Notorious (5 page)

 

I
n the dream, the noise was a siren and Melanie was screaming. She was back in the afternoon, back in the bombing. But from far away, she heard the telephone ringing in her bedroom, and knew that this time, the smoke and the flames were in her imagination.

The ringing was real. Melanie rolled over and fumbled in the darkness for the telephone. The clock on the bedside table said 3:20. It must be bad news. What else could it be, at this hour?

“Hello?”

There was a slight delay, a buzzing on the line.

“Melanie?”

The voice made her sit bolt upright in bed. Rough and sweet, with that unmistakable New York accent.

“Do you know what time it is?” she demanded.

“Sorry to wake you. Where I am now, it's hard to predict when I can get to a phone,” Dan O'Reilly said.

The timing of the phone call wasn't what made Melanie angry. It was the fact that he'd called at all. She was doing well. She was moving on with her life. But hearing his voice was enough to set her back. Melanie had met Dan O'Reilly on a case and fallen hard for him, right in the midst of her painful split from her philandering ex-husband, Steve Hanson. She'd survived her divorce with flying colors, only to let Dan break her heart.

“What are you doing calling me? We're not speaking,” Melanie said.

“You said that. I never agreed.”

“Fine, I said it. That means I don't want you to call.”

“I heard about that thing today, that you were there when it hap
pened. I'm working with the guy who interviewed you. I can't say any more over this phone.”

He must be assigned to Rick Lynch's squad, then. And the hissing and time delay on the line meant he was on a satellite phone. Dan was a third-generation New York City cop, the first in his family to go federal, and he worked terrorism now like everybody else in the Bureau these days. At a dire moment in their relationship, he'd accepted one of those if-I-tell-you-I'll-have-to-kill-you assignments overseas. He'd run away just like her father had, and as far as she was concerned, he shouldn't bother to come back.

“Are you okay?” Dan asked. “My friend said you looked a little shaken up. He said you looked good, though.”

Melanie wanted to hang up, but she was having trouble gathering the willpower. Hearing Dan's voice after months of not talking to him was such a shock.

“That reminds me,” Dan was saying, “guy I know, a different guy, said you put, like, blond highlights in your hair. I keep trying to imagine that. Melanie as a blonde.”

There was a smile in his voice. She pictured the laugh lines around his blue eyes. What the hell are you doing, Melanie Vargas? Talking to Dan was about the stupidest thing she could do.

“I'm fine, and I'm going back to sleep.”

“Wait! Please, you have a right to be mad. I've been out of touch. But that tip you passed along? It's looking good. I'm shipping out tomorrow to follow up on it. I'll be closer. I'll be able to call.”

“I ended this relationship, remember? It's over. Do not call me. Understand?”

“But—”

She slammed the phone down.

T
he morning dawned too
bright and sunny for Melanie's mood. It was hot again, so hot that the deejay on the radio dispensed dire climate predictions along with the traffic and weather reports while Melanie got dressed. She put on a summer-weight pantsuit with a tank top underneath, something she hadn't worn in months. The suit hung baggy on her slimmed-down frame. Melanie had lost twelve pounds since breaking up with Dan—an unanticipated benefit of her unchosen freedom. She got up an hour earlier each morning and ran on the new treadmill in the corner of her bedroom to keep the weight off. It made her feel like something in her life was under control.

On her way out the door, Melanie stopped in the kitchen, where Yolie was packing a picnic lunch so she and Maya could spend the morning in the park.

“Mommy, say bye-bye,” Maya called from her booster seat. She was finishing her oatmeal, her hair already arranged by Yolie in ponytails with bows around them.

Melanie couldn't help smiling. “Bye, Maya!”

“Bye, Mommy!”

“Bye, Yolie!”

“Bye, Mommy!” Yolie said, smiling too.

At the office, things were far less cheery. Susan had called a team meeting for nine o'clock sharp. When Melanie walked into the chief's suite a few minutes early, she found Shekeya Jenkins seated at her old desk in the anteroom. Shekeya had been Bernadette DeFelice's secretary before Bernadette became a judge, back when she still ran Major Crimes with an iron fist. After Bernadette's departure, Shekeya herself had been promoted to paralegal. She was now assigned to help Melanie and Susan with the Briggs trial.

“I'm getting major déjà vu, seeing you sitting there,” Melanie said.

“What, like Bernadette's inside instead of Susan? Please, that woman knows if she shows her ugly-ass face around here, blood is gonna spill.”

Shekeya had undergone a major makeover since her promotion, wearing conservative business suits and returning her previously orange braids to their natural ebony color. But her tongue was as sharp as ever.

“Why, what's she done to you lately?” Melanie asked.

“I was here till eleven-thirty last night xeroxing witness statements because of her goddamn early discovery order, that's what. So do not expect sweet words from me this morning.”

“Sweet words right now would make me barf.”

Shekeya eyed Melanie with real concern. “I heard you were right there yesterday, when it happened. You okay?”

“Do I look okay?”

“No, you look like shit. But I mean that in the nicest way.”

Melanie laughed.

“Here's some news that's not gonna help, so brace yourself,” Shekeya said. “We got a new addition to the trial team. A recent hire. Jennifer Lamont.”

“Why is that bad news? We can use an extra pair of hands.”

“She's young and pretty and she was Judge Fox's law clerk. Need I say more?”

“That doesn't mean she slept with him, and it doesn't mean he got her the job here. You pay too much attention to gossip.”

“And
you
live in a dreamworld.”

“If she can read and write and doesn't have two heads, I want her on the case. You weren't in court yesterday. We need all the help we can get, or Atari is gonna walk.”

“Don't tell me that.”

Melanie poured herself a cup of coffee from the pot on the credenza and walked into Susan's office. A young woman seated at the conference table put down her own coffee with a start.

“Oh,” Melanie said, startled, too. Could this be Jennifer? She glanced over her shoulder at the open door, wondering how far Shekeya's voice had carried.

“I was early, so I just came right in. Susan said it was okay. I'm Jennifer Lamont. I'm new. I just got assigned to the case,” the young woman said. She had an unusual voice—soft and husky, with a Southern lilt.

“Melanie Vargas. Glad to have you aboard.”

Melanie slid into a chair across from Jennifer. The girl was pretty enough, with long brown hair and a nice figure, but hardly looked like a femme fatale.

“I can't believe my good luck,” Jennifer said. “Just entered on duty, and not only am I on the trial of the century, I'm working with the best lawyers in the office. I hope you won't mind if I ask a lot of questions, but I want to learn the ropes quickly, and everyone says you know what's what around here.”

The comment pleased Melanie. “Sure. Ask me whatever you want.”

“My first question is, what's this meeting about? I was told to report here, but not exactly why.”

“There's news out of Washington relating to the bombing yesterday. Mark Sonschein is coming to brief us.”

“Mark Sonschein? The chief of the Criminal Division?”

“Yes.”

Jennifer's eyes widened. It
was
a lot to be meeting with the big boss your first week on the job.

“Don't worry, you're not expected to say anything,” Melanie said, feeling protective of Jennifer already. “You're here to listen.”

Jennifer smiled with relief. “Thanks.”

What was Shekeya talking about? The kid was sweet.

Papo West came in with several DEA agents. They sat down, and Melanie introduced them to Jennifer. A moment later Shekeya entered pushing a cart loaded with three-ring binders. She cocked an eyebrow when she noticed Jennifer, but Melanie ignored her. Mark and Susan appeared in the doorway and conferred in hushed tones for a moment.

“Melanie,” Mark called. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

“Sure.”

“Out here, please,” he said, jerking his head toward the anteroom.

Melanie passed Susan on her way out and shot her an inquiring look. Susan just nodded encouragingly. Susan's secretary, Vonice James, was now at her desk. Vonice was calm and polite, not salty like Shekeya, but not as proactive a worker, either. She glanced at them impassively, then turned away and resumed typing on her computer.

“Big news,” Mark said in a hushed tone. “We think we found the bomber. You ready to look at a picture?”

“Of course.”

Suddenly the full implications of having witnessed Lester's murder sank in. She'd have to testify. Point her finger at him in court. Get protection, most likely.

“Prepare yourself. It's not attractive,” Mark said, opening a manila folder.

“He's dead?”

“Yes.”

She didn't show her relief. This was good for her, but bad for the investigation. A critical participant in the crime was now beyond the reach of interrogation. Most likely, he'd been killed by his controllers in order to silence him.

Mark opened the folder. It was a color fax, the man's face in close-up, the top of his head blown off.

“It's him. Where'd they find him?”

“In a ditch right off the Northway in a little town called Champlain. The assumption is, he was heading for the Canadian border with a coconspirator. He let his guard down. Maybe even fell asleep. Woke up dead.”

“Any witnesses?”

“Not yet.”

“ID?”

“His pockets were stripped clean, but they left his fingers and his teeth. The M.E.'ll lift prints. Who knows, maybe we'll get something, but a lot of the terror guys don't show up in the system. They've been off in some training camp at the far end of the earth.”

“This guy didn't act alone. He was a mope, a nobody. How do we find the masterminds if he's dead?”

“That's not your problem, Melanie. Your job is the trial. Speaking of which, people are waiting for us. Come on.”

Melanie followed Mark back into the office and took her seat at the long table. The picture of the dead bomber stayed with her, bringing her some measure of comfort. He'd stood there watching them, lying in wait until the moment he could press the button that would take Lester's body apart. He deserved what he got. Hell, he deserved worse.

At the head of the table, Mark was glancing at some notes on his yellow legal pad. He looked grim and tired, but then he always did, the result of dark circles around his eyes and five o'clock shadow that Melanie had never seen him without. Both seemed noticeably worse this morning.

Mark cleared his throat. “Good morning, folks. Let's get started. What I'm about to say can't leave this room, understood?”

Everybody nodded.

“That's more than just a figure of speech. The press is going berserk with the bombing story. Every news program led with it last night. So far, none of them has the Gamal Abdullah angle, and we have to keep it that way. The second Abdullah knows we're looking for him, he'll disappear without a trace. If that information were to leak—well, let's just say you'd all come in for some pretty uncomfortable scrutiny from the Office of Professional Responsibility. Are we clear?”

Mark made stern eye contact with each of them in turn, then flipped a couple of pages ahead in his notes.

“The first piece of news, which is about to hit the airwaves any minute, is that the body of the car bomber was discovered at approximately six o'clock this morning in a ditch upstate, not far from the Canadian border.”

A murmur went around the table.

“Cause of death appears to be multiple gunshot wounds to the back of the head,” Mark continued. “The FBI is investigating. You'll be updated on a need-to-know basis only. I'm reminding you that I am your Chinese wall. All briefings about the bombing will come through me. You are the trial team. AUSAs Baker, Monahan, and Yee are the bombing team. You are not to speak to them. They are not to speak to you. You are not to speak to the FBI agents investigating the bombing, either, at least not without my permission. These precautions are being taken for a reason. The bombing team will be
reviewing many of Lester Poe's files looking for leads. Poe's partner, Evan Diamond, is now your adversary on the Briggs trial. We need to avoid all allegations of impropriety, or our former colleague Judge DeFelice will be only too happy to nail us to the wall. Clear?”

Everybody nodded. A muscle twitched in Mark's cheek.

“Good. Now the update. The lab confirmed the field findings that the explosives used to kill Lester Poe were chemically identical to those employed last year in the Barcelona nightclub bombing. This strongly suggests that Abdullah found out about Briggs wanting to squeal on him, and assassinated Poe as a warning to Briggs. In your dealings with Diamond and Briggs, you should be alert for any insight into Poe's death. If you come up with something, bring it directly to me and I will put you in touch with the bombing investigators under appropriately controlled circumstances.”

Mark took a sip of water. “Now, as for the Briggs trial, which is scheduled to begin a week from Monday, you may have noticed that your nice little drug murder case has morphed into a major terrorism investigation. Hate to break it to you, but this means it's no longer yours. All sorts of people have their claws into it, and I'm not talking just FBI and Homeland Security. I'm not even talking CIA or military. The president of the United States was briefed on the Poe bombing this morning.”

Everybody exchanged nervous glances. It didn't matter how ambitious you were; scrutiny from that high up the food chain was not a good thing. It made the bosses crazy and magnified the slightest misstep into a monumental screwup.

“Here's the bottom line,” Mark said. “I've been instructed that developing information leading to the capture of Gamal Abdullah is now the top priority, bigger than victory at trial. Therefore, we've been ordered to approach Atari Briggs and make whatever plea offer it takes to secure his help in capturing Abdullah.”

A shocked silence descended on the room. Melanie was the first to break it.

“Mark, you heard what happened in court yesterday. Atari's hell-bent on going to trial. He'll turn us down flat.”

“Why would he turn us down? Unless Susan's been misleading me for the past several months, your proof is strong. And like I said, you're authorized to make
any
offer it takes. If we have to agree to dismiss the case entirely, so be it.”

Susan threw her pen down. “The man is guilty. He's a killer. And instead of going to jail he gets to—what—be on the cover of
GQ
? Please!”

“I'm not here to debate this. We have no choice in the matter. We're dealing with a directive from on high. We're being told to approach Diamond and get Briggs to cooperate. We have to do it. End of story.”

“Right before trial, too,” Susan said. “We'll look weak. He'll laugh in our faces.”

“What should I do,” Mark said, “refuse to obey a direct order from Washington?”

They stared at each other.

“All right,” she said, sighing. “But don't expect me to be happy about it.”

“I'm not happy, either, Susan.”

“So who makes the contact with Evan?”

“Melanie discussed the cooperation with Poe,” Mark said. “She's the logical choice to call Diamond. Not only does it seem more natural, but it keeps the approach low-key. If we send in somebody with a big title, like me or even you, Susan, we tip our hand about how hot we are to make a deal. I don't want to give this thing away for free if we don't have to. Ideally, we can get Briggs to plead to the charges.”

Susan nodded. “Makes sense. We don't want to undermine our bargaining position. But are you up for this, Mel? The Briggs case is yours, too. You've been working on it every bit as long as I have. Are you comfortable making that kind of approach?”

“Seeing Atari walk would be disappointing,” Melanie said. “But seeing the people behind the bombing walk would make me sick. Lester Poe died in front of me. I'm catching the ones responsible. Mark won't let me near the bombing investigation, so I'll do my part this way. I'll flip a scumbag like Atari Briggs and deal with a snake like Evan Diamond, if that's what it takes. I'm getting justice for Lester.”