“Not a word to Mercer about our visit to Rockefeller,” Mike said half an hour later when he dropped me at the courthouse. “He’s likely to tell Vickee, and then Scully will be after my scalp.”
He was on his way to headquarters to view the video surveillance tapes from Francie’s last walk down Baxter Street.
“Understood,” I said, getting out of his car and stopping at the coffee cart for two large cups of black coffee.
There was plenty for me to do to organize the presentation of my case against Zach Palmer. The harder task was to figure out how and when to tell him that he had better retain counsel and prepare to defend himself. Since it was already Thursday, I decided to wait until Monday to make that move.
“You must have been here awfully early,” Laura said when she reached her desk almost an hour after I had settled in.
“You know the offer of a door-to-door ride from Detective Chapman is always too good to refuse,” I said, giving her a thumbs-up and a morning smile. “Try your best to keep the day quiet for me, will you?”
“That might take some magical powers that I simply don’t possess,” Laura said. “Are you taking calls?”
“Screening them carefully, if you don’t mind.”
Mercer wasn’t far behind, with a third cardboard cup of coffee and a blueberry muffin for each of us.
“I want to apologize for my role in upsetting Vickee last night,” I said.
“You ought to call her up and tell her,” he said. “I’m not authorized to accept apologies on her behalf.”
“I’ve already tried to call her twice, but she’s just letting it go to voice mail.”
“Vickee’s walking a tightrope,” Mercer said. “Scully’s got her on a tight leash, and she knows she can’t make you and Mike happy at the same time.”
We got to work, dividing our chores on Lucy’s case. I called her aunt to let her know that I thought we were making progress, that Lucy admitted to stealing her cousin’s ring, and that she hoped to be reunited with the family when she was ready to leave Streetwork. Her aunt seemed pleased, and suddenly much warmer, to hear that news. I decided there was no reason to get into the fine points of the case against Zach Palmer at this point.
An hour later, Laura buzzed me. “I’ve got the judge’s wife—Janet Corliss—on your first line. Do you want her?”
“Want her? Of course not,” I said, “but I’d better take her.”
I pressed the plastic button and answered the call. “This is Alexandra Cooper.”
“Ms. Cooper? It’s Janet Corliss.”
“How can I help you?”
“My friend Jessica Witte was down to see you on Tuesday. You told her you’d consider coming to my office to meet with me—and, well, there’s getting to be some urgency to it.”
There was usually some urgency with most of the people I dealt with, and it was always part of my job to triage each matter.
“Would you be comfortable with next week, Ms. Corliss?” I asked.
“Next week? Did you say next week? I could be dead by next week.”
“Then we’ll deal with it right away,” I said. “I’ve got a fabulous deputy. Perhaps Catherine could get to you this afternoon or tomorrow?”
“You’re too important to do this yourself?” she asked. “Or are you in Bud’s pocket, too?”
“Excuse me? Bud’s pocket?”
There were moments that the burden of being a public servant weighed heavily on my tongue. I couldn’t tell the woman what I really thought about her comment, her dig at my ethics, without causing her to try to climb the chain of command—though it didn’t go very far up since Battaglia’s death.
“Listen to me, Ms. Cooper,” the distraught woman said. I assumed that the tension of her situation might have heightened the aggressive tone she took with me. “My husband just made an offer to a young lawyer to be his new law secretary. It’s an important job, as you know, and the fellow who’s had it for the last eight years is moving to the West Coast.”
“I didn’t know that. He’s a smart kid and he’s been a great asset to your husband,” I said.
“So now he offers the job to a young woman,” she said, “and I believe they’re having an affair.”
“I can only imagine how upsetting that must be to you, but it’s not my territory, Ms. Corliss,” I said. “I prosecute violent crimes. I don’t meddle in affairs.”
“This woman is the one we were fighting about when Bud tried to choke me, Ms. Cooper. Does that make it all a bit more relevant?” Janet Corliss asked. “I accused Bud of having a sexual relationship with her. He denied it, of course, but he put his hands on my throat because he got so angry.”
“Yes, your friend told me about that, and we need to discuss whether or not you want to prosecute, which you’re certainly entitled to do.”
“I need to see you today,” Janet Corliss said, screeching into the phone. “The woman Bud offered the job to has disappeared. She’s a Legal Aid lawyer and her name is Francie Fain.”
I almost gasped out loud. I was reeling at the mention of Francie’s name.
“No one in her office has the faintest idea where she is,” she went on. Janet Corliss took a deep breath and I flashed back to the note in Francie’s briefcase, telling me that she was thinking of taking a new job and wanted my advice. I thought, too, of her pregnancy.
“Ms. Corliss,” I said, trying to calm myself as I spoke, “Francie’s a good friend of mine. It’s entirely inappropriate for me to handle your complaint, as I’m sure you realize. I’m going to get the best prosecutor to come see you as soon as possible. Catherine Dashfer will call you back shortly.”
“You’ll regret passing me off to someone else, Ms. Cooper,” she said. “There are things about my husband that you need to know.”