The woman looked from Vicki to Reheema, behind her bifocals. “What do you wanna know?”
“May we come in?”
“No.”
“Did you know Ms. Jackson?”
“Not very well, she kep’ to herself.”
“Did you talk to her much, even casually? Like if she had to borrow something, or you did?”
“No. I saw on the TV they caught the guys that killed her.”
“They did. Were you here that night? Did you see or hear anything?”
“I was at work, I clean at night. I missed the whole thing.”
I didn’t. “How long did Ms. Jackson live here, if you know?”
“She moved in two years ago, maybe less. I hardly talked to her but once or twice, when the trash man didn’t come, during the strike, you know.”
“Did she work?”
“I don’t think so. She stayed in a lot. Played her music, I use ta hear it through the wall.”
Vicki made a mental note. “Do you know if she owned or rented?”
“Rent. We mostly rent on this street. From Polo Realty, in Juniata. They own all these houses.”
“Did she live alone, as long as she lived here?”
“Yeh.”
Vicki held up the newspaper through the plastic storm window. On the second page were photos of the people killed in the Toys “R” Us murders, with a sidebar about Browning and his driver, whose name was David Cole. Vicki pointed at Browning. “Ever see this man visit Jackson at her house?”
“That was her boyfriend.”
“Why do you say that?”
“He was here a lot.”
“When would that be about? From when she moved in or later?”
“When she moved in, I think. He helped her move in. I seen him.”
“Was she pregnant then?”
“She was pregnant?” The woman’s graying eyebrows raised. “Oh yeah, I heard that on the TV but I didn’t know that, for myself.”
“Okay, ever see the other two?” Vicki pointed to the pictures of Cole and Bill Toner.
“No.”
“Ever see any other men visit?”
“No.”
“Ever see girlfriends visit?”
“No.”
“No one girlfriend in particular? You know, like girls have a best friend?”
“No.”
“Ever hear her mention a girlfriend named Mar?”
“No, I hardly talked to her.” The woman looked behind her. “I gotta go now. I got a cake in the oven.”
“Thanks so much for your time,” Vicki said, and the door closed.
Reheema said, “She was lying about the cake.”
“I would, too.”
Vicki and Reheema tried the next seven houses, stopping at the end of the street; two of the neighbors wouldn’t answer the door, and the other five knew progressively less about Shayla Jackson. Then they went back to Jackson’s and resumed at the first house on the other side, with Reheema pressing the bell. A black teenage boy answered, his eyes widening when he saw a gorgeous black woman standing on his doorstep, having stepped out of his dreams.
“I’m Reheema Bristow, is your mother at home?” she asked, and the kid nodded.
Suddenly, Vicki’s cell phone started ringing in her purse, so she stepped back and pulled it from her bag.
Groaning when she read the display.
Vicki stepped off the elevator into work, surprised to find the floor crowded and abuzz with action. Reporters and photographers spilled into the elevator bank, talking and laughing in groups, with still cameras hanging on their shoulders and steno pads stuffed in the back pocket of their jeans. ATF personnel, Philly uniformed cops, and an older AUSA stood talking to the press. She had to barrel through the throng to the reception room, and heads began turning as reporters recognized her and began to call to her.
“Just one comment, Ms. Allegretti!” “One question, Ms Allegretti? “Picture, Vicki, how about a picture?” “Nice bust, Allegretti!”
Vicki put her head down and called “No comment” to the reporters mobbing her. The reception desk was fully staffed behind its bulletproof glass, and both receptionists buzzed her in with matching grins and a thumbs-up. Beyond the door, AUSAs, ATF agents, secretaries, and paralegals were going back and forth in the halls, and they all congratulated Vicki on the fly. She acknowledged so many snippets of “Sweet!” “Great work!” and “Go get ’em!” that she felt like a celebrity.
AUSAs in jeans and sweaters worked in their boxy offices off the hall, but heads popped up from their desks and smiled at her when she passed, and a group of senior AUSAs stood talking near her office, their heads turning as one when she walked by. “Way to go, Vicki!” called one of the nicest, Marilyn Durham, and an AUSA next to her, Martin Frank, called out, “Allegretti, sweet!” A third, Janie Something, hollered, “’Bout time, sleepyhead!”
“Thanks!” Vicki called out and ducked into the office’s formal conference room. She opened the door, and everyone who was anyone was in mid-meeting. It was a large, modern room with a panel of windows on two sides, and the noonday sun streamed cold onto Strauss, presiding at the head of the table, then Bale, Dan, and the office’s public relations flack, ATF chief Saxon, a top tier of FBI and ATF agents, the commissioner of the Philadelphia police and two of his white-shirted deputies, and the deputy mayor. The room smelled pleasantly of aftershave, and they all sat with fresh coffee around the glistening table, each with a black three-ring binder bearing the gold DOJ emblem.
“Good morning, Vick!” Bale chirped up, too classy to give her in public the grief he’d given her on the phone.
“Sorry I’m late,” Vick called out, avoiding Dan’s eye.
“S’all right, you deserve the extra rest!”
Strauss nodded. “Sure do, young lady! It’s been a long trip since that tragic night, but it’s all over now.” There followed nods and smiles all around, even from Saxon.
“Vicki,” Bale continued, “we just got started and we’d like to give everybody an overview, so we’re all on the same page.” He pointed to an empty chair at the table. “Why don’t you grab a coffee and take your seat, so we can get this party started.” Everybody smiled. “By the way, before I forget, at noon tomorrow you’ll meet with Special Agent Barbara Pizer on Kalahut, that new case. It should take all day.” Bale turned to Saxon. “Barbara’s a very experienced agent, right, John?”
“One of our best,” Saxon answered. He’d lost some weight, and Vicki felt happy for her new friend.
“So, Vick, you’ll be multitasking for a while, working the new case and prepping for the grand jury, but you can handle it.”
“Thanks,” Vicki said, bypassing the coffee and taking her seat in the sun. She felt a wave of guilt that Bale had had to call her to come in. She had hated to leave Reheema to finish the canvassing alone, lending her the Cabrio and her cell phone, but Vicki could see now that she had to be at this meeting. Even though she was one of only three women in the room, and undoubtedly the youngest of all, Vicki felt for the first time as if she belonged here. She had finally become an Assistant United States Attorney. Now all she had to do was figure out how to be in two places at once.
After the meeting, she felt recharged and went to her office and worked all afternoon, preparing scripts for the grand jury in Morty’s case. The first script she prepared was for herself, painstakingly setting out each question she should be asked and the answer she’d give, so she’d be able to give a smooth presentation, devoid of emotion. It didn’t mean preparing it wasn’t emotional, because it required her to relive that night. AUSAs and other staff bustled up and down the halls, but she managed to tune them out and focus on the task at hand.
As the afternoon wore on, she found herself thinking about Reheema. Vicki had called her cell but there was no answer, and her voicemail picked up, so she’d left a message, asking her to call back. She’d told Reheema her voicemail code so she’d be able to retrieve her message
s.
When it started to get dark and Reheema still hadn’t called back, she began to feel anxious. Was Reheema in danger? Why hadn’t she called? Had she found out something? How long did it take to canvass Jackson’s street, anyway? Twilight turned to nighttime, and Vicki worried through the pizza the office had ordered. She’d come back to her desk and called her cell again, but voicemail had picked up. By nine o’clock at night, she understood completely why her parents acted like jerks when they were worried about her.
I want a corgi.
“Snack time!” came a voice from the door. It was Dan, grinning, with a large brown bag in his hands, and the office filled instantly with a delicious aroma.
“What’s in there?” Vicki asked, and he came in and kicked the door closed with the back of his Adidas.
“Room service from Joe’s Peking Duck, just for my baby. That’s right, I am a great boyfriend.” Dan set the bag down and raised his arms. “Reward me, woman.”
“Yay!” Vicki rose and gave him a warm hug, which he returned, then found her lips with a very good kiss. “Wow. Taking a chance in the office, aren’t you?”
“Just one more.” Dan kissed her again, and she felt like his girlfriend again. They broke the embrace, and he started digging in the take-out bag, hauling out the white containers with funny red dragons, one after the other. “Here we have your favorite entree, chicken curry, and cold sesame noodles for an appetizer.”
“Yum. Where’s yours?”
“I ate with Strauss and Bale and them, at Joe’s Peking Duck.”
“The big boys.” Vicki felt mildly hurt. “You didn’t invite me?”
“Aw, babe, it was sort of a spontaneous, late-night thing.” Dan winced. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” Vicki let it go. She didn’t want to prove his point that they couldn’t have a relationship at work, even if they couldn’t. “I’m just worried about Reheema.”
“Reheema? Fill me in, and I promise not to get mad.” Dan took a seat opposite her desk and leaned back in the chair the way he always did, while Vicki fished in her desk drawer and found a pair of disposable chopsticks, then sat down with her chicken dish and dug in.
“First, did you talk to Strauss about the hired killer and the Bethaves?”
“Yes, I did, and he said he’d talk to him after the meeting today. You saw, the commissioner himself was there.” Dan smiled. “Good things are gonna happen now. You’ll see.”
“Great. Thanks.” The chicken tasted wonderful, hot and spicy, and Vicki cheered, momentarily. “Well, Reheema and I kept our side of the bargain today, but I’m worried about her.”
“Why?”
“I think she could be in danger. That maybe her being framed and her mother’s murder are related, and that whoever went to kill her mother was supposed to kill her, too.”
“What?” Dan’s eyes went a bewildered blue. “Why would anybody want Reheema dead?”
“I don’t know, but then again, I don’t know why they’d want her mother dead, either, and that happened.” Vicki set down her chicken curry. “She wondered if it is someone at the office, since the only people who knew she was getting released from the FDC were us.”
“That’s crazy. You guys are going crazy.” Dan rose, and Vicki bore down.
“You promised not to get mad.”
“I’m not mad, I’m frustrated. You can’t believe that. That someone from here is plotting against Reheema?” Dan shook his head. “It’s like I told you, people like Reheema, they have a different view of the world, coming from a different experience. I don’t have to tell you that blacks and whites view the justice system differently, do I?”
“No.”
“So of course she’s gonna think law enforcement is plotting against her! It’s as old as O.J.!”
“Look, obviously, it’s no one from here, but I am worried about her.”
“You know what bothers me? That there was a roomful of top brass today — every agency in the friggin’ city — all sitting around a table, working to make her life better, and she doesn’t think of that!” Dan was getting red under his freckles. “Cops and ATF risk their necks every day, and she doesn’t think of that! Morty got killed running down a CI, and she doesn’t think of that!”
Whoa. Vicki put up a hand. “She does, and so do I. Please, Dan, sit down. If she’s paranoid, she’s entitled to it.”
“But you should know better.” Dan met her gaze evenly, and Vicki didn’t flinch.
“Not when she was arrested on the say-so of somebody who said she was her best friend and didn’t know her at all. I’m concerned enough to make her stay at the house tonight, so she’s safe.”
“Stay with us?”
“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.”