30

HE DIALED AND LISTENED TO THE PHONE RING at the other end, tapping his fingers.

“FCI-Otisville. How may I direct your call?”

“Extension 6239.”

“One moment, please.”

He lit a cigarette while he waited.

“Inmate Records, Grasso speaking.”

“Sal. Hey, brother, how’s the Harley?”

“Oh, it’s you. What’s up?”

“You got that stuff we talked about?”

“You still at that same number?”

“Yup.”

“Call you back in ten minutes from another phone.”

HIS PHONE RANG ABOUT AN HOUR LATER.

“Hello?”

“It’s me,” Grasso said.

“That wasn’t no ten minutes, pal.”

“Hey, I’m doing you a fucking favor here!”

“Not like you’re not getting paid.”

“With what you’re paying me, I’m not risking my job, understand? Now, you want it or not?”

“Depends. Is it anything good? I’m not interested in hearing Diaz jack off for an hour while he talks to some bimbo.”

“Hey, don’t knock it till you try it. You wouldn’t believe some of the shit I hear. Girls moaning and shit, talking dirty. Real graphic. It’s like calling a 900 number, except free.”

“Ah, you’re all fucking perverts up there.”

“Okay, so how’m I gonna get the disk to you? I ain’t e-mailing it ’cause that leaves a trail.”

“Like I said, what is it first?”

“Nah, it’s real good. Diaz called a female prosecutor, I forget her name-”

“Melanie Vargas?”

“Yeah, that’s it. Says he got some hot information about a murder, and she better come visit right away. But get this: ‘The people around you are dirty,’ he says, ‘so watch out.’”

“Huh. He said that?”

“Yup.”

He paused, thinking.

“Hello?” Grasso said.

“Yeah, I’m still here. Do we know if she visited him yet?”

“Didn’t get a chance to check the log.”

“Well, do that. Right away. I need to know. It makes a difference.”

“Okay, but there’s gonna be an extra charge for that.”

“Don’t worry. You’ll get compensated. Hey, listen, I got another proposition for you. It requires a little more risk on your part, but the payoff is that much bigger.”

“Like, how much you talking?”

“Substantial. Could go into the five figures, depending on the service performed.”

“Huh, sounds very interesting. You got my full attention.”

“Okay, here it is. What are my options if I want to make this cocksucker Diaz disappear?”

31

WITH THE AFTERNOON SUN BEHIND HIM, DOLAN Reed stood in front of the picture window, towering over his desk like some enormous statue of a dictator. His face stood out bright red against the glare. Only years of practice prevented Mary Hale from cowering as she approached him.

“What the fuck is this?” he shouted, throwing a piece of paper across the desk at her. She reached out and took it, forcing herself to move slowly and calmly. She sat down in a chair in front of his desk and settled her reading glasses unhurriedly on her nose. She found it worked best with him never to show fear.

“This is, or would appear to be, a subpoena from the U.S. Attorney’s Office for all documents held by us pertaining to the Securilex transaction,” she stated matter-of-factly.

“I can fucking see that, you moron. Didn’t I tell you to handle this Melanie Vargas person?”

“Served by fax, I would note. Not proper service unless we agree to accept it that way.”

“What are you suggesting? Call her up and say we don’t accept it? That’s idiotic.”

“It would buy us a couple of days to respond while they effect proper service,” Mary pointed out.

“A couple of days to shred, you mean!”

Her placid face betrayed no emotion. She’d have to consider what she’d do if he instructed her to destroy documents called for by a subpoena. Things between them in recent times had not been to her satisfaction. Cleaning up his messes was no longer as rewarding as it had once been, so why subject herself to criminal liability? Her mind flew forward, rapidly making calculations. She had it in her power to incite a coup. But she’d see. She’d see how she felt when the time came.

Dolan Reed knew Mary well enough to perceive the resistance in her neutral gaze.

“Oh, for Chrissakes, don’t go getting all moral on me now.”

“Whatever your ultimate decision, Dodo, we’d be wise to at least appear compliant.”

The intercom buzzed simultaneously with the door flying open.

“Miss van der Vere,” his secretary’s flustered voice announced over the intercom as Sarah bolted in.

“Look at this!” Sarah cried, holding out a piece of paper.

“Our Miss Vargas has been busy,” Mary noted wryly, taking it from Sarah’s hand and perusing it. “Hmm. This one’s a bit different. It calls for testimony before the grand jury pertaining to certain criminal acts. I’m a bit rusty on my criminal-code citations. Securities fraud I recognize, but this other one…hmm.”

Mary got up and strolled over to the bookshelf, pulling out a crimson-bound volume, enjoying the way they followed her with their eyes. She turned the pages slowly, drawing out the suspense.

“Oh, of course! Title 18, United States Code, Section 1951. Interference with commerce by threats or violence. It’s the extortion statute. How could I have forgotten?”

She snapped the book shut and replaced it on the shelf, then made her way sedately to her seat. Leaning back, she held the subpoena at arm’s length to see it better.

“So Sarah’s being asked to testify about acts of extor tion. And below, in the section relating to documents sought, it asks that she bring any and all videotapes and audiotapes used or intended to be used to extort any benefit, monetary or otherwise, from Dolan Reed, members of the Reed firm, its employees, agents, or clients.” Mary stopped reading, raising her eyebrows. “Any idea what that’s about, Sarah?”

Dolan was staring at Sarah, thunderstruck. He sat down heavily in his colossal leather chair.

“Mary,” he said, in the quiet tone she recognized as his most dangerous, “would you be so kind as to leave us alone?”

32

MELANIE CALLED HOME FROM THE TAXI ON THE way to the retirement dinner and told Elsie she’d be late again. She hated doing it. She missed Maya terribly, and what’s more, Elsie was starting to make noises about quitting. But Melanie had no choice in the matter. It was imperative that she accompany Bernadette to the dinner. She’d discovered a bombshell, and she needed some time alone with her boss to break the news.

Sharing a cab with Bernadette, Melanie sank back on the ripped leather seat and let Bernadette talk at her. She dreaded opening her mouth. Bernadette wasn’t going to like what she had to say one bit. In the mess on her desk, she’d found some devastating information about Rommie Ramirez. Ironic that Bernadette was the one who’d told her to sort through it in the first place, or it might not have seen the light of day for a while.

According to the fingerprint reports she’d gotten from the lab, Rommie had mishandled a critical piece of evidence, possibly contaminated the whole crime scene. Somehow he’d touched the can of kerosene used to set the blaze in Jed Benson’s office, leaving his fingerprints on it. It was a major, career-threatening screwup, one he’d be hard-pressed to survive even with Bernadette’s support, and it put the whole prosecution at risk of being thrown out. She cringed at the thought of telling her boss, but how could she hold back something so big? There was other new information, too-evidence of Jed Benson’s corruption. Maybe she’d begin with that to ease the shock.

When the cab dropped them on First Avenue near the Fifty-ninth Street Bridge, she still hadn’t brought herself to say anything. She was getting cold feet. Maybe she should double-check with the lab. Maybe she should call Butch Brennan and go back over the crime scene step by step to figure out how the screwup had happened. Making such a damaging accusation against Bernadette’s boyfriend demanded rock-solid information. Melanie could only imagine the consequences if she opened her mouth and then it turned out she was wrong.