“I can see why Nash has taken you under his wing,” she whispered after a moment.
She was still staring out the windshield with her hands in her jacket pockets. Beyond the concrete barrier was a view of South Philadelphia. In a way, it felt like they were parked on a hill overlooking the city. He could see the Walt Whitman Bridge, jets lined up in a row dipping into their final turn as they approached the airport.
“Your instincts, Teddy. You found the mistake and figured it out.”
“You have, too,” he said.
She gave him a look, then turned back to the view. He tried not to think of her as a woman. Tried not to acknowledge the smell of her hair. Her skin. He looked at her face, her gorgeous profile. Tried not to feel the sting of her gentleness and overwhelming beauty. Her legs were spread apart. His eyes ran down her black tights to her shoes. It was good to be alive, he thought.
“I want to apologize,” she said.
“For what?”
“For not believing you.”
“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “We’re in this together now.”
Her eyes sharpened. “When we met for breakfast and you told me someone had hit you over the head, no matter how outrageous your claims, I should’ve listened. You could have been killed last night.”
His mind wasn’t on Trisco, and he couldn’t take it anymore. Couldn’t reel it all back in. He kissed her.
She opened her mouth, kissing him back softly. He sensed a light smile in the kiss, felt her hands moving from her pockets, touching him and pulling him closer.
“It was that shot glass,” she whispered.
“The one with ships and whales.”
“Your story sounded so preposterous, Teddy.”
“I know it did,” he said.
They laughed and held each other, eye to eye. When her cell phone rang, he gave her a kiss and a look and leaned back in his seat. Powell dug into her pocket for the phone and flipped it open. Once she heard the caller’s voice, she pulled the phone away from her ear and turned up the volume so Teddy could listen as well.
It was Andrews, driving back to town from the Trisco estate and in a foul mood.
“How dare you redirect an investigation without my knowledge,” he said, spitting the words into the phone.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said.
“You and Vega and that asshole kid went out to the Triscos this morning. You told them you were investigating a new missing persons case, but implied that their son was involved in something different. Something more.”
“But he is,” she said. “Edward Trisco is wanted for the murder of Harris Carmichael.”
The phone went dead, followed by digital break up as Andrews began screaming. Teddy noted that she didn’t mention the young women or the link pointing to Trisco as the serial killer. But in the end, Andrews was a step ahead.
“Do you really think that I’m that stupid?” Andrews shouted over the phone. “I know exactly what you’re doing. And believe me, you’re gonna pay for it. I’ll be in my office in twenty minutes. You better be there, too.”
Andrews fumbled with his phone, swearing in the background before he could find the right button and end the call. With any luck, he’d veer off the road and slam into a telephone pole.
Teddy entered the Wawa minimarket, poured a large cup of coffee, grabbed a poppy-seed bagel with lox-flavored cream cheese, and moved to the counter. Oscar Holmes’s picture was on the front page of both papers, but the Daily News said it best. Stamped over Holmes’s face in four-inch-high text were the words: VEGGIE BUTCHER SAYS, “I CONFESS!”
Teddy picked up copies of both papers, asked the woman behind the register for a pack of Marlboro reds, and walked out.
JKF Plaza was less than a block away from the district attorney’s office. It was another unusually warm day for December. He’d told Powell he would wait for her there until things shook out.
He crossed the street, found a seat with a view of the building and sat down. Tearing into the pack of cigarettes, he lit one and took a sip of coffee. He’d been up for more than twenty-four hours and was beginning to feel punchy. Fighting off a yawn, he checked his watch and figured that Andrews should’ve arrived by now. As he scanned the street and looked at the skyline, his eyes fell on a high-rise building a block south from where he’d parked. He knew that the Trisco Corporation owned the building, that they were the sole occupants and had commissioned the structure to be their flagship and national headquarters. The architecture seemed to fit its owners like a glove. The building was nondescript. Another boring flattop with mirrored glass.
Teddy turned away, sipping his coffee and letting his mind wander as he looked at the newspapers on the bench. The district attorney was in a bad place. Every good word written about the man over the last week would come back as a nail in his political coffin. He’d made another mistake. Arrested the wrong man after reassuring the public that they were safe. No one would forgive him this time. No one would forget.
His cell phone rang. As he flipped it open, he heard Powell’s voice.
“I’ve been transferred out of homicide,” she said.
“Where?”
“The juvenile division. Habitual offenders….”
It sounded like a move to Siberia. Andrews had struck back and knocked her all the way down the food chain. Teddy wasn’t sure if he felt guilty, or just inept.
“It’s not your fault, Teddy.”
“Did you tell him about the fingerprint?”
“Yes,” she said.
“How did he react?”
“It didn’t seem to faze him. He took it in stride.”
“You wanna meet somewhere?” he asked.
“He only gave me an hour to move my office,” she said. “After that I think I’d rather go home, take a shower and change. We were up all night, remember?”
“Yeah,” he said. “What about Vega and Ellwood?”
“They’re looking for Rosemary, and Trisco’s the one. Nothing’s changed. They’re working it hard.”
“I’ll call you back this afternoon,” he said.
“Maybe I’ll have better news.”
He slipped the phone into his pocket. As he gazed at the building, he noticed a man staring at him from the corner. It was Alan Andrews, striding toward him like he knew who Teddy had been talking to. He’d seen him on the phone. Seen him sitting on a bench in December across from his office. Teddy set his coffee down and stood up as the district attorney moved closer. The man stopped just short of his face. To Teddy’s surprise, he didn’t appear anxious or even angry. Instead, Alan Andrews was relaxed, his voice eerily smooth.
“Do you really think you’re ready for the big leagues, Teddy Mack?”
Teddy didn’t say anything, and took a step back.
“I didn’t think so,” Andrews said, sizing him up. “I just got off the phone with a partner at your firm. It’s official. You’ve cashed your last paycheck. Your career’s over. You’ve been fired.”
Teddy took it in and buried it. Andrews gave him a long look, then turned away and started off as if pleased.
“At least it won’t be in the papers, Andrews.”
The man turned back. “What did you say?”
“I wasn’t fired in public,” Teddy said. “When they get through with you, I don’t think it’ll be so easy.”