," Vicki said, hitting the living room. "I'll make up the couch. It'll be nice and comfy."

"I want to sleep in my own house."

"Somebody could be trying to kill you. Namely, me." Vicki dumped the bedclothes on the coffee table.

"This is dumb."

"It is not."

"It is, too."

"I'm taking no chances."

"If somebody's gonna kill me, they could kill me here. This way, you're in trouble, too."

Eek
. "Nobody can hurt you with a tiny but very potent AUSA like me on guard." Vicki looked at Zoe, who blinked, green-eyed. "Also, a cat with a heart problem."

"I want my gun."

"No." Vicki made a mental note to take the gun from her purse and put it in a drawer upstairs. She couldn't get it through the metal detectors at work; they kept confiscating it at security and giving it back to her. Evidently she wasn't the first AUSA to be carrying, but it was a huge pain in the butt and was making her nervous, besides.

Reheema got up, grabbed a white sheet, and helped Vicki tuck it around the couch cushions, a task they finished jointly, albeit in silence.

"You still pouting?"

"Yes."

"Sorry." Vicki smiled and sat down on the couch, newly made. "You did well today."

"I know."

"I think what you found out fleshes out what happened to Shayla, if you're interested."

"More thinking out loud?" Reheema sat back down on the chair, in resignation, if not approval.

"Well, you said that Mar was killed last summer. That's about when Jackson's mother told me she decided to change her life. That would make sense, right?"

"Right."

"Okay, so let's assume Jackson dabbles in crack, and—"

"You don't
dabble
in crack. It dabbles in you."

"What I mean is that Jackson is running with a druggie crowd, and her boyfriend is Browning, ace crack dealer. He moves her into a nice place and sets her up."

"Knocks her up, too."

"I hate that expression."

"Sorry, Miss Vicki."

Vicki smiled. "Okay, anyway. Then she gets pregnant and realizes that she has to keep her body clean and change her life. Or she'll end up like her friend Mar, or her baby will."

"People wake up." Reheema nodded. "Not often enough, but they do. Some do."

"So? So what? We learned more about Jackson, but not enough. Or enough to know why she'd frame you, as part of her rehab. Her calling our office would have happened about the same time." Vicki sighed, her fatigue catching up with her, as well as nagging thoughts about Dan. "The problem is, what do we do now? We're at a dead end."

"Not necessarily. I still got people to canvass. Lots of people weren't home today. I'll go back again tomorrow and talk to the ones I missed. They'll be home because I heard it's gonna snow again tomorrow, so everybody'll be hunkering down."

"Were they nearby neighbors?"

"Not really, but you never know. I never quit a race, and I won't start now."

Vicki smiled. "Okay, good. Because I have to go back to work."

"No problem, I'll keep the car and the phone. If you call, leave a message. I got the code."

"Done."

Reheema scratched the top of Zoe's multicolored head. "Did Dan the Man say anything about my mother?"

"He already talked to the U.S. Attorney, who's gonna talk to the commissioner himself."

"When's that gonna happen?"

"I think today or tomorrow."

"Thanks." Reheema paused. "I didn't bother Bethave today, as much as I wanted to."

"Good restraint."

"Not at all. I figured it'd only make her run. She has to think we let it go." Reheema half-smiled. "I'll take the couch."

"No, I will."

"What if Dan the Man comes home and finds me in your bed?"

"He won't." Vicki gave a short laugh, and Reheema cocked her head.

"Uh-oh. Trouble in paradise?"

"Not really. Well, maybe a little."

"Like what?"

Vicki couldn't decide how much to tell her. "He wants me to behave myself, is all."

"Ha! Then he better come get his damn cat," Reheema said, and burst into laughter.

A minute later, so did Vicki.

Even though she knew it was completely lame, Vicki got up early the next morning and spent way too long trying to look hot for her estranged boyfriend, blow-drying her hair and putting on her best jeans and blue cashmere sweater. Reheema dropped her off at work on her way to canvassing, and Vicki stepped off the elevator at eight o'clock into an empty elevator bank; by the time she got to reception, she realized that the media, staff, and curiosity-seekers wouldn't be in today, only the hardworking, fully committed, blown-dry AUSAs.
Like me!

Vicki waved to the one receptionist, who buzzed her in without a thumbs-up, and she went down the hallway, which was also empty. She braced herself and popped her head into Dan's office, but he wasn't at his desk, though his light was on.
Fine. Be that way.

She had work to do and couldn't mope around forever. She went to her office with a cup of fresh Starbucks, took off her coat, pushed up her sweater sleeves, and closed her door so she wouldn't be tempted to look up and see if Dan was there. The night's sleep had brought no change in perspective on their fight; in other words, she still knew she was right and he was wrong. But she missed him.

She sat down at her desk, finished her grand jury script, then started on the other witnesses. The medical examiner, Dr. Soresh, would have to testify, and Vicki looked through her mound of mail for his report, which had come in last week. She found a thick brown envelope with the familiar seal and braced herself. Autopsy reports were always awful to read; she'd start with Jackson's and move on to Morty's only when she felt strong enough. All she had to do was get the basics from each: official cause of death, number and location of entrance and exit wounds, to sketch the case for the grand jury.

Vicki slid out the papers. POSTMORTEM REPORT: JACKSON, SHAYLA read the boldface line at the top. She scanned the first page, containing the grim details about Jackson: "Pregnant Black Female, Age 23; Height 5'4"; Weight, 145." After that, it stated Cause of Death—exsanguination and internal injury due to gunshot wounds—and Manner of Death—Homicide. Vicki made a note of the Manner of Death for her script and turned the page. EXTERNAL EXAMINATION read the top of the page, and the description of the external examination of the body began at the top: "The head is normocephalic. The scalp hair is black and is up to six inches in length. The irrides are brown and the sclerae showed petechiae…"

Vicki skipped ahead, then was sorry she had. The cold, typed detail of the chest wounds, in old-fashioned Courier font, were gruesome, and she skimmed them quickly to get to the facts she needed and finish this awful job. She skimmed down to abdomen, which described in medical detail the gunshot wounds to Jackson's abdomen and her uterus beneath, which were all the more horrifying because of the level of medical detail. Just when Vicki thought she couldn't take any more she noticed something in the detail:

The fetus, approximately eight months and one week in gestation, was a female of mixed race, apparently African American and Caucasian.

She blinked, surprised. Vicki had assumed Shayla Jackson's baby was Browning's, but the report meant that it couldn't have been. What did it mean, if anything? Could that have been why they broke up? She skimmed the rest of the report for another reference, but didn't find any.

Suddenly her phone rang and she jumped. "Allegretti," she said, hoping it was Dan.

"Vicki, it's Jane, in reception? There's a buncha boxes just got delivered for you from ATF, Special Agent Pizer. Label says the matter is Kalahut."

"My new case. I'll be right there." Vicki got up, almost relieved to leave the grisly postmortem report behind for a minute. She opened her door and checked Dan's office on the fly, but it was still empty. She went to the reception room, which was dominated by fifteen cardboard boxes with ATF stickers, stacked in the center. "You weren't kidding."

"They delivered a few boxes last night, too," Jane said from behind her bulletproof window. "They're in the file room."

"There's too many to put in my office. Do we have a spare conference room, at least for a few days? I got a meeting with Agent Pizer today." Vicki checked her watch. 11:05. "At noon."

"Hold on." Jane checked the conference room log. "C is free until Friday. It's the little one, with no windows."