Sachs recalled her observation from earlier, when Laurel had gotten the phone call in the town house.
She’s vulnerable, even defenseless…
“I thought I needed to try something different. I’d run for office, devote myself to politics. I’d always wanted to. I have very strong ideas about this country and government’s role. I was class president in high school and college. That was a happy time for me and I guess I wanted to re-create it. But I decided I was a better DA than I would be a politician. This is where I belong.”
A nod toward the interview room. “The perp in there? History of sexual assault. He’s in here because he groped three high school students. The original prosecutor didn’t have time for the case and was going to charge him with forcible touching. Misdemeanor. He couldn’t be bothered. I know about people like this suspect, though. Next it’ll be raping an eleven-year-old and the time after that he’ll kill the girl once he’s finished. I took over and I’m going for first-degree sexual act.”
“Class B felony,” Sachs said.
“Exactly. And I’m going to get it. Running cases like this’s my talent, not politics. Stopping rapists and people like Shreve Metzger, who’re hiding behind the government and doing whatever the fuck they want, to hell with the Constitution.”
An obscenity. She was angry. Sachs suspected this was the real Nance Laurel, rarely visible beneath the buttoned-up suits, the spray-painted makeup, the if-you-don’t-mind verbiage.
“Amelia, yes, I took your name off the memos and emails. But that was purely for your sake and the sake of your career. It never occurred to me that you’d want credit. Who would?” She gave a shrug. “You know how dangerous this prosecution is? It’s a career-ender, if the slightest thing goes wrong. Washington might cut Metzger and Barry Shales loose and let them swing in the wind. But they might also make this their Gettysburg, take a stand against me. And if they do and I lose on the immunity issue, then I’m history. The feds’ll pressure Albany to get rid of me, and the attorney general will. In a heartbeat. That’ll happen to everybody involved in the case, Amelia.”
My case…
“I wanted to shelter you and the others as much as I could. Lon Sellitto’s not mentioned in any of the memos. Ron Pulaski, the same.”
Sachs pointed out, “But one of us’ll have to testify in court as experts — to the evidence.” Then she understood. “Lincoln.”
Laurel said, “He’s a consultant. He can’t be fired.”
“I didn’t understand any of this,” Sachs said. She apologized for her outburst.
“No, no. I should’ve shared the strategy with you.”
Sachs felt her phone vibrate and she glanced at the screen. A text from Lon Sellitto.
A—
Just learned. The suspension came from downtown. Capt. Myers. Thinks you’re not up front on health issues. He got your medical records from your private doctor. I bought you a week to stay on Moreno case. But need full medical by May 28th.
So that was it. Laurel had had nothing to do with getting her sidelined. Thank God she hadn’t blurted what she’d been thinking earlier. But then: How the hell had Myers gotten her private records? She never made insurance claims through the department. She herself paid for the appointments with her orthopedist — for this very reason: so no one in the Big Building would find out.
“Everything okay?” Laurel asked, nodding at the phone.
“Sure, fine.”
At that moment a buzz sounded from the end of the corridor. The door swung open and a man stepped inside, in his thirties, athletic, wearing a dark suit. He blinked in surprise, seeing the women at the end of the hall. Then he started forward, eyes taking in the rest of the hallway and the empty rooms.
Sachs spent a lot of time here. She knew many of the officers and guards. The detectives, of course. But she’d never seen this man before.
Maybe he was the sex pervert’s lawyer. But the expression on Laurel’s face said that she didn’t recognize him either.
Sachs turned back to Laurel. “I do have some news. Before I left we got a lead to the whistleblower.”
“Really?” Laurel lifted an eyebrow.
Sachs explained about the tourist’s photos of the tea-drinker who liked Splenda and had a bum stomach. His inexpensive, odd-colored suit. His possible connection to the military.
Laurel asked a question but by then Sachs’s instinct had kicked in and she wasn’t paying attention.
The man who’d been buzzed in was ignoring the interrogation rooms. He seemed purposefully, but warily, making his way toward the women.
“You know that guy?” Sachs whispered.
“No.” Laurel seemed troubled by the detective’s concern.
A scenario played itself out in Sachs’s imagination, honed by instinct: This wasn’t Barry Shales — they’d seen his picture — but could it be Unsub 516? Sachs had been careful with the cell phones but who knew what NIOS was capable of. The man could have tracked her here — or followed Laurel. Maybe he’d just killed the guard out front and buzzed himself in.
Sachs looked for options. She had her switchblade but if this was the unsub he’d be armed. She recalled the terrible knife wounds on Lydia Foster’s body. And he could easily have a gun. She’d have to get him in close before she could use the blade.
But as he approached he slowed and stopped, well out of knife range. She couldn’t possibly draw the knife and attack before he opened fire. His smooth face, and cautious eyes, looked from one to the other. “Nance Laurel?”
“That’s me. Who are you?”
The man had no interest in answering her question.
With a fast, assessing look at Sachs, he reached into his jacket.
Sachs prepared to launch herself into him, muscles tensing, fingers folding into fists.
Can I get to him in time to grab his hand when it appears, pull my knife out, flick it open?
She crouched and felt a stab of pain. Then got ready to surge forward.
Wondering too if, as before in the alley, her knee would give out again and send her sprawling to the floor, in helpless agony, giving the man all the time he needed to shoot or slash them both to death.
CHAPTER 67
The moment before she leapt, though, Sachs saw that an envelope, not a Glock or a blade, was emerging.
The man noted Sachs’s curious pose with a frown then stepped closer and handed the envelope to Laurel.
“Who are you?” Laurel persisted.
Still no response to her query. Instead he said, “I’ve been asked to give this to you. Before you go any further, you should know.”
“‘Go any further’?”
He didn’t elaborate but simply nodded at the envelope.
The prosecutor extracted a single sheet of paper. She read methodically, word by word, to judge from her slow eye movements. Her teeth seemed to clench.
She looked up at the man. “You work for the State Department?”
Sachs’s impression was that, though he said nothing, the answer was yes. What was this all about?
A glance at the document. “Is it authentic?” Laurel asked, eyeing the State Department minion closely.
The man answered, “I was asked to deliver a document to Assistant District Attorney Laurel. I have no interest in or knowledge of the contents.”
Good use of prepositions, Sachs reflected cynically. Lincoln Rhyme would have approved.