"No."

"Did she look pregnant then? She wouldn't have been far along."

"I don't know if she was pregnant. She mighta been a little heavy, but that's typical. Gold jewelry, tipped fingernails. You know. Ghetto fabulous."

Vicki got over her jealousy of his salary and began disliking him on the merits. "Okay, so Jackson came in and testified before the grand jury that Reheema resold the guns?"

"Yes."

"How did Jackson know that Reheema had resold the guns?"

"As I remember, the defendant told her she resold them."

Vicki's ears pricked up. "Bristow admitted it to her?"

"Yep."

"So they knew each other?"

"I think that's what she said. They were best friends."

Vicki didn't get it. She'd asked Reheema this morning if she knew Jackson, and it didn't seem like the name had even registered. And that was consistent with what Mrs. Bott had said, too. "Who told you that?"

"What?" Cavanaugh was distracted, exchanging waves with a man he knew.

"Who said that they were best friends?"

"The CI."

"Jackson?"

"Yes."

"Did Jackson ever call Reheema Mar, or a name like Mar?" Vicki flashed on Mrs. Bott. Actually, she was having separation anxiety.

"How the hell do you get Mar from Reheema?" Cavanaugh screwed up his nose.

"Did she?"

"I don't know. Christ."

"Did Jackson mention a Mar?"

"No."

Vicki felt confounded. "You sure Jackson said Bristow was her friend?"

"Best friend, she said."

"How did they become best friends? Don't say you don't know."

"I don't."

They barreled down the street, and Vicki shook her head. "It couldn't be from the neighborhood. Jackson lived in the near Northeast, and from the file, Reheema's apartment was in West Philly."

"If you say so." "Did Jackson have a job?" "No idea." "And it couldn't be from work, even though Reheema worked two jobs." Vicki was remembering from Reheema's case file and she suspected that Jackson's temp job was history, no matter what Mrs. Bott had thought. Jackson was more likely the well-kept girlfriend of a coke dealer, not a woman who worked. But for some reason, when she got pregnant, she had dimed on Bristow and decided to change her life. "Did Jackson ever mention a Jamal Browning?"

"No." "Do you know if Jackson had a boyfriend?' "What is this, high school?" Cavanaugh laughed. "Do you know the names Jay-Boy or Teeg?" "They dogs or people?" Vicki didn't fake a smile. "Okay, take me back to the proffer conference. At the conference, did Reheema want a deal?" Cavanaugh held up the memo and double-checked it on the fly. "It says she didn't, so she didn't." "Did you squeeze her?" "I wish." Cavanaugh laughed. "Re-hee-ma." "Jim, this matters." "I'm sure I did. I used to have a good rap." "It's odd that she didn't want a deal, isn't it? I mean, no priors, so she could get off with almost no time, if she gave up whoever she resold the gun to." "True." "So why didn't she want to deal?" "I don't know."

"Didn't you wonder why?"

"Frankly, my dear, I didn't give a damn." They stopped at the red light on Seventeenth Street, where Cavanaugh faced her, shrugging in his heavy coat. "You're new, aren't you?"

"Yeah."

"You'll see what I mean. I was halfway out the door by then and I was burnt out. It gets to you. All of it."

Vicki didn't have to ask what "it" was. She'd seen "it" at the D.A.'s office, but it hadn't gotten to her. Oddly, she'd only wanted more of "it." Maybe she'd feel differently if her personal life didn't suck. Or if she owned a station car.

"I only went to the proffer because Melendez pushed for it. I was there if Reheema wanted to talk, but she didn't want to talk. She made a stink at the detention hearing, yelling that she was innocent, and got herself a permanent detention." Cavanaugh shrugged again. "These people, they make their choice, they live with the consequences. I don't try to figure out why they do what they do."

They. "You think she was too scared to name names?"

"I don't know."

"She didn't seem scared to me."

"Whatever."

"You don't remember anything other than what you told me, or what's in the memo?"

"Not really. When I started this job, I had a brain dump, I swear. I don't remember much from before." The traffic light changed, and they crossed the street. Cavanaugh picked up the pace, and Vicki hurried along, roasting in her down jacket. A woman going past seemed to recognize her and started whispering to her friends, but Cavanaugh remained oblivious. "I've been at my new firm for a year, and I tell you, it's a totally different world. This meeting I'm on my way to? It's multidistrict product liability litigation, with 137 corporate defendants. It's a city, a country! At issue is a defective disposable syringe, specifically the plunger on the syringe-"

"Excuse me, but was there any corroboration of Jackson's story?"

"It was a circumstantial case, so what else is new? The gun dealer reported that she bought them, and the best friend said she admitted reselling them," Cavanaugh said, defensively, and Vicki recognized his tone. She often had it in hers. No crime was easily proved, Law amp; Order aside.

"Who'd she sell the guns to?"

"Reheema didn't say."

"You mean Jackson said she didn't say." The government's case was so thin, Vicki was almost doubting it herself. "Did they ever find the guns?"

"No."

"They turn up in a robbery or shooting?"

"No."

"So the only proof in the case really was Jackson's word."

"Yes." Cavanaugh came to an abrupt halt before a massive office tower of dark glass mirrors, and people streamed into the building next to smokers taking one last drag. "Put it in context. It doesn't sound like much now, but when the indictment was filed, it did. Handgun crime went through the roof last year, I remember that much, and Strauss started Project Clean Sweep to get handguns off the street. The office was cracking down on straws, big time. We got the list of multiple purchasers from ATF, and we went after 'em. We caught Reheema and a lot of little fish in the net."

"So we had our story and we were going with it."

"Exactly," Cavanaugh answered, with a final smile. "Now I gotta get to work."

"Thanks," Vicki called after him, but he had already turned and was flowing with the others into the mirrored tower.

She stood still, momentarily stumped. Maybe she'd been going about this the wrong way.

But if she was going to try a new tack, she didn't have much time.

ELEVEN

Vicki checked her watch: 3:15. Not bad. The sky was still a frozen blue, so she turned up the heat in the car and steered her old white Cabrio out of the business district in clogged traffic. She'd gone home to get her car and cell phone, and, with a sick feeling inside, wiped it clean and plugged it into the recharger in the dashboard. Almost immediately the phone began chiming, signaling she had messages.

Vicki reduced her speed, picked up the phone, and tried to ignore the darker line of dried blood around the keypads while she thumbed through the menu to see who had called. Dan. The three messages were as predicted, and she pressed the button to call back, bound to the recharger like an umbilical cord.

Dan answered after one ring. "Woman! Holy God, what are you up to? You off your Ritalin?"

Vicki laughed.

"I heard you tried to kill a defendant! I say, who's got a problem with that? We all clean the streets our own way. Judge not, lest ye be judged!"

"I didn't try to kill her." After last night, Vicki would never again use that word so lightly. "I just wanted a little information, is all."

"So you tried to kill her for it?"

"Not true!"

"Bale's walking around the office with steam coming out of his ears. It's not a good look for him."