"Dr. Apollo voted not guilty," said Victor. "When she caved in, Mac did, too. He couldn't make a stand without her. He just couldn't do it alone."
Riker lowered his eyes. There was guilt enough to spread around this table in equal shares tonight. He had his own regrets on MacPherson's account and took on a share of the blame for that death. A good man was gone, and this coward, this self-described little man, had survived. Victor Patchock was about to become famous. The news media would make him a symbol for the American justice system, proof that it was still alive and well. Or was it?
Crazy Bitch could only stare at the blinking phone-board lights, too afraid to pick up any of the calls. It might be a curious fan or maybe an angry station manager. The relentless digital clock on her console was counting down the seconds. Not a moment's peace, hardly time to draw a breath. She dumped her purse out on her desk and rummaged through the mess, hunting for a way to keep the entire world at bay, and she found it in a paper bag with a hardware store logo.
She was saved.
She laughed and laughed while tears streamed down her face, tears brought on by a joy so exquisite that it was almost unbearable. The mike was dead, and her voice could not be heard outside this room. She clenched her fists, then filled her lungs and screamed to no one, "I'm gonna be famous!"
Hennessey had not yet returned when Mallory decided to reconvene the interrogation in the larger interview room, the one that allowed covert observation from behind the mirror on the wall. Riker guessed that this was for the benefit of the assistant district attorney. If that man was still waiting behind the glass, he would see Mallory end a brief interview with a willing statement from Victor Patchock – absent any duress. She pushed a pad of yellow paper in Victor's direction, and the little man began to write down all the details wrung out of him in the smaller room. His face was free of tears now, and the evidence of his last nosebleed had been wiped away.
"Write it all down." She turned to the one-way glass, saying, "It's a wrap. Let's go collect the doctor."
On the other side of the mirror, Jack Coffey's voice was slightly sardonic as he spoke into the intercom. "The boys from Chicago lost Dr. Apollo again."
"No way!" Mallory stood up and faced the mirror and her boss who stood behind it. "All those idiots had to do was – "
"It's not a problem." Agent Hennessey stood in the doorway. He was smiling as he folded his cell phone into the breast pocket of his suit jacket. "My guys found her. She's a guest on the Ian Zachary show. We've got men at the radio station right now. As soon as the show is over, we'll make the arrest for jury tampering." Betrayal.
Riker leaned his tired head upon one hand. The moment Mallory turned on the FBI agent, he decided to let her rip the man's head off. Hennessey did not know her well enough to be forewarned as she walked toward him, her words carefully measured. "When did all of this go down?" "My bureau chief's been monitoring the show for twenty minutes. He says the lady makes a good case. So Zachary's going away for jury tampering, and he won't be feeding the Reaper any more helpful information." Hennessey patted Victor Patchock on the back. "And now we've got your corroboration for Dr. Apollo's complaint." He turned to smile at Mallory, as if that would help him. "The doctor and Mr. Patchock go back into protective custody whether they like it or not. They're material witnesses now." He turned away from Mallory – a huge mistake – to see Jack Coffey enter the room.
Riker thought the boss was curiously calm.
"So thanks for all your help, Lieutenant," said the agent, "but we'll take it from here."
Mallory was silently coming up behind Hennessey's back when Riker had second thoughts about the impending violence. He grabbed her by the shoulders as her nails – call them claws – were on the rise, then whispered in her ear, "Let Coffey go off on the bastard. Trust me on this one." His tip-off was the lieutenant's composure.
Jack Coffey was actually smiling when he pulled up a chair at the table. "Hennessey, here's a little something your boss probably didn't mention. It happened three minutes ago. Somebody called 911 for a disturbance at the radio station, and six patrol cops responded. The FBI agents tried to stop them from going up to Ian Zachary's floor. Well, the uniforms don't take orders from feds." The lieutenant propped his feet up on the table, and the FBI agent stiffened his own posture, bracing for more bad news.
"Sorry, Hennessey. It seems one of your guys is losing a little blood. But the good news? Our guy didn't break his damn jaw. It's just a split lip. A few stitches, he'll be fine. And that disturbance call?" Coffey shrugged. "Turned out to be a false alarm."
Normally, Riker would have suspected Mallory of making that bogus 911 call, but she had an alibi for the time frame. Evidently, the lieutenant was picking up her bad habits.
Jack Coffey turned to Detective Janos. "Those uniforms belong to the midtown precinct. Keep an open line to their sergeant. They have orders to hold that floor. Make sure that's all they do. I don't want anybody rattled till we're ready to make an arrest." And last, but with the greatest satisfaction, he turned back to the FBI man, saying, "We'll take it from here."
"You have no jurisdiction on a jury tampering charge," said Agent Hennessey.
"Oh, that's all changed," said Coffey. "We have a few charges of our own." He glanced at Mallory. "You didn't tell him about that yet? Sorry, I ruined your fun."
Hennessey would have left the room with his document cartons, following in Jack Coffey's wake, but Riker was now blocking the door. "Not so fast, pal. You made a deal with Mallory. You're going to keep it." He looked down at the boxes of Reaper files. "Or maybe you'd rather leave all that stuff here."
Over the next thirty minutes, Dr. Apollo's voice was heard on radios all over New York City and the portable set in the interview room.
Riker turned down the volume as he faced the one-way mirror. "What's taking so long on that arrest warrant?"
Jack Coffey's voice came over the intercom, saying, "We're shopping for a judge who isn't afraid of the ACLU. Shouldn't be much longer."
The contents of the Reaper file were spread across the long table, and Agent Hennessey could only watch this invasion of his paperwork. His fingers lightly drummed the table to advertise a bad case of arrogance withdrawal. The FBI man's detainment had not been formalized, though a strong suggestion was made by the massive bulk of Detective Janos leaning against the only door.
Mallory owned the agent now, and she was in the early stages of toying with her food. After scanning the contents of an FBI folder, she looked up from her reading. "So Dr. Apollo was always on the shortlist for the jury murders." She crumpled a sheet of paper, and Hennessey watched, fascinated, as the wad rolled between her palms, compacting into a perfect ball the size of a marble.
"That's destruction of government – "
"It's bogus," she said. "And you knew it when you padded out the Reaper file. Now I want the good stuff, the personal notes that never made it into your database. How many screwups were purged from the computer?"
Hennessey hesitated too long. Her paper marble shot past his right ear and bounced off the wall behind him.
"If I have to find those mistakes by myself," she said, "then I add them to the rest of the mess your people made of this case. I might hold a press conference – all the major networks – national publicity, all of it bad."
And those were the magic words.
Hennessey retrieved the wadded paper from the floor. "This sheet isn't total crap. When Agent Kidd was murdered, Dr. Apollo was our prime suspect for a copycat killing. She had her own history with psychiatric treatment, long-term therapy as a child and a teenager. Maybe our man said the wrong thing and she snapped. It happens. Or maybe he was the one who snapped, and the doctor killed him in self-defense. But we know the Reaper didn't murder Timothy Kidd."