2

MELANIE CROSSED THE STREET, STARING WIDE-EYED at the Bensons’ burning house. They were acquaintances rather than friends, but she knew them. Everybody did. They were like celebrities in her universe. Jed Benson had been a famous prosecutor in her office years ago, then left and made a bundle in private practice. A serious bundle, like major lechuga. Melanie had met Jed and his wife, Nell, once or twice in passing, though never intimately, never for long. She wasn’t in their league. They were the types who went out every night in black tie and jewels and got their pictures in the paper the next day standing beside the mayor. The types you’d think would be immune to tragedy like this.

The crowd was too thick for easy movement. Melanie maneuvered the stroller as best she could to a spot a few feet from the police barricade. The medical examiner’s refrigerated van drove up. The crowd-control officers pulled aside the barricade to let the van pass. You didn’t call the ME unless you had bodies. Somebody in that house was dead.

A ripple surged through the crowd. A woman fought her way up to the police barricade and grabbed the arm of a young cop with a dark crew cut.

“Officer, please, let me talk to the firemen!” the woman shouted over the din. “I know the house! Let me help!”

Between the backs of the people in the crowd, Melanie recognized Sophie Cho, her college roommate, still her friend. Sophie was an architect, and she had spent the last year working on a renovation of the Bensons’ town house that made the society pages. Not only was her livelihood burning to the ground here, but she was personal friends with the family. Sophie looked deeply alarmed, face pale, eyes dark with worry. Melanie angled the stroller deeper into the crowd, not stopping until she reached Sophie and the cop at the barricade. The cop looked at Melanie, clearly trying to place her.

“Yeah? What can I do for you?” he asked.

“Melanie Vargas from the U.S. Attorney’s Office,” she said, reaching into the handbag dangling from the stroller handle and flashing her creds. “You testified for me on a drug seizure a few months ago.”

“Sure, okay, now I remember,” he said, instantly more polite. “Did you catch this case? You need to get in?”

“You work for Lieutenant Ramirez, right?” she asked, dodging his question. Case? They must suspect arson. Now she was really curious.

“Yeah. The lieutenant’s over with the fire chief,” the cop said.

“Can I speak with him, please?” Melanie asked.

Motioning to a nearby patrol officer to take over his post, the cop walked off to find Rommie. Sophie, who’d fallen into astonished silence at Melanie’s approach, turned to her now with a terrified look.

“Was someone hurt? Are the Bensons okay?”

Melanie reached out and squeezed Sophie’s arm as reassuringly as she could under the circumstances. But how reassuring could she be? Things looked grim for whoever was in that house.

“Soph, I don’t know anything more than you do, but I’m going to ask the lieutenant who’s in charge of the scene. And if you think you can do something to help, we’ll let him know that.”

“Yes. Please.”

As they spoke, Romulado Ramirez strode toward them, the other cops and firemen giving way to let him pass. He was dressed sharply as always, but disheveled, his dark hair plastered to his forehead with sweat, his expensive blazer streaked with soot and dust. He sidestepped the barricade and came up to her.

“How you doing, kid?” He hugged Melanie and kissed both cheeks. He was dripping sweat, so much he got her face wet, and he held her for an extra minute, like he needed comfort. He must know Jed Benson. It made sense-they were about the same age, and Rommie had worked with prosecutors in her office for a lot of years.

Rommie glanced at her baby stroller but, in his confusion, hardly seemed to notice it. “I don’t get it, I didn’t even call your boss yet. She got ESP? How’d she know to send you over here?”

Melanie’s boss, Bernadette DeFelice, head of the Major Crimes Unit in the New York City U.S. Attorney’s Office, had a close personal relationship with Rommie Ramirez. They knew each other very well indeed. He would surely talk to her, so Melanie needed to tread carefully to avoid getting caught in a lie.

She kept it as vague as she could. “I’m here to check out the scene, Rommie. What’s going on?”

Rommie shifted on his feet nervously. “How much did Bernadette tell you? I didn’t know she knew already that Jed Benson was murdered. She’s gonna be real upset. And you know it’s never good to upset Bernadette.”

Sophie gasped. Shock hit Melanie like a slap in the face. Jed Benson, golden boy, star, murdered? She could hardly believe what she was hearing. A victim like him, a neighborhood like this? Impossible! At least, extremely rare. But if it was true, it was the kind of high-profile case that could make a career. And make a girl forget her problems. She wanted in. No, she needed in. It was fate, destino, that had called her here at just this moment. She was too junior to get assigned such a juicy case in the normal course of things, she knew that. But being at the scene of the crime gave her an edge. She could turn it to her advantage. This was her big opportunity, handed to her like a gift just when she needed it most. She would not let it slip away.

MELANIE LOOKED ROMMIE STRAIGHT IN THE EYE and mustered her most confident, professional tone. “I’m ready to work the case. The fire was an arson, right?”

“Set to destroy evidence of the murder, looks like.” Rommie nodded.

“So Benson was already dead when the fire started. How was he killed?”

“Hard to tell, it’s such a mess in there. I gotta talk to the ME.”

Sophie grabbed the stroller handles as if to steady herself. Melanie glanced over at her, but Sophie immediately took a breath and straightened up.

“He was the only victim?” Melanie asked Rommie. “No family members?”

“His daughter was…her fingers were cut off. Amanda. She’s fifteen. Maybe to get information-who knows.” He looked away, his voice breaking as if he might cry. After a moment he pulled himself together and continued. “The housekeeper was beaten. They’ve both been taken to the hospital. Nell Benson wasn’t home and still hasn’t returned. We’re trying to locate her.”

“Any leads on the perpetrator?”

“Fled. Blue-and-whites patrolling the area, but we won’t even have a physical description until the surviving victims can be interviewed.”

“Okay,” she said. “Let’s go inside and examine the crime scene.”

Rommie was taken aback. “You want to view the scene now? Melanie, this isn’t show-and-tell for the prosecutors. Besides, what’s your jurisdiction? Murder isn’t normally a federal crime. The state DA’s gonna go ballistic if I let you in.”

“I could ask you the same question,” she replied evenly. “Why is a narcotics lieutenant running this murder scene instead of somebody from Manhattan North Homicide? But I figure you work out the politics on your end. I’ll handle them on mine. If we get to the scene first, we get first dibs. The state DA will have to live with that. There’s always a way to federalize a murder charge. I just need to hit the books and I’ll find ten cases to cite to the judge.”

He shook his head uncertainly. “I don’t know, Melanie.”

She had to find the right words. She risked playing the card of Rommie’s relationship with Bernadette DeFelice. “I understand. You want to make sure everything’s done right, out of respect for Jed’s memory. But remember, you have a special relationship with our office. If we get the case, we’ll handle it with kid gloves. We’ll consult you every step of the way. You won’t get that kind of access from the DA.”

“You think your boss is gonna consult? Dream on, kid,” he said. But she read something different in his eyes. He was calculating the benefit of his direct pipeline to Bernadette. Melanie stood her ground, watching him, sensing that she’d scored.