THIRTY-EIGHT

Within fifteen minutes of Vicki's phone call, an astounded Chief Bale swept into the alley with unmarked cars bearing armed ATF agents in navy windbreakers, and the remaining hours of the night pulsed with police activity. Teeg Brumley was arrested and taken in handcuffs to the FDC, where Strauss and Bale themselves videotaped his statement, and Vicki, Reheema, and later Dan watched from behind a two-way mirror to the interrogation room. Vicki prayed that Brumley would repeat everything he'd told her, and the teenager had a court-appointed lawyer present while he gave his statement again, elaborating on what he'd said in the alley and even admitting that Vicki had informed him of his Miranda rights. Dan gave her a hug for that, though it was otherwise strictly business. As much as Vicki needed the comfort, there was no time for romance.

Strauss and Bale brokered a deal by which Brumley pleaded guilty to a lesser offense in return for cooperation and testimony in court against the others. Reheema gave her statement and went home, while Vicki, Dan, and a cadre of AUSAs and staff worked all night to prepare complaints and warrants against one Preston Courtney and Jay Steptoe for conspiracy to murder Special Agent Robert Morton, in addition to complaints and warrants against ten other individuals for numerous counts of crack cocaine sales and distribution, as well as various weapons offenses. It turned out that ATF had been surveilling the Getson Street house from an apartment on the street, waiting for the right moment to make a drug and firearms bust. The right moment had finally arrived.

Dan worked alone on the complaints and warrants for William Toner for the conspiracy to murder the seven men, women, and children who had been killed at the Toys "R" Us, then gave them to Vicki at five in the morning. She took the complete stack into Bale's office, set them down in front of him, and took a seat in the chair in front of his desk.

"Time to make the doughnuts, boss," Vicki said. As hard as she'd worked, she felt only energized.

"Ready, kid?" Bale turned from his computer keyboard, swiveling in his black Aeron chair, and for a moment they looked at each other over the papers. A new morning broke behind him, the sky turning a lovely pink-gray from the bottom up, gleaming off all the mirrored skyscrapers, setting them aglow. Either that, or Vicki was tired to the point of delirium.

"Good to go."

Bale smiled wearily, his skin tight from the night's effort and his eyes reddish but alert, with something like amusement. He had taken off his trademark gold cuff links and rolled up his sleeves, but with care, so that the folded cuff made a perfectly flat panel against his strong forearm. A tiny tattoo of an American flag peeked from its underside.

"You have ink?" Vicki asked, surprised, and Bale smiled.

"That's why I never wear short sleeves. Don't tell."

"I won't."

He pointed a stiff finger at her. "And don't spread any more BOTOX rumors about me, you brat."

Busted. "How'd you find out?" "Debbie Hodill." Vicki leaned forward. "So, is it true?" "Of course," Bale answered, and they both laughed. "Now, to business. We have a judge to wake up, and then some bad guys." He took the stack of papers and pulled them toward him, his fingers a dark contrast against the pristine white.

"This would be the happy ending, right?" "Not yet." "You mean after we arrest them?" "Shhh." Bale raised a slim finger to his mustache. "Can you be quiet, just for once? We're not finished. These are just paper, right now. They need the proper signatures, then they assume the force of law."

The force of law. Vicki liked the sound of the phrase, more powerful than a mere gun. Reheema had been right about that, but she hadn't realized it before.

"Let's see." Bale slid the first paper off the stack, with the caption that read UNITED STATES V. PRESTON COURTNEY AND JAY STEPTOE.

Vicki felt a deep satisfaction. She had written it herself. "That's the complaint and indictment for Morty's murder."

"I know, that's why they call me Chief. Now, hush." Bale took the warrant, read it completely, and finished at the signature page. The usual procedure was merely to initial the papers, but given the high-profile nature of the case, the office had decided to have them signed in full.

"Here's your pen, Chief." Vicki slid a black Montblanc from its immaculate crystal pen holder and handed it to him, but Bale swiveled around in the chair and slid a new piece of paper out of the computer printer behind. Vicki set the pen down, puzzled. "What's that?"

"A new page. I corrected a mistake you made. I noticed it when I read it earlier."

"A mistake on Morty's papers?" Vicki's mouth went dry as Bale signed. "I proofread them a zillion times. What was wrong?"

"This." Bale handed her the page across the desk, and Vicki looked at it. He had added a new signature line, left blank, and underneath the line, it read:

"For the United States: VICTORIA ALLEGRETTI."

"Sign, please." Bale handed the Montblanc across the desk.

Vicki felt herself tear up, then blinked it away.

"Better hurry and sign. We got some killers to catch." Bale waved the pen, and Vicki took it.

"Does this mean it's my case?"

"Absolutely." Bale nodded, with a smile. "My sign-off is pro forma. I can't think of anybody more deserving."

"Thanks, Chief," Vicki managed to say, and signed the complaint and warrant without crying all over it, which was a feat.

"I would let you handle it through indictment and trial, but we'll need you as fact witness, describing what happened and making the ID of the shooter. You know you can't do both, under the rules."

"I know." But Vicki could at least handle the initial appearance and work behind the scenes at trial. She gave the papers back to Bale. "Thanks."

"Now shut up while I sign the rest." Bale sat down and started reading, which gave Vicki time to recover her composure.

"I guess this means I keep my job?"

"Unfortunately. I can't fire you now." Bale didn't look up from his reading. "I want you at the press conference."

"Yay!" Vicki couldn't help herself. Outside the window, the sun was rising and a new day dawning, but she was pretty sure it was a coincidence.

"And at the conference, we will provide no details at all about how this case went down. You keep those details to yourself and let Strauss and ATF do all the talking." Bale kept reading. "Don't blow this, or Strauss will have my head."

"Agreed."

"But you know what I think, don't you? I told you last night." Bale looked up, pen poised and eyes narrowed the way they had at about two in the morning, when he'd lectured her over pizza about the dangers she'd caused herself and others. "Never again, you promise?"

"Promise. But I'm going to the arrest, aren't I?"

"You stay in the car, like a good pup."

"Arf!" Vicki barked, and Bale got busy reading again. She watched, then took a flyer, since he was in an admitting kind of mood. "You have to admit I did a good job, boss."

"No, I don't, because you didn't." Bale didn't look up, but kept signing. "You got good results, but your methods were terrible. Dangerous. I'm putting you on another drug case, Kalahut, pairing you with ATF agent Barbara Pizer. She'll keep you too busy to think about playing detective."

"Understood," Vicki said. She decided to shut up and start taking yes for an answer.

But she found herself thinking, unaccountably, of her father.

Vicki had never been part of a major federal drug bust, and the takedown played out with a coordination and precision that would have amazed the average taxpayer, if not combat veteran. Twenty ATF agents in full gear, deployed with assault rifles and fresh warrants, reinforced by FBI agents and Philly SWAT teams, conducted, at exactly eight-seventeen on Friday morning, surprise raids on the homes, businesses, and street corners worked by each of the fifteen defendants. Dan had gone with Strauss to watch them execute the warrant on Toner for the Toys "R" Us murders, but Vicki, protected in a heavy black Kevlar vest and ensconced in an unmarked escort van, watched as ATF knocked and announced themselves at the row house of Jay Steptoe, then burst in to execute. The agents emerged without gunfire or event only ten minutes later, with a struggling Steptoe, dressed in black sweatpants and a white T-shirt.