The courthouse had closed early today, but not before Melanie arraigned Harrison Hogan on charges of murder and assault in furtherance of a narcotics conspiracy. Hogan faced a minimum twenty-to-life sentence, with the possibility of the death penalty if aggravating circumstances were proved. His lawyer was already talking about a plea to thirty years.
While she was in court for the Hogan arraignment, Melanie had taken the precaution of obtaining sealed warrants for the arrests of Patricia Andover and James Seward on wire-fraud charges. That take-down, along with a big press conference, was scheduled for the day after Christmas. With celebrity perps like those two, it should be a media circus, and Bernadette was so thrilled that she was flinging around words like “promotion” and “award.”
Melanie had done one other thing while she was in court. She’d come here to tell Trevor about it, as well as to reassure him that Hogan would be locked up for a long time, unable to do any further harm.
Trevor’s lids fluttered. He opened his blackened eyes.
“Hey,” Melanie said, as he struggled to lift his head. “No, don’t try to talk.”
Trevor pointed to the bedside table, and Melanie picked up the water bottle that sat there, helping him drink through a straw.
“Listen, I came by to tell you how sorry I am about what happened to you,” she said. “I’m really devastated, Trevor.”
He motioned toward the table again, and she saw a pad and paper there. She handed it to him; he scribbled something and held it up so she could see.
“Chill out,” he’d written. “My choice. I did it for Bree.”
“Well, I want you to know, we got him. Hogan, I mean. It turns out he was Jay Esposito’s cousin, and his right-hand man. He was recruiting Holbrooke girls for the drug operation.”
“Expo?” Trevor wrote.
“Dead! Hogan murdered him.”
Trevor raised his eyebrows in shock.
“I know,” Melanie said. “Pretty wild, huh? And Hogan murdered Whitney Seward by shooting her up with heroin and OxyContin. Plus,” she said, counting on her fingers, “we have him on heroin distribution resulting in the death of Brianna Meyers, assaulting you, and an embezzlement scheme at Holbrooke that I’m charging under the federal wire-fraud statute. He’s looking at thirty years, minimum.”
Trevor gave her a weak high five. She could tell from the tautness of his cheeks that he was fighting not to smile.
“But there’s something else I came here to tell you, Trevor. Luckily, it’s Christmas, and the chain of command in my office is feeling generous, because even given your stellar cooperation, getting this approved is pretty rare.”
He looked at her questioningly.
“I dismissed all your charges. The ecstasy, that Internet-fraud thing-everything. With prejudice, so they can’t be brought again. That’s different from just getting sentenced to probation. It means you have a clean record. A fresh start. And I want you to make good use of it, because I see what a solid person you are. You have a lot to offer the world if you walk the straight and narrow path.”
His eyes filled with tears, and they hugged.
DAN WAS WAITING outside with the engine running and the heat on.
“You told Trevor about dropping the charges?” he asked as she sank into the passenger seat, pulling her heavy coat tight around her.
“Yes. He was very happy. It was a nice Christmas present to be able to give him. Speaking of-what the heck is that in the backseat?”
There was a huge teddy bear wearing a Santa hat in the back of Dan’s car.
“Well, you invited me over for dinner. I’m a little nervous about meeting Maya again, since she didn’t seem too keen on me last time.”
“She was sick, silly.”
“Whatever. I’m not taking any chances. I know better than to show up empty-handed. Chicks always dig a gift.”
She giggled. “Not me. I’m not materialistic like that.”
“No?”
“Nope.”
“Okay, then I won’t give you the thing I got you.”
“You got me something? Really? That is so sweet!”
“Yeah, but since you’re not materialistic, you don’t need it.”
“Hey, come on, don’t be that way! What is it?”
“I’m not telling.”
“Where is it?”
He lifted his arms and gave her a million-dollar smile. “Somewhere on my person.”
“Oh, you want me to pat you down? You sure?” she said.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You have no idea what you’re in for.”
“Bring it on, Melanie Vargas. Life’s short. Let’s not waste another second.”
About the Author
A graduate of Harvard University and Stanford Law School, Michele Martinez worked at a prestigious Manhattan law firm before serving eight years as a federal prosecutor. She lives in New York City with her husband and two children.
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