“Sounds complicated.”
“Yes, well, I’ve convinced him to disqualify himself from the Benson case for the time being. On the understanding that I’ll supervise it personally, of course.”
“Of course.” Melanie could only imagine the nightmarish level of scrutiny that would entail. This got worse every minute.
“So as I was saying, the people assigned to the case are top-notch. Randall Walker from the PD and Dan O’Reilly from the FBI. They were partnered up on that gang-homicide task force until O’Reilly got transferred to work terrorism. Randall’s a burnout case now, but there was a time when he was hands down the best detective in the PD. He was the first black guy to make first grade, so you can imagine how good he was back then. O’Reilly’s the real star now, though. Smart and brash and as cute as they come. We were very fortunate to get him. His supervisor was a friend of Jed Benson’s, and he detailed O’Reilly to us to work this.”
“Maybe I should take a few minutes to think this over, Bernadette.”
“Sorry, Charlie! You already sold me. The Benson case is yours. And you’d better get started, because I want charges brought within a week.”
“A week? How can I possibly bring charges in a week? Have there been arrests? Are there even any suspects?”
“Oh, yeah, I figured you knew since you were there last night. Romulado says it looks like a paid hit. His best guess is, it might’ve been contracted to retaliate against Benson for a big case he did years ago. He put away the founder of a major Puerto Rican drug gang for a triple homicide. By the way, Puerto Rican suspects, Puerto Rican prosecutor? See what I mean? They’ll love you on the six o’clock news, hon. Anyway, Delvis Diaz was the kingpin’s name. So start with the theory that the murder was payback for that case, and see what you come up with.”
“But how do we know we’ll be able to catch the killers by then?”
“Since when do you need the suspects locked up in order to bring charges? What is this, Crim Law 101? Present the testimony, get the indictment voted, and seal it until you catch the perpetrators. Now, report to your office and get to work, kiddo. I’d hate to see Joe Williams get the glory while you’re stuck in night court doing bail hearings for the next six months. Understood?”
They stared at each other across the desk. This battle was over. Melanie’s only option was treating it like a victory.
“Understood. I’m sorry if I seemed nervous for a minute. It won’t happen again. I appreciate your confidence in me, and I won’t let you down.”
“That’s more like it. I told O’Reilly to stop by right away and give you the details. Now, get moving.” Bernadette turned back to her telephone and began dialing. Melanie was dismissed.
Melanie walked down the hall toward her office, feeling like she’d been hit by a truck. Brooding over her encounter with Bernadette, she wandered distractedly into her office but stopped short in the doorway. A guy was sitting behind her desk, talking on her telephone. He looked up, and their eyes met. Bernadette, the case, everything fell away. She completely forgot what she was thinking about.
7
SHE’D NEVER MET THE GUY SITTING BEHIND HER desk, yet she felt the shock of recognition. As they looked at each other, he blushed and lost the thread of his conversation.
“I didn’t catch that. Say again?” he said into the telephone, making a visible effort to break off eye contact with her.
He must be Dan O’Reilly, the agent Bernadette had told her about. Melanie walked in and leaned back against her filing cabinet, checking him out. He was big and handsome, with a masculine face and thick dark hair, and he looked strangely familiar to her. Maybe she’d seen him around, or maybe he just had that all-American jock look a lot of cops and agents have. But it was more like she’d been waiting to meet someone who looked like him. Even the sound of his voice-the deep, comforting timbre, the slight New York accent-seemed right on the money, like something she’d been expecting to hear for a while without quite realizing it. He kept sneaking glances at her as he talked. Finally he hung up.
“Melanie Vargas?” he asked.
“One and the same.”
“I should have known it was you. You look like your name.”
“Yeah? Someone told me once my name sounded like a stripper’s.” She blushed bright red the second that popped out of her mouth.
“No comment,” he said, laughing gently. He had a boy-next-door quality, clean-cut, sweet. “I’m Dan O’Reilly.”
“I figured. Bernadette told you she’s assigning me to this case?”
“She said probably. She had to work out the details.”
“It’s done. You’re looking at your prosecutor.” She sat down across from him and reached for some folders he’d spread on her desk. “What do you have for me?”
“Not so fast,” he said, grabbing at the folder she’d picked up. They had a tug-of-war over it, their eyes locked together. She lost her nerve for a second and let go.
“What, you don’t let the prosecutor see your files?” she said breathlessly. Her voice sounded young and foolish to her own ears. Stop that, she scolded herself. Act like a professional.
“I like to train my prosecutors early. I handle my files, you handle yours,” Dan said. “That way we don’t end up accusing each other of losing stuff or giving the defense things we shouldn’t. Keeps things friendly.”
“Yeah, well, if those are your files, then that’s my chair, pal. Out,” she said, feeling a need to take charge of the situation.
“Okay, okay.” He laughed. “I guess it remains to be seen who’s training who.”
“Damn straight.”
They switched seats. He was still smiling as he opened the folder and picked out a couple of rap sheets printed on rough yellow computer paper. She watched his hands move. They were solid and strong. He wore no wedding band.
She nodded toward the rap sheets. “You have suspects already? Quick work. I’m impressed.”
“Can’t say for sure they’re the right guys. Ramirez has this idea Benson was hit as payback for locking up Delvis Diaz almost ten years ago.”
“Oh, right. Bernadette said Diaz founded some major gang?”
“Yeah, a unit of it anyway. Heard of the Gangsta Blades?”
“Sure. They’re everywhere. Puerto Rican, mostly retail heroin, right?”
“Uh-huh.”
“I’m Puerto Rican, you know. Half,” she said, studying him.
“Really? I thought so from the name, but then you talk just like one of those anchors from the TV news.”
“This is work. I speak the King’s English. Besides, I’m second generation. I barely even speak Spanish at home.”
“Yeah? Where’s home?”
“ Manhattan now, but I’m from Queens originally.”
“Whereabouts? I’m from Queens, too.”
“It’s really the Brooklyn-Queens border. Technically, it’s Bushwick.” She blushed.
“Bushwick? You’re kidding,” he said, clearly surprised. “That’s a tough neighborhood.”
“Well, right near the border with Ridgewood.” She was acting like her mother, she thought, annoyed with herself. Her mother hated Bushwick and used to say they were from Ridgewood when they really weren’t. Bushwick was rough, though, which was the main reason Melanie had worked her butt off to get out.
“You know,” Dan said, “Diaz founded a crew called the C-Trout Gangsta Blades. Named for the corner of Central and Troutman in Bushwick. So if Ramirez is right, the perps in this case are probably Bushwick boys.”
“Yeah, well, my mother never used to let us walk down that way.”
“I don’t blame her. Central and Troutman’s been a major drug supermarket for the past twenty years.”
“I’m aware of that.”
“You really from Bushwick? ’Cause you sure don’t seem like it.” He glanced up at the diplomas on her wall, then looked back at her, scrutinizing her closely, like he was trying to solve a puzzle.