Abruptly, the door to the file room opened, and Vicki almost jumped out of her skin. She turned, and in the threshold stood Jane, the receptionist. "Vicki, oops, sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. That ATF agent has been waiting outside, for your meeting."
"Oh, jeez. Thanks." It was all Vicki could do to slip the file behind her and to collect herself. "Please, tell her I'm sorry, I'll be right there."
"Okay." Jane closed the door.
Vicki's thoughts were a jumble, but she didn't have time to process anything now. She went to the dolly, tore open the top cardboard box, and shoved the Montgomery file inside. Then she wheeled the boxes out of the file room, dumped them in the conference room, and ran to her office with the Montgomery file, which she hid in a drawer. Then she picked up the phone and pressed in the numbers to her cell phone. Snow fell steadily from a gray sky while the phone rang and rang, then her voicemail picked up. She felt herself tense. Reheema had insisted on turning off the phone during her interviews, and Vicki hoped she wasn't answering because she was with one of Jackson's neighbors.
The beep sounded, and Vicki said, "Reheema, I think I have an ID on the man who killed your mother and I'm worried about you. Watch out for a big black guy." She winced when she realized how it sounded. "I'm not kidding or being suburban. He has slitty eyes, age thirty-three, he's about six two, two hundred pounds. His name is David Montgomery, but don't you dare do anything to track him down. I'm going to the cops with this as soon as I can. Call me when you get this message." She hung up, then hit the buttons to forward her calls to the conference room, for when Reheema called back. Then she arranged her face into a professional mask and went to reception to meet Agent Pizer.
Ten minutes later, Vicki was sitting in the shoe box of a conference room with the very able ATF agent, taking notes when it seemed like she should be, asking questions on autopilot, and organizing papers into more piles of papers. Her thoughts were elsewhere. Not only was it weird enough to work with an ATF agent who wasn't Morty, but she sensed she was right about Montgomery. She'd have to talk with Dan and Bale, then get to the Philly detectives so they could pick Montgomery up. Looking in the Bethaves' neighborhood for suspects with a record of murder-for-hire would have been among the first things the detectives would commonly have done, but she wasn't taking the chance that they'd done it yet.
Vicki wondered how it would make Dan feel to learn that someone he'd given a deal to had killed somebody, or even how it would make him look, but she couldn't think about that now. Bale would feel worse for approving it, whether he had reviewed it with any care at all or even if he'd just signed it on Dan's say-so. She didn't know Strauss that well, but she gave him the benefit of the doubt that he'd feel terrible, or at least unhappy that he'd gotten egg on his face. It wouldn't be enough to upset his appointment to the bench or the other promotions, already in the works.
Vicki couldn't begin to answer the harder question of why anybody would hire Montgomery to kill Reheema's mother, or if she weren't the intended victim, Reheema. There were too many missing pieces. She kept looking over at the telephone on the small credenza, expecting Reheema to call, but she didn't. Had she gotten the message? Was she safe? Was Montgomery after her?
Vicki excused herself, saying she had to go to the bathroom, but instead ran to her office and called Reheema again. Still no answer, and she left another message. She hurried back to the conference room, checking her watch on the run. 3:50. At least it was still light out. Montgomery wouldn't attack in broad daylight, would he? He hadn't before. She returned to the conference room, her thoughts going around and around, and allegedly got back to work. She glanced at her watch at 4:01, 4:20, and five more times until 5:01. It had to be getting dark outside, but she couldn't tell without windows. The ATF agent was working away, but Vicki couldn't take it another minute.
She stood up and stretched, theatrically. "Well, we made a lot of progress today," she said, though she had no idea if they'd made progress or not. "I guess it's closing time."
"I thought we were scheduled until six o'clock, and we're in the middle of this-"
"I'm sorry, I thought five o'clock, and with the snow, we should end a little early, don't you think? It was great meeting you." Vicki extended a firm hand across the table, focusing on Agent Pizer for the first time. She was attractive, with her brunette hair cut chin length, and a warm smile. It would've been great meeting her. "Next time, let's have lunch."
"Sure, and I guess we can knock off now." Agent Pizer seemed relieved to slide her jacket from the chair next to her.
"You're right about the snow, and it is Sunday, after all."
"Yes, day of rest and all that. And look at the conference table." Vicki gestured to the clutter. "It's a mess, which means we worked very hard."
Agent Pizer laughed. "I knew you'd be funny. Morty really thought the world of you."
"Really?" Vicki asked, surprised. Neither of them had mentioned him until this minute. "He wasn't the type to get mushy."
"I know, it wasn't his style. But he told all of us about you, and he seemed so happy since you two were working together, this past year."
"Thanks." Vicki swallowed the lump in her throat. "Let me walk you out." They left the conference room and went down the hall to reception, and Vicki looked back as they passed Dan's office. He was on the phone, but perked up and caught her eye.
"Vicki?" he called out, covering the receiver with a hand.
"Gimme five minutes," she called back, almost like the old days.
But she knew those days could be gone forever, after they had their next conversation.
FORTY-FOUR
Vicki went back to Dan's office, walked in, and closed the door behind her, just as he was hanging up. He stood up at his desk, his expression soft and a little sheepish. He looked handsome, unshaven, and regretful in his jeans and navy crewneck, which had to be fusing with his skin by now.
Vicki tabled her feelings. She didn't have time for them. "We have to talk."
Dan put up a hand. "I know, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." He smiled crookedly. "Did I mention I was sorry?"
Vicki felt a tug. "It's not about us. It's more important than us."
"Nothing is more important than us." Dan smiled, cautiously. "Except maybe giving Zoe her meds in the morning."
"I remembered."
"God, I do love you," Dan said, with meaning, and as touched as she felt, she set the plea agreement on top of the papers on his desk.
"What's this?"
"You tell me." Vicki sat down as he slid the plea agreement toward him and took his seat, reading it. She wished he would hurry. Night was falling outside the window to his left, a transparent wash of blue, too thin to mirror his office, which was neat, as usual. Books and treatises stood at attention on shelves, and accordion files sat in alphabetical order on the credenza, next to a Nerf football spray-painted gold, a worn baseball glove, and the Leaning Tower of Baseball Caps, standard-issue for every boy AUSA.
"It looks like a plea agreement in U.S. v. Montgomery," Dan answered, glancing at the papers.
"Your case."
"No, it's not."
"Yes, it is."
"No, it isn't." Dan smiled. "Is this a game?"
"You signed the plea agreement."
"No, I didn't."
Vicki blinked. "Look at the signature page."
Dan turned to the back of the agreement and read the signature page. "Huh. I didn't sign this."
"It's not your signature? It looks like it."
"I know." Dan shook his head, mystified. "I see what you mean. It does look like my signature, but I didn't sign it. I don't remember this case."