"Devil's corner" - читать интересную книгу автора (Scottoline Lisa)

SIX

The William Green Federal Building was a modern redbrick edifice that anchored Sixth and Arch streets, attached to the United States Courthouse and situated at the center of a new court complex that Vicki thought of as a Justice Mall. The Neiman Marcus of the Justice Mall would be the Constitution Center, a glitzy shrine to sell the Bill of Rights, and the Gap would be the Federal Detention Center, a generic column of gray stone, except for its horizontal window slits. The FDC almost didn't get built because nobody wanted a federal prison reminding the shoppers-er, tourists-that the City of Brotherly Love was also the City of Brotherly Robbery and Weapons Offenses. But the FDC was ultimately approved because officials agreed to construct a secret underground tunnel from the prison to the federal building, so the shoppers wouldn't know. It was through this tunnel that defendant Reheema Bristow was being escorted this morning.

Vicki waited in a plastic bucket chair in a proffer room on the secured fourth floor of the federal building. They were called proffer rooms because defendants "proffered" here, i.e., offered to tell the government incriminating information, off the record, in return for immunity or a recommendation to the judge for a downward departure on their sentence. This proffer room was unfortunately identical to the others: white boxes, uniformly windowless and airless, containing brown Formica conference tables and a few mismatched chairs.

Vicki collected her thoughts. The straw purchase case might have collapsed, but she wasn't dropping the charges until after she had questioned Bristow just one time. Nobody would be the wiser; the defense didn't know the identity of the confidential informant because Vicki wasn't required to divulge until right before trial or even before the CI took the stand, if witness intimidation was an issue. She was bending the rules a little, but Morty's death provided more than enough motivation. She'd thought of the plan last night when she couldn't sleep, replaying the awful shootings in her mind.

She crossed her legs and willed herself to stay centered; the record showed that Bristow could be provocative. Straws weren't usually held in custody, but Bristow had turned her temporary detention into an almost year-long stay by mouthing off to the magistrate judge during her hearing. Whatever Bris-tow brought this morning, Vicki could handle it. She brushed an imaginary hair off her black wool suit, her hair swept back into a black barrette and curling loosely at the nape of her neck. She had picked out the outfit on autopilot, then realized she was dressed in mourning. Only determination held raw grief at bay.

Suddenly, the door to the proffer room opened and the defense lawyer bustled in. "I'm Carlos Melendez," he said, and extending a hammy hand. "It's freezing cold, isn't it? They say snow this afternoon." He looked about sixty years old, his still-thick hair coiled in tight steel-gray curls, contrasting with his darkish skin and rich brown eyes. He had a cheery demeanor and a short, chubby build in a herringbone topcoat, like SpongeBob SquarePants with a law degree.

"I'm Vicki Allegretti," she said, liking Melendez immediately, despite the fact that he was technically the enemy.

"Boy, you look too young to be an AUSA." Melendez smiled.

"No, I'm twenty-eight. I'm just short."

"Ha! You're short and young." Melendez laughed. "Though I gotta admit, I don't know many AUSAs, I'm court appointed on this case." He wriggled out of his topcoat, releasing the scent of a strongly spicy aftershave.

"Thanks for coming on such short notice."

"Not at all, glad you called. Trial's just around the corner."

Eek. Not anymore. "Did you get my proffer letter?" This morning, Vicki had re-sent Melendez the proffer letter that the first AUSA had sent, since it had the necessary signature, namely Strauss's. The letter was a formality, setting forth the govern-ment's request for information and the ground rules for the meeting off the record. She'd had it in the Bristow file and faxed it from home.

"My secretary confirmed that we got it, thanks." Melendez opened a scratched-up leather briefcase, extracted an accordion file, and closed it again.

"Think Ms. Bristow feels chatty this morning?"

"Reheema? Honestly, no." Melendez smiled. "You'll see, Reheema's not the talkative type, but maybe she'll listen to reason. I'll be honest with you, I want her to cooperate, and I told her so." He pushed his briefcase across the dusty Formica table and eased his girth into his bucket chair. "The first AUSA had no luck with her, but he lacked your youthful enthusiasm. Maybe with you being a woman, too, that'll help. You're the same age."

"Good."

"Like I told you, I'm court-appointed, so I don't meet a lot of people like her. She's a tough nut. But she has a good heart, and I think she's innocent."

Vicki knew he'd learn soon enough that Bristow could be behind the murders of three people.

"And five years is five years. I hate to see her get set up for this."

"What do you mean? You think someone's setting her up?"

"Somebody's letting her twist, aren't they? Whoever she bought those guns for, and like you say, anything is possible." Melendez shrugged his heavy shoulders. "I don't know, she won't talk to me. Like I said, I don't usually do this kinda work, but I've never had a client who was so close-mouthed."

"Is she frightened?" Vicki was considering the possibilities. "Intimidated by someone?"

"Ha! No way. Reheema doesn't scare easy." Melendez mulled it over, looking idly at Vicki. Suddenly, his dark eyes seemed to sharpen and he focused on her face. "You know, you look a lot like that woman on TV last night. With that murder, on the news?"

"Uh, yes, that was me." Vicki told herself to act natural. It would have been only a matter of time before he recognized her. The story was all over the papers, TV, and radio this morning.

"That was you? An FBI agent killed and a pregnant woman?"

"He was ATF." Vicki's chest felt tight.

"Je-sus." Melendez looked shocked, his lips parting. "That must have been horrible. What the hell happened?"

"I can't really say," Vicki answered in her official voice, as a burly ATF agent in a tie and gray blazer appeared at the door to the proffer room.

"Special delivery," the agent said dryly. Usually, the federal marshals brought up the prisoners, but Vicki had asked the ATF on duty as a favor. He had to know it was related to Morty's death, but she didn't tell, to give him deniability.

"Thanks," Vicki said, and when the agent stepped aside, Vicki did a double take at the sight of the shackled prisoner.

Reheema Bristow didn't look at all the way Vicki had expected.