“Did Nell Benson call you or something?” she asked, curious as to how Bernadette had found out. “I just left the hospital a little while ago, and I thought we’d worked out a deal.”

“You thought wrong. She called Lieutenant Ramirez and raised hell.”

“I thought Lieutenant Ramirez was off the case. What’s he doing butting in?” Just what she needed-Ramirez still trying to run the case, meddling through Bernadette.

“Watch your tone! Romulado is friends with the family, and he’s very upset by your behavior. Your so-called interview had all the finesse of a sledgehammer. You need to back off, girlfriend! If you embarrass me, I’ll reassign you for poor performance, and that’ll follow you around for the rest of your career. Is that what you want? Because you know I don’t make idle threats.”

Why on earth had she done this to herself, and at a time when her marriage was in a shambles? Melanie wondered. Work was her refuge, her salvation, especially at moments of personal crisis. She needed to keep her career on track, or she would never be able to handle all her other problems. Even if she choked on it, she had to appease Bernadette.

“Look, Bernadette, I understand that Lieutenant Ramirez is concerned for the Bensons’ welfare. I’m concerned, too. That maniac Slice is still out there. He has a reputation for killing witnesses. I agreed to wait for Amanda’s psychiatrist, but if I wait too long, Amanda could end up dead. I have no intention of having a witness killed on my watch. If you have a better way to handle it, please, tell me.”

“I better, or we’re all in trouble,” Bernadette said. “First off, you need to calm down. The girl has a twenty-four-hour guard posted at her door, so cut the hysterics about witness killing. She’s perfectly safe. Second, you need to handle the family better. It’s all PR. Make a big show of backing off, giving Amanda a chance to get some strength back, so on and so forth. Like you’re doing them a huge favor. Then, in a day or two, try again. If Nell Benson still gives you a problem, that’s when you threaten the subpoena.”

“Whatever you say, Bernadette. As long as we both know that the delay was your decision. A day or two can be a long time in an investigation like this. I don’t want to be accountable for the consequences.”

Melanie’s frankness read like insubordination to Bernadette. She flushed an apoplectic red. “You’re obviously missing the point,” Bernadette hissed. “These complaints about your performance are very awkward for me. I better not hear any others, or you won’t like the consequences. So do like I said.”

“Okay.” The fight suddenly drained out of Melanie. Some battles couldn’t be won, she realized-like any battle with Bernadette.

Satisfied, Bernadette turned on her heel and marched out of the room.

Melanie slumped on her desk, pillowing her head on folded arms. She wanted to cry, but she was afraid if she started, she might never stop. She closed her eyes, breathing rhythmically, trying to calm herself, but a loud rapping on the open door shattered her attempt at a Zen moment. She jerked her head up. Maurice Dawson, the custodian, stood in her doorway supporting a large handcart loaded with boxes.

“Yo, Melanie, I got a big delivery here for y’all. This ain’t even half of it. I got, like, twenty boxes.”

“What is it?”

“Don’t know. Come over from 26 Federal.”

FBI headquarters. It had to be the files from the old wiretap Dan and Randall had done on the C-Trout Blades. Just as well. Work was her best refuge, she reminded herself again.

“Okay, thanks, Maurice. Just put ’em down on the floor wherever you can find space.”

“If I do that, you won’t be able to get out the door.”

“It doesn’t matter. The way things are going, I’m not getting out of here tonight anyway.”

Maurice laughed, but she hadn’t been joking.

AFTER MAURICE FINISHED STACKING THE BOXES and left, Melanie checked her watch. It was a quarter to six, almost time for Elsie to go home. Even if Melanie left that minute, she’d still be late. She picked up the telephone and dialed.

“Hanson residence,” Elsie answered.

“Hey, Elsie, it’s me.”

“Now, why you calling me at this hour? Aren’t you supposed to be in the subway? I don’t like the sound of this.”

“I’m really sorry, but I’m running late. I’m caught at work. There’s nothing I can do about it. Steve’s in L.A. until tomorrow, so I was hoping you could stay a little late.”

“Well, I can’t tonight. I need more notice than that. Who’s gonna give my kids dinner?” Three of Elsie’s kids still lived at home. The youngest was twenty-one.

“I feel terrible asking this, but could they possibly order a pizza?” she asked.

“They like my cooking.”

“Please, Elsie. I’ll make it up to you. And I’ll pay you overtime.”

“I should think so. But I still can’t stay. I’m not used to this. If Mrs. Hanson ever had a social engagement, she told me at least a week in advance.”

“This isn’t a social engagement. I have to work. My boss is on my back. It’s not my fault.”

“What kind of treatment is this, now? Mrs. Hanson never treated me this way.”

“Look, Elsie, I’m really sorry. It’s not my choice, believe me. I’ll call around. Steve’s parents are away in Maine, but I’ll try my sister and my mom. Maybe one of them is free tonight. We need to talk, though. I’m under a lot of pressure at work, and I’m going to need some extra help from you in the next few weeks.”

“Humph,” Elsie grunted, not committing to anything.

Melanie hung up, flushed with anxiety. She’d never discussed overtime with Elsie before. It hadn’t come up, because Melanie had studiously avoided working late since coming back from maternity leave. She rushed home to be with Maya at bedtime. But her banker’s hours were about to end. Before Maya had been born, Melanie routinely worked until eight or nine o’clock at night. When she had a trial or a brief due, she’d stay at the office until eleven, even later, sometimes all night. The job demanded it. Bernadette had obviously noticed she was slacking off, and now, with the Benson case, no way would she get away with it. Melanie sighed deeply, knowing that her baby-sitting problems were just beginning.

She longed to give up and go home to Maya. But that wouldn’t be doing right by her job. Time to call her mother or her sister. She’d been avoiding them the past few days, not wanting to let on about Steve’s moving out. They already knew about the cheating, and she couldn’t stand any more of their sympathy. It came with a tinge of smugness, of how-the-mighty-have-fallen. Like, she might have a fancy diploma, but she couldn’t manage her own life. As if they could. She almost wished she’d never told them, but that awful night she found out, it was either talk to somebody or go completamente loca.

She deserved the prize for the worst way to find out your husband was cheating. It was almost a month ago now. Maya had been five months old and really sick for the first time-103.6, vomiting, her little body burning up. Steve was in L.A. on a deal, and Melanie was alone with the baby, worried, on the verge of taking her to the emergency room. She needed to hear Steve tell her it would be okay. She dialed his hotel and asked the operator to put her through to him. It was after midnight in L.A., but the phone rang and rang. He must still be working, she thought. So she tried the conference room in his firm’s L.A. office, where he’d been camped out the past few days. A woman answered. Melanie never found out who she was, but this girl had an agenda. Far from covering for anybody or sparing anyone’s feelings, she wanted Melanie to know.

“Oh,” she said, “you’re Steve’s wife. Steve and Samantha left hours ago. If you can’t get them in his room, try hers.” Then she carefully spelled Samantha’s last name.