"You didn't check your messages?"

"No, I was too tired when I got in." And truth to tell, she hadn't wanted to know if Dan had called. Since his fight with Mariella, she didn't feel as if she should call him back. Vicki tabled that for now. "What did Bale say? Is he mad? I'm pushing it, I know."

"He didn't say. You'd better call him, but not until after you tell me what happened yesterday."

Vicki was getting tired of giving everybody reports, but Dan was a great sounding board and he was on her side. The coffee started to drip, and its wet aroma filled the air. The kitchen was bright, quiet, and still; if the snow had been insulation yesterday, it was a cocoon today. Vicki retrieved their Elvis and Harvard mugs, interrupted the coffee in mid-stream, and poured them both a cup.

"Thanks." Dan melted butter in a Calphalon pan, as Vicki leaned against the counter and began the account of what had happened. By the time she was finished, they were sitting before plates of leftover eggs and Vicki was on her third cup of coffee, which was weak because she had interrupted the brewing process.

"I hate when I do that," she said.

"What?"

"Mess up the coffee, so the first cup is too strong and the ones after it suck. I'm my own pet peeve."

"You're too impatient." Dan set down his fork.

"Is that possible? Can you be just impatient enough?"

"You can't." Dan smiled. "That's part of the reason you're getting yourself in trouble with the brass."

"Let the lecture begin."

"No lecture here. You know what you're doing is nuts."

"Insulting Saxon?"

"Yes, and stalking drug dealers." Dan's mouth made a grave line.

"I don't want to talk about that. I want you to help me figure out the connection between Jamal Browning and the Bristows, if there is one."

Dan cocked his head. "Well, lay the facts down and organize them, as if they were evidence. Build your case, only undisputed facts first. Then we'll go from there."

"First, Browning supplies crack to Cater." Vicki counted off on an index finger. "Two, Browning was the boyfriend of my CI."

Dan shook his head. "That's not undisputed. The mother never heard of him."

"But it's likely, and the mother never heard of anybody."

"Not good enough." Dan spoke in his official jury-closing voice. "Second undisputed fact is that Mrs. Bristow was killed right after she bought drugs at Cater."

Vicki resumed finger counting. "And, three and four, the things I'd bet money on are that Jamal Browning was the boyfriend of Shayla Jackson, and that Mrs. Bristow gave the guns that Reheema had given her to the Cater Street dealers, in return for crack." Vicki considered it, then decided she was right. Funny how that always worked. "It's just too coincidental that the CI turns up dead in a houseful of fish-scale coke, and she happens to be the girlfriend of the dealer who sells to Cater Street."

"It's a baby drug business, from the sound of it, and that's a small world in Philly, believe it or not. Coincidences abound."

"Possibly. And we know that Reheema didn't know Jackson or Browning."

"Wrong. You don't know that at all."

"I do know it. I believe Reheema."

"Why?" Dan asked in disbelief.

"Because she convinced me, and so did that stuff I saw about her on her bulletin board. And the fact that she didn't know Jackson was corroborated by her boss."

"Jackson testified they were best friends."

"People lie under oath," Vicki said, because Reheema had taught her such things.

"And as between Jackson and Reheema, you believe Reheema, a known felon? Just because she ran track?"

"It's just a feeling I have about her. Reheema's different. And she's not a felon, because she wasn't convicted." Vicki sounded idiotic even to herself, and Dan's mouth dropped open.

"She pulled a gun on you, Vick!"

"She thought I was trespassing."

"So? If you thought somebody was trespassing, would you pull a gun on them? Would you even have a gun to pull? Or would you run out and call the cops?"

Vicki gathered it was rhetorical.

"Of course not. But just as it's second nature to you to call the cops, it's second nature to Reheema not to. Her experience of the cops is completely different from yours. For you, the cops are saviors. For her, they're enemies. You're the enemy." Dan nodded. "This is where Episcopal Academy comes in."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Vick, you're a rookie in this subculture, for want of a better word. You come to it with new eyes, and it's kind of exciting."

"It wasn't exciting, what happened to Morty."

"That's not what I meant and you know it." Dan flushed red, and Vicki regretted her words.

"Sorry."

"What I meant was the whole gangsta thing. The jewelry, the coke, the nicknames."

"I'm not new to it. I saw it at the D.A.'s office."

"Not this. Not with stakes this high. If these boys get caught, they go away for life. The boys who play that, they're a different breed. They're what the NBA is to high school ball. They like the big money-tens of millions of dollars-and they kill for it."

"I know all that," Vicki said irritably, but Dan leaned forward, intent.

"No, you don't. You bring this Main Line thing to it. You believe Reheema when she tells you, ‘No, I didn't resell the guns, I gave them to my mommy.' ‘No, I don't know Jackson.' You believe her because you tell the truth and you project that onto her. You believe her because you were raised in a world where people told the truth."

Obviously, he'd never eaten dinner at the Allegrettis'.

"No offense, but you're completely naïve. You can't believe her. You can't believe any of them. They lie to you all the time. Lying is a way of life for them, especially lying to you, an AUSA."

Vicki didn't like this new side of Dan. "You sound racist. Everything's ‘them' and ‘they.' "

"It's got nothing to do with race. I know these people, the mentality."

"What people?"

"People like my father."

It took Vicki aback. He never talked about his father. "How do you mean?"

"A liar, a cheat. A bad boy who grew up not knowing how to make a dime, so he learned how to steal it. Scam for it. Smile for it. The guy could charm the pants off you and you'd never know they were gone until you looked down." Dan shook his head. "How can I make you understand? My dad grew up in a poor neighborhood, just like your dad did. Some kids become straight arrows, like your dad. Go to school, make A's, graduate. Others shuck and jive and look for the angles. The quick buck. They want to be a big shot. My dad's as white as Irish lace, but he's gangsta to the core."

Vicki felt moved by his vehemence but she couldn't see it pertaining to Reheema. "I hear you, and I appreciate what you're saying. But keep an open mind. There's a person in there, even in the baddest gangsta. Even your dad."

"Not in my dad." Dan smiled, without mirth, and Vicki got back on track.

"Let's assume Reheema is telling the truth. Look at the facts. There's something we're missing. Maybe Reheema doesn't know Shayla Jackson, but Shayla Jackson knows her."

"How is that possible?"

"You can know someone who doesn't know you." Vicki was thinking aloud, a bad thing to do in front of a boss but a good thing to do in front of scrambled eggs. "You see them around, and someone tells you who they are. You know them but they don't know you."

"Okay, right. So?"

"So assume that Shayla and Jamal are boyfriend and girlfriend, and Shayla visits him at Cater Street."

Dan arched an eyebrow. "How do you know Jamal goes to Cater Street? At his level, odds are he doesn't go to Cater Street ever, and the runner in the Eagles coat delivers the crack to the store."

"Okay, well, let's say once he does. Once, in the beginning, like when he's scouting locations or doing whatever drug dealers do before they open a store."