COVER-UP

Michele Martinez

This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue
are drawn from the authors imagination and are not to be construed as
real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is
entirely coincidental.
COVER- UP. Copyright © 2007 by Michele Rebecca Martinez Campbell.
All rights reserved under International and Pan- American Copyright
Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted
the non- exclusive, non- transferable right to access and read the text of
this e- book on- screen. No part of this text may be reproduced,
transmitted, down- loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in
or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any
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hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of
HarperCollins e- books.
Adobe Acrobat eBook Reader February 2007 ISBN 978- 0- 06- 128900- 2
Library of Congress Cataloging- in- Publication Data
Martinez, Michele, 1962
Cover- up / Michele Martinez.-- 1st ed.
p. cm. ISBN: 978- 0- 06- 089900- 4 ISBN- 10: 0- 06- 089900- X
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

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http:// www. harpercollinsebooks. com About the Author

A graduate of Harvard University and Stanford Law School, MICHELE
MARTINEZ worked at a prestigious Manhattan law firm before spending eight
years fighting crime as a federal prosecutor in New York City.
www. michelemartinez. com
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also by michele martinez
Most Wanted
The Finishing School For my mother

1

Dont say I didnt warn you.
FBI Agent Dan OReilly looked through his windshield at the
large crowd milling on Fifth Avenue. It was eleven oclock on a rainy
Wednesday night in June, but the blazing spotlights from the television
news vans made it feel like high noon. His companion in the car,
federal prosecutor Melanie Vargas, was surveying the scene with obvious
alarm. Here and there, recognizable faces stood out-- celebrity
reporters from the local news channels.
You didnt warn me about this, Melanie said.
Famous victim. Youve got to expect press.
The NYPD had set up a barricade at the Seventy - ninth Street entrance
to Central Park. Inside the gates, a short walk into the Ramble,
a tabloid - TV personality lay dead. Suzanne Shepard, the glamorous
blond scandalmonger, had been viciously raped and stabbed, and Dan
and Melanie had come to view the crime scene. But after a tough year,
Melanie was fighting serious burnout, and she hardly needed a high profile
case right now. Twenty minutes earlier, shed been enjoying a
romantic evening, getting hot and heavy with Dan on her living - room sofa after taking him to dinner for his birthday. She hadnt been in the
market for anything like this. Then his pager started shrieking.
Press coverage kicks everything up a notch, Melanie said. More
pressure. More scrutiny. I should never have let you drag me out
here.
Admit it. You cant say no to me.
In the semidarkness of the car, Dan smiled. He had a movie - star
smile, a football - hero body, and intense blue eyes. He was right. These
days, Melanie wasnt refusing him much. Which probably wasnt the
smartest move mere months after shed divorced her cheating husband,
and with a little girl to raise.
Youre full of yourself, OReilly, she said.
Dan edged his G - car toward the barricade. Several cameramen
walked backward in front of them, filming them through the car
windows.
I cant believe this. Look at these guys, Melanie said.
Didnt you tell me your boss was pissed at you for turning down
that terrorism financing case? Dan asked.
What choice did I have? It involved overseas travel, and I cant
leave Maya.
Bring in a big murder case, Dan said. Bernadettell love you
again.
You know what they say. Big cases, big problems. Little cases,
little problems. No cases, no problems.
You know what else they say. No cases, no job. Trust me, youll
be up on the dais accepting Prosecutor of the Year on this one. Then
youll thank me.
Dan rolled his window down, and they both handed over their
credentials to the cop stationed there, who studied them and proceeded
to consult with somebody over a walkie - talkie. After a few
minutes, he handed the creds back, pulled the barricade aside, and waved them through. Melanie had pushed Mayas stroller through this
very gate more times than she could count, but in the reassuring light
of day. She wished mightily that she were doing that now. The park
looked so different at night. Strange shadows loomed between the arcs
of yellow light spilling from the lampposts, and branches fl apped in
the wet wind. What had happened to the old Melanie? Time was, she
wouldve been eating this up instead of feeling the butterfl ies.
They drove as far as the Boathouse before the path became too
narrow for the G - car to pass. A traffic jam of blue - and - whites and
American - made sedans with tinted windows had all stopped at the
same place, parked every which way in front of the ornate brick building.
Their drivers were nowhere in sight. Slapping a police placard in
the front windshield, Dan got out and came around to open Melanies
door.
At least the service is good, she said, stepping out. He closed
the door with a thud, and the sound seemed to echo in the gloom all
around them.
Not as good as what youre gonna get later. I wasnt done with
you. Dan winked at her, giving her a jolt right down to her toes.
It was a warm, rainy night, and the sky above them glowed lurid
orange with reflected light from the city. They passed through a gate
to enter the Ramble, and the manicured park immediately turned wild
and overgrown, smelling of wet earth and rotting leaves. The woods
closed in on either side, so the footpath was barely wide enough for
two people to walk abreast. She couldnt see more than a few feet
ahead. The ground was broken and uneven, and Melanie was glad
shed chosen boots with sturdy soles. A sudden scurrying noise in the
underbrush made her start.
You okay? Dan asked.
Yeah. Just a squirrel.
Or a rat. This is Central Park after all. Thanks a lot.
Id try to take him out with my Glock, but I havent been to the
range lately.
Melanie laughed. Oh, that gives me a lot of confi dence.
The path sloped upward and opened onto a vista that would
have been beautiful if it werent swarming with cops and blazing with
strange artificial light. Portable klieg lamps had been set up around
the edges of a ravine that dropped off precipitously from the pathway.
Beyond the ravine-- which measured maybe twenty feet deep by fi fty
feet wide-- an inlet of the Central Park Lake glittered and a spectacular
weeping willow swayed in the wet wind. Below, crime- scene
detectives in protective white coveralls and face masks were busy photographing,
bagging, marking, and sampling, their grim faces washed
out to sepia hues by the glare.
Melanie and Dan came to a halt by necessity. Both the path ahead
and the steep trail down into the ravine where the detectives worked
were blocked off with police barricades.
Theres Brennan, Dan said. He cupped his hands around his
mouth. Yo, Butch! Up here.
A tall, stocky man standing knee - deep in the underbrush in the
middle of the ravine looked up. Butch Brennan was the supervisor
of the crime- scene team, an old - timer, nearing retirement now,
whod waded through oceans of gore in his day without losing his
happy - go - lucky attitude. In fact, the more brutal the crime, the
more cheerful Butch got. And Melanie could tell that he was smiling
broadly through his face mask now as he gave them a peppy
wave.
He looks way too happy, Melanie said. Im going home.
You cant leave. Its pitch - dark, and theres a killer on the loose.
Stay there! Butch yelled. Im coming to get youse!
Melanie shielded her eyes against the glare and watched Butch
Brennan clamber up the side of the ravine. He picked his way care fully along a ragged schist outcropping, then doubled back toward
them, careful not to disturb anything in the cordoned - off areas.
Dan, Melanie, Butch said, nodding, breathing heavily as he
yanked off a paper face mask. Glad to see the feds on the case. We
need all the help we can get.
That doesnt sound good, Melanie commented.
Its not, Butch said. Whoever did this is a major psycho. Janice
Marsh from the D. A. s office was here before. She saw the body,
turned green, and ran off to hurl. Havent seen her since.
Whats so bad? Dan asked.
The victims hacked all to shit, Butch said, and the killer carved
bitch in her stomach with a hunting knife. Ill tell you, I thought
about puking myself, and Ive seen everything.
The D. A. s office has dibs, Melanie said to Dan. I should bow
out. Melanie was a federal prosecutor, from the U. S. Attorneys Office,
whereas the D. A. was state. The two offices were constantly engaged
in turf battles. Melanie wasnt just looking for an excuse here. It
a situation like this, the politics could get tricky.
My boss worked out the turf issues already with Manhattan
North Homicide, Dan said. The investigation is joint state - federal.
If the Bureau and the NYPD can play nice, Im sure you can get along
with the D. A. s offi ce.
Dont leave, really, Butch said. Janice aint coming back anytime
soon. We need a prosecutor with a strong stomach on this case.
Ive seen you in action, Melanie. I know you can handle yourself,
Butch said.
Given the mood she was in, the fact that the A. D. A. had vomited
and fl ed the scene shouldve made Melanie run screaming all the way
back to her apartment. But Butch Brennan wasnt one to hand out
compliments lightly, and his vote of confidence managed to scratch
the surface of her attitude. If she said no, shed risk losing Butchs regard,
and that wouldnt feel good. If you think so, Butch, she said.
Just then, the wind shifted. A warm mist blew into Melanies face,
coming from the direction of the lake. It carried a whiff of something
sharp that cut right through the lush scent of water and woods. A
gamy, metallic odor Melanie recognized from crime scenes past, and
from a terrible night in her own childhood when violence had invaded
her home. Blood.
I do think so, Butch said. Lets go have a look. 2

In order to view the body, Melanie and Dan were required to don the
white jumpsuits, shoe covers, and face masks worn by the crime scene
detectives. The suits were constructed from a space - age slippery
microfiber that made Melanie feel like she was embarking on a trip to
Mars. As Butch Brennan gave them a rundown of the other forensic
evidence on their way down into the ravine, and the brutality of the
crime became increasingly evident to her, a feeling that shed stepped
into some sick alternate universe took hold of her.
Assailant attacked the victim on the path up ahead here. He may
have used a stun gun to subdue her, based on a small lesion on the side
of her neck, three marks in a triangular formation. Then he stabbed
her. Theres a shitload of blood. Lucky the rain let up. It didnt wash
away, he said, unclipping a heavy rubber flashlight from his tool belt
and training its beam on a cordoned - off portion of blacktop. Melanie
couldnt see anything but wet black pavement.
It dont look like much to the naked eye, but its there, Butch
said. When we sprayed the Luminol, the place lit up like the
Fourth of July. We took infrared photos and samples of the victims blood. We also got what we believe to be samples of the killers
DNA.
Howd you get that? Melanie asked.
The victim was sexually assaulted, and we swabbed. Plus she had
long fingernails, and we took scrapings from under em. From that,
and the defensive wounds on her arms, Im betting she got her licks
in. Our subjects walking around with some nasty scratches and maybe
a few contusions into the bargain.
So youll submit those DNA samples to the FBI database for
comparison? Melanie asked. As reluctant as shed been to come out,
her brain was kicking in now, working on the puzzle.
Well do that. Not to rain on your parade, but just remember
you only get a match if your killer was gentleman enough to provide
his DNA profile to the FBI in advance. Otherwise theres nothing in
the CODIS database to match our sample to, Butch said.
I understand, Melanie said. Now, from the spatters, you think
she was actually attacked here in the Ramble? Not attacked elsewhere
and dumped here?
The attack definitely happened here, Butch replied.
Huh, Melanie said, interested. Whats a woman doing walking
around alone in the Ramble at night?
Oh, Butch said, you mean because its--
A major gay cruising location. Suzanne Shepard was a reporter in
this town for a long time. Youd think shed know that. Besides, it was
raining. Not a terrific night for a jog in the park.
The forensics cant tell us why she was here, Butch said. But maybe
theyll tell us a thing or two about why she was killed. To me, looking at
the brutality of the crime, it fits with a PCP or meth killing.
PCPs over, and theres no meth in New York, Dan said, shaking
his head.
Thats not true; meths everywhere now, Melanie said. DEAs
been bringing us a lot of those cases. Whatever drug it was, Butch said, Im thinking maybe a junkie
confronted her, tried to rob her, she resisted, and it went south from
there. The uniforms who notified next of kin radioed back that the
victim was wearing diamond earrings and a gold Rolex when she left
home this morning, which she aint now.
Would a junkie rape her, though? Melanie asked. The rape
strikes me as more consistent with a random sex crime.
I hear you, but on the other hand, would a rapist rob her? Butch
asked. This scumbag went through her wallet. We found it next to
the body with streaks of talcum powder visible on the leather. The
cash was gone, and her drivers license. But the credit cards were still
there. Thats a little unusual. Most killers who boost a wallet just grab
the fucking thing and run.
Talcum - powder marks. Whats that about? Melanie asked.
Surgical gloves. They mustve been wet from the rain, and the
residue transferred. We found powder spots on her clothing, too.
The little hairs on the back of Melanies neck stood up. What
kind of junkie wears surgical gloves? That sounds like a psycho - serial killer
move. Maybe even somebody experienced, whos committed
similar acts before, she said.
A sexual sadist? Dan asked. That would fit with what he carved
on her stomach.
Either way, it sounds like a random killing. I dont like that,
Melanie said.
Random is a lot tougher to crack than something targeted, Dan
agreed.
What do you think, Butch? Melanie asked.
From what Ive seen, nothing points to the victim knowing her
attacker. The stun- gun mark tells me he had a plan to subdue her,
so its not like he was somebody she trusted, who was counting on
getting close before he attacked. As for the writing on her stomach,
its hard to say. Could go either way-- a robbery, a sex slay. Or even somebody who hated her show, though God knows, that dont narrow
it down much, Butch said with a chuckle.
I never saw that show, Dan said. High Crimes, right?
Yeah, what a load of crap, Butch said. She was always slinging
the muck about famous people, digging around in their dirty laundry.
But listen to me. I watched it.
You and a lot of other people, Dan said.
Hmm, I bet she had a lot of enemies, Melanie said thoughtfully.
Anyways, getting back to what I was saying, Butch said, after
he stabbed her, he dragged her across this patch of dirt. We got a few
footprints, so were making some casts for you for trial.
Butch directed the flashlight beam down at a section of ground
that was studded with rectangular wood frames containing hardening
plaster.
Then he tossed her over the edge of the ravine like a sack of garbage.
Boom. She lands down there. He goes down after her. Its nice
and private down there. We believe the sexual assault took place in the
ravine, after the stabbing. And now lets go take a look at whats left.
Melanie nodded, and she and Dan followed Butch wordlessly
down into the ravine. The bottom was soft earth covered in ferns and
underbrush and bathed in cold white light from the klieg lamps. In
the otherworldly glare, Melanie felt like she was sleepwalking. Spacewalking
was more like it. As Butch led them toward the body, and
the gamy smell grew stronger, she felt numb. Shed been through the
crime- scene wringer before on other cases. Youd think it would get
easier, but far from it. Lately the job only got harder.
They were right upon the victim now, yet the body was barely
visible. The ground sloped down toward the lake, and the victim had
landed with her head pointing in that same direction. Her head, torso,
and upper legs disappeared into the thick underbrush, obscured by
low bushes and dripping ferns. Only her lower legs and feet stuck out, twisted oddly inward. The right leg was completely naked and glowed
a dead white punctuated by dark clumps of dried blood. The left leg
was partly bare and partly twined in a coiled mess of blood - sopped
khaki pants and underwear, its foot still clad in a tan moccasin.
We photographed the area with the leaves covering her, just like
this, which is how we found her. Then we held em aside and took
pictures of the wounds. After the ME bags her and hauls her off, well
cut away all the brush and do a final sweep for anything we missed
because of the ground cover.
Okay, good, Melanie forced herself to say. Part of her wanted to
run, and part of her knew she needed to stay now and bear witness to
this horrible crime. God, human beings were evil.
He taped her hands and mouth. Plain packing tape like you
could buy in any hardware or moving - supply store. We can try to
print it, but again, he wore gloves, so my guess is well come up empty.
Im gonna show you her face sos you trust my ID, but Im warning
you, it aint pretty. Ready?
Melanie nodded mutely, and Butch used his probe to sweep aside
the wet ferns that obscured the victims head.
Suzanne Shepards mouth, visible through strips of blood - smeared
plastic packing tape, was twisted into a grimace of the starkest horror.
Her blue eyes were open and vacant, but wide with shock, and the
black blood that had sprayed up to dot her face looked like so many
flies swarming. Shed died in agony; you could see it in her expression,
and yet the cool, beautiful TV star was still recognizable in the
gruesome corpse. Seeing a celebrity in the flesh always felt surreal.
Melanies occasional close encounters-- Mary Tyler Moore buying a
sweater at Bendels, Kelly Ripa eating ice cream with her kids-- had
been disorienting just because it was bizarre to realize that television
stars existed in real life. But a famous person dead, and brutally, horribly
so? Beyond weird.
Its definitely her, Dan said. He took Melanies arm to steady her, looking concerned, and she managed a nod to let him know she
was okay. Butch was right. She did have a strong stomach. She could
handle this, and she liked that about herself. She took a deep breath
through her mouth so she could get oxygen without inhaling the
stench of blood.
Heres what we think is a stun - gun mark, Butch said, using his
pointer to indicate three tiny burn marks arranged in a triangular pattern
on the side of Suzanne Shepards elegant neck. Public place, it
makes sense he would stun her and gag her to reduce noise.
How long would a stun gun knock her out for? Melanie asked.
It wouldnt knock her out at all, Dan said, shaking his head. To
make somebody lose consciousness, you have to maintain the electrical
connection between the stun gun and the skin for several seconds.
Thats harder than youd think. Probably he just shocked her enough
to get the jump on her.
Now get a load of this, Butch said. The main event. This part,
I need to be careful, because its important. We took pictures, but the
MEll want it clean for the autopsy.
Butch knelt down and carefully held aside a low - lying branch that
had concealed the womans torso, then shined his flashlight beam directly
on it.
Jesus! Dan exclaimed, recoiling.
Melanie gasped and jerked her eyes away, closing them instinctively
to shield herself from the monstrous sight. But it stayed with her
anyway, vibrating against her eyelids, so after a moment she opened
them again, swallowing hard to fi ght back the sour taste rising in her
throat.
A pink cotton sweater was bunched up near the victims underarms,
and a lavender brassiere hung loosely down from her right
shoulder. Shed been stabbed many times with tremendous force. Her
left breast was half - severed. Gaping slash wounds covered the rest of
her upper chest, exposing internal organs that looked like nothing so much as meat at the butchers counter. But her stomach had been
spared, and stood out white and unmarred except for the message
the killer had sent. The letters were carved with unexpected precision:
bitch, in boxy capitals that had been formed by joining together
straight - edged cuts that oozed smears of blood.
Look how neat it is, Butch said. Like he had all the time in the
world. I bet the autopsys gonna say the knife he used to write on her
was different from the murder weapon. Something small and sharp, a
box cutter, maybe, or a scalpel. We recovered the murder weapon, and
just eyeballing it, its too fat to make those nice, neat cuts.
Butch let the leaves fall back into place and stood up.
You got the murder weapon? Dan asked.
Yeah, Butch said. Guy threw it down toward the lake and we
found it lying on a rock. Sloppy. Typical resin - handled hunting knife
with a ten - inch steel blade. Nothing unusual enough to trace easy.
Well print it and all, but we wont get anything, seeing as he was
wearing gloves.
What about the stun gun? Dan asked.
That might be easier to bring back to an individual purchaser
than a knife. A lotta guys hunt, but not too many electric - shock people,
Butch said wryly.
Somebody called to Butch from above.
Oh, the footprint casts are set. I gotta go pull em up. But you
two relax. Stay as long as you want, Butch said, like he was inviting
them to sit by the fi re.
Dan turned to Melanie, who stood solemn and silent, her eyes
glued to Suzanne Shepards blood - drenched legs protruding from the
leaves. They reminded her of the Wicked Witchs legs sticking out
from under the house in The Wizard of Oz, a sight that had never
failed to make her tremble with fear as a child.
Im sorry, Dan said. This one was worse than I expected. You
must hate me for bringing you here. It took her a second to pull her eyes away and meet his gaze. I
hate the killer, not you. Anybody who could do this to another person
isnt fit to be called human. I bet its some jerk whos done this to other
women, too.
Thats why I like what I do for a living, he said meaningfully.
We make a difference. We can get him off the streets. You can.
Youre right, Melanie said, sighing deeply. Im in. 3

Melanie had a special talent for investigating the ugliest crimes--
homicides, home invasions, narcotics, gunrunning-- that stood
in marked contrast to her good diction and fancy education. Indeed,
people who met her often thought she seemed too nice or too polite
or too feminine to succeed at such a brutal job. But growing up on
the block had left her with special insight into how the criminal mind
worked and a high tolerance for an environment that sometimes felt
like the Wild, Wild West. For months now, shed been coasting, handling
a series of stultifyingly dull bank - fraud cases. The cases rarely
went to trial, so she could count on a predictable schedule. They required
her to wade through piles of sleep - inducing documents, but
she could do that at night in the comfort of her apartment, wearing
old sweatpants, after Maya went down to sleep. Doing those cases,
Melanie hadnt been within spitting distance of anything violent or
gruesome in a long time, and being out here tonight was making her
realize that shed missed the rough stuff more than shed imagined.
Shed been bored out of her mind and hadnt even known it.
When Dan went off in search of his NYPD counterpart, Detective Julian Hay, Melanie stayed behind in the ravine. She wasnt alone.
A junior crime - scene detective was stationed nearby, guarding the site
so there could be no allegations later that unauthorized personnel had
gotten access to the body. His reassuring presence gave Melanie the
freedom she needed to stand and look, to think and analyze, to try to
figure out what the forensic evidence said about this murder. It took
her less than five minutes to come to some important conclusions. A
couple of questions leaped out at her regarding the position of Suzanne
Shepards corpse, questions she needed to pursue further by
speaking to the deputy ME whod examined the body.
Melanie found Grace Deng and an orderly on the paved path
above the ravine, readying a stretcher and body bag to transport the
corpse to their refrigerated van, and introduced herself. Grace had
sharp features and a dramatic, angular haircut. They traded pleasantries
about cases theyd worked with each others office and took a moment
to exclaim over the brutal and disgusting nature of the crime.
Then Melanie cut to the chase.
I understand you conducted a thorough examination of the
body, she said. A couple of things are bothering me about how and
where she was found, but to figure out if Im right, I need a time - of death
estimate.
I can give you one, but you understand its just an estimate,
right? I base TOD on average rates of rigor mortis and decomposition
applied to this corpse. Its an educated guess at best.
Understood, Melanie said.
Okay, I got here shortly after nine - thirty, which put me at the
scene about twenty minutes after the police arrived. At that point,
the body was still warm and rigor was not established. The neck and
jaw had slightly reduced range of motion, which suggested rigor was
beginning to progress. But her limbs as well as her fingers and toes
were still mobile.
Mobile, meaning . . . ? I could wiggle them. She hadnt been dead for long. One to two
hours, max.
And this was at nine - thirty?
Yes.
So that would put the time of death no earlier than seven thirty.
Dont hold me to it, but yes, thats my hypothesis.
Thanks, youve been really helpful. They exchanged business
cards, and Grace promised to notify Melanie when the autopsy was
completed.
Melanie sat down on a nearby bench to make notes about time of
death and the weather.
At seven - thirty, the earliest moment at which Suzanne Shep ard
could have been attacked, Melanie had been doing her makeup and
laying out her clothes for her date when rain suddenly spattered
against her bedroom window. Melanie knew Dan would be coming
up the FDR, which flooded in heavy rain, and she wondered whether
hed hit traffic. It was unusually dark outside for that hour in June,
dark enough that she couldnt see out because of the reflected light, so
she walked over and leaned against the glass in order to see the street.
It was pouring.
What did that tell her? Suzanne Shepard had ventured into the
wilds of the Ramble on a dark, rainy night. The Ramble might be
situated smack in the middle of Manhattan Island with its two million
inhabitants, but it felt like wilderness. Any sane woman would have
required a damn good reason to be there. Figuring out what had called
Suzanne to that location was a top investigative priority.
But Melanie had spotted an even bigger red fl ag: the body wasnt
visible from the path above. Suzanne Shepard had been thrown into
the ravine and covered by the underbrush. At seven - thirty and later,
given how dark and rainy it was outside Melanies eighth - fl oor window,
it had tove been pitch - black down in the ravine. Butch Brennan had told her that the body was discovered by a male citizen whod
called 911. The caller had refused to give his name or stick around till
the police arrived. How did he know the body was down there, lying
under the dark leaves?
Melanie spotted Dan OReilly over near the police barricades
where theyd first come in. He was deep in conversation with a tall,
handsome African - American guy who wore his hair in long braids.
Hey, Melanie, meet Detective Julian Hay, my counterpart from
Manhattan North Homicide, Dan said as she approached.
Melanie and Julian shook hands.
My boy Dan here was just telling me about you, Julian said with
a sparkly smile. He wore fake gold teeth of the type that street drug
dealers called fronts.
You guys know each other? Melanie asked.
Yeah, we worked cases together before, but I didnt realize it was
him till I saw his face because I never knew his real name, Dan said.
This guy is one of the great all - time narcotics undercovers.
You embarrass me, brother.
Its the gospel truth. They used to call him Suave Pierre. He does
a dead - on West Indian accent. UCd all the big Jamaican posse investigations
in the nineties and cheated the Grim Reaper like a motherfuck.
Thats in the past for me now, Julian said. Ive retired from the
front lines. Working normal cases like the resta you mutts.
Dont knock it, its a living, Dan said, grinning. But whyd you
retire, man? You were a legend.
Julian held up his left hand and waved it at them. His ring fi nger
sported a thick gold band. The ball and chain insisted. My odds of
walking back through the door at the end of each tour have now improved
slightly.
Only slightly, I hope, Dan said.
Hell, yeah! I aint no desk jockey. Im dying with my boots on. Amen to that, Dan said. You miss it?
Like crazy. I still do an occasional hand - to - hand just to keep my
wits sharp. Plus that way, they let me keep the hair.
Look, I hate to break up old - home night, Melanie said, smiling,
but I had a thought.
Whatd I tell ya? Dan said to Julian.
Always thinking, Julian said, tapping his temple. We like that
in a prosecutor.
So heres my brilliant insight, she said. We need to pull the
911 tape right away. Based on what the deputy ME told me about
TOD, and what the weather and light conditions were at that time,
Im guessing our 911 caller witnessed the crime. Either that or hes actually
the killer. No other way could he have known there was a body
down there in the ditch.
Dan and Julian both stopped smiling. Julian shook his head until
his braids swayed, making a soft clicking sound. Then he withdrew a
slim silver tape recorder from the pocket of his black leather coat.
I definitely see what you was saying about this girl, brother. From
the get - go, shes on the money. 4

Detective Julian Hay held up the recording device and pushed a button.
An ugly crackle of sound emerged, and he adjusted the volume.
The call had obviously been placed using a cell phone. All three
of them leaned in toward the tape recorder to make out the words
through the cacophony of bad sound quality.
Nine - one - one Dispatch. What is your emergency? a woman
barked.
More static, and what sounded like ragged breathing.
What is your emergency, please?
Im in Central Park. Something terrible happened. The man
spoke through panting breaths. He sounded as if hed been running
like hell and was now about to burst into tears.
Sir? the dispatcher prompted after a moment.
I heard a woman screaming. She was being attacked. I think shes
dead. Jesus, she must be dead.
A woman was attacked?
Yes, I saw the whole thing. Just before. His breath caught in a
suppressed sob. Did you witness this attack, sir?
Yes, but it was dark. I saw . . . I saw figures. He had a knife. He
was stabbing her. Oh my God, oh my God!
Where in Central Park, sir?
It happened in the Ramble, near the lake. About fi we minutes ago.
And what is your name, sir?
What?
Im going to dispatch a cruiser immediately. What is your
name?
A loud click sounded.
Sir? Hello? . . . Shit, he hung up. Male Caucasian, I think.
Julian clicked off the recorder. Thats it, he said. Dispatch informs
that the call came in at eight forty - six p. m. tonight.
Placing the murder at approximately eight forty - one, if you believe
what the caller said about timing, Dan said.
The caller sounds like an eyewitness, not the killer, Melanie
said.
I agree. Hes scared shitless, Dan agreed.
Any leads on him? she asked.
We got the cell number from the 911 dispatcher. Its a Verizon
prefix, but their subpoena compliance department is offi cially closed
till nine a. m. tomorrow, Julian said.
We cant wait that long. They must have people on staff overnight.
Maybe you should send somebody there in person, Melanie
said. She was starting to get caught up in the urgency of the situation,
forgetting herself and her personal concerns, thinking instead of Suzanne
Shepards stomach, its chilling hieroglyphs, their maker lurking
out there somewhere in the bottomless night.
Dan nodded. I already called my squad. Were sending a guy over
to Verizon right now with a subpoena and orders to beat the fucking
door down if he has to. The second we have a subscriber name, were
all over the guy. Okay, good. Any progress on identifying additional eyewitnesses?
Melanie asked.
My lieutenant had uniforms fanned out in every direction from
the Ramble within twenty minutes of receiving the 911 call, Julian
said. But its not like when somebody gets whacked in an apartment
building and you just go push the neighbors doorbells. People dont
stay put in Central Park. So far, nobody we talked to saw or heard a
thing.
Are we putting out a call for tips? Melanie asked. You know,
like on television and radio?
Yeah, were doing Crimestoppers. And the familys offering a reward.
Fifty large. That should get peoples attention, Julian said.
Great, Melanie said.
Julian snapped his fingers. Wait a minute. Television. You just
reminded me of something. My lieutenant wants to hold a press conference,
the sooner the better. And he wants the U. S. Attorneys Offi ce
doing the talking, so that means you. Hold on a second.
Julian cupped his hands and shouted, Yo, boss!
A heavyset man wearing a rumpled raincoat and a brown corduroy
cap turned and waved brusquely.
Prosecutor, Julian called, pointing at Melanie.
Lieutenant Jack Deaver immediately marched over and introduced
himself. Somebody needs to give a statement to get the reporters
off my back, he insisted. We set up a perimeter as best we
could, but you saw them out there. There hasnt been a murder in
the park in three years. They heard about the hunting knife, so now
theyre calling this guy the Central Park Butcher. Once your perp gets
nicknamed, forget about it, the reporters are like dogs smelling meat.
Theyre starting to bypass the barricades, just walkin right over the
fuckin things.
Freedom of the press, Melanie said. You cant keep them out
forever. Theyre undermining the crime - scene investigation, Deaver
said. You want these bozos trampling evidence? Or worse yet, fi nding
it before Brennans boys do, so theres no chain of custody for trial?
Parks offi cially closed, right? Frickin arrest em for trespassing,
Dan suggested.
We cant arrest reporters. Not a good idea, Melanie said with a
nervous laugh. This case was potentially explosive, she was possibly
stepping on the toes of the D. A. s office, and her boss didnt even
know she was out here.
Nope, Im making an executive decision, Deaver proclaimed,
just like they taught me in leadership training. Were holding a press
conference. Throw the dogs a bone. Its the only way to corral em in
one place while we finish up here. Pierre, come with me. Well tell
em to set up their cameras, and that Vargas herell be at the park gate
in half an hour to give an update. Deaver strode away, with Julian
following. 5

After Lieutenant Deaver left, Melanie turned to Dan in a panic.
I cant do it, she said. My boss doesnt know Im out here.
We have a strict press protocol in our office. Even the most routine
press releases require supervisor approval.
So heres a phone. Call your boss and get approval, Dan said,
whipping his cell phone out and waving it at her. But Melanie just
stared at it, feeling daunted.
What do you, have fear of success or something? Youre about to
get on TV. Call her, he said.
I cant.
Why not?
Shes getting married.
Shes getting married Saturday. Its fucking Wednesday. Besides,
from what I hear, shes less of a shrew than usual these days. Vito must
be keeping her satisfi ed.
Melanie wrinkled her nose in mock disgust. What a thought.
The Melanie Vargas I know is stone - cold ambitious. Youd better do it, sweetheart, or youre gonna be seriously pissed at yourself later.
Come on, jump in with both feet. Its the only way.
Dan was right. He was right that Melanie would regret not pursuing
this case once she woke up from her torpor. He was also right
that her boss, Bernadette DeFelice, chief of the Major Crimes Unit in
the New York City U. S. Attorneys Office, had mellowed out lately.
The old Bernadette had struck fear in the hearts of her subordinates,
Melanie included. But Bernadette was getting married on Saturday
night for the first time in her forty - seven years to NYPD lieutenant
Vito Albano, the head of the premier narco - terrorism task force in the
city and a beloved figure in the law enforcement community. And she
actually seemed happy about it, giving the lie to those who swore up
and down that she was marrying Vito for his primo drug cases. What
the hell, Melanie might as well pull the trigger. If worse came to worst,
Bernadette would yell and then order Melanie to go home, which she
sort of wanted to do anyway.
Hand me the phone, she said.
Melanie dialed Bernadettes pager number, and in less than a minute,
Dans phone started vibrating wildly. You might loathe Bernadette,
but you had to hand it to her. When it came to her job, she
didnt spare herself.
Hello? Melanie answered.
Its one oclock in the goddamn morning, Melanie. This better
be good.
Turn on your TV, Melanie said.
There was silence on the other end. Shed gotten her bosss attention:
Bernadette was doing as Melanie had directed. Melanie prayed
hard that the Suzanne Shepard murder was actually on TV or her
tactic would immediately backfire and she would never hear the end
of it.
After a few minutes, Bernadette came back on the line.
Im seeing that a couple of local cable channels and one network affiliate are broadcasting live from Central Park about a stabbing,
Bernadette said, her interest clearly piqued. The Central Park Butcher.
Is that what youre calling about?
Exactly, she replied.
Whats the case, and whats your connection to it?
Suzanne Shepard was stabbed and mutilated tonight in the Ramble.
Do you know who she is?
Sure. The television personality, right? Celebrity crime reporter?
Yes, and listen to this. The killer carved bitch on her stomach
with a knife.
Very dramatic, Bernadette said in a jaded tone. Enlighten me,
girlfriend. Whats this got to do with me? Are you suggesting we try
to get in on the case?
Im already in. Im in Central Park. The A. D. A. couldnt handle
the blood and guts. She left. I just got done reviewing all the crime scene
evidence. The press wants a statement. The NYPD lieutenant
asked me to make it. I called you first to get approval. But, Bernadette,
if you feel Im overstepping, Ill understand completely. Just say the
word and Ill go home.
Are you insane? This is amazing! How the helld you swing it?
The Bureau is involved in the case, so--
OReilly tipped you off and you tagged along?
Yes.
And they say you cant teach balls! I admit, Ive been having my
doubts about you lately, but this is excellent work. You done me proud.
Do I have time to get there to do the press conference myself?
Maybe. Were doing it at the Seventy - ninth Street gate in about
ten minutes.
Shit, Im out in Bensonhurst, and I dont have my TV outfi t with
me. Can you hold them off?
No, apparently the reporters are about to storm the barricades and trample evidence if we dont give them something, Melanie
said.
Goddamn Brooklyn! Vito, I told you this was the middle of nowhere.
Im missing a chance to go on TV! Melanie, listen up. Im
sorry, but youre going to have to do this on your own.
Okay. I can handle it.
Heres what you do.
Hold on a minute, Melanie said, and scrambled to dig her notebook
and pen from her handbag. She tucked the cell phone against
her shoulder and got ready to write.
Go ahead, Bern, she said.
Wear dark lipstick and lots of blush or your face washes out,
Bernadette declared.
Melanie waited for a moment but there was nothing more forthcoming.
What should I say? she asked.
Oh. Nothing.
Nothing?
Never say anything to the press. Give them no information, not
even the victims name. Tell them you cant until next of kin is notifi ed.
NYPD already notified next of kin.
So what?
The press already know the victims name. Im not sure who
leaked it, but they know.
Youre not listening, Melanie. When youre on the record in front
of the cameras, you keep your lips zipped, or else the defendant ends
up moving for a change of venue for adverse publicity and you lose.
You dont want to be forced to try this case in goddamn Hauppauge
or Schenectady, for Chrissakes.
Okay, but how do I--
Get a bunch of the law enforcement guys to stand behind you
so it looks like you have a huge team working on this. Cops, agents, whatever. Get the precinct to send over everybody they have, whether
theyre officially assigned or not. And make sure the cops are ethnically
diverse so we dont get accused of racism if it turns out the defendant
is black. In fact, if you have a black cop, put him next to you.
But--
This is television, goddammit. What matters is how things look.
Do you comprende?
Yes, Melanie said, borderline offended. But Bernadette probably
would have said that to anybody. She was an equal - opportunity
bitch.
Good. Then you introduce yourself. Say the U. S. Attorneys Office
and the FBI are on the case.
And the D. A. s offi ce?
Forget them. They can do their own goddamn press conference.
Yes, but the A. D. A. was here earlier and--
Whats his name?
Her name is Janice Marsh.
Fine. Ill make some calls. Dont give it another thought.
But whats our jurisdiction? Whats the federal crime?
Well figure something out before we indict. Where theres a will,
theres a way into federal court. And, Melanie?
Yes?
Remember the makeup. If I cant be there to lend substance, lets
get some mileage out of the fact that youre young and attractive. You
look like a prosecutor from a TV show. Our goal is to get the press
focused on you instead of some psychotic killer terrorizing the city.
All right.
Good luck, girlfriend. And good work.
Melanie hung up. Dan was staring at her.
Well? he asked.
She was happy. Happier than shes been with me in a while.
Whatd I tell ya? Stick with me, kid. Were going places. 6


Before the press conference, they convened an impromptu team
meeting in an NYPD mobile command center, a fancy name for a
trailer outfitted with a bunch of communications equipment that the
cops kept parked in a gravel lot near the Central Park precinct. It
was cramped and hot inside. As the lone female, Melanie was given
the only chair, an old swivel number with a ripped seat. Dan, Julian,
Butch, and Lieutenant Deaver, not one of them a small man,
crowded around her close enough that she smelled coffee on somebodys
breath. By unspoken agreement, Melanie ran the meeting-- whether because
shed be doing the talking at the press conference, because she
was the prosecutor, or just because she was the one in the chair, she
didnt know.
I plan on saying very little, she explained, but I still want us
on the same page before I go out there. As I understand the forensic
evidence, theres a strong possibility this was a random killing. Are we
in agreement?
Either a robbery gone bad, or some sicko getting his rocks off by
hurting women, Butch said. Or both, Dan put in.
Nobodys gonna want to hear that, Deaver pointed out. Not
the commissioner, not the mayor. It says to the public theres a psycho
on the loose and we aint caught him yet. Im not sayin lie. Im just
sayin that dont look good.
We do have one piece of evidence indicating the victim knew her
attacker, Melanie said.
What evidence? Butch asked. Nothing I seen. From the way he
stunned her, and the way she fought, this wasnt anybody she trusted.
I said somebody she knew, not somebody she trusted, Melanie
replied. What was she doing in the Ramble on a rainy night, if she
didnt go there on purpose to meet someone?
Eight - thirty, Deaver said, nodding. Good point. I put my trash
out right about then. Itd let up from what it was earlier, but it still
raining plenty.
Drizzling at most, Butch said skeptically, shaking his head.
Whatever. Its enough to strike the reassuring note, Deaver
said.
Ill just say theres a possibility the victim knew her attacker,
Melanie said.
Yeah. Why get the whole city up in arms for no reason? Deaver
said. Lets do it.
It turned out that facing the cameras with blinding light shining
in her eyes, microphones shoved in her face, and reporters screaming
questions at deafening volume was just about the most exhilarating
thing that Melanie had ever experienced. Almost exhilarating enough
to make her forget her burnout and go crazy for her job again. Shed
expected to feel dazed and nervous, but the second she got up there,
she felt like shed come home. Armed with Bernadettes advice, Melanie
knew exactly what to say. She introduced herself and the key law
enforcement personnel working the case. She confirmed the bare fact
that a murder had taken place and assured the public that the au thorities were hot on the killers trail. In response to each and every
question, she deftly avoided revealing any details while nevertheless
managing to satisfy the questioner that he or she was getting an answer.
She parried and feinted and explained and even got a few laughs.
Melanie could have stood up there jousting with the press all night,
but after about twenty minutes, Lieutenant Deaver leaned across her
and said they only had time for one more question. He practically
had to drag Melanie away from the microphones when that question
was done.
The most dangerous spot in New York-- between Vargas and
a camera, Lieutenant Deaver joked once they were away from the
reporters. But for the first time that night, he smiled, and before he
left, he said, Nice job, Melanie. That oughta hold those piranhas for
a while.
Dan and Julian couldnt stop telling her what a natural shed been,
how poised and in control, how articulate. She felt high as a kite on
the excitement.
Youve got a television career ahead of you, Julian said.
Not ahead of her, shes got it now, Dan said. Youre gonna be
all over the news.
And the papers, Julian added. I can see the morning headlines.
Melanie Vargas takes on the Central Park Butcher.
See, youre back on the horse. Youre like me when it comes to
this job. You love the glory.
I do love it! she said, and laughed giddily.
Only later would she think, Pride goeth before a fall. 7
It was just past four on Thursday morning, warm, blustery, and still
dark out when Dan pulled up on a nondescript side street in midtown.
He was dropping Melanie off on his way to Verizons offi ces,
where he planned to get information about the 911 caller. While the
cops searched out eyewitnesses Melanie would attack on other fronts,
like trying to figure out why Suzanne Shepard had gone to Central
Park last night. She thought it might have something to do with a
story, so Dan had brought her to the ugly glass box of a building that
housed the Target News Network studios. Melanie reached for the
door handle, ready to leap out and race inside the building, which was
brightly lit despite the early hour.
Dan caught her by the arm.
Hold on there, princess. I go out of my way to give you a lift, and
you run off without saying good - bye?
She turned back, startled. Shed been thinking only of the upcoming
interview, almost forgetting that it was Dan in the car with her.
But when she saw the lust in his eyes, her blood slowed down and
grew sluggish in her veins, and her thoughts scattered. Its four a. m., and were working a murder. Are you crazy? she
asked, but she heard the desire in her own voice. She leaned back in
her seat, making no further attempt to leave the car.
When it comes to you, damn right I am. You should know that by
now. Watching you up there in front of the cameras. You were something
else. He reached out and ran his thumb slowly over her lower
lip. Leaning forward, he parted her lips with his tongue and kissed
her until she was breathless. God, what this man did to her should be
against the law. By the time he pulled away, she barely remembered
her own name let alone who she was supposed to interview.
Thats better, he said.
She shook her head to try to clear it. Better? Now I cant think
straight.
If you dont want to be kissed like that, stop tempting me like
you do.
Maybe I should start saying no, she tossed over her shoulder as
she stepped to the curb. Ha, fat chance. The nonchalance was an act,
and he knew it as well as she did.
L
L
uckily for Melanie, Seth Parker, the young gun who produced High
Crimes with Suzanne Shepard, got to his desk early. Shed called
ahead, and he had somebody waiting by the elevator to meet her.
Melanie Vargas? asked a ponytailed intern type in low - slung
jeans and a tight black sweater.
Yes.
Ashley LeClerc. Ill be your handler this morning. This way,
please.
She led Melanie down a corridor lined with glossy photos of Target
News Networks stars. Suzanne Shepard was prominently featured,
and Melanie couldnt help stopping before her picture, comparing the
face to the one shed seen staring up with blank eyes from the fl oor of the ravine a few hours earlier. In the photograph, Suzanne leaned
back against a desk, her arms folded over her chest, looking smug and
gorgeous and utterly untouchable. For a split second, Melanie understood
how somebody could want this woman dead, and it almost
made her slap herself. Nobody, not even the rich and the beautiful,
deserved such a brutal end.
Ashley stopped at a small room at the end of the hall. A row
of chairs faced the door, several of them occupied by people with
strangely bronzed skin.
This is our Green Room. Have a seat, help yourself to some Danish,
and Ill go check with makeup to see if theyre ready for you.
Wait a second, there must be some mistake, Melanie said.
No mistake. We do a live early, early show with a local focus.
Youre on - air in sixteen minutes.
Tempted as she felt to go on TV again, Melanie knew it was time
to get down to the hard work of solving this case.
Im not a guest, she said. Im here to interview Seth Parker
about a criminal matter.
I know, Ashley squealed. Suzanne got murdered by the Butcher!
Seths all over it. He wants Cassandra to interview you for Sunrise
Manhattan. They dont call him the fresh prince of TV news for nothing.
Im here to interview him, not the other way around. I just gave
a press conference. I dont have time to do another.
Ashleys chipper expression turned petulant. Ill tell him what
you said, but hes not gonna be happy, she announced, and fl ounced
off on her high - heeled boots.
A few minutes later, Ashley reappeared. Follow me, she said
fl atly.
This time, Melanie was led up a shallow flight of stairs toward a
glassed - in cubicle overlooking the brightly lit newsroom set. Everything
below was in motion-- people, cameras, video cables, fl ashing images on numerous TV screens. A glamorous brunette in a low - cut
dress sat at a desk fussing with her hair, the network logo glowing
neon blue behind her.
I have flyaways. I see them in the monitor. Get Maurice, she
ordered.
Ashley opened the glass door and motioned Melanie inside. Opposite
the glass wall was an entire bank of televisions screens, each
displaying the brunette from a different angle as a slender guy in tight
pants sprayed something on her hair. Seth Parker paced the tiny space,
his eyes on the monitors, talking into a headset in a fl at, affectless
voice. He glanced over at them as they entered, holding up a fi nger to
tell them to wait.
You seem incapable of processing basic information this morning,
Howie. I said investment - bank prostitution scandal, then rat infestation
on Park Avenue. Whats difficult about that? Are those two
stories interchangeable to you? . . . Good. In the future, please follow
my instructions.
Seth clicked a small switch that hung from his headset by a cord,
disconnecting the call, and turned to them. He was thin and pale,
with shaggy light brown hair and a wispy soul patch like a smudge of
dirt on his chin. In his frayed corduroys and ratty sweater, he looked
about fifteen, and he acted like a surfer dude on heavy meds.
Is this Ms. Vargas?
Yes it is, Seth, Ashley said.
Fine. Refill my coffee. Then go to the Green Room and tell the
hip - hop guy were moving him up five minutes. Ive already cued Cassandra.
Yes, Seth.
Dont stand there like a retard. Go.
Ashley whirled and rushed out the door.
Seth indicated a leather directors chair opposite his own swivel
chair. Have a seat. They sat down facing each other, their knees virtually touching
in the small space. Before Melanie could say a word, hed clicked
the switch again and resumed talking into the headset in his strange
monotone. The interruption gave her a chance to pull her credentials
from her handbag.
No, cut her intro by forty - five seconds. I want time for the kid
with stigmata . . . Do it. No back sass, please. He clicked off abruptly
and looked at Melanie.
Mr. Parker, she began, as I explained over the phone, Im a
prosecutor in the U. S. Attorneys Office. Im working with the FBI
to investigate the murder of Suzanne Shepard, and I need to ask you
some questions.
Ashley tells me you have some kind of problem being interviewed?
he asked, stifling a yawn.
Im here to interview you. This was a very brutal murder, and
the killers at large, so this is urgent. I need to find out why Suzanne
Shepard was in Central Park last night, and Im thinking maybe it had
something to do with a story.
Yes, of course, I understand. Now, when and where was the body
was discovered?
The question struck her as odd, but then something occurred to
her. Are you taping this conversation, Mr. Parker?
He wouldnt look her in the eye. Taping?
Lying to me in the course of this interview is a crime. Thats why
Martha Stewart went to jail, if you recall.
Are you threatening me? Seth demanded.
Im trying to protect the integrity of my investigation. We have
to control what information is made public or else the killer fi nds out
exactly what we know.
Its my practice as a journalist to record conversations. It avoids
disputes later over the accuracy of whats reported on the air.
Youre not reporting this interview on the air. I cant allow it. Ms. Vargas, were all devastated over here. We believe the best
way to honor Suzannes memory is with innovative coverage of her
murder. Please dont interfere with our grieving process. I have a very
fresh idea, and Im sure youll be as excited about it as I am.
I really dont have time to--
We embed a reporter with you, like they did in Iraq. We get inside
details of the Central Park Butcher investigation, you get--
Mr. Parker--
Hear me out. You get complete, one hundred percent access
to our files. In return, we get to place a High Crimes correspondent
on the street with you. I have the perfect man for the job. Duncan
Gilmartin, one of our Aussie transplants. Hes young, dynamic, handsome,
aggressive. Hell shadow your every move--
I cant do that, she said fi rmly.
Why not?
Publicizing all our leads is a sure way to screw up our investigation.
Any information we can make public now, we gave out at the
press conference. The rest has to be treated as confi dential.
If you wont help me, I dont see why I should help you, Seth
said.
Melanie stood up. If youre unwilling to give me information
voluntarily, Ill have to subpoena you to appear before the grand jury.
Ill serve the subpoena within the hour, returnable today at nine a. m.
at the federal courthouse. Your lawyers can accompany you. Tell them
itll take the entire day. The grand jury is slow. They ask a lot of questions.
They locked eyes briefly, and Seth Parker blinked. Hed been
bluffing, and shed called him on it. He sighed, reached into the top
drawer of his desk, and clicked off a tape recorder.
Sit down. Please, he said. The Butcher story is big. I cant afford
to lose a day to some-- he waved his hand dismissively-- grand
jury thing. Melanie held out her hand. I need that tape. Otherwise, something
tells me Ill be hearing it on the six oclock news.
Seth popped the cassette out and handed it to Melanie sheepishly.
I need to know why Suzanne Shepard went to the Ramble last
night, she said, resuming her seat. Id like to review her calendar, her
voice mails and e - mails, that sort of thing.
I can arrange for all that. Just give me a minute to make some
calls.
Great, thank you.
But I can do more for you than that. Arent you interested in getting
a list of Suzannes enemies? Her specialty was digging up the dark
secrets of the rich and powerful. Half this town wanted her dead. Im
convinced that she died because of a story.
As much as Melanie wouldve loved to believe Suzanne Shepards
murder was a revenge killing-- since that would make it easier to solve
than a random slaying-- she wasnt persuaded by Seth Parkers little
speech. His ulterior motive was plain to see. If Suzanne had been
killed in retaliation for a story, then Target News would get a lot of
free publicity and a nice ratings boost.
I need more than a general statement that Suzanne made people
angry, Melanie said. I need something specifi c. Like a direct threat.
And recent enough to suggest it could be connected to her killing.
Seth leaned back in his chair, tossing his beanbag. Hows this for
recent? Just last week, Suzanne got a box of dog shit in the mail, and
it had a picture of her inside, cut up into little tiny pieces.
That could be important, Melanie agreed.
Our security director can show you the box, Seth said. Hell
be in later this afternoon. He thinks the doggy doo relates to a story
Suzanne just ran on the Clyde Williams sex scandal.
Melanie had been taking notes, but she stopped in midscribble
and stared at Seth Parker. Clyde Williams? she repeated. Yes.
Clyde Williams the city councilman was involved in a sex
scandal?
Clyde Williams was a prominent African - American lawyer and
city councilman whod been positioning himself to run for mayor of
New York in the next election. He was handsome and silver - tongued
and already had an impressive war chest accrued thanks to his effi cient
political action committee. He also happened to be the father of Joseph
Williams, a shy, intellectual assistant U. S. attorney, and Melanies
best friend in the offi ce.
I can tell you dont watch Suzannes show. Clyde had an affair
with a young, white intern, Seth said.
An intern? Melanie said, horrifi ed.
Yes. Twenty - one years old. Suzanne was going after the story aggressively,
and we thought it had real potential to derail his mayoral
bid. What if Clyde killed her? Clyde Williams and the Central Park
Butcher, one and the same? The possible future mayor of this city also
its most fearsome criminal? God, I love that angle.
Thats the stupidest thing Ive ever heard. I know Clyde. His son
works in my office. He wouldnt kill anybody, Melanie said.
The lead prosecutor is personal friends with the suspect? This
story gets better every minute. First a sex scandal. Then a murder.
Now a cover - up.
Clyde didnt kill anybody, and Im not playing favorites. You dont
believe any of this yourself, I can tell. Its all just made - up trash.
I assure you, nothing weve aired so far was made up. Our stories
are carefully vetted to make sure they have at least some basis in fact.
Suzanne had obtained an amateur video shot with a cell phone at one
of those rubber - chicken political dinners. It showed Clyde and his little
hottie off in a corner leaning against each other in a very familiar way.
Leaning against each other? So its not like you caught them having
sex? No. That wouldve been better, obviously, but the video was
pretty damning. If youd seen it, youd understand. Theres leaning,
and then theres leaning.
Does Williams admit to the affair?
They both deny it, but that wasnt a problem for the segment. A
self - righteous denial is good television, too.
Even if Clyde was having an affair, that doesnt mean hed murder
the reporter who broke the story, Melanie protested.
I cant prove Clyde killed Suzanne. I cant even prove hes behind
the dog shit threat. But Ive ordered my reporters to investigate his
involvement, and youd better do the same or it wont look too good
for the U. S. Attorneys Office. We plan to make the Williams angle
the centerpiece of our Butcher coverage.
Thinking of her dear friend Joe, Melanie grimaced. With Target
News after him, Clyde Williams was in for a rough ride. 8

The sun was up over the East River, and doormen were out hosing
down the sidewalks in their early morning ritual. Melanie stepped
over rivulets of water as she approached the luxury apartment building
where Suzanne Shepard had lived with her elderly mother. The
officers from the Central Park precinct whod made the notifi cation
hadnt attempted to interview the distraught old lady, so nobody knew
yet what details she could provide about the final hours of her daughters
life.
Melanie showed her credentials to the doorman. Hector, the fatherly
doorman in Melanies building, wore shirtsleeves with his uniform
pants, but this doorman was dressed in full regalia down to the
epaulets and white gloves. After calling to announce her, he directed
her to a space - age elevator that whisked her up to the thirty - fourth
floor so fast that her ears popped. Suzanne mustve been loaded, living
in a place like this. The wealth was conspicuous enough that Melanie
made a mental note to look into who mightve had a fi nancial interest
in her death.
As Melanie reached for the buzzer, the apartment door was wrenched open by a boy of twelve or thirteen, barefoot, clad in a
T- shirt and plaid pajama bottoms. Underneath long hair and an adolescent
complexion, he bore more than a passing resemblance to Suzanne
Shepard, and if looks alone hadnt told Melanie who he was, the
anguish in his eyes confirmed it beyond all doubt.
Wheres my mom? Can I see her body? he pleaded.
Get away from that door, Charlie!
My grandmother wont let me see her. Can you convince her?
Please! I dont want my mom to be alone, he whispered urgently to
Melanie.
A tall, bent woman of at least eighty was making her way across
the room toward them, leaning on a metal walker and breathing with
some difficulty. She was beautiful, with elaborately arranged white
hair and striking features, wearing a blue velvet housecoat.
Hold on, there, wait one minute! she called to Melanie in a husky,
nicotine - tinged voice. Im Lorraine Shepard, Suzannes mother.
Gran, Im going to Mommy! Charlie cried.
You are not.
Sobbing, he hung his head. Tears collected and streamed off the
tip of his nose. Lorraine Shepard finally reached her grandson, and caressed
his shaggy head with a blue - veined, perfectly manicured hand.
Poor baby, I know, I know, let it out, she said, weariness in her
voice. Looking at Melanie over Charlies head, she asked, Youre the
prosecutor?
Yes.
I dont want my grandson seeing the body. He doesnt need to
grow up with that memory.
Shes my mother! Charlie insisted, his shoulders heaving.
You cant see her anyway, sweetie, Melanie said gently. The
medical examiner has to do a-- well, they have to examine her.
See, Charlie, thats the law talking. Youre not allowed to go.
Whats your name again? Lorraine Shepard asked Melanie. Melanie Vargas. Im from the U. S. Attorneys Office, and Im
working with the FBI and the NYPD to solve this case.
Mrs. Shepard eyed the jeans and boots Melanie had worn to the
crime scene, which were flecked with mud. Let me see your identification,
she said suspiciously.
Melanie pulled out her creds. Mrs. Shepards reading glasses hung
around her neck on a gold chain studded with small diamonds. She
settled them on her nose and studied the credentials, holding on to
her walker with one hand for balance.
Vargas. Whats that, Mexican? she asked, handing them back.
Im half Puerto Rican, Melanie replied.
Hmmph. Interesting. Howd you end up an attorney?
I went to law school, Melanie answered warily, not sure where
this was going.
Rich parents?
Not at all. Quite the opposite.
Worked hard?
Yes, maam.
The old lady nodded approvingly. Good. Youll do.
Do for what? Melanie asked, unable to keep her lips from curving
into a smile. But Lorraine Shepard gave her an outraged look that
froze it right off her face.
We need smart, hardworking people after this animal. Those idiots
who came by before didnt ask me a single question except what
jewelry Suzy was wearing when she left the house yesterday.
Describing the jewelry is important. The killer stole it, so hell
probably try to fence it, Melanie explained.
Lorraine snorted contemptuously. If you believe this was some
mugging gone wrong, youre not as smart as you look. Lets sit down.
I have a thing or two to fill you in on. Charlie, go to your room.
No way. I want to hear.
Im not talking to this lady in front of you, young man. She can just leave, then, and theyll never catch the guy. Is that what you
want?
Charlie locked eyes with his grandmother for a few seconds to
preserve his pride, then sighed and began to turn away. But he turned
back suddenly and fixed Melanie with a pleading gaze.
Youre gonna catch him, right? he asked.
Ill do my best, Melanie replied. As Charlies eyes fi lled with
tears, she had to fight back a sympathetic welling in her own.
It isnt right. She was my mom! he said, sniffl ing.
Charlie, well get him. I promise. It wont bring her back, but
at least youll know that whoever took your mother from you was
punished.
Charlie nodded, closing his eyes in pain. Thank you, he said,
and ran from the room.
I didnt know Suzanne had a son, Melanie commented to Lorraine
after the boy had left.
She kept him out of the public eye. She was a good mother, and
it shows.
Yes, it does. What a sweet kid, Melanie said wistfully. A sweet, orphaned
kid, who deserved justice. Families needed closure in situations
like this. Seeing Charlie in person brought that home to Melanie.
Lorraine Shepard turned the walker and began moving laboriously
across the spacious living room toward an enormous brown suede
sofa. The apartment was decorated with understated furnishings in
shades of taupe and brown, and modern art that looked important.
Shimmering bronze silk drapes skimmed the floor around enormous
plate - glass windows, which revealed a breathtaking panorama of the
midtown skyline bathed in peachy morning light. From this high up,
the city looked fresh and full of promise, as if ugly things like murder
couldnt happen here.
Melanie helped Lorraine sit down, took a seat beside her, and
pulled out her notebook. If youll bear with me, Mrs. Shepard, I need to ask you some
questions.
I dont stand on ceremony. Call me Lorraine.
I dont mean to pry, but I need to get a feel for your daughters
personal life. Was she divorced from Charlies father?
She wasnt divorced because Jean Christophe never had the decency
to marry her in the first place. Dont get me started on him.
Frenchman. Photographer. You get the picture. I stayed with her all
these years to help with the boy, since that bum was never around. He
lived in Africa for a while, and now he lives in Paris. But as much as
Im no fan of his, I can promise you Jean Christophe had nothing to
do with Suzys murder.
How do you know?
Why would he want Suzy dead? She raised the boy, paid all the
bills, and never asked him for a red cent, but she still let him see Charlie
whenever he liked. Now hell be forced to take some responsibility.
I see. Was Suzanne involved with anybody else? A boyfriend who
mightve been disgruntled for some reason?
Suzanne had no social life. She worked too hard. Hand me that
ashtray over there, would you? I need a smoke.
Melanie grabbed a crystal ashtray from a nearby table, and Lorraine
lit a Marlboro, glaring at Melanie defi antly.
At my age, if it kills me, so what?
I didnt say a word, Melanie said. Do you know why your
daughter went to Central Park last night?
Lorraine smiled, exhaling. See, I knew you had a brain in your
head. Now youre getting somewhere. Boyfriends have got nothing to
do with this. Suzanne had an appointment with a source last night!
She called me around six to say something important had come up
and she wouldnt be home for dinner.
Youre sure she meant a source for a story and not just that she
was meeting a friend for a drink? What did I just say? Youre not listening. Suzanne had no friends.
She worked day and night, and other than work, it was just Charlie
and me. When she said something important had come up, she meant
work.
With Maya to care for and a demanding job, Melanie didnt go
out much herself. She was beginning to see Suzanne Shepard in a
whole different light.
Did Suzanne actually say she was meeting this person in Central
Park? Melanie asked.
Not specifi cally. But given the timing, it had to be. I cant imagine
any other reason shed go there.
You said she got this phone call yesterday at work, around six p. m.?
Thats right, Lorraine said.
Melanie noted down the information. Well check her work and
cell phones to see if we can identify the incoming call. Thats very
helpful.
Theres more, Lorraine said, dragging on her cigarette.
Im listening, Melanie said.
We had a robbery here, not this past weekend, but the one before.
The three of us were at the beach house. Somebody who works
in the building had to be in on it, or the thief never couldve gotten
in. The security in this building is too tight.
What did they take?
Small things mostly. Easy to carry. A bunch of jewelry, and the
cash we leave for the housekeeper to buy the groceries. Maybe a hundred
bucks. But what matters is, they went through Suzannes offi ce,
and they took some files. About stories she was working on.
Melanie felt a prickling along her scalp. It was a form of excitement
shed experienced in other cases upon learning something that
could help her solve the puzzle. If this was a random slaying, then she
was looking for a phantom. The city was big, and full of dark places
to hide. Some no - name psycho with a television whod taken it upon himself to deliver a comeuppance to Suzanne Shepard might escape
detection, because there was no pattern to lead her to him. But a man
with a motive, she could fi nd.
Melanie started writing faster. Two weeks from this past weekend,
you said?
Yup. We dont know which day, because we were gone from Friday
night to Sunday afternoon, and we didnt find out about it until
we got home.
Were the police called?
Yes. We needed a police report for the insurance.
Was anybody arrested?
Not yet. They say theyre working on it, but if you believe that, I
got a nice bridge to sell you in Brooklyn.
Do you remember the detectives name?
Pauline something. I got her card in the back bedroom. Ill get it
for you before you leave.
Tell me exactly which files were taken, Melanie said.
One had to do with a personal trainer at Flex. You know that
place?
Ive heard of it, sure. Its one of the most exclusive gyms in the
city.
This trainers name is Miles Ortiz. He has a big following among
the rich housewife crowd. Suzanne heard from a source of hers who
always knows where the bodiesre buried that Miles has a criminal
record, and that hes selling drugs to em.
Selling drugs to his clients at the gym?
Mmm - hmm, and were talking about women whore married to
the most powerful men in the country.
What kind of drugs?
That, I dont know. Suzanne was looking into it, though, and she
was starting to make people nervous. Theres a woman who lives in this building who had something going with that Ortiz character, and she was giving Suzy funny looks. Thought she was asking too many
questions. Kim Savitt is her name. Rich, spoiled little brat.
She lives in this building?
Yes, thats what Im saying. Maybe an inside job.
Melanie was writing furiously. You said two files were taken.
What was the other one?
Lorraine hesitated. This one I told Suzanne to stay away from,
just on the idea of dont shit where you eat.
Excuse me?
She was going after somebody close to her, somebody she needed.
I was holding her back, telling her not to. She never got very far with
the story.
Who was the target? Melanie asked.
Lorraine sighed. I guess it doesnt matter now, huh? It was Dr.
Welch.
Dr. Welch?
Benedict Welch? Honey, hes just about the most famous plastic
surgeon in this town. He was willing to do what it took to keep Suzy
beautiful. Not everybodys so . . . creative like that.
What do you mean?
See, the best products, you cant get here. Uncle Sam wont let us
have em. A miracle drug may exist overseas, but here the FDA orders
a million tests, and if the tiniest thing goes wrong, the drug companies
wont touch it with a ten - foot pole.
Are you saying Dr. Welch was using products that hadnt been
approved by the FDA?
Did I say that?
Like illegal Botox? I read about that. People get paralyzed from it.
Maybe if you deal with fly - by - night suppliers, but Dr. Welch
is careful. Suzanne was a grown - up. Let her make her own decisions
about what she needs and what risks shell take. Her face was her
fortune. And yours, Melanie thought pointedly. Is that the story Suzanne
was working on? The one the stolen file was about? she asked.
Why would Suzanne publicize the illegal Botox if she was using
it herself? No, shed found out something else about Welch, something
much worse. Bad enough that she felt she needed to find out the
truth, even if that meant he wouldnt give her those shots anymore.
She said she couldnt tell me the details until she was a hundred percent
sure her suspicions were correct. But in the past few days, she was
getting close. 9

M
M
elanie hadnt slept all night. She was still in the clothes shed worn
to the crime scene. A dull headache pounded behind her eyes,
and she had that terrible emptiness in the pit of her stomach that the
ugliest cases gave her. The feeling was akin to a bad hangover, and she
knew of only one cure. She could use a hot shower and a change of
clothes and a strong cup of coffee, sure. But what she really needed
was a hug from her daughter.
When she walked into her empty apartment, a whiff of baby smell
hit her in the face, that potent blend of Johnsons lotion and the Diaper
Genie needing to be emptied that made her long for Mayas funny
little face. Her ex- husband, Steve, was scheduled to drop Maya off at
eight-- ten minutes from now. Melanie would only have half an hour
with her daughter, since she needed to head straight to work when the
babysitter arrived. If she didnt want to waste her precious Maya time
getting ready, shed better shower fast.
As she was toweling off, the buzzer rang. Melanie pulled on a
bathrobe and hurried to peer through the keyhole. Steve looked as
gorgeous as ever, with his rugged blond looks and expensive haircut. A big part of Melanies burnout was lingering shock over her divorce.
A child of divorce herself, shed intended to marry once, for life. But
then shed caught Steve red - handed having an affair right after Maya
was born-- an affair that had obviously been going on for a long time.
Hed wanted to reconcile, and despite the way hed walked all over her
dreams, shed been tempted to listen-- for Mayas sake, for the sake of
their history together. But in the end, she just didnt trust the man,
and she couldnt stay married to somebody she didnt trust.
Melanie pulled open the door.
Hey, babe, Steve said.
But now shed turned her attention to her daughter. Maya was
seventeen months old and full of personality. Her dark hair was done
up in a lopsided Pebbles ponytail, and she still wore her feetie pajamas.
Melanie was used to getting Maya back from Steve in need of a
bath and with all her possessions in disarray, so she didnt mind the
wardrobe transgressions. But the translucent plastic pacifi er moving
in and out of Mayas mouth to the rhythm of her suck was another
matter altogether.
What is that thing doing in her mouth?
Well, hello to you, too, Steve said, looking her up and down, a
sexy twinkle in his green eyes. How was your hot date last night? Did
Musclehead get lucky?
Steve, do you read any of the materials I give you? Why do I even
bother? And she grabbed Maya out of his arms with an indignant
sigh.
Melanie always sent Maya to her daddy with not only a carefully
packed suitcase but also a full set of typed instructions covering
such matters as meals, bath - , nap-, and bedtimes, medicines, favorite
stuffed animals and clothing items, et cetera. Permitted pacifi er use
was the critical topic of the moment, and the instruction sheet had
specifi ed bedtime only in bold faced capital letters.
If I take it away, she cries, Steve said. Yes, I know that. Now shell cry more, and Ill be the bad guy. We
have to keep up a united front. You need to support me on this.
Melanie closed her fingers around the pacifi ers translucent
rim. Beneath it, a fi ne layer of spit formed a virtual occlusive seal.
Melanie started to tug, and Mayas brown eyes widened with terror
as she bit down on the thing with all her might. They struggled
over it furiously, and if Melanie came up the winner, it was only
because she had over a hundred pounds on the girl, not because
her will was stronger. Melanie put Maya down, and the child immediately
flung herself to the floor kicking and yowling in a full blown
tantrum.
See what I mean? Melanie said, her blood pressure skyrocketing.
She was smiling when I brought her here, baby. Youre the one
who made her cry.
Give me her bag and get going before you cause more trouble,
Melanie snapped, and Steve wheeled Mayas Dora the Explorer suitcase
into the foyer.
Oh, listen, Mel. I wanted to give you a heads - up. I might have a
problem taking her this weekend, he said over Mayas shrieks.
You remember Im going to Bernadettes wedding, right?
I know, and I feel terrible. But Im headed to LAX right now on
a major deal. The cars waiting downstairs. Ill do everything in my
power to be back in time, but I cant promise.
I told you about this wedding two months ago.
What can I do? I have to work.
I have to work, too. This is work for me. Its my boss whos
getting married, and shes not gonna be happy if I no - show after I
RSVPd yes.
So call your mom.
Call your mom. This is your weekend. In fact, its your fi rst weekend
in three weeks because you keep asking me to switch.
You always say you dont mind. Im usually happy to have extra time with her. But this weekend,
I have something important to do.
Okay, Ill try to reach my mom on my way to the airport. If she
cant do it, Ill let you know.
Before Melanie could protest further, Steve pecked her swiftly on
the cheek, blew a kiss to the hysterical Maya, and backed out the door
at full speed. Melanie sank to the floor beside her howling daughter.
She felt like screaming, too. Ay de Dios, she hated being divorced. But
staying married to the guy would have been worse. He got less responsible
with each passing day.
Melanie reached out and drew Maya onto her lap, careful to avoid
getting socked by the small fl ailing fi sts. Tranquila, she murmured.
Cálmate, cálmate. Nena preciosa, cálmate. No llore, mija.
Theyd had a rough winter full of ear infections and colds, and
Melanie had learned through trial and error that Spanish soothed her
little girl best. Now that Maya had tubes in her ears and, Melanie
prayed, the ear infections were a thing of the past, the Spanish still
came in handy. Mayas sobs gradually quieted to hiccups. As Melanie
hugged her daughter passionately against her chest, she felt her own
emptiness ebb away.
T
T
he weather was so perfect as Melanie exited the lobby of her building
that she thought shed died and gone to Northern California.
Seventy - six degrees with no humidity and lavish sunshine. As she
turned the corner onto Park Avenue, dusty pink fl owers swayed in
a gentle breeze. The gorgeous day and her Maya fix conspired to lift
Melanies spirits to a punchy, sleep - deprived state of near euphoria.
She even felt equal to tackling that awful Clyde Williams situation.
Melanie refused to believe the city councilman had anything to
do with Suzanne Shepards murder. Clydes morals she couldnt speak
for, but the guy was too smart and too smooth to do something as crude as killing a reporter over an unflattering story. The information
from Suzannes mother about the robbery at their apartment seemed
much more promising. Yet Melanie had an obligation to investigate
every lead. If she ignored this one, shed look like she was playing favorites
because Clyde Williamss son was her good friend. The press,
in the form of Target News, would be scrutinizing her every move. So
really, she had no choice. Melanie had to at least go through the motions
on this one.
In the Eighty - sixth Street subway station, as Melanie swiped her
MetroCard, a tall, broad - shouldered man at the next turnstile caught
her eye. He looked away just as she focused on him, and suddenly
she felt like hed been behind her for blocks. He was wearing a hooded
sweatshirt with the hood up, and she couldnt see his face or the color
of his hair. The hood struck her as odd on such a warm morning.
Take notice of people in bulky or inappropriate clothing, the antiterrorism
posters in all the subway cars warned; it was right up there
with reporting suspicious packages. But Melanie shrugged off the
troubling thought as she headed for the platform for the downtown 4
train. Even if the guy had been behind her for a while, so what? Her
route down Lexington was the most obvious path to the subway. Coincidence.
Nothing to worry about.
It was rush hour, and the subway car was jammed. Melanie held
on to a pole, her eyes fixed on an overhead advertisement for computer
classes, working through the Clyde Williams problem. If she actually
planned to investigate the city councilman, things were bound
to get complicated. Her friend Joe would have to be walled off from
the investigation, which was standard procedure but awkward nonetheless.
And though she knew little about public corruption investigations,
Melanie recalled hearing that some sort of special permission
was required to investigate elected officials. Shed have to remember to
ask Bernadette about that. The darn subway car was so crowded and
swaying so badly that she couldnt open her bag to make a note. Melanies eyes wandered restlessly around the car as she continued
to turn the problem over in her mind. Absorbed in her thoughts, she
passed right over the man in the hooded sweatshirt. A fraction of a
second later, his presence registered, and Melanie looked back with a
start. He stood against the closed doors half a car length down from
her, his head turned away, the side of his face obscured by the hood.
But there was nothing to be concerned about. He wasnt watching her,
defi nitely not.
Nevertheless, when the train pulled into Forty - second Street,
Melanie decided to perform a test. She got out and fought her way
down the platform to the next car, leaping inside just as the doors
closed. He didnt follow. Even better, there were empty seats in here.
A minute later, as the train lurched through a dark tunnel, the
door at the end of the car slid open. Melanie had taken a seat and
was jotting reminders of items she needed to discuss with Bernadette.
She glanced up to see Hooded Sweatshirt bracing himself against the
conductors booth, his back turned toward her. Had he come in looking
for a seat? But there were empty seats, and he was standing. Since
she had her notebook out anyway, Melanie decided to write down his
description. He was big, around six feet with a muscular build. Caucasian,
judging by his hands, but she still hadnt gotten a clear look at
his face.
The train approached her stop. Melanie closed her notebook and
put it away. She would have to leave the relative safety of the crowded
subway car, but she wasnt nervous. This was nothing. One thing she
was firm with herself about was not letting the job make her paranoid.
Melanie exited the door closest to the stairs. In her peripheral vision,
without looking directly at him, she saw that Hooded Sweatshirt
had stepped out of the next one. Her high heels rang out against the
tile floor as she walked toward the staircase. He mustve been wearing
sneakers because even though she knew he was behind her, she couldnt
hear him at all, which was somehow creepier than if she could. Telling herself she was being foolish, Melanie nevertheless picked up her pace
and almost jogged through the tunnel. Before she knew it she was
outside, sprinting across the plaza toward her building. She reached
the glass doors and saw the guard at his desk in the lobby, reading the
newspaper. A number of people stood at the elevator bank, clutching
briefcases and coffee cups.
Melanie did a quick about - face, thinking shed summon the guard
if Hooded Sweatshirt had actually pursued her. But behind her, the
plaza where the subway let out was deserted, save for an elderly woman
feeding a horde of pigeons in the dappled sunlight. 10

There was so much to do that Melanie hardly knew where to begin,
so she started with the thing that troubled her most. Before she did
anything else-- before she checked her e - mail or voice mail or typed a
single subpoena-- she marched straight to her bosss office to get some
guidance on this tricky situation with Clyde Williams.
The chief s suite occupied prime corner real estate at the intersection
of the two hallways that housed the Major Crimes Unit. Bernadettes
secretary, Shekeya Jenkins, sat at her desk in the small anteroom
filling out a form on the computer as she chomped on a bagel.
Shekeya was a big woman with braids dyed bright orange and an often
poisonous tongue. Shed been Bernadettes secretary for years, taken
a heap of abuse, and given back plenty, too. Their dysfunctional relationship
provided much entertainment for the junior prosecutors.
Whats good, girl? You famous! Shekeya greeted Melanie.
You saw me on TV?
Yes, I did. Melanie Vargas taking on the Central Park Butcher. I
was jumping up and down in my bedroom screaming at the screen.
I didnt get to see it. How did I look? Very photogenic. Shekeya lowered her voice and leaned toward
Melanie conspiratorially. The boss is so jealous. She asked me if I
thought you looked better than her on TV.
What did you say?
I lied, naturally. Mama didnt raise no foolish children.
Melanie laughed, turning toward Bernadettes door.
Wait a minute, girl. Shes on the phone anyway, and I got a favor
to ask you, Shekeya said.
Anything for you, Shekeya.
You better find out what it is before you say yes. This one got
some downsides.
Is something wrong? Melanie asked, concerned.
No, somethings finally right. Im applying for the paralegal slot
that come open in narcotics. They say you need references from three
attorneys in the office who know your work, so I was hoping maybe I
could count on you for one?
Melanies eyes widened. You mean, leave Bernadette?
What is she, my mother, that I cant walk? You have any idea
what its like putting up with that woman in my face all day, every
day? I cant wait to see the back of her.
But, Shekeya, you handle her better than anybody.
I can handle her, but that doesnt mean I like to. It aint worth what
its doing to my health. Besides, paralegal is a raise, and I got my kids to
think about. The extra money could pay for Khadijas braces.
I hear that. Melanie paused. Does she know?
Shekeya glanced at the closed door to Bernadettes inner sanctum
and then down at her telephone, where a green light indicated
Bernadette was still on the line. Look, Ima tell you a secret, so you
understand where Im coming from with this. But you cant breathe
a word.
Of course not.
The boss wants to be a judge. Thats no secret, Shekeya. Everybody whos ever met her knows
that. But getting appointed to the bench is a one - in - a - million shot.
Not this time, it aint. The fix is in. Word is that Judge Cordell is
announcing his retirement next week on his eightieth birthday.
Thats not a secret, either. Cordells slept through every afternoon
appearance Ive had before him for the past three years. Peopleve been
speculating about his retirement since the day I came on duty.
But its really happening this time. Seriously, Im friends with his
secretary. And the boss is applying for his seat, Shekeya said.
Shekeya, you dont just apply to be an Article Three judge. Its
a whole big process. You need political connections. And you need,
well, less baggage than Bernadette has.
Im telling you, Vito got connections, and the boss is talking like
this thing is a done deal. Shes practically over there measuring for
drapes.
The green light on the telephone went off. Melanie glanced at her
watch. Time was slipping away, and she needed to end this discussion.
Okay, I believe you. But why leave? Why not go with her?
She asked me to go along, and I said yes, on one condition. I
dont want to be just a secretary no more. I got my degree in criminal
justice administration. I want more action, more responsibility. I want
to be her courtroom deputy. And she told me she dont see me in that
light, that Id be rising above my skill level. Now, howm I supposed to
continue working for her after she say something like that?
Just then, the door to Bernadettes office swung open.
Speak of the devil, Shekeya said loudly.
All right, Melanie said under her breath, Ill do it.
Are you talking about me? Bernadette demanded.
Melanie needs to speak to you, Shekeya said, turning toward Melanie
so Bernadette couldnt see, mouthing thank you and winking.
Inside, girlfriend, Bernadette said, jerking her head toward her
offi ce. Melanie took a seat in one of the beige guest chairs. Bernadettes
office might be spacious and boast a corner view, but it was still no frills
government issue, with a linoleum floor and a gray metal desk.
Bernadette herself was looking rather no - frills this morning. Her face
was lined and tired and bare of makeup beneath the exuberant red
hair of a much younger woman.
Im getting barraged with calls from the media on the Central
Park Butcher case, Bernadette said, settling into her swivel chair and
picking up her coffee mug. Fill me in. Whatve you got so far?
Unfortunately, the victim had a lot of enemies, so I have a lot
of leads to sort through. One in particular is tricky, and I need some
advice, Melanie said.
Give me the big picture first, then well talk details.
Okay, lets see. The victim received a telephone call at work at approximately
six oclock yesterday from an unknown source, and presumably
went to meet that person last night in Central Park. Thats
the most signifi cant thing Ive learned so far. Ill subpoena all the relevant
phone records to see if we can identify the originating number
for that call. There was a burglary at the victims apartment approximately
ten days ago. The intruder took files on two stories, one about
a personal trainer at Flex Gym selling drugs to wealthy clients. The
other had something to do with a prominent plastic surgeon. Ill contact
the assigned detective and see what I can find out, but that one
looks quite promising. Target News is going to send over files on all
the stories the victim covered recently. Thatll be a lot of boxes, so Ill
try to find somebody with a brain to wade through them and see if
anything else leaps out.
Bernadette reached into her desk drawer and pulled out a key
with a tag attached to it. Here, Im assigning you a war room. You
can have the files sent there. Whats your staffi ng like?
Better than any case Ive ever worked. Because the homicide happened
in the park, and because the victim was a celebrity, the FBI and the PD are doing a full - court press. Ive got Dan OReilly and a detective
from Manhattan North Homicide as co case agents, and they
have lots of backup. Upward of twenty guys full - time, at least until
the weekend. The only caveat is, most of the grunts are tied up canvassing
for eyewitnesses, so theyre not exactly at my beck and call.
Whos the detective?
Julian Hay. Hes a--
Suave Pierre? Shit. Hes worse than useless.
What? I thought he was a famous undercover.
Bernadette raised an eyebrow. You planning to do drug buys on
this murder investigation?
Not that Im aware of.
If you do, great, hell come through with flying colors. But he
doesnt function well outside his area of expertise. Not only wont
Pierre do any legwork, hell distract the other agents with his endless
war stories. This kingpin drew down on him, that cartel leader tried
to have him whacked. On and on. Hes like a celebrity. Your agents
will be bringing him lattes when they should be analyzing phone records.
Thanks for the word of warning. Ill keep an eye on the situation.
One thing about Bernadette, she didnt pull her punches. She
gave you the straight story, even when it wasnt what you wanted to
hear.
I just spoke to the D. A. s office, Bernadette said. Theyre
cross - designating Janice Marsh and detailing her to us for the pendency
of the case. Shell report to your office shortly. Give her those
files to sort through, or anything else the cops arent smart or patient
enough to do.
Melanie was scribbling away on her notepad, trying to keep up
with Bernadettes words. She looked up to find her boss watching her
with a pensive expression.
Youve got a big team assembled, girlfriend. Thats a luxury, but its also a responsibility. Youll need to keep them under careful control.
Youre up for that, right?
Last night, Melanie would have said no. But since then, shed
viewed Suzanne Shepards mutilated body, met her grieving son, and
started puzzling through the complicated threads of this investigation.
Add to that the thrill of the press coverage and the new challenge of
supervising a big team, and Melanie wanted this case-- badly.
You bet, she said.
Good. Any resources you need-- experts or travel authorizations
or such-- just ask and well find money in budget. Now, what was it
you wanted my advice about?
Did you know that Suzanne Shepard just broke a story about a
sex scandal involving Clyde Williams and an intern? Melanie asked.
Bernadette looked startled. Actually, yes, I did know. Joes been
out for the past few days strategizing with Clydes brain trust, trying
to contain the damage. I have to admit, I didnt make the connection.
You dont think-- you cant mean-- is there any indication Clyde Williams
is involved?
Personally, I doubt it, but the producer of Suzanne Shepards
show smells a story. Apparently, Suzanne received a threat in the mail
right after she aired the segment on Clyde. A box of dog shit containing
a picture of her thatd been cut into little pieces. Theres no proof
that Clyde sent it, but I get the sense Target News is planning to fi nd
some.
Or invent some, Bernadette said, rolling her eyes.
Even assuming Clyde is innocent, this is still a tricky situation,
politically speaking. We cant appear to be going easy on him just
because--
Just because his son works here! Jeez, youre right. Bernadette
dropped her head into her hands and rubbed her eyes.
Its a conflict of interest, isnt it?
Its a pain in my ass, is what it is, Bernadette said. She looked up and sighed, her eyes bloodshot. Not only is Joe one of ours, but
Clyde is an elected official. Thats a major problem in itself. We can
deal with the conflict by walling Joe off from the investigation. But
to investigate an elected offi cial, we have to jump through all sorts of
hoops.
I thought I recalled something like that. What are the requirements?
Honestly, I havent done one of these cases in years. Let me make
some calls to Main Justice and find out what paperwork they need.
As a practical matter, that means you cant start investigating Clyde
until I give the green light, understand? Or else we risk running afoul
of the protocol.
Its not like Im itching to go after him anyway. Hes Joes dad,
and I love Joe to death.
Why do you think they call it a confl ict, girlfriend? Bernadette
paused, sipping her coffee and studying Melanie. Listen, you know
I believe in eating what you kill. Melanie Vargas brings in the Central
Park Butcher case, Melanie Vargas gets to keep that case until the bitter
end. But I have to be able to trust in your impartiality or I cant
let you do this one. With all this media scrutiny, the Shepard case will
blow up in our faces if its not handled properly.
Conscious of her bosss eyes on her, Melanie kept her face neutral,
but behind it, her thoughts were roiling. The fact was, she hadnt
stopped to ask herself how she felt about investigating the father of
one of her closest friends.
Before you answer, Bernadette said, let me throw one more
factor into the mix. You know that when Im in Cancún, Susan will
be acting chief ?
Susan Charlton was Bernadettes deputy, an award - winning prosecutor,
brilliant and ferocious.
Of course, Melanie said. Everybody expected that.
Well, that leaves the deputy chief slot vacant for two weeks starting
Monday. You know what that position entails? Sure. Supervising junior prosecutors, authorizing new arrests,
signing off on indictments and plea bargains. Its a big job.
Yes, it is. She paused, looking Melanie square in the eyes. On
the way to work today, thinking about the coup you pulled off in
landing this case, I was considering naming you acting deputy.
Melanie flushed with pleasure. A deputy chief spot was a cherished
dream of hers, and taking a turn as acting deputy made it more
likely shed be considered when a permanent position opened up. Not
only did deputy chief pay better-- and she could sure use the extra
money-- but it was the first step on the path to the promised land.
Deputy chiefs who were talented and hardworking eventually became
unit chiefs like Bernadette. Unit chiefs became chiefs of the Criminal
Division. Chiefs of the Criminal Division became magistrate judges,
and magistrate judges became bona ride, honest - to - goodness Article
Three federal judges with lifetime tenure, the holy grail of the legal
profession, the next best thing to the Supreme Court of the United
States. A vision of herself in black robes swam before Melanies eyes.
Bernadette, Im honored.
I didnt say I was appointing you, I said I was considering it. Im
deciding between you and Brad Monahan. As of last night, he was my
top choice. As of this morning, you were. The Butcher investigation is
a critical factor in my decision. Im leaving for Cancún Sunday morning.
If you handle the case well between now and then, you get the
job. If you dont, it goes to Brad. Now, with that in mind, what is your
answer to the question of whether you can be impartial in investigating
Clyde Williams?
Moments of truth sneak up on you sometimes. As Bernadette
watched her face, Melanie realized she was at an important juncture,
one she hadnt been anticipating, where she needed to choose between
who she was and who she would become. The choice wasnt just about
selfish career advancement, either. This job was hard for a lot of reasons,
a major one being the need to put the public welfare ahead of personal concerns. A sadistic killer was on the loose, and Melanie
was in the best position to stop him. As weighed against a matter of
such magnitude, her burnout and even her close friendship with Joe
all looked small. Melanie thought about Suzanne Shepards mutilated
stomach. The fact was, if Clyde Williams was mixed up in that ugly
crime, he deserved to go down, no matter whose father he was.
Growing up aint never easy, girlfriend, Bernadette said, reading
her mind. Whats your answer?
I can do it, Melanie declared, nodding resolutely. 11

B
B
ack in her office, Melanie began her workday as she always did,
by checking her e - mail. The subject line read Im watching you. In
the quiet of the office, with the memory of the man in the hooded
sweatshirt fresh in her mind, the caption got her attention. The message
had been sent last night at 1: 19 a. m. from an address she didnt
recognize, partysover2007@ yahoo. com. She clicked on it. It read:
To Melanie Vargas-- I saw you on TV and I could tell you have a sexy
body under those boring clothes. You cant hide it from me, I always know.
I want to see you with the clothes off. How tall are you and how much
do you weigh? I dont like women too big. Write back soon. Your secret
admirer. P. S. Dont waste your time on that nosy bitch Suzanne Shepard.
This Central Park Butcher guy did the world a favor.
Melanies fi rst reaction was to feel repulsed, as any woman would
upon receiving an obscene message. But then the prosecutor in her
kicked in, and she started thinking about whether the e - mail could
possibly be connected to the Shepard case.
Nosy bitch, she whispered. He calls her a bitch.
They had carefully kept all information about the gruesome mes sage carved into the victims stomach away from the press. As far as
Melanie knew, only law enforcement personnel were aware of the
mutilation. Holding back signature details of a crime allowed them
to truth - test anybody who contacted them claiming to be the killer.
Shed been taught that investigative principle, but shed never seen it
in action. Could she be seeing it now?
Melanie did her best to remain calm and think through the events
of the past hour or so. This message read Im watching you, and shed
had the distinct impression that the man in the hooded sweatshirt on
the subway had been following her. The e - mailer had called Suzanne
a bitch. Put those facts together, and suddenly she was leaping to the
conclusion that the Central Park Butcher himself had followed her
from her apartment onto the subway. But when she thought about it
objectively, Melanie didnt believe any of those things. Use of the word
bitch didnt make this creep the Butcher. The e - mail didnt actually
mention the mutilation, which the real killer surely would have.
And the e - mailer couldnt possibly have figured out where she lived.
Melanie was scrupulously careful about keeping her home address and
telephone number unlisted, as much to protect Maya as to protect
herself. No stranger whod seen her on TV should be able to track her
down. Besides, the guy in the sweatshirt hadnt even been following
her. If he had, when shed turned around before in the plaza, he would
have been behind her. Instead, the place was deserted.
Just as shed talked herself out of feeling nervous, a loud rap on
her office door made Melanie jump. A young woman with a pleasant,
doughy face stood in her doorway. She was short and wore a shapeless
gray suit.
Sorry, didnt mean to startle you, the woman said. Im Janice
Marsh from the D. A. s offi ce.
Oh, right. My boss told me you were coming.
Janice walked in and plopped down in Melanies guest chair. Are
you okay? You look white as a ghost. Were you at the crime scene last night? Melanie asked.
Janice blushed. Im sorry I ran out. It was my fi rst murder scene
and it was worse than I expected. If you give me second chance, Ill
work like a dog on this case, promise.
No need to apologize. Thats not why I was asking. You know the
killer carved the word bitch on Suzanne Shepards stomach, right?
Are you kidding, Ill remember that for the rest of my life. Why
do you think I hurled?
Could you do me a favor and read this obscene e - mail I received?
Melanie asked.
Sure. Throwing her a curious glance, Janice stepped behind
Melanies desk and leaned over to see the computer. She read the e mail,
then she read it a second time.
What do you think? Melanie asked.
Janice straightened up. Youre wondering about the fact that this
clown calls her a bitch? Does that mean hes the Butcher?
Exactly.
No way. Every asshole who hates women loves the B - word, right?
All this means is that some jerk saw you on TV and decided to harass
you. The same thing happened to a woman I work with in the D. A. s
office. She was doing a high - profile case and her picture was in the
paper. She started getting obscene phone calls. One of the cops she
worked with paid the guy a visit and it stopped.
Thats what I thought, too. I just wanted a second opinion,
Melanie said.
You may have a Web stalker, but I dont think hes the Butcher.
Too bad, huh? It would make solving the case a lot easier.
As Janice laughed, Melanies telephone started ringing.
We got the 911 caller, Dan said when Melanie picked up. She
heard static, and a loud siren in the background that was shrieking
simultaneously outside her offi ce window.
You sound close, she said. Were right in front of your building. Julians getting the guy out
of the car now, and were gonna bring him up the secure elevator. You
want us to meet you in your offi ce?
Why are you bringing him in the secure elevator? Did you arrest
him? she asked.
The guys got two nasty - ass scratches on his cheek. You remember
the victim had skin under her nails? This could be the Butcher,
and he wants to talk.
Ive got a war room, she said, pulling out the key Bernadette
had given her and checking the tag. Six - fourteen - B. Meet me there
in fi we minutes. 12


Melanie and Janice sat at the conference table, which was oversize
for the cramped space. The boxes from Target News had been
delivered and were piled on the floor, competing for space with leftover
detritus from somebody elses trial. Charts and blowups leaned
precariously against the walls and piles of proposed jury instructions
were everywhere. But as the door handle turned, Melanie was glad shed
thought to meet this prisoner on neutral ground instead of in her offi ce,
where she kept pictures of Maya and other personal possessions. Shed
sat across the table from killers before, but this felt different. The gruesome
nature of the crime. The man following her on the subway. The
disturbing e - mail. This case was starting to make her nervous.
The door opened and Dan and Julian walked in, the handcuffed
suspect between them. Melanie saw his face and drew a sharp breath.
Two angry scratches slashed across his right cheek, undoubtedly the
work of human fingernails. Was this man the Central Park Butcher?
Dan removed a handcuff key from the front pocket of his khaki
pants. They were the same pants hed worn to his birthday dinner last
night. It felt like light - years ago. Turn around, Dave, Dan said. He had an easy way with prisoners--
authoritative, firm, but humane.
Looks like you get the comfy chair, my friend, Julian said, his
gold teeth flashing as he pulled out an old vinyl - and - metal swivel
chair that was the only one in the room with arms. The man sat down
and Dan handcuffed his right hand to the chairs arm. Dan and Julian
both shook hands with Janice, whom they hadnt met before, and
took seats on either side of their prisoner.
Has he been Mirandized? Melanie asked.
He said hed waive his rights, but Im out of forms for him to
sign, Dan replied, holding up his hands.
Melanie went over to the computer terminal that sat on a small
side table and printed out a Miranda rights form, which she handed
to the prisoner.
Im Melanie Vargas from the U. S. Attorneys Office, she said,
taking a seat across from him, and this is Janice Marsh from the D. A. s
office. Were investigating the murder of Suzanne Shepard. What is
your name, sir?
David M. Harris, Esquire, he said in an educated voice. His unruffled
gaze told her nothing. It certainly didnt prove he was innocent.
The biggest psychos were capable of taking their own crimes, and law
enforcements interest in them, in stride without breaking a sweat.
Youre a lawyer? she asked.
Yes, an associate with the firm of Feinerman, Seidel, Brinkley
and Tate.
I know the Feinerman fi rm.
Of course you do. Were the biggest in the city, and the most
prestigious, he added with a curt nod.
Youre an associate?
Yes, up for partner in fourteen months, so getting arrested right
now is not convenient for me. Can we clear up this mistake, please,
and get on with the day? Getting murdered last night was not convenient for Suzanne
Shepard, either, Melanie retorted. So Im sure you understand we
need to take our time and get the facts straight. Youll have to bear
with us. Please read the form Ive placed before you, initial each paragraph
separately, and sign at the bottom. Let me know if you have any
questions.
No questions. Im quite familiar with Miranda v. Arizona, he
replied coldly. He scanned the page and signed off. Dan took the
form, witnessed Harriss signature, and handed it across the table to
Melanie.
Just to fill the two a youse in, Dan said, nodding at Melanie
and Janice as he pulled a spiral notebook from his back pocket and
consulted it, Mr. Harris is the gentleman who phoned 911 from
the park last night and reported hed witnessed a woman stabbed in
the Ramble. He subsequently fled the scene despite being told by the
dispatcher that a blue - and - white was en route. When we interviewed
him this morning at his place of business, he initially denied being the
individual who placed the call. Subsequent to that we played the tape,
and asked him if we needed to play it for his boss to get a positive voice
ID. He stated negative and admitted hed made the call. We asked him
where he got the scratches on his cheeks. He stated-- Dan paused to
flip the page-- he stated that he received them while playing with his
two - year - old son last night. We said those didnt look like two - year old
- size scratches to us, and requested his home telephone number for
verification. One Robin S. Harris answered and identified herself as
the subjects wife. Mrs. Harris stated that subject did not return home
last night at all because he was, quote, pulling an all - nighter on a big
case end quote. Subject has since refused to explain truthfully where
he got the scratches, or where he went after the park, but he states he
is willing to submit to a DNA test to verify hes not the Butcher. Dan
folded up his notebook and put it back in his pocket.
Ms. Vargas, if I may? Harris asked. Please.
He tried to lean forward conspiratorially, but the handcuffs
brought him up short. Are these shackles really necessary? he asked,
a frown of annoyance flitting across his forehead.
Those arent shackles. Shackles are when we put leg irons on
and chain them to your handcuffs. Go ahead, make my day, her tone
said.
But Harris wasnt fazed. Look, I could have kept my mouth shut
and asked for a lawyer. I didnt do that, so show a little courtesy in
return. I want to give the DNA sample right away. Youll see that Im
innocent, and then I can get back to the office before Im missed.
I cant just test you in five minutes and find out whether youre
the killer, Melanie said. The DNA testing process can take days. In
the meantime, we need to figure out what to do with you. Do I fi le
obstruction - of - justice charges? Do you go to jail?
Oh - obstruction charges? Why the hell would you do that if Im
being cooperative? Harris demanded, his voice shaking. He licked
his lips nervously. Obstruction charges could lead not only to possible
jail time, but to disbarment. That prospect seemed to disturb him
more than anything else shed said so far.
Agreeing to submit to the DNA test alone is not suffi cient cooperation.
We need details about what happened last night.
You actually think I killed some woman in the park last night?
Thats the most idiotic thing Ive ever heard. Why on earth would I
do that?
You tell us, Mr. Harris. Did you have a grudge against Suzanne
Shepard? Did she do a story on you? Was she your lover? Melanie
asked.
Ive never met the woman in my life! I never even watched her
brainless show. I certainly didnt kill her.
Then we need another explanation for your actions last night.
Why were you at the scene of the crime? Why were you in the park at all on a rainy night? How did you get those scratches on your cheek?
Why did you hang up when the 911 dispatcher asked for your name?
Why did you run away before the cops arrived? And why did you lie
to the agents about placing the call after they tracked you down? If
you dont explain yourself, Im afraid the obvious conclusion is that
you did those things because you killed Suzanne Shepard.
Harriss face turned red, and he started breathing faster. I cant
believe this. Youre serious.
Of course we are. Your conduct has given us reason to be.
I assure you, there is an innocent explanation, he said.
Okay, fine, Im listening, Melanie said.
But I need to know. Are you going to tell my wife? Harris asked
in a voice incongruously small for his powerful frame.
Tell her why you were in the park?
Yes.
I wont tell her directly. I have no reason to. But neither can I
promise to keep your statement confidential. It might get disclosed
in court.
Oh God. . . . Harris hung his head, screwing his eyes shut and
kneading them with the heels of his hands. He almost looked like he
was going to cry.
Hey, Dave, man, let me tell you something, Dan said. The
alternative is getting charged with murder. Then youll have to tell
anyway to get yourself out of jail, and a helluva lot more people are
gonna hear about it than just Robin. The whole citys paying attention
to this Butcher case. So pull yourself together and give us an answer,
or thingsll just get worse.
Okay, Harris said, opening his eyes. Give me a minute. He
took several deep breaths.
Why were you in the Ramble last night, Mr. Harris? Melanie
repeated.
Harris looked directly at Melanie, avoiding eye contact with Dan and Julian. Im not gay. Ive just been under a lot of stress lately. This
was the first time I ever went there.
He was probably lying, but it didnt really matter for their purposes.
Your sex life is none of our business, Melanie said, switching to
a friendlier tone. We need to rule you out as a suspect in this murder.
If you had some other credible reason for being at the scene of the
crime, thats a help.
I was looking . . . looking for . . . I was looking for companionship,
okay? I approached this guy, and he tried to rob me. We
were in the middle of negotiating, you know, how much I would
pay him, and he jumped me. I lift a lot. I mean, I work out, and I
used to be in the military in Israel. Im in shape. I fought him off,
but in the process, he scratched my face. Thats how I got these.
Swear to God.
What happened after you fought with him? Melanie asked.
I sat on the bench for a little while trying to pull myself together.
My face was bleeding, and I had no idea how Id explain the scratches
to my wife. Once I collected myself, I got up and headed east, toward
the exit from the Ramble. And thats when I saw it.
It?
Him. I saw him before I saw her. He was standing facing me, and
he had, like, this harness on his head with what looked like binoculars
attached to it. Ill tell you, that freaked me out. Stopped me right in
my tracks.
Night - vision goggles, Dan said.
Melanie felt the same sick chill she had when she heard about the
surgical gloves. Those were the tools of a killer who was practiced in
his ways, a killer who could strike again at any moment, and someone
shed damn well better get off the street.
Is that what they were? I knew they were something fucked up.
Harris looked sick to his stomach. Could it have been the same guy youd fought with? Melanie
asked.
No, definitely not. The man Id fought with was much smaller,
and hed run off in the opposite direction.
Describe this second man, Melanie ordered.
Tallish. Six feet, maybe.
Build?
Big. Heavyset.
White, black, Hispanic? she asked.
White, I think. But it was dark, and he was wearing something
with a hood. Some kind of sweatshirt.
Hooded sweatshirt? The guy on the subway had been wearing
a hooded sweatshirt, and come to think of it, the height and build
sounded similar, too. Could it be the same person? But no, she was
getting paranoid. That guy hadnt even been following her.
Melanie realized shed tuned out for a minute and that everyone
was waiting for her to speak. What happened next? she asked.
I saw a woman kneeling in front of him. She was down on the
ground, and her back was toward me. She managed to get partway
up on her feet, but I could tell she was struggling. Then I saw him
striking at her with something. She started to scream, but I could tell
there was something over her mouth because the sound was weird.
Oh God, it was . . . the sound. It was different than anything else Ive
ever heard. It was so . . . horrible. She was shrieking but it wasnt really
getting through. It was like this rasping, choking kind of sound.
Somehow, thats what made me realize he had a knife. I couldnt see it.
But from the noise she was making, I knew he was stabbing her.
They were all silent for a moment, absorbing the horror of the
scene.
Then what happened? Melanie asked.
The woman tried to crawl away. He kept stabbing her. Then he kicked her a bunch of times really hard. After that, I didnt see her
move again.
Then what?
He dragged her a ways and pushed her off this little cliff. Over
the edge, like, to where the ground was lower.
Into the ravine.
Right. Then he went down after her, and I ran like hell until I
got to the park exit. I called the cops, as you know, then I went back
to my office and slept there. I did my civic duty and reported this terrible
thing to 911. The reason I didnt stay and wait for the police to
arrive was, well, I didnt want anyone to know Id been cruising. You
can understand that, right?
Youre ex - military, and from the looks of it, youre extremely
strong. Why didnt you try to intervene? Melanie asked.
Harris looked at her like she was crazy. The man had a knife,
and he was in the middle of using it. I was unarmed. He would have
killed me. As a father of three, I wasnt about to take a risk like that for
a complete stranger.
Melanie gazed back at him evenly, her expression noncommittal.
We need a minute, she said finally, and nodded at Janice and the
agents.
Ill stay here so Mr. Harris doesnt get any smart ideas, Julian
said.
Leaving the door ajar on the off chance Harris did decide to make
a move, Melanie, Dan, and Janice stepped outside to confer.
Can we get the DNA sample taken today? Melanie asked Dan
in a low tone.
The technicians are on beeper. Ill page them and try to get somebody
in here. If I can, its just a swab from his cheek. Only takes a minute.
I cant make any promises whether a tech is available, though.
How long for results once the sample is taken?
Normally, its weeks, but in a case like this, put a rush on it, well have an answer in a day or two, assuming theres nothing else big go
ing on that I dont know about.
Do you believe his story? she asked.
Janice shook her head. Too much of a coincidence if you ask me,
him being at the scene of the crime and getting his face scratched. I
think hes lying.
Dan? Melanie asked.
Guys like that are why everybody hates lawyers, Dan said. I
can barely stand the sight of his smug face, but gut reaction, hes telling
the truth. Think about how scared he sounded on the 911 tape.
He wouldve had to be one damn good actor to fake that. I think he
was out cruising guys and thats why he ran. The scratches bother me,
but its plausible they came from a robbery attempt. Pross gets the
jump on the john. Happens all the time in the Ramble. I buy it.
Youre the deciding vote, Janice said, looking at Melanie.
Obviously, we get the DNA sample done right away, Melanie
said. Thats a no - brainer. The real question is what to do with Harris
while were waiting for the results.
Melanie paused, thinking. Arresting Harris on obstruction - of justice
charges might destroy his legal career, and in a different case,
she would have cut the guy some slack. But this was a murder case, a
particularly brutal and ugly one. What happened if she let Harris walk
and it turned out shed been wrong?
Just because we dont know of any motive doesnt mean Harris
isnt the killer, she continued. We havent investigated him yet. He
has scratches on his face, and hes the right height and build to be able
to inflict the type of damage that our victim suffered. Adding those
factors up, I think I have to put him in.
Lock him up? Dan asked.
If I can convince a judge to do it. I cant risk letting a killer out
on the street. 13

It was late Thursday afternoon and the arraignment court was buzz
ing with DEA and Secret Service agents and deputy U. S. marshals,
all shepherding prisoners from the days buy - bust and postal - theft and
credit card fraud arrests. The judge was on a break and the bench
was empty, but the spectator seats were jammed with Nigerians and
Pakistanis and Colombians and people from every corner of the globe
whod come to sign a bond for a cousin or blow a kiss to a lover as
he was led away in chains. Melanie slipped into an empty seat at the
governments table and nodded to a crew of fresh - faced junior prosecutors
from General Crimes who were waiting to handle the minor
arraignments. Immediately, somebody tapped her on the shoulder.
You have the complaint in the Harris case? He just retained me.
Bob Adelman.
Lets talk outside, Melanie said, pushing back her chair.
As they hurried up the aisle together, Melanie had her fi rst small
inkling of doubt. Bob Adelman was one of the most successful criminal
defense lawyers in New York, and for a reason. He was the real
deal. He didnt wear fancy suits or hire publicists like some of the hotshot types. He was just talented. Short and stocky, in his early
sixties, with a hound- dog face, Adelman exuded reasonableness. His
obviously guilty clients stepped up and took their pleas with minimal
fuss. His clients who went to trial did so because the evidence was
weak, and they usually walked. Judges loved him, and when prosecutors
discovered he was assigned to a case, they often just gave up and
followed his lead.
Outside the courtroom, Melanie handed Adelman a copy of the
charges, which he quickly scanned.
Youre jumping the gun by filing charges on my guy, Adelman said.
Hes a husband and father. Stan Feinerman, the richest lawyer in New
York, thinks highly of him and wants to make him a partner. He witnessed
the Central Park Butcher murder and he was initially uncooperative.
So what? Ten minutes with me, hell be in your offi ce singing like a
little girl. Give me a chance, and Ill bring him around, promise.
Thats not the issue, Bob. He talked, eventually. Im just not sure
I believed him.
Adelman was whippet quick. Are you saying you suspect him of
involvement in the homicide? he asked.
I cant rule it out, Melanie said.
Based on what evidence?
I cant discuss that right now.
Fair enough, but what good does an obstruction charge do you?
Boutros is on duty, and shes a stickler. If he was Charles Manson, she
wouldnt remand him on charges this thin. Not in a million years.
I have to try.
If you really think hes the Butcher, charge him with the homicide.
Then you can argue that hes a danger to the community. Youd
have a much better chance of keeping him in.
Melanie was silent.
You dont have the goods, do you? Adelman said with a knowing
smile. A prosecutor who looked barely old enough to shave poked his
head out the courtroom door. Youre Melanie, right? he asked. The
judge is on the bench. They just called your case.
Boutros is gonna love this one. Adelman winked at Melanie and
turned on his heel, leaving her to follow him into court like a lamb to
the slaughter.
D
D
avid Harris stood before the bench, with two deputy U. S. marshals
guarding him. Bob Adelman shook Harriss hand warmly as he
whispered instructions, draping his arm around his clients shoulder
to show the world what a decent guy David Harris was.
Defendant waives reading of the complaint? Judge Boutros
snapped, cutting off Adelmans display. Boutros was known as the
Iron Lady, both for the color of her hair and her no - nonsense ways.
Not a second was wasted in her courtroom. Prosecutors actually competed
to clock the fastest Boutros arraignment. The current record
was a minute twelve, and the judge looked like she was itching to
break it this afternoon.
We do, Bob Adelman said.
Agreement as to bail?
Before we get to bail, Judge, an application? Adelman began,
and Melanies palms started to sweat. This guy was an expert at the
old adage that the best defense is a good offense, and he was clearly
up to something.
With any other lawyer, Judge Boutros would have rolled her eyes,
but with Adelman she looked curious. Ill hear you, she said.
The defense moves to dismiss the complaint on the grounds of
bad faith. Let me tell you whats really happening here, Judge. The
government is investigating a brutal homicide that took place in Central
Park last night. The case has attracted a lot of press attention, and
the governments under pressure to make an arrest. Any arrest. My client witnessed the homicide and reported it to the police like a good
citizen. Miss Vargas has somehow bootstrapped this into his being the
Central Park Butcher, but she doesnt have a shred of proof to back it
up. If the government wants to charge murder here, we say bring it
on, and well beat it fair and square. Instead, theyre trying to ruin the
reputation of an upstanding citizen with a bogus obstruction charge.
This is an outrageous misuse of the criminal justice system, and we
ask that the complaint be dismissed with prejudice and Miss Vargas
be reprimanded.
Judge, theres no basis whatso--
Quiet, Miss Vargas. Ill hear you when Im ready.
The judge picked up a piece of paper from her desk and scanned
it. Melanie stood there stunned, her chest heaving with fury, her cheeks
burning. Shed never had her integrity questioned in open court before.
I see from the Pretrial Services report that the defendant is an attorney?
Judge Boutros said, looking over the paper at Bob Adelman.
Adelmans eyes were wide and doleful. Yes, Judge. This obstruction
charge could end his career.
Mr. Adelman, if the allegations in the complaint are true, then
his career deserves to end. Obstruction by members of the bar is doubly
despicable in my view. But I admit Im curious about what you
hope to gain, Miss Vargas. You cant expect me to remand him on
these charges?
Yes, Your Honor. The government seeks remand, Melanie said.
On what possible basis? Hes a citizen, correct?
Yes, maam.
Judge Boutros slapped the page with her free hand. How is this
man a flight risk? Hes gainfully employed to the tune of nearly two
hundred and fifty thousand a year, and owns an apartment on West
Seventy - sixth Street where he lives with his wife and three children.
He was born and raised in Manhattan and has no known ties outside
the United States. Please, dont insult my intelligence. Melanie forced herself to stand up straight, meet the judges eyes,
and speak in a firm voice. Shed take her humiliation like a soldier.
Im arguing that hes a danger to the community, Judge, not a
flight risk, Melanie said. She felt every eye in the courtroom boring
into her back.
Then youd better call a witness and make a record about his involvement
with the murder, because I dont find one single fact in the
complaint that backs you up, Judge Boutros said.
Melanie hesitated. She had no witnesses prepared. She hadnt
imagined shed need any.
Im not doing your dirty work for you, Miss Vargas, Judge
Boutros said. Call a witness and make your case, or you risk a fi nding
of bad faith.
If this judge demanded a dog - and - pony show, Melanie had no
choice but to deliver. She looked around the courtroom. Dan and
Julian had transported Harris to court and now sat on a back bench,
waiting to see whether hed make bail.
The government calls Special Agent Daniel K. OReilly of the
Federal Bureau of Investigation.
Dan rose and headed down the aisle. As Melanie marched over to
the podium facing the witness stand, her legs were shaky. Never mind
David Harris; Melanies career was going down the toilet, in a crowded
courtroom no less. Judge Boutross scowl grew deeper every minute,
and Bob Adelman sat at counsel table with a yellow legal pad, ready to
tear apart everything she said.
Judge Boutros swore Dan in and turned to Melanie. Proceed,
Miss Vargas.
Melanie cleared her throat and looked down at her legal pad, but
of course there was nothing written on it.
State your full name and spell it for the court reporter, she said,
her mind a complete blank. Think of something, goddammit.
Daniel Kevin OReilly, Dan replied, and spelled it. At the sound of his voice, Melanie looked up. Their eyes met
across the courtroom. His were blue, the blue of clear skies, of the
ocean on a calm day. They seemed to say that she was up to the job.
How are you employed? she asked, her voice firm and clear.
As a special agent with the Federal Bureau of Investigation.
Where were you at approximately eleven p. m. last night?
In Central Park, in the area known as the Ramble.
Why were you there?
I was paged to report to the scene of a homicide.
Who was the victim of this homicide?
One Suzanne Shepard. A TV news reporter.
As part of your duties at the crime scene, did you view the victims
body?
Yes, maam.
Melanie knew she needed to tread carefully here or her whole investigation
would be laid bare in open court. She didnt plan on giving
Bob Adelman free discovery before he was entitled to it, no way, not
after hed ambushed her like that.
She caught Dans eyes meaningfully. Agent, Id like to focus your
attention on one particular element of the crime scene, without going
into anything else. Can you please describe the state of the victims
fi ngernails?
The fingernails had material under them that appeared to be
human skin.
Did you observe this yourself?
No, not personally. This was relayed to me by the head crime scene
detective. By the time I got to the scene, the material had been
collected.
Collected in what manner?
By the, uh, the crime - scene detectives taking scrapings.
What was the purpose of taking the scrapings?
For later DNA comparison if a suspect was arrested for the murder. Why would the police make such a comparison?
Could you-- I dont understand the question, he said.
Ill rephrase it. Whose skin did the crime - scene detectives believe
was under the victims fi ngernails?
Adelman stood up. Objection. Seeks an answer not within the
witnesss direct knowledge.
Good, Melanie thought. If hes starting to object, he must be worried.
Hearsay is admissible in a bail hearing, Judge Boutros said.
Agent OReilly, did the crime - scene detectives tell you whose skin
they thought was under the victims fi ngernails?
Yes, maam.
Overruled. You may answer, the judge said.
The idea was, the victim fought back, Dan said. She scratched
her attacker. So it wouldve been the killers skin.
That was last night? Melanie asked.
Correct.
If Suzanne Shepards killer was arrested today, how would you
expect him to look?
Objection, calls for speculation, Bob Adelman said.
Overruled. This is plain common sense, Judge Boutros said.
She was gazing steadily at David Harriss face, and Melanies hopes
surged. The clear, shiny ointment on Harriss right cheek did nothing
to conceal the two angry scratches.
I would expect his face to be scratched up, Dan replied.
Directing your attention to earlier today, did you place an individual
under arrest for the murder of Suzanne Shepard?
Yes.
Who was that?
One David M. Harris.
Is he present in the courtroom?
Yes, maam.
Please identify him and describe him for the record. Dan pointed. Thats him, seated to the left of Mr. Adelman at
the defense table, wearing a gray suit, with light brown hair.
Please describe for the record the condition of Mr. Harriss
face.
Hes got two fresh scratches on his right cheek. Nasty - looking
ones.
Can you describe the facts that led you to arrest Mr. Harris?
He had called 911 last night to report the murder, claiming to be
an eyewitness. He fled the scene before the police arrived--
Wait a minute, Judge Boutros interjected. If hes the killer, why
would he call the police?
Mr. Harris called the police, then fled, maam, Dan replied.
The killer left the body in a public place anyways, so we fi gured he
wanted her discovered. Sometimes its about the publicity.
The Judge nodded. Proceed.
We then tracked Mr. Harris down through his cell - phone records,
Dan continued. When we found him, he denied placing the
call, which we knew wasnt true because its his cell phone and his
voice. We asked him where he got the scratches on his face and he lied
about that, too.
What did he say? Melanie asked.
That he got em from his kid, but his wife said he never came
home last night.
Did he later give a second explanation for the scratches?
Yes. When we said we didnt buy the story about his kid, he
stated that somebody tried to rob him in the Park and he sustained
the scratches fighting this individual off.
Did you ask Mr. Harris to provide a DNA sample?
Yes, and he agreed. We should have the results in twenty - four to
forty - eight hours. If they come back positive, obviously, well charge
him with the murder instead of just the obstruction of justice.
No further questions, Melanie said. She picked up her legal pad and headed back to the governments
table. The baby prosecutors were looking at her with admiration.
Glancing over her shoulder, she saw that the courthouse grapevine
had gone into overdrive, and the courtroom was packed. A possible
arrest in the Central Park Butcher case was big news. Bernadette had
shown up at some point, and beside her sat the deputy chief of the
Criminal Division. In the rows behind them were several reporters
whom Melanie recognized from the press conference this morning.
Bob Adelman rose. Cross, Judge?
Looking at the clock, Judge Boutros waved her hand irritably. Sit
down, Mr. Adelman. Im prepared to rule.
Judge--
Ive heard enough. The motion to dismiss the complaint on
grounds of bad faith is denied. The government had a legitimate public
safety concern here--
Judge, my client has a good explanation for the scratches--
Did you hear me, Mr. Adelman? No cross necessary. As much as
I see where the governments coming from, I cant order remand on
the facts before me. Im ready to set bail.
Melanie got to her feet. Your Honor--
For forty - eight hours you can put a tail on him, Miss Vargas. Im
not locking him up on a measly obstruction charge.
What about electronic monitoring, Judge? Melanie tried.
That only makes sense if I order home confinement or severely
restrict his movements. Im not doing that on these facts. Live with it
and sit down.
The rest of the hearing passed in a flash, with David Harris agreeing
to post the title to his apartment as security for his bail. Afterward,
as Melanie headed up the aisle, Bob Adelman caught her by the arm.
Nice job, he said with a warm smile.
Bob, you just accused me of bad faith.
Yeah, and you outmaneuvered me. No hard feelings, okay, kid? You done good. He squeezed her arm, heading off to shake hands
with well - wishers in the courtroom. Gracias por nada, she thought.
Thanks for nothing.
Bernadette and Mark Sonschein, the deputy chief of the Criminal
Division, conferred with arms folded and heads together in the fi rst
row of spectator seats. Melanie approached them with her heart in
her throat. In contrast to his happy name, Mark was grim - faced and
sober, with a heavy five oclock shadow. For some reason, Melanie had
always believed he didnt like her, and she felt nervous around him.
But Mark and Bernadette both looked up with broad smiles on their
faces.
Nicely done, Mark said.
You think so? Melanie asked, confused. I lost the bail argument.
If David Harris is the killer, hes out on the street.
The judge granted bail, Bernadette emphasized. Whatever
happens next, its not on us. 14

Melanie was concerned with more than just avoiding blame if the
Central Park Butcher struck again. She actually wanted to stop
him. The FBI and NYPD were focused on surveilling David Harris.
But if Harris wasnt the killer, they were simply playing babysitter to
her star witness. Melanie half believed Harriss story about the male
prostitute, and she thought there was a decent chance that the Butcher
was still on the street. She planned to get her butt in gear and start
identifying alternative targets.
The Nineteenth Precinct station house was on her way home.
Shed called ahead, and the detective whod been investigating the
burglary at Suzanne Shepards apartment had agreed to stay late so
Melanie could meet with her. Detective Pauline Estrada seemed like
somebody Melanie might have known back in the day, in grammar
school maybe, before she started getting into the advanced placement
programs and magnet schools and leaving the block behind. Maybe
they would have stayed in touch, or maybe their lives would have
diverged, hard to say. Certainly they looked different on paper in the
here and now. Pauline couldnt have been much older than Melanie, but based on the pictures on her desk, she had teenage kids. Her hair
was bigger than Melanies, her clothes more revealing, and her accent
still resonant of the Bronx. But Melanie recognized a kindred spirit
in her, somebody who gave a damn about the job, who cared about
making things right. Lorraine Shepard had suggested the cops werent
moving fast enough on the burglary in her apartment, but looking at
this woman, Melanie found that difficult to believe.
Im glad you reached out to me. I was meaning to call you since
I saw the murder in the paper. You want some? Pauline asked. She
stood at a small counter opposite her desk in the open detectives
squad area of the Nineteenth Precinct, pouring steaming coffee into
a Styrofoam cup.
Thanks. Im really fading. I could use it.
It was after seven oclock, and Melanies brain was fried after a
sleepless night and endless day. She sipped the coffee, which was blessedly
strong. The caffeine kicked in immediately, and she could feel her
batteries recharging, her energy level ramping up.
The victims mother gave me your card. I need to figure out if
your burglary has any connection to my murder, Melanie said.
Yeah, I was wondering the same thing. Pauline shook her head.
Lorraine Shepard. What a piece of work, huh? Watch out for her.
Why do you say that? Melanie asked.
She called my boss on me three times already in two weeks. Why
didnt I arrest nobody yet, when am I gonna make a move, yada, yada,
yada. Im lucky, though. My boss is from God. He wont listen to a
word against me.
People have unrealistic expectations. Do you even have a viable
suspect?
Oh, I do. But that doesnt mean I can prove it.
I know how that goes, Melanie said.
Melanie sat in a chair beside Paulines desk. Pauline leafed through
a file. When she found what she was looking for, she yanked out the mug shot and slapped it down in front of Melanie. The man in the
picture had a striking face. Handsome and cruel, with sharp cheekbones
and dark, sunken eyes.
Miles Ortiz, personal trainer at Flex Gym, and narcotics trafficker,
Pauline said.
Your burglary suspect? Melanie asked.
Yep. Found his prints in Suzanne Shepards apartment. One of
the files that got boosted had a whole lotta dirt on him which now
wont see the light of day.
Lorraine told me he was selling drugs to his clients.
Not was. Is.
He has priors? Melanie asked, fingering the mug shot.
Yep, and not for singing too loud in church, neither. Two criminal
possessions of a controlled substance and an assault. Im amazed
this guy is walking the streets let alone teaching kickboxing to rich
housewives.
It sounds like you have a lot on him, Melanie said.
Yes and no. Im convinced hes the one who broke in and took
the files. Took some money and jewelry, too. But the fact that his
prints are inside the apartment, unfortunately, he can explain that
away.
You interviewed him already?
Yeah, but Im not taking his word for nothing. I heard it from Suzanne
Shepard. Before she died, she corroborated everything he said.
So whats the explanation? Why was Miles in her apartment?
You heard of Drew Savitt? Pauline asked.
Ive heard of a Kim Savitt. From Lorraine Shepard.
Right. Kim is Drews wife. Savitts a big mogul type. Runs a major
real - estate development firm thats buying up all this waterfront
property in Jersey and building fancy condos.
Oh, sure. Now I remember.
Savitt owns the building where Suzanne Shepard lives. Lived, I mean. Hes separated from Kim, and he gave her an apartment there.
Heres Kim.
Pauline laid down a picture that looked as if it had been ripped from
a glossy magazine. It showed a group of five gorgeous, perfectly groomed
women standing together, all in evening wear. The caption said the picture
had been taken at a benefit for New York Hospital, and identifi ed the
woman in the center as Kim Savitt. She was taller and blonder than the
rest, with more lavish cleavage, bigger diamonds, and a whiter smile. Id
be smiling, too, Melanie thought.
Its an ugly situation, Pauline said. Bitter custody battle over
their little girl, lots of lurid allegations. Anyway, long story short, Kim
Savitt belongs to Flex Gym, and her trainer is none other than our
friend Miles Ortiz.
Really.
Mmm - hmm. And, Kim and Suzanne Shepard were friendly.
Miles is a frequent visitor to Kims apartment. In- home training sessions,
dont you know. Kim brought Miles to see Suzanne on a couple
of occasions. So thats his cover.
Suzanne confi rmed that?
Yes. Like I said, I wouldnt take that lowlifes word for nothing.
Have you interviewed Kim? Melanie asked.
No. I figured shed just back Miles up and say they visited Suzanne
socially.
I hate to sound cynical, but if Kims in a custody battle, the last
thing she needs is police scrutiny, Melanie pointed out. Maybe shed
be willing to talk, just to keep a lid on things.
Good idea. Worth a try, anyway. Ill make a note.
Where in Suzannes apartment were Miless fi ngerprints found?
Two locations. Hold on.
Pauline pulled a fi ngerprint report from the fi le. Melanie took it,
squinting, trying to locate the conclusion amid long paragraphs of
bureaucratese. I find these things impossible to read, she confessed.
I know, right? Here, Pauline said, running her fi nger along the
text. Latent print of value, yada, yada, lifted from right stainless steel
bar stool at kitchen island, and theres a diagram, okay? Money
was taken from that location, so makes sense, right? Now, Analysis
performed and identification effected with subjects right forefi nger.
This is all crap about the whorl patterns, but here we go: Latent print
of value identified on top right drawer of desk in third bedroom and
identification effected with subjects right palm.
Third bedroom? Thats Suzannes office, right? Melanie asked.
Yes. All of which means we can put him in the kitchen and at
the desk in the back bedroom, both locations from which items were
taken during the burglary.
So he didnt wear gloves, Melanie said.
Doesnt look like it.
But the Butcher did, Melanie thought, remembering the talcum powder
marks on the wallet. What does that mean?
Did Suzanne tell you whether Miles went into her office when he
came to visit with Kim Savitt? Melanie asked.
She said he didnt. Kitchen yes, office no. And even in the kitchen,
his last social call was more than a week before the burglary. Their
maid comes five days a week, and she always wipes down the bar
stools with cleaning fluid, so those prints were fresh.
Melanie paused, thinking. Could Lorraine Shepard testify about
Miless social visits? she asked after a moment.
She was there when they happened, yes.
And shed say he never went in the offi ce?
Shed say cows have wings if it would get somebody arrested. But
yeah, I asked her, and she could testify he wasnt in the offi ce, Pauline
said.
Melanie pondered for another moment. Well, theres probably
enough. Enough to get a warrant? Pauline asked.
Close, but--
Pauline broke into a huge grin. Hallelujah. Now I see why guys
love to take shit federal. I knew we had a case, but I just couldnt make
that cabrón of an A. D. A. understand.
Melanie couldnt help laughing.
So I can go ahead and pop Miles now? Pauline asked.
I love your enthusiasm, but lets not jump the gun. The burglary
charge is pretty weak given his innocent explanation. If we got
a warrant, it would only be to keep in our back pocket in case Miles
decides to skip. We need to know more before we actually arrest him.
Like where he was at the time Suzanne Shepard was murdered, for
instance.
You think hes the Butcher? Pauline asked.
I dont know. If he knew she was planning to expose his drug
operation, and hes as ruthless as he looks, maybe. But Im not convinced.
Wasnt there a second suspect in the burglary, anyway? A plastic
surgeon named Benedict Welch? Lorraine mentioned him.
Files were stolen relating to Welch, but I never really considered
him a suspect. Theres nothing that jumps up and bites you like with
our boy Miles, Pauline said.
Why take his files, then? Is there some connection between Dr.
Welch and Miles Ortiz?
Not that I know of, but I never really checked. Pauline was
frowning, but not like she minded being challenged. More like she
was annoyed with herself for not covering every base.
Can I see what you have on Welch? Lorraine said Suzanne was
working on a big story on him. Something damaging. She seemed
more concerned about Welch than about Ortiz, actually, Melanie
said.
Surgeon. Butcher. Could be. You never know, Pauline agreed.
She pulled out a sheaf of notes held together with a black binder clip and labeled Benedict Welch, MD in neat handwriting. The girl was
organized, you had to give her that.
Benedict Welch, M. D., PC, Pauline said. Fancy office on Park
Avenue. High - powered clientele. Shows up in the society columns a
lot. Sixty - four YOA. Caucasian male, blond hair, blue eyes. Born and
raised in Tulsa, Oklahoma. Married, no children. Board certifi ed and
licensed by the states of Oklahoma and New York in dermatology
and plastic surgery. Two complaints on file with the Board of Medical
Examiners, both investigated, one ruled without merit and dismissed,
the other ruled inconclusive, no finding issued, allowed to lapse. She
looked up at Melanie uncertainly.
What were the complaints for? Melanie asked.
Pauline shuffled through the pile, pulling a couple of blurry photocopies
from the bottom. The one without merit, for inappropriate
physical contact with a patient rendered unconscious due to anesthesia.
Not to put too fine a point on it, he groped a lady when she was
under. The inconclusive one, for, um, hold on a second. For the same
thing. Groping a different lady while she was under. Sorry. I guess I
never focused on this. I was so busy with the Miles Ortiz angle.
Suzanne was raped by her assailant, Melanie pointed out.
I didnt know that, Pauline said, her eyes widening. It wasnt
in the paper.
They were silent for a moment.
We should take a closer look at this Dr. Welch and see what we
can turn up, Melanie said.
Jesus. I hope I didnt miss something, Pauline said, looking upset. 15

Melanie called Dan OReillys cell phone as she hurried toward her
apartment from the precinct and, when he didnt pick up, left him
a voice mail. She told herself she needed to fill him in on what shed
learned today and check whether the surveillance of David Harris had
turned up anything of significance. She also needed to schedule a team
meeting. All of that was true. But deep down, she knew shed really
called so she could hear his sexy - as - hell voice. And let him know how
much seeing him across the courtroom this afternoon had steadied her.
And, okay, maybe ask if he wanted to stop by after Maya was asleep,
when the next shift of surveillance guys came on duty. She was dead
tired, and she imagined he was, too. But all the way home, she was
thinking about how good his body felt next to hers in bed at night.
When Dan hadnt called her back by the time shed let her baby-
sitter go home and given Maya her bath, she tried him again, and got
voice mail.
Hey, its Melanie . . . Uh, its about eight - thirty and . . . um,
Im just wondering whats going on with the surveillance. Give me a
call. She was too tired to cook, so she nuked some macaroni and cheese
left over from Mayas dinner and ate it at the kitchen table with her
daughter sitting in her lap, snuggling and sucking her pacifier, her eyelids
growing heavy. Mayas little body was warm and compact in soft
cotton jammies. The weight of her calmed Melanies frayed nerves.
By the time Melanie had finished eating, Maya was asleep. Melanie
got up gingerly and carried her to her room, putting her nose to her
daughters silky dark locks as she walked, drinking in the fragrance of
baby shampoo.
The nursery had white furniture and a wallpaper border of pink
bunnies, and already it seemed too babyish for Maya. Melanie lowered
the little girl into the crib and stood there marveling at how long
she was. When had that happened? Time to buy a real bed. The days
are endless, the years fly by. Shed read that somewhere, and it felt too
true. Maya was growing up, and between work and the divorce and
everything else, Melanie was missing too much of it. The thought depressed
the hell out of her. She had another vision of Charlie Shepard,
of his grief this morning, of how his life with his mother had come
to such a brutal and unexpected end. What if that happened to her?
Would she look back and feel like shed spent her time in the right
places?
Snap out of it, she whispered, and hurried back to the kitchen,
where she cleaned up her dishes and settled down with a pile of photocopies
from Pauline Estradas burglary fi le.
But the fact that Dan hadnt called her back was nagging at her
enough that she couldnt concentrate. He always jumped right on
her messages. Maybe something had happened on the case? If so, she
needed to know. After pretending to read for a few more minutes,
she gave up and went into the foyer to get Julian Hays card from her
handbag. Shed page Julian. Maybe he would call her back.
About fifteen minutes later, she was sitting at the table with the phone beside her when it finally rang. She grabbed it, eager to hear
Dans voice.
Hello?
This is Detective Hay. Somebody page me?
Julian, its Melanie Vargas.
Hey, Melanie. Whats happening?
Are you still out on the Harris surveillance?
No, some guys doing the four - to - midnight tour relieved us a
while ago. Everything was quiet. No news. Harris just went back to
his apartment after court and didnt come out. Theyll page me if anything
unusual happens.
Okay, good. Where are you now?
Home. I was thinking about getting a little shut - eye and coming
in real early tomorrow, but if you got something important . . . ? He
trailed off.
Come to think of it, here was an opportunity to put Suave Pierres
special expertise to work. Bernadette had said Detective Hay was useless
at the grunt work of regular investigations, but a genius at drug
buys. Melanie decided to be a smart supervisor and utilize her staff
strategically.
Actually, there is something I need you to do, although it can
wait till morning. Turns out theres a drug angle on this case.
Gimme the skinny, sister. You know thats my specialty.
She filled him in on everything shed learned about Miles Ortiz.
Julian took notes on Miless birth date, Social Security number, last
known address, and the dates of all his arrests.
So you want to know what hes selling, and who to? Julian asked.
Thats right. And anything else you can find out. Who supplies
Miles? Is he a small - time guy, or does he play with the big boys?
Where does he stash? Can you buy from him? If we can arrest him,
maybe we can get him to talk, and tell us whatever he knows about
the murder. No problem. Pierres on it. Ill have something back to you in
no time.
She smiled. Great. Thanks . . . Oh, and Julian?
Yeah?
She knew she shouldnt, but she couldnt stop herself. You dont
happen to know where Dan OReilly is, do you?
He went to visit somebody in the hospital. Out on the Island, I
think.
Oh. He didnt mention that.
Thats what he told me. You have a good night now, hear?
Yeah. You, too.
She hung up, wondering who was sick and why Dan hadnt said
anything to her about it. Two hours later when she got in bed and
turned out the light, he still hadnt returned her calls. It took her a
torturously long time to fall asleep. Whenever she looked at the clock,
her eyes burning with fatigue, she assured herself it was Detective
Estradas coffee keeping her awake, and not that she was in over her
head with this guy. 16

It had been more than six years since Dan OReillys wife walked out
on him and went to live with a buddy of his from his football days,
and hed done a bang - up job ever since of pretending she didnt exist.
He kept so busy that he didnt have time to remember her. Worked
his ass off on the job. Hit the gym till his muscles ached. Worked construction
on the weekends with his cousin Brian and the guys from
Brians firehouse. So he could avoid any place she might turn up, hed
skipped pretty much every social event he ever got invited to, but
what the hell, he wasnt much for parties anyway. Lately, with Melanie
in his life, his efforts had really paid off. He didnt have to struggle not
to think about Diane anymore. She just wasnt on his mind. He saw a
future for himself again, and there was somebody new in it.
Dan found a parking space at the hospital in West Islip and
searched out the oncology floor. Two women were on duty at the
nurses station, one middle - aged and heavy, the other young and
heavy, both wearing brightly colored scrubs and gobs of makeup.
What can I do for you, hon? asked the young one, checking
him out. Im looking for Seamus Fields.
Its after visiting hours. You a relative?
Son - in - law, he replied, leaving out the ex.
I dont see a ring. You sure youre married?
Annoyed, Dan flashed his shield instead. Youre sure fast with the
questions. Maybe you should join the FBI.
She tossed her head. No thanks, but if youre single, you can buy
me a drink.
Her colleague shot her a glance, snickering.
What? Hes a hottie, the young one shot back.
Id like to see my father - in - law while hes still alive, please. From
what I understand, that wont be too much longer.
The nurses eyes softened. Sorry. We get a little crazy here on the
night shift. She checked her roster and gave him the room number.
As he walked away, the two of them were giggling behind him.
Dan trudged down a long, brightly lit hallway, feeling like he was
going back in time. Seamus Fields was one of the biggest reasons Dan
had fallen for his daughter. That, and her angel face and unbelievable
body. Dont think about Diane. But it was hard not to, since he was
about to see her.
Dan and Diane had known each other their whole lives. Their
dads were both on the job, both important men, the main difference
being that Seamus handled the stress by becoming humane and wise,
whereas Frank OReilly had shriveled up inside. Dan had adored the
big, bluff Irishman and taken every opportunity to spend time at
Seamuss house. It didnt hurt that Seamus had a gorgeous daughter,
either. Dan and Diane had been born on the same day. When
they were eight, Diane told him the shared birthday meant they
were destined to get married, and hed believed her. When they were
thirteen, hed kissed her under the mistletoe at a Christmas party,
his first kiss although not hers, as it turned out. When they were
sixteen, they did it in a borrowed car on the night of the junior prom, and he was careful not to ask if it was her first time. When they were
twenty - one, they got married, and when they were twenty - fi we, she
left without so much as a good - bye while he was dead asleep after a
long surveillance.
Dianes second marriage had run its course. Had fallen to shit, was
a more accurate way to put it. Theyd fought and cheated and bad mouthed
each other to the point where Dan couldnt help hearing
about it even though he tried not to. Just recently, Paul had left Diane
for some twenty - two - year - old hed met in a tattoo parlor. Another guy
mightve felt gratified, mightve said what goes around comes around,
but that wasnt Dan. The past had too strong a hold on him. In fact, if
he hadnt been dating Melanie, he was pretty sure hedve called Diane
up to see if she needed a shoulder to cry on.
Dianes sister Patty was leaning against the wall outside the hospital
room scrolling through text messages on her cell phone. She
looked up as Dan approached.
Hey, Danny! Long time no see.
How you been, Patty? Youre looking good.
Dan kissed her on the cheek. Patty was beautiful like her sister.
All three of the Fields girls were beautiful, but none of them had managed
to pull off happy. Patty had married a fi refighter whod died in
the World Trade Center, and her youngest kid was autistic. She had
a decent job in human resources at a big company, and she was okay
enough financially with the insurance settlements and all, but life had
taken its toll. You could see it in her eyes. The oldest sister, Denise,
was the black sheep-- three kids by two different guys, never married,
living at home. Thats what happened when you relied on your looks
and never developed any other part of yourself. Eventually your looks
faded and left you with jack.
Hows he doing? Dan asked.
Not good. It wont be long now. Hes sleeping, but you can go in.
Dianes in there. Mom stepped out to the chapel to light a candle. The thought of being basically alone with his ex - wife made Dan
so nervous that his hands and feet went cold.
I dont know, he said, taken aback.
Shell be glad you came. Its more than Paul did. Hes in Atlantic
City this weekend gambling with his girlfriend, piece a shit that he
is. Patty shook her head in sisterly solidarity.
I came to see the old man, he felt compelled to say.
Sure. We know that. So go ahead. She smiled wearily and went
back to her phone.
Dan had to stifle a gasp when he saw Seamus lying lifeless in
the bed. The guyd been the size of a Mack truck and looked like he
couldve stopped a bullet with his massive chest. Now he was shrunk
to a pile of bones, his normally pink cheeks sallow and waxy. Ashes to
ashes, Dan thought. Were all dust in the end, even him.
Dan was so shocked by Seamuss appearance that it took him a
minute to realize Diane was standing right beside him. He hadnt laid
eyes on his ex - wife since all the funerals right after 9/ 11. Dans youngest
brother, Sean; Pattys husband, Eddie ODare; a bunch of cousins,
scores of their friends. The Irish in the services took a heavy hit. And
making it that much worse was Diane, showing up at the funerals
hanging all over her new husband, her white skin glowing against
a black dress. Here she was now in the flesh, looking beautiful, but
older, and harder somehow. The change was noticeable.
Danny, she said, her hand going to her throat. I wasnt expecting
you.
What, like Im not gonna come? You know I love the old man.
Im just surprised. Im glad to see you.
And she stood on tiptoe and kissed him tenderly on the cheek.
She still wore the same perfume, and the smell of it took him back.
Hed been wondering if hed feel anything, and he did. He felt nostalgic
and sad, like a lot of years had passed and neither of them had
much to show for it. But he did, now. He had Melanie. Hed had a hard time finding his way, all those bleak years without Diane, but
once Melanie had come along, hed finally gotten his bearings.
Hows he doing? Dan asked.
They disconnected the life support yesterday. Hes been unconscious
since then. They didnt think hed last this long. But he has a
morphine drip, so hes not feeling any pain.
Im so sorry. Hes young, too.
Seventy - one. Is that young? she asked.
In this day and age.
Diane was gazing at him intently. Her eyes were bright blue. If
theyd ever had kids, the eye color wouldntve been in doubt. But it
had turned out she couldnt. That had been hard for both of them,
and hed always said it was what drove them apart. She felt guilty
about it and acted out. But he knew he was making excuses. Diane
had always been fickle, somebody a more careful man wouldnt have
put his faith in.
I could use a cup of coffee. The cafeterias open twenty - four/ seven,
she said.
He nodded toward the bed. Im here to pay my respects.
Sure, of course. But when youre done? Were collecting stories
for the eulogy. I figure you must have some nice ones about him.
She smiled at him sadly, twirling a strand of her golden hair
around her finger the way she had when they were kids. He studied
her face. It was beginning to look familiar, less hard around the edges,
more like the girl he remembered.
Okay, he said after a moment.
She nodded. Ill wait outside. Take your time.
Dan approached the bed. He reached out to grasp the old mans
hand, but Seamus had IVs going into both arms, and Dan worried
hed screw something up. Instead he pulled a chair over and sat down
beside him. The acrid chemical odor emanating from Seamuss emaciated
body smelled like death. Seamus, its Danny OReilly. I came to see you. I dont know if
you can hear me or not.
Memories came rushing in, and he choked up so bad that he was
forced to stop. Seamus had been more of a father to Dan than his old
man had.
So I . . . uh, listen, I know we havent seen too much of each
other the past few years. Its a shame, this thing with me and Diane
coming between us. But youve been like a father to me, Seamus. You
know how my old man is. I would never talk against him or nothing,
but it meant a lot that you stepped up when he maybe, uh, had too
much on his plate. You made me feel like I was worth something, like
somebody saw the good in me.
He stopped again, fighting for composure. Dan thought he saw
Seamuss lips move. He bent down eagerly, putting his ear to the old
mans mouth.
You want to say something?
There was nothing, barely even a whisper of breath. Still, Dan felt
like Seamus had heard him.
He straightened up. Anyways, I came by to say . . . to thank you
for what you did for me over the years. If anybodys right with God,
its you, so I know youre heading upstairs. Im hoping to wind up
there myself someday, and Ill look for you. Well grab a pint, tell a few
war stories. He paused, touching Seamus on his waxen cheek. Okay,
then. Im not gonna say good - bye.
Outside, Diane and Patty were deep in conversation. They broke
off the second they saw him.
Going to the cafeteria, Diane said to her sister. You want something?
But Pattys phone rang, and she waved the question off in her rush
to grab the call. Some guy, probably. The Fields girls always had guys
dangling on a string. Which reminded him.
I heard you and Paul split, he said to Diane as they stepped into the elevator. All of a sudden, in the space of the few minutes hed spent
with Seamus, hed started feeling comfortable around Diane again.
Yeah. I didnt even see it coming, that asshole, she said. What
are you gonna do, right? You probably think I deserve it. I mean, I
wouldnt blame you if you did.
Dan said nothing.
I screwed up big- time, didnt I? she said, and gave a nervous
little laugh. The elevator reached the basement level and they walked
down a short hallway to a cafeteria that reeked of steam tables and
cleaning fl uid.
I heard youre dating some Puerto Rican girl with a kid, Diane
said, when Dan continued not to reply. I heard your dads not too
happy about it, either.
She flipped the lever on the coffee urn, filled two Styrofoam cups
with light brown coffee, and handed him one.
Ah, hes full of shit. He never even met her. I wont introduce em
until he acts more respectful. Besides, I dont live my life by him. You
know that.
Oh, hey, wait a minute. I just remembered something, she said,
and went over to the counter where the desserts were. She came back with
a piece of carrot cake. They paid and sat down at the nearest table, the
only two people in the place besides the Salvadoran woman working the
cash register. Diane put the slice of cake down in front of him, smiling.
Happy birthday. Carrot cakes still your favorite, right?
He laughed. Yeah. I guess you cant forget the date. Happy birthday
to you, too.
It was weird, all those years, celebrating our birthday apart. Did
you ever feel that?
Their eyes met. He felt strange, light - headed, like he was falling
back in time. It was your idea, he said fi nally.
She held his gaze. You ever think maybe we just got married too
young? Honestly, Diane, I never think about it, he lied. Looking away,
he took a swig of the coffee and grimaced at its metallic taste.
Coffee here sucks, huh? she asked after a moment.
Yup.
So whats up with the Spanish chick?
He took a bite of the cake instead of answering. Cakes not bad.
Better than the coffee, anyway.
Come on. Whats she like? Diane persisted.
What do you care?
Im interested. Im always hearing about you. People love to tell
me what youre up to. You know how that is, right?
He smiled, chewing. Maybe.
Thought Id get it from the horses mouth. Is that such a
crime?
All right, lets see. Shes smart. Beautiful. Shes a prosecutor. We
have some cases together. Satisfi ed?
Oh. A lawyer. Diane nodded slowly, like everything made sense
now. Nobody told me that part.
What did you think, she was a welfare mother or something? She
went to Harvard, for Chrissakes.
Okay, whatever. No need to get defensive. She frowned. There
was a vertical crease between her brows that hadnt been there the last
time hed seen her. I dont see you with somebody from Harvard.
That seems wrong for you.
Im out of my league, but she puts up with me.
Its serious?
Yeah, it is.
He saw the news hit Diane, saw how shed been hoping for a different
answer.
What, like headed - for - the - altar serious? she asked, her tone joking,
brittle.
Maybe, Dan said. Time was weird. Hed been wrapped up with this woman his whole life, then she was gone, and now she was back
again, so familiar that he could hardly believe the years between had
happened.
Oh. She swallowed and looked away.
But who knows? Its too early to say. Its not like were engaged or
anything. Diane had enough going on, between her marriage falling
apart and Seamus dying. She didnt need to worry about Dan getting
married to someone else.
Okay. Dianes smile reached her eyes. The lines around them
were new also, and they made him feel protective of her.
Now, about that eulogy, he said, taking another bite of the carrot
cake. Lets talk about the old man. 17

F
F
riday morning, on her way to an appointment with the head of
security for Target News, Melanie made what she thought would
be a brief detour to the Frank E. Campbell Funeral Home to pay her
respects to Suzanne Shepard. She did it because she thought it was the
right thing to do, but her little trip turned out to have some unanticipated
benefi ts.
Frank E. Campbell was Manhattans prestige funeral parlor, the
place where the wealthy and socially prominent took their fi nal bows.
It sat, austere and imposing, on a fine Madison Avenue block, within
striking distance of the palatial apartment buildings of Fifth and Park
Avenues and convenient to the best shopping. The rich and famous
didnt even need to call a limo to take them there, although of course
they preferred to. Two uniformed officers and a sober - suited funeral
director took shelter from the sun under the red awning, checking
IDs to make sure that no unauthorized mourners crashed Suzanne
Shepards last personal appearance.
Melanie flashed her credentials and got waved inside, where she
four - inch sling - back heels, and a black picture hat. Though her perfect
smile and generous cleavage werent on display at the moment,
Melanie instantly recognized Kim Savitt from the photo Detective Estrada
had shown her yesterday. Kims overpowering gardenia perfume
made Melanie sneeze, which in turn caused Kim to shoot Melanie an
annoyed glance. She was talking on a cell phone and apparently fi nding
it difficult to hear.
What? Say that again . . . Oh, come on, Miles. I told you, I cant,
Kim said, studying her manicure with a frown, as if it were, to her
expert eye, less perfect than it appeared. On her left index fi nger, she
wore a square - cut diamond that reached to her knuckle. Kim seemed
utterly oblivious to Melanies presence in the elevator.
Because. Im going to Suzannes viewing, then I have to fi nd
something good to wear to Danielles party at Buddakan tomorrow
night. Theyre expecting photographers from Avenue . . . No, just the
viewing. The funerals tomorrow . . . Do whatever you want, but dont
expect me to talk to you if you show up. All of New Yorks gonna be
there, and I need to be careful. Drews lawyer is having me watched.
Hes got some pond - scum PI after me.
The elevator doors opened.
Gotta run, Kim said. Ill see you Sunday. Dont call before
then; theyre watching my phone bills, too. Kiss, kiss.
She snapped her phone shut and met Melanies eyes briefly, as if
by accident, without seeming to actually see her. They both stepped
out of the elevator. Trouble in paradise? Could Kim and Miles Ortiz
be on the outs, leaving her willing to snitch on him? Melanie had to
bite her tongue to stop herself from demanding an interview on the
spot. Shed find her opportunity later, but for now it felt like dirty
pool to corner the woman at a viewing-- although she had to admit
Kim Savitt didnt exactly look brokenhearted.
Melanie stayed a few steps behind Kim as they made their way into
a large, high - ceilinged room, soothingly lit and filled with the hushed stepped into a small elevator with a blonde wearing a tight black dress, buzz of whispered conversation. The carpet was thick and soft and absorbed
the sound. Between the backs of the moneyed and infl uential,
Melanie caught a glimpse of a gleaming mahogany coffin hoisted on a
stand at the front of the room. Before it, Lorraine Shepard greeted the
mourners like a royal princess receiving guests at court, extending her
hand with lofty courtesy, her coiffed head erect. Melanies eyes fl ew
around the room until she spotted young Charlie seated on a chair
near a window, rubbing his face with his hands. Nobody seemed to
be paying any attention to him, so Melanie maneuvered through the
crowd to his side.
Charlie? she said gently, touching his shoulder. Are you
okay?
He looked up at her, his cheeks wet. Recognition dawned in his
eyes. My mom in a box. Its too weird. How can that be her?
Charlies shaggy hair showed fresh teeth marks from a comb. He
wore a prep school blazer with a crest and beat - up Top - Siders without
socks, so that his too - short khakis left several inches of gangly white
ankle exposed. He looked even younger than he had yesterday, and
Melanies heart ached for him.
Youll see her again someday, Melanie said.
I wish I believed in that afterlife stuff. Maybe Id feel better. But
the truth is, my mothers dead, Ill never see her again, and my life is
ruined. His eyes welled up, and tears streamed down his face. Melanie
gave him a Kleenex from her bag.
Your life isnt ruined, Melanie insisted. What happened is incredibly
sad, but people survive the loss of a parent. I did. My father
left me when I was just about your age, after a terrible act of violence.
Charlie wiped his eyes with the Kleenex, looking interested.
He owned a furniture store in Bushwick, Melanie continued.
He was shot during a robbery. I was there. I saw the whole thing.
My father survived, but he was really different afterward. He left us-- moved back to Puerto Rico, remarried, had a second family. Ive only
seen him twice since then. So for me, its like he died, except . . . I
always thought it was my fault somehow. Im telling you this because
I had a terrible time, but I got through it. I have a daughter now, and
I love her more than I ever knew I could love anyone. I have a job I
love. You just go on, and eventually things get better.
I know youre trying to help. But dont lie. Your life was never the
same again after that, was it?
No, she admitted.
Did they catch him?
The man who shot my father? No, but dont let that worry you.
The city was different then. Rougher. There was more crime, fewer
cops. And besides, my family was poor. We had no connections. Your
mothers murder is getting the best attention. That may not be right,
but its true. Well find the man who did this. I promise.
Good. Because its the only thing I care about. Thats what Im
holding on to. The thought of seeing him locked up like some animal
in a cage keeps me going. Do you think Im bad for wanting that?
Melanie put her hand on the boys head, as if to protect him. The
roughness of his hair made her want a son.
No. I think youre human.
S
S
eeing Charlie Shepards grief spurred Melanie on. She expressed her
condolences to Lorraine, who seemed more interested in the celebrity
chef on line behind Melanie than in hearing about the investigation,
anyway. Then she hurried to the doorway, where shed caught
a glimpse of Kim Savitts dramatic hat making its exit. Manners be
damned; Melanie couldnt stand on ceremony if she wanted to get
justice for that motherless boy.
By the time Melanie got out to the hallway, the elevator doors
were closing. She raced down the stairs, reaching the ground fl oor in time to see Kim stepping out into the blazing sunlight. Melanie tailed
her south for half a block. Kim was heading for an enormous white
Escalade idling on a side street. A handsome, dark - skinned driver
wearing a business suit and mirrored aviators stepped smartly around
the massive vehicle and pulled the rear passenger door open as Kim
approached.
Melanie broke into a run. Mrs. Savitt, wait!
Kim turned.
Melanie Vargas. Im a federal prosecutor investigating the murder
of Suzanne Shepard. She flipped open her credentials.
Whats that got to do with me? Kim snapped.
Youre involved in a relationship with Miles Ortiz. I need to ask
you some questions about him. Hes a suspect in Suzanne Shepards
murder, Melanie said.
Jesus. Kim glanced at her driver, then over to the spot where a
bunch of photographers congregated in front of the funeral home.
From what I know of your personal situation, you cant afford
bad press, Melanie said.
Get in. Kim walked up to the driver, placed her hand in his, and
used it to hoist herself smoothly into the Escalade, quite a feat in heels
and a tight dress. Melanie clambered in after her. Inside, the second
row of seats had been replaced with two luxurious leather swivel armchairs
that boasted acres of space between them and control panels in
each arm that presumably operated the flat screen TV. The air conditioning
combined with the tinted windows made the hot city feel
suddenly a hundred miles away.
Hamad, take me to Michael Kors, Kim commanded as the
driver took his seat.
Kim removed her big hat and smoothed her lemony - blond hair.
Without the hat, she looked less extraordinary, more like a woman
with a good body and an average face whod made herself over at
great expense rather than a true beauty. She seemed to be shrewd without being intelligent, and the faintest trace of Jersey lingered in
her voice.
The driver stared straight ahead as if he were deaf and blind, but
that didnt make it so. The last thing Melanie needed was a leak.
Ask him to turn on some music, she said quietly. What Im
about to say, youd prefer to keep private.
Hamad, put on your headphones, Kim ordered.
The driver whipped out an iPod. Tinny music emerged from the
headphones as he inserted them into his ears.
Listen, I know you eavesdropped on my conversation in the elevator
before, Kim said. No wonder you think Im involved with
Miles. But that was a different guy. I was talking to Miles Drentell, not
Miles Ortiz. Miles Ortiz is just my trainer. I barely know him.
Mrs. Savitt, lying to a federal official in the course of a murder
investigation is a crime. You could go to jail for what you just said.
How dare you accuse me of lying! Despite her huffy tone, Kim
looked frightened.
Im not an idiot. Miles Drentell was a character on thirtysomething.
Besides, in order to prove youre lying, all I have to do is subpoena your
cell - phone records. Theyll tell me who you were talking to.
What if I was talking to my trainer on the phone? Big deal. You
cant do anything to me over that, Kim insisted.
You have a sexual relationship with Miles Ortiz, and he gives
you drugs, Melanie said calmly. Miles broke into Suzanne Shepards
apartment a week before she was killed. Your husband owns the building.
The building has tight security, and under normal circumstances,
Miles wouldnt have been able to get in. But because of his relationship
with you-- well, you begin to see how bad this looks? You could
end up implicated not only in a burglary, but in the biggest murder
of the year.
Kim hadnt denied a single word Melanie said, but her eyes had
grown wider as Melanie spoke. I have a daughter, Kim said. Abigail Rose. Shes three. Shes
my mini - me. I dress her up like a little doll. Drew is trying to take
her away from me. Not because he wants her, but because he wants
to hurt me. It would be a big problem if I got arrested for anything.
Okay? Can you understand?
I understand completely. Im divorced, and I have a little girl,
too, Melanie said. And she did understand, enough to feel grateful
that her own divorce had been amicable and swift, and that Steve
hadnt resorted to any nasty tricks.
So you wont arrest me?
Whether you get arrested or not is up to you, Kim. If youre
truthful and cooperative, there wont be any need.
What are you asking me to do? Youre not going to make me talk
against Miles, are you?
Why? Are you afraid of him?
No, but he is my friend.
How would you feel if you knew he was involved in a murder?
Would you think of him as a friend then?
What men get up to in the business world is none of my concern.
My husband develops waterfront real estate in Jersey. You have
to bust heads to do that. Nothing shocks me, and I dont judge.
You may have an incentive to look the other way so you can
enjoy your lifestyle without guilt, Melanie said, but dont expect me
to. You facilitated a burglary by letting Miles into your building. Im
betting you knew what he was up to. As soon as I can prove it, Ill
arrest you.
Youre wrong, I swear. Ill tell you the truth, okay? Miles came
over on Saturday when the nanny took Abigail to music class. We
did some yoga, thats all. I didnt know anything about him robbing
Suzannes apartment.
Melanie took out her notebook. You admit Miles came over to
your apartment that Saturday? Yes.
What time?
Around two, which is when Abigail has her class at Diller Quaile.
Where?
Diller - Quaile. Its a music school, an important place to be seen
for the pre - K set. Abigail has a class there every Saturday, and I get
some me time.
Was Miles carrying anything when he arrived?
He usually carries a Louis Vuitton messenger bag that some client
gave him last Christmas. Im pretty sure he had it with him then.
He can fit a lot of stuff inside that thing, so for all I know, he made a
stop at Suzannes on the way to my place. Once hes past the doormen
downstairs, Miles can go anywhere he wants. Its not like they patrol
the hallways.
If Miles committed the robbery first, there would have been a long
wait between when the doorman called to announce him and when he
arrived at your apartment. Is that what youre saying happened?
Kim didnt answer.
Well? Melanie demanded.
Not that I recall, she conceded.
What time did he leave?
Around six, Kim said, flushing. I know, youre probably going
thats a long yoga workout, right? But I have some back problems.
Miles is certified in deep - tissue massage, and he does that for me
sometimes. Therapeutically, I mean.
At any time during the four hours he was in your apartment, did
Miles leave?
Like leave and come back?
Yes.
Maybe. I fell asleep, and at one point I was in the shower, so I
cant be sure. Kim paused, studying Melanies reaction, then added, Sleeping and showering are normal for me after a workout. So you
see, he could have snuck out and done any old thing, and I wouldnt
have known. If Miles robbed Suzannes apartment, I didnt have a
clue. You cant hold me responsible.
Kim was so clearly lying about the nature of her relationship with
Miles that Melanie found it difficult to believe she was telling the
truth about anything else. But she wrote down everything Kim said
anyway. At least shed have a record of what the womans story was, so
she could check up on it.
Where was Miles on Wednesday night when Suzanne was murdered?
Melanie asked.
Kim shrugged. Not with me.
Did you speak to him or see him at all on Wednesday?
We mightve talked on the phone at some point, although I cant
remember what about. Nothing important. I was at Bliss all morning
getting a facial and waxing, then I picked up Abigail from school and
took her to my hairstylist to get her ends trimmed. At night, I went
out with some girlfriends.
What drugs is Miles selling?
I dont know anything about any drugs. The strongest thing
Miles ever gave me was some echinacea when I had a cold.
Youre lying, Kim.
Im in the middle of a custody fight. If I get high once in a while,
you cant expect me to admit it. Id lose my daughter. Kim looked
at Melanie pleadingly. She seemed to be telling the truth, and for the
first time, Melanie actually felt sorry for her.
Michael Kors, maam, the driver said.
Theyd gone down Fifth Avenue, circled around, and ended up in
front of a Madison Avenue boutique that was right near where theyd
started. They could have walked there faster and saved the gas, but
apparently walking in her Jimmy Choos wasnt part of Kims lifestyle.
Melanies momentary sympathy dried up and blew away. I cant force you to talk, Melanie said in a disapproving tone.
But dont think youre immune, Kim. I plan to look into these drug
allegations, and if theyre substantiated, well, I would feel an obligation
to let the family court know youre using drugs.
Kim blanched. No, please.
Its not a healthy environment for your daughter.
I never do anything in front of her! Please, lets talk this over.
I want to help. I want us to be on the same team. What can I do to
show you that Im acting in good faith?
You could start by telling the truth.
If I say Im sleeping with Miles or getting stoned, I lose Abigail.
Isnt there something else?
Like what?
I know I said Miles was my friend, but youre right, if hes the
Central Park Butcher, thats not okay. I mean, I would be shocked, but
people can fool you. Let me do something, anything, to help you out.
Wear a wire. Whatever you want.
Melanie thought for a moment. There is something you can do.
But it involves some risk to yourself.
What?
I need you to make an introduction. To introduce somebody to
Miles, to vouch for this person.
Like a narc? Kim asked.
Honestly, Kim, its better for you if you dont know the details. 18

The director of security for Target News was a big lug with slicked back
salt - and - pepper hair, a mustache, and a Vegas - style double breasted
suit. Tony Mancuso had an oversize personality that sucked
the air out of his tiny offi ce, but he seemed like a straight shooter, an
old - time law enforcement guy with no ax to grind. Thats why Melanie
was so surprised when he told her Clyde Williams, or someone
close to him, had probably sent the threatening package to Suzanne
Shepard.
You dont seem like the type to toe the corporate line, Melanie
said.
Look, we both know Seth Parker is looking to take Williams
down. I dont give a rip about that. Parkers a twit. His agenda has
nothing to do with my findings. But facts are facts. The package was
mailed right after Suzanne broke the Williams scandal.
Why would a successful politician do something so stupid?
Honestly, I dont think it was Williams himself. I think it was
somebody around him, somebody with a stake in him winning the
election. Why do you say that?
Because I reviewed the surveillance video from the post offi ce
where the package was mailed, and Williams isnt on it.
You have the surveillance video? I need to see it right away.
No, I never had it. This U. S. postal inspector I contacted let me
review the tape. Ill give you her name if you want it, but its kind of
a waste of time. The tape is inconclusive anyway, because the camera
malfunctioned.
In what way?
The date and time stamp was turned off. I know what time
the package was mailed, but it would take a video forensics expert
to match that up with a specific point on the tape. The one thing I
can say, though, is that Clyde Williams isnt in any of the footage I
reviewed, and I reviewed a mountain of it.
Walk me through the timing, Melanie said. When exactly was
the package mailed?
The Williams story ran a week ago Wednesday, and the package
was mailed Thursday, Tony said. I think that looks pretty bad. Bad
enough to be worth investigating. Seth told me Williamss son is a
U. S. attorney. Not for nothing, but if you dont look into this, Seth is gonna make a huge stink. Im not saying that like a threat. I just thought
you should know.
I am looking into it. Thats why Im here. But I still find it hard
to believe that Clyde Williams would be so reckless.
Let me brief you on the evidence. Youll see, its more convincing
than it sounds.
Tony laid out a series of eight - by- ten glossies on the desk in front
of Melanie. They showed a white box addressed in block capital letters
to Suzanne Shepard, first in progressive stages of being opened, then
with its contents laid out on a desktop. Several photographs featured
pieces of excrement on a plastic backdrop, and others showed what
looked to be torn scraps of colored paper. The box was hand - addressed in permanent marker to the location
given on the Internet for people who want to contact Suzanne,
Tony said. No return address, as you would expect. It was postmarked
from a facility on Roosevelt Avenue in Flushing, Queens, at three
seventeen p. m. last Thursday, which was June fi rst. It arrived here the
next afternoon and was clocked into our mailroom at approximately
four nineteen. We have a whole protocol for X - raying packages, but
the X - ray machine was down, so the package wasnt screened until
Monday morning.
You mean, just this past Monday? Melanie asked.
Yes.
And Suzanne was murdered Wednesday night.
Right. Again, close timing. Monday morning, the screener detected
suspicious contents. He called me. I took custody of the package,
brought it here to my office, and performed a secure opening.
One of my security officers witnessed the procedure and took these
pictures.
Was Suzanne present when you opened the package?
No, Tony replied. We perform the secure opening wearing
hazard suits, just in case the contents are dangerous. Then we inform
the addressee and ask if they want to inspect it. She didnt want to. I
cant blame her.
But she knew about it?
Oh yes. In fact, Suzanne and I had a long talk about whether she
should get protection, because I was so convinced the threat was real. I
kick myself for not insisting. See, Suzanne had always attracted a large
amount of hate mail. People get numb to it after a while. I couldnt
make her take this seriously.
You actually suggested she hire protection? Like a bodyguard?
Melanie asked.
Yeah. But I didnt push, you know. I wish I had. Maybe this
Butcher prick couldve been stopped. If she got so much hate mail, what made this threat different? I
understand the dog excrement is disgusting, but--
It wasnt the excrement that worried me, it was the picture,
Tony said.
Melanie picked up one of the photographs showing the torn - up
pieces of paper and examined it. What about the picture? I cant tell
from this photo. Did it have a message written on it or something?
No. The scary thing was that the guy actually took it.
Took what?
The person who mailed the box took this photograph. He
plucked up another photo and handed it to Melanie. Heres a picture
of the ripped - up pieces taped back together. You can see, its a photograph
of Suzanne having dinner at an outdoor café near her house. It
was taken the night before the box was mailed, literally an hour after
the Clyde Williams segment aired.
An hour?
Yes.
Seth Parker never told me about this, Melanie said. I assumed
the ripped - up picture had been taken from a magazine or something.
If it had, I wouldntve been so nervous, and I wouldnt be so convinced
now that this threat is connected to her murder. But, you see,
we know that whoever sent the box was actually following Suzanne.
The hair stood up on the back of Melanies neck as she remembered
the guy on the subway and the strange e - mail shed gotten. Im
watching you, it had said. Melanie was so busy doing her job and so
jaded after four years in law enforcement that she hadnt taken those
small events very seriously. Wasnt that the mistake Tony Mancuso was
describing, the mistake Suzanne Shepard had made that resulted in
her death? Melanie decided she would mention the e - mail and the guy
in the hooded sweatshirt to Dan and see what he thought.
Her eye fell on one of the photographs lying before her on the
desk. This is a picture of the box before it was opened? she asked. Yes.
Melanie scrutinized it closely. Its sealed with clear plastic packing
tape, she said.
Does that mean something to you? Tony asked.
Suzanne was gagged with very similar tape.
There you go. Another fact to support my theory.
I need to have this tape analyzed to see if it matches, Melanie
said.
Everything is off getting fingerprinted by a private lab we use. I
can ask them to do a report on the tape also, unless youd rather--
I want the FBI lab to do it.
Sure, no problem. Frankly, our lab is very professional, but they
take a year and a day to do anything. Ill get it back from them and
deliver it to the FBI lab for you.
Thank you.
Youre welcome. So youve seen the evidence. What do you think?
Do you agree with me now? Tony asked.
Im still not convinced that Clyde Williams sent this box, Melanie
replied, although I agree the timing is troubling and bears investigating.
What about the idea that the Butcher sent it?
That, Im starting to believe. We have more work to do to establish
the connection with certainty. But this box is going to turn out to
be a critical piece of evidence. 19

Clyde Williams was on Melanies mind, and not only because Tony
Mancuso had convinced her that the threatening package was connected
to Suzanne Shepards murder. At lunchtime, Melanie ordered
in some pizzas and held a small team meeting in the war room. Lieutenant
Jack Deaver, Dan OReilly, Detective Julian Hay, and Janice
Marsh from the D. A. s office were in attendance. Melanie tried to
focus on details of surveillances and witness interviews, but the meeting
was dominated by Lieutenant Deavers complaints about press
coverage on the Clyde Williams issue.
Am I the only one in the room whos getting heat from the brass?
the bluff lieutenant asked. I got a call from the deputy commissioner
just half an hour ago giving me hell over the negative press on the
Butcher case.
What negative press? Melanie asked.
Where you been, Vargas? Deaver said.
Investigating the crime, not reading the papers, she said.
It aint the papers, its the TV. Listening to Target News, youd
think Clyde Williams was caught with the bloody knife in his hand, and the only reason he aint locked up is because youre in bed with
his kid. Figuratively speaking, I mean. They havent actually suggested
youre bangin the Williams kid. Deaver paused. Yet.
Theres nothing I can do, Melanie protested. A full - scale investigation
of an elected official requires clearance from Main Justice. My
boss is dealing with Washington, and theyre slow as molasses. Once
we get the green light, well move full speed ahead.
How much longer are you planning to wait? Deaver demanded.
The press is making a huge stink. Its getting to the point that I got
guys in my own chain of command asking if theres special treatment
here.
Thats no good, Melanie said.
No. Its not.
Look, Ill speak to Bernadette as soon as were done here. Ill try
to get authorization to ask Clyde if he has an alibi, at least. If he does,
and we make it public, that should shut up the tabloids.
The minute the meeting ended, Melanie kept her word and headed
for Bernadettes office. But when the elevator door opened on the
Major Crimes floor, she barreled out so fast that she nearly knocked
over her good friend Joe Williams.
Joe looked very much like his famous, handsome father, except
smaller in every way. He was short and slight where Clyde was tall
and robust. The charismatic, outgoing Clyde dominated any room he
was in, while Joe came across as timid, an unsuitable trait in a prosecutor
and one that had hindered his career. Joes best - known courtroom
escapade was fainting dead away while getting screamed at by the
nasty Judge Warner during his first month on the job. Hed never lived
down that moment, nor the widely held-- though incorrect-- belief
that hed gotten his job through his fathers political influence. Joe had
been overshadowed by his father his entire life, yet his response had
been to become a better person for it-- a more dedicated prosecutor,
a more committed intellectual, a more loyal friend. Melanie couldnt stand the thought that her efforts might lead to his fathers arrest and
therefore cause her friend pain.
Startled, Melanie said the first thing that popped into her head.
Joe, I thought you were on trial this week.
The jurys deliberating already, so Im on beeper. It was in front
of Stanchi, a reverse heroin buy. The evidence is pretty weak, but at
least shes pleasant to appear before.
Definitely, Melanie agreed, catching the elevator door as it began
to slide shut. She opened her mouth then closed it again, wanting
to say something about the Shepard case but knowing she shouldnt.
Joes eyes seemed to understand and forgive all. He patted her
on the arm as he stepped onto the elevator. Hey, I know how much
pressure you must be under on this Central Park Butcher thing. Dont
worry about me. Just do what you have to do.
Which of course only made her feel worse. 20


Bernadette authorized Melanie to approach Clyde Williams with the
limited mission of asking him whether he had an alibi. Because
of the sensitive nature of the assignment, Melanie was instructed to
bring witnesses.
Clyde Williamss office was located on the fi rst floor of a renovated
brownstone off St. Nicholas Avenue in the Hamilton Heights
section of Harlem. Melanie, Dan, and Janice cooled their heels in
the reception area waiting for Clyde to finish a conference call. The
room had hardwood floors and freshly painted white walls hung
with public service posters and artwork from the local elementary
school. It was dominated by an enormous campaign poster of
Clyde from the last election, smiling his toothpaste - commercial
smile. A receptionist and a press aide sat at nearby desks fi elding
telephone calls.
Melanie leafed through a day - old copy of the Times shed picked
up from the coffee table. Theyd run a story on the Shepard slaying
above the fold on the front page of the Metro section. On the
morning after the murder, the Post and the News had gone with huge front - page headlines, but when it came to the Times, front page of the
Metro section was considered big coverage for a local crime story.
Janice was busy reviewing old segments of High Crimes on an iVideo
player. She claimed to have fast - forwarded through sixty episodes in the
past twenty - four hours, enough to script the show herself.
Dan looked at his watch. Guys a city councilman, he said,
catching Melanies eyes. Youd think he was the fricking president
of the United States the way hes treating us. Whats it been, half an
hour now?
The receptionist heard him, and she sent a huffy look sailing in his
direction. She probably assumed Dan was some racist Irish cop who
didnt like being made to wait by a black man. Melanie, whod carefully
probed Dans views on such matters over time, knew this wasnt
true. Dan thought of himself as a working stiff. He didnt take it well
when anyone, of any race, pulled rank or treated him disrespectfully,
and he really hated it when somebody slowed the pace of his investigation.
The fact was, Melanie was getting pretty annoyed herself.
How much longer? Melanie asked the receptionist, an attractive
woman in her fifties with a West Indian accent.
I really cant say. Hes talking to the mayor.
Maam, I understand that, but were investigating a brutal murder
that took place in Central Park Wednesday night. The Central Park
Butcher-- perhaps youve heard of him? Hes at large on the streets of
this city. If he strikes again while were being delayed here, you can
imagine how bad that would look for the councilman.
The receptionist appeared to weigh what Melanie said. I can text
him and remind him youre out here.
I would appreciate that.
As the receptionist turned to her computer, Dan winked at
Melanie.
Hey, she said, hows your sick friend?
He looked startled. What? I was calling around last night to check up on the Harris surveillance.
Julian Hay told me you were visiting somebody in the
hospital.
Oh. Yeah. Sorry I didnt have a chance to get back to you.
Their eyes held. He didnt volunteer anything further, and since
he didnt, she felt she couldnt ask. Thats okay, she said.
Hey, I found something! Janice exclaimed, ripping off her headphones.
Remember you asked me to look for links between David
Harris and Suzanne Shepard, to figure out whether he had a reason to
want her dead? Well, about two years ago, Suzanne did a segment on
a couple of big - name New York City lawyers who were taking fat fees
to advise clients on appearing before this business ethics review board
that they actually served on. Clear conflict of interest, right?
Harris was one of the lawyers? Melanie asked.
No, but his boss, Stan Feinerman, was. The segment caused a
minor scandal. Feinerman resigned from his position on the ethics
board, and Suzanne made a fuss. Here, Ill play it for you.
Janice turned the video player so Dan and Melanie could see.
On- screen, Suzanne Shepard was jogging backward in front of the
imposing federal courthouse at Foley Square, trying to get a comment
from a tall, bent man with a craggy face and silver hair.
Mr. Feinerman, why did you resign? Suzanne yelled, shoving a
microphone at him.
No comment, Feinerman said, waving his hands as if to swat
her away like a gnat.
Leave him alone! yelled the muscular man hurrying along behind
Feinerman. The camera focused on his face for a brief moment.
It was David Harris.
Janice paused the monitor at looked at them triumphantly.
Thats it? Melanie asked.
Janice shrugged. Its a connection. Why didnt Harris tell us hed
met Suzanne? And under such adversarial circumstances? Dan nodded. Shes got a point. Harris claimed he never met Suzanne,
never even watched her show.
Maybe he forgot? Melanie asked dubiously.
Whod forget something like that? Dan asked.
Then he lied. Youve got him under surveillance, right? she
asked Dan.
Every minute. And we should get the DNA results back soon, so
if he killed Suzanne Shepard, well know.
Ms. Vargas, Councilman Williams will see your party in his office
now, the receptionist said, still eyeing Dan with hostility.
Clyde and an aide, a thin, bookish - looking guy with a pockmarked
face and glasses, stood up as they entered the room. Clyde was a big
man, tall and solidly built. Melanie couldnt help noticing that he was
the right size and body type to be the killer-- if you believed David
Harriss description-- albeit the wrong color.
Clyde came around the desk with both arms raised, and Melanie
promptly stuck out her hand out to fend off an embrace. It was tough
to put the screws to a suspect who greeted you with a big hug. Clyde,
always an expert at taking the temperature of a room, shook her hand
with distant politeness as if thats what hed intended all along.
Sorry to keep you waiting. Were in the middle of budget negotiations
and as usual the mayor and the City Council are at odds.
Introductions were made, and they all sat down at a conference
table situated in a bay window overlooking the street. Melanies seat
faced into the room. Every square inch of wall space was covered with
memorabilia from Clydes political career-- testimonials, handshake
photos with presidents and civil rights figures and movie stars, plaques
and certificates and awards. Even in the U. S. Attorneys Offi ce, where
people framed every last atta - boy letter that came across their desks,
shed never seen a wall of glory so extensive. It was difficult not to feel
intimidated. Melanie cleared her throat, placed her notepad squarely
on the desk before her, and looked Clyde in the eye. Councilman, as you know, Suzanne Shepard was murdered on
Wednesday night, she began.
Clyde drew his brows together and steepled his fingers. I do
know that. What I dont understand, Melanie, is what the hell its got
to do with me.
The anger in his tone took her by surprise. This was not going to
be a collegial visit with the father of a good friend.
Were not here to accuse you of anything, she replied. We need
to cover our bases, thats all. Were speaking to a lot of people who--
well, frankly, who mightve had reason to be angry with the victim.
Were talking to you because Suzanne Shepard had just run a very
damaging story on you.
Some reporter smearing Clyde with a pack of lies makes him a
murder suspect? demanded the aide. His name was Rockwell Davis,
and Clyde called him Rocky. Davis radiated cold hostility.
Hes not a suspect. Were here to cross his name off the list of
people who might have been involved. In order for us to do that, he
simply needs to tell us where he was at the time of the attack.
Im supposed to start accounting for my movements? Clyde said.
Only at the time of the murder, Melanie replied. Thats all
were interested in. Were not trying to burden you. In fact, we have
your best interests at heart. The press is making a big fuss about your
connection to our office through Joe. If we could tell them you have
an alibi--
You are burdening me. I find the question completely outrageous
and insulting, and I have no intention of answering, Clyde said.
Melanie looked at Clyde in amazement. For all the time shed
spent thinking about how to phrase the question, it had never occurred
to her that he might refuse to answer. Her only hope of salvaging
the situation was to keep her cool and try to ease his hostility.
Clyde, she said in a soothing tone, Im begging you not to take
this personally. Im only here because questions have been raised in the press. Ill tell you right now, I dont believe youre involved in any
murder, but we have to follow procedure. Youre not the fi rst person
were asking to provide an alibi, and you wont be the last.
What do you plan to do with the information if he tells you?
Davis asked.
First, well verify it, and if everything checks out--
You see where this is going? Davis demanded, turning to Clyde
with a sneer. Verify it. We give an inch, and next thing we know,
theyre all up in our business. Theyll want your phone records, a list of
everybody you talk to, where you went. Domestic spying. Big Brother
tactics. Plain and simple.
Youre making that up, Melanie insisted. I havent asked for
any of that stuff.
You know what I dont understand? Clyde said to Melanie. You
already arrested another man for this crime. Its all over the papers.
Rocky, hand me todays Daily News from over there.
Davis grabbed a newspaper from the chair beside him. Clyde
slapped it down in front of Melanie. The front - page headline, over
a picture of David Harris and Bob Adelman leaving the courthouse,
read, lawyer nabbed in tv star slay.
Why the hell should I let you question me when youre in court
telling a judge somebody else did the deed? You think Im a patsy?
Mr. Harris was an eyewitness to the murder, Melanie explained.
We charged him with obstruction of justice for refusing to cooperate
with the FBI. Were investigating him thoroughly, and we think
theres a chance hes the killer. Weve taken a DNA sample from him,
and were waiting for results. But were still duty bound to check out
other credible leads.
Clyde is not a credible lead, Davis said. Youre on some kind of
fishing expedition here.
Thats not true, Melanie replied, fixing Clyde with a steady
gaze. Were being careful and deliberate. Thats why were asking a broad spectrum of people to provide alibis. We need to hear from you,
Councilman, in order to stop the hysteria in the press that says were
giving you a free ride.
Clyde folded his arms across his chest. Thats your problem,
now, isnt it? Dont expect any help from me. See, I dont forget who
appointed your boss.
You mean, the U. S. attorney?
Thats your boss, isnt it?
Not my direct boss. Theres a bunch of layers of hierarchy between
me and him.
But hes your ultimate boss?
Yes.
And this president appointed him, am I correct?
Yes, Melanie said.
A president who would do anything to stop me from becoming
mayor?
That may be, but it has nothing to do with why Im here. I never
even speak to the U. S. attorney, and I sincerely doubt that he talks to
the president. The president has bigger concerns than one little murder
in New York.
Yeah, like whos gonna be the next mayor of this city! Davis
exclaimed.
Melanie was speechless.
You bust into my office asking me intrusive questions when you
already have another man in custody, Clyde said, shaking his head
in disgust. What else am I supposed to think? This is harassment.
Its a conspiracy. Its politically motivated, and its a blatant attempt
to smear me.
Why would I smear you, Clyde? I support you!
If you support me, then you know I had nothing to do with this
murder. So take my word for that and leave.
You of all people should understand the position Im in, Mela me exclaimed, frustrated. Your son is a prosecutor in our offi ce. We
cant do you special favors or treat you differently than we would anybody
else who mightve had a motive to go after Suzanne Shepard, or
itll look bad. If you wont answer questions voluntarily, then . . . She
trailed off, thinking about how ugly this could get.
Then what? You subpoena me? Force me to take the Fifth?
Id have no choice. And taking the Fifth would look pretty bad
for a guy running for mayor, wouldnt it? she asked.
Clyde folded his arms across his chest and glared at her. Not if
hes the victim of ugly smear tactics. You want to get into a pissing
match with me in the media, I promise you, Ill win.
I dont want that. The only thing I want is to catch this killer.
I need you to leave now. Rocky, show them out.
T
T
hey stepped from the brownstone into bright sunshine. The scent of
warm soil and lilac wafted toward them from a community garden
down the block, and childrens laughter rang out from a nearby playground.
Dans car was parked down the street, and as they headed for it,
their moods could not have been more at odds with the glory of the day.
What a fiasco, Dan said. Could you believe that horseshit
about how were persecuting him because the U. S. attorney works for
the president and the president hates Clyde?
Everybodys got a conspiracy theory these days, Melanie said.
Hes guilty as sin, Janice, whod been silent during the interview,
said with surprising vitriol.
You think so? Melanie asked. Yesterday, Janice had been convinced
David Harris was the killer. Melanie was beginning to question
the girls judgment.
He told us hes planning to take the Fifth! Why would he do that
if he wasnt involved with the murder? Janice asked.
For political reasons, Melanie said. Maybe we stumbled into some game Clyde is playing with the press. Im more concerned about Rock
well
Davis. I got the distinct feeling he was turning Clyde against us.
Hes a troublemaker, big - time, Dan agreed.
What do we know about him? Melanie asked.
Not enough. Nothing, really, Dan said.
You shouldve asked them both for DNA samples, Janice said.
I wasnt authorized to, Melanie said. Besides, theyd never
agree. If we get to that point, well need a court order. Hell, well need
straitjackets.
Heres what I dont get, Dan said. If Clyde gave us his alibi,
wed pack up and go home. Leave him alone. So why not give it to us?
Hes hiding something about where he was that night.
Melanie was getting tired of defending Clyde Williams. Besides, in
her heart of hearts, she was beginning to wonder about him herself.
To hell with the paperwork, she told Dan. Start looking at
them. Find out whatever you can. 21

Forty-two hours had passed since Suzanne Shepards murder. The
Central Park Butcher was still at large, as the TV news kept reminding
the public. And Melanie was languishing in yet another waiting
room, feeling no closer to an answer.
Dr. Benedict Welch, the plastic surgeon whose file had been stolen
from Suzanne Shepards apartment, maintained an office on Park
Avenue in the Sixties, the toniest part, right where all the socialites
lived. The reception area was decorated to resemble an English country
manor. Melanie sat in a chintz wingback chair beside Detective
Pauline Estrada waiting for an audience with the beauty guru. All
around them, glamour girls of a certain age perused Town & Country
and gossiped. They sported identical blond highlights and plastic
faces with collagened fish lips, and were dressed to the nines in little
suits or slacks and cashmere twinsets with high heels and sparkly jewelry.
Not exactly how Melanie would have put herself together for a
visit to the doctor. But in New York, shed noticed, the women with
the least to do were always the most dressed up.
Shes on something, and Im not talking multivitamins. The last time I saw her, she walked right by me as if wed never even met, one
of them was saying to another within Melanies earshot.
Thats just how she is.
She wasnt snubbing me. Im telling you, its drugs.
Well, everybodys on something these days. Takes the edge off.
At the window where Melanie had checked in earlier, the redheaded
nurse, whose name was Gigi, was pointing at her. A tall man
with a thick head of yellowy blond hair looked in Melanies direction
and nodded. He wore a white lab coat. As he came toward her several
women blushed and tittered like tweens whod just spotted a member
of their favorite boy band.
Shes new, one of them said loudly, eyeing Melanie with resentment.
Benedict Welch stopped before Melanie. Miss Vargas? he
asked.
Yes.
She made as if to stand up, but he held her in place with a caressing
hand on her shoulder.
No, baby. Sit for a moment and let me look at you.
And he perched on the arm of her chair, staring down into her
face, too close for Melanies comfort. He looked as artificial as any
woman in the room, with skin deeply tanned yet smooth as a childs,
and eyes of such an intense violet blue that the color could not possibly
be natural. His eyes had a strange, glassy quality, too, as if hed
been writing himself a few prescriptions.
Doctor, she said, werent you told that were here--
Quiet. Let me appreciate you. He brushed his fi ngers across
Melanies lips, and she recoiled. His fingers were long and thin, and
his touch oddly light, like an insects.
Please dont touch me like that, Melanie said. Pauline was looking
at Welch with intense interest. Here he was, lending credence to
everything theyd read in those complaints to the medical board. Im mesmerized by these Latin lips, but my interest is purely
medical, Welch said, in a soft, hypnotic voice. Besides, a doctor always
touches his patients. Its normal, and necessary, and very much a
part of the intimacy well develop as we work together. Youll get used
to my touch. Your mouth is just luscious, and you havent had any
collagen, have you? But I do see the start of worry lines. You came to
the right place, sweetie. A little pinchie and theyll go bye- bye. Shall
we? He stood up.
Either Gigi had misinformed him about the purpose of their
visit, or he was putting on a show for his patients. Melanie nodded
at Pauline.
Detective Estrada is working on this case also, she said, loudly
enough for other patients to hear.
From Welchs strained smile, Melanie saw that hed known all
along.
Of course, he said coldly. This way.
He led them through a door and down a hallway lined with treatment
rooms, into an office decorated with leather club chairs and a
big mahogany desk. Welch sat behind the desk and gestured for them
to take seats.
Just to be sure were on the same page regarding the purpose
of this visit, Melanie began, Im with the U. S. Attorneys Offi ce
and Detective Estrada is NYPD. Were investigating the murder of
Suzanne Shepard. Were also interested in a burglary that took place
at her apartment shortly before her murder, and we need to ask you a
few questions.
Of course. I want to help. Whatever I can tell you without
breaching doctor - patient confidentiality rules, Welch said.
Were not interested in Suzannes beauty treatments. Were here
to talk about you, and your relationship with her, Melanie said.
Anything I can do. I adored Suzanne, and from what Ive read in
the papers, this was a terrible crime. Yes, it was. Were following up with anybody who might have
had a motive to harm her. Were you aware that Suzanne Shepard was
researching a story on you, Dr. Welch? Melanie asked.
No, but I cant say Im surprised. As the person who took care
of her looks, I was very important in her life. Favorable publicity is
something Im fond of, and Suzanne knew that. She was probably
planning a story as a way to thank me. Patients give me gifts all the
time.
And you accept them?
If the gift is valuable, I declare it on my tax return. All the formalities
are observed, so no room to play gotcha there. His smile was
about as genuine as a three - dollar bill.
In this case, the gift would not have been valuable. The story was
negative. Scandalous, in fact.
Melanie watched his face closely for a reaction. Lorraine Shepard
hadnt a clue what was in the stolen file folder, or what the terrible secret
was that Suzanne had discovered about Benedict Welch. Melanie
was fishing, hoping for a little information here, but unfortunately
Welch wasnt biting.
If youre looking for people who wanted to hurt Suzanne, youve
come to the wrong place, he said. Suzanne was one of my favorite
patients, and the affection was mutual. She would never say anything
negative about me.
Suzannes apartment was broken into two weeks ago, Doctor,
and a file containing information about you was stolen. Why would
somebody take a file that only said nice things?
I dont have the slightest idea. I never knew such a fi le existed,
and I didnt know anybody took it. Maybe it was a mistake. Im sure
the taxpayers can count on you to fi nd out.
He met Melanies gaze evenly, as if he didnt have a thing to hide.
You know a Miles Ortiz? Pauline Estrada asked suddenly.
Welchs head snapped around. No. No? Pauline asked, surprised.
I gave the answer. The answer is no. I dont know anybody by
that name.
Pauline drew from her bag the file on the Shepard burglary that
Melanie had looked through yesterday at the precinct. She pulled
some papers out and handed them across the desk to him. Melanie
could see the cover page of a telephone bill.
This is your office telephone number, correct? Pauline asked.
Yes.
A cell phone subscribed to by Mr. Ortiz called that number seventeen
separate times in the past month, Pauline said.
People call. That doesnt mean I speak to them. For all I know, hes
Gigis latest boyfriend. She goes through several a week, it seems.
Pauline took the telephone bill back.
Do you live alone? she asked.
No. Im married. I live with my wife, Gloria. Shes a former patient
of mine. See? He turned a gilded frame that sat on his desk
around to face them. The woman in the photograph could have been
any one of the Botoxed socialites from the waiting room. She looked
rich and skeletally thin, and a lot older than Welch himself did--
which set Melanie to thinking.
This is your home telephone number? Pauline asked, showing
him another phone bill.
Yes, it is.
Mr. Ortiz called your home number eleven times in the past
month. Is he your wifes boyfriend, too?
You know, Ive been very patient with you people. But the tone
of these questions is beginning to get objectionable, and Id really like
you to leave now.
I apologize, Dr. Welch, Melanie interjected. Youve been very accommodating.
One more question, sir, and I promise, well get out of
your hair. Where were you on Wednesday night at around eight forty? Melanie was half expecting Welch to blow up and order them
from the room, but instead he leaned back in his chair, fi ghting to
suppress a smile that played around the corners of his lips.
Thats easy enough, he said. I was at a dinner meeting with several
fellow board members of All the Pretty Children. Its a charitable
organization that provides free plastic surgery to third - world kids with
harelips and other congenital deformities. I do a lot of work for them.
At eight forty, we were at Café Boulud talking about writing grants for
next years budget. Im happy to give you the names of my companions.
Theyre all most reputable people.
O
O
oh, I wanted to punch him in the mouth so bad. Wipe that
nasty smile right off his face, Pauline Estrada said as they hit
the pavement on Park Avenue.
Melanie glanced at Pauline, who laughed. Just kidding. Figure
of speech.
Right. Melanie had heard enough cops say things like that to have
some serious doubts about how they behaved when she wasnt around.
Even cops like Pauline, who wore lipstick and had kids at home.
Melanie was planning to grab a cab back to her office, but she
started walking south toward the precinct, falling into step beside the
detective. It was late afternoon and gorgeous out. Flowers in front
of the fancy buildings danced in the sunlight, their scent obscuring
the exhaust fumes from passing cars, and the warm air felt like velvet
on her skin. A group of construction workers heading north as they
headed south pulled one - eighties to stare at them.
You ladies free? one of them called.
No, were very expensive, Pauline retorted, eliciting a friendly
series of whoops and hollers.
Cmon. Welch was lying. Hes a total asshole, Pauline said to
Melanie as they continued walking. Of course he is. Believe me, he creeps me out big - time. Did you
see how he touched me?
I did see, the perv.
Remember those complaints to the medical board? Melanie
said. Now that Ive met Welch, Im positive he groped those patients.
Im just surprised he waited until they were unconscious. Think about
the fact that Suzanne Shepard was raped, and then think about the
man we just met. I know it sounds far - fetched to accuse a prominent
doctor of murdering one of his patients. But I get such a strong vibe
from Welch that hes capable of rape.
For me, its all about the phone records, Pauline said. When I
got them this morning, and I saw we could connect Welch to Miles
Ortiz, I said, thats it, thats the answer. The two of em had something
going on together, something involving drugs. Suzanne found
out. She was gonna blow it sky - high, so they whacked her. And Welch
got his rocks off by raping her fi rst.
Could be, Melanie said, thinking out loud. Welch certainly
got agitated once you started asking about Miles.
Yeah, thats when he asked us to leave, Pauline said.
And did you see his eyes? Hes on something, I just know it.
I thought so, too.
Hes hiding something important. The only thing that gives me
pause is that he claims he has an alibi. Why would he tell us he went
out to dinner if he knows it wont check out? Melanie asked.
Maybe he got our boy Miles to do the dirty work, Pauline said.
They were in it together, but Miles was the one who pulled off the
murder. And the burglary, too, which is why we found Miless fi ngerprints
in Suzannes apartment instead of Welchs.
We need to learn more about Welch, Pauline. Let me ask you
something. How old did he look to you?
Welch? I dont know. Thirty - five. Forty, maybe. "How old did you tell me he was, based on that profi le you
worked up?
Oh. Paulines brows drew together, and she stopped in mid-
stride, pulling her folder from her bag and plopping it down on top of
a metal box holding fliers for the Learning Annex. She rifl ed through
frantically until she found what she was looking for, and looked up at
Melanie in shock. Oh my God! Sixty - four.
Where did you get that information?
From the Medical Licensing Board.
That man was not sixty - four, Melanie insisted.
Hes a plastic surgeon, though. Do you think--?
Did you see those women in the waiting room? His patients?
Yes.
They get the full benefit of his skills. How old did they look?
Pauline nodded. Old.
Welch may be a plastic surgeon, but hes not Dorian Gray. He cant
reverse the effects of nature. I think the age you have for him is wrong.
It cant be. I got it from a bunch of different sources. Medical
school and licensing records, drivers license, his Web site. Everything
matches up.
Welch has his own Web site?
Yeah, for making appointments, but mostly for fl aunting himself.
Hes got mad pictures posted on it of himself with all the beautiful
people. In one of em, hes standing on a beach wearing white pants
and a blazer, barefoot, holding a martini. I almost barfed. But the
point is, every single item of paperwork puts the guy as sixty - four.
Paper doesnt always tell the whole story, Melanie said. Somethings
not right. Did you tell me yesterday Welch was from Oklahoma?
Yeah, Tulsa.
Thats where he went to medical school and was licensed to practice
medicine? Melanie asked. Yes.
Ever been there?
Pauline made a face. With the wind rushing down the plains? No
thanks, not my style, chica.
Youre very skilled at digging up information, Pauline, but this
task may require the personal touch. If youre game, I can fi nd money
in the budget for a plane ticket.
You know me, Im game for anything. What the hell, Ill check
my closet. I got an old pair of red cowboy boots hiding in there somewhere
that might look good when Im riding a horse, Pauline said
with a twinkle in her eye. 22

Back at her desk, Melanie was feeling the pressure. It was close of
business on Friday afternoon, and she had too many leads. In a case
like this, where the victim had a lot of enemies, a shotgun approach
was often necessary at the beginning. You followed up every last tip
just far enough to rule it out. The problem was, this wasnt the beginning
anymore. The weekend was about to hit, meaning offi ces and
labs would close and the PD would cut staffing to save on overtime.
Melanies job was about to get harder at a moment when shed made
little discernible progress in narrowing her focus. She was checking
her voice mail and e - mail simultaneously to save time when the caption
of an e - mail gave her a nasty shock. Her pen pal partysover2007
had written to her again.
The e - mail read, Im still out here. The phone fell from its place at
Melanies shoulder into her lap as her eyes moved over his words.
Hey, Melanie Vargas [ the creep had written], you forget about me?
I didnt forget you. If you keep ignoring my messages, Im gonna be really
ticked off when we meet in person and it wont be fun and games for you.
I saw you again today and you didnt even know it. I saw your legs behind David Harris coming out of court in that picture in the Daily News. Your
legs look just right. Firm, not too skinny. Im gonna like them under me.
Jesus, she said under her breath. She looked over her shoulder,
half expecting to see a guy in a leather face mask standing behind her
with a bloody knife. It was late on a Friday, but thankfully there were
other prosecutors in the hallway. She heard somebody laughing. Everything
was okay. Nobody could get to her here. But still, shed better
stop shrugging this off and do something, before the creep decided
to make himself known. Whether he was actually the Butcher or just
some average Joe with a penchant for weird pranks, Melanie had no
desire to meet him in person.
She plucked the receiver from where it had fallen in her lap. Her
voice mails had been playing on while she read the latest installment
from her Web stalker, and she heard the reassuring sound of Dans
recorded voice in midmessage. Hed called while she was out interviewing
Welch to tell her that Suzanne Shepards telephone records
had come in.
. . . looking for a call around six oclock Wednesday that couldve
lured Suzanne out for a meet in Central Park, Dans recorded voice
was saying. I think I found it. Five forty - eight p. m., originating from
a pay phone in Flushing. If that sounds right, throw me a beep, and
Ill send somebody to do lifts off the pay phone. Unlikely well get
anything, but you never know.
Wait a second. Flushing. What else had Melanie heard about
Flushing today? Wasnt that where the threatening package had been
mailed from? She flipped through her notebook hastily looking for
the notes from her interview with Tony Mancuso, glad for the distraction
from that disgusting e - mail. Yes, there it was in black - and - white.
The package had been sent from a post office on Roosevelt Avenue
in Flushing. Melanie dialed Dans cell to tell him that, but all she got
was his voice mail.
Hey, its me, she said. I got your message about that call in Suzannes phone records. It sounds right. You should defi nitely take
lifts off the pay phone, because something else important happened
in Flushing. She gave him the details on the threatening package. I
need your advice on a couple of weird e - mails Ive gotten. I was hoping
you could take a look at them and tell me if theyre worth investigating.
So call me, or just come over. Bye.
Melanie hung up and stared at the wall for a long moment to
avoid looking at her computer screen. But then she got impatient
with herself. There was too much going on to let this jerk slow her
down. She minimized the e - mail into a tiny blip.
Melanie resumed listening to her voice mails. A call had come
in not ten minutes earlier from Susan Charlton, Bernadettes deputy
chief and one of Melanies favorite colleagues, and it was troubling
enough in its own right to take her mind off the cyberstalker.
Mel, its Susan. Witchie - poo left for the day and she wont be
back in the offi ce until after her honeymoon. A problem came up on
your murder investigation. Im acting chief, so that puts me in charge
of discussing it with you. Stop by as soon as you get this message.
S
S
usan Charlton was on the telephone. As Melanie dropped heavily
into a guest chair, fatigue overwhelming her, Susan met her eyes
and held up an index fi nger.
Baseball caps from every agency in law enforcement bristled
from all four walls of Susans office. The entire alphabet soup of the
federal justice system-- FBI, DEA, ATF, ICE, IRS, NYPD, hanging
from nails in neat rows. There mustve been a hundred hats. Agents
who didnt know Susan called her Miss Alternative Lifestyle behind
her back, but any guy whod ever worked a case with her eventually
brought his offering and vied to have it placed in a spot of honor on
her wall.
Susans freckled face was so vivid pink with exertion that it clashed with her flaming carrot hair, which clashed with the red Stanford Law
baseball cap she wore. Susan was captain of the U. S. Attorneys Offi ce
coed softball team. The fact that she was in shorts and her uniform
T- shirt reminded Melanie that today had been the grudge rematch
against their big rivals, the U. S. Marshals Service.
Melanie wondered why her own life didnt leave room for something
as sane as playing on the office softball team. Susan had no children.
She and her partner, Lisa Friedman, an antipoverty lawyer, had
been talking about adopting for ages but hadnt done anything concrete
about it. Yet Melanie suspected that even if Susan were a mom,
shed find time to win her trials, play sports, volunteer at her church,
and hit the pub after work to gather intelligence from the cops. Susan
was simultaneously well adjusted and crazy, cutthroat competitive and
widely liked. If Melanie had to name one quality that equipped Susan
for all her success, she wouldve chosen this: Susan had no angst. She
didnt worry. And she never, ever second - guessed herself once shed
made a decision. Unfortunately, these were the ways in which she differed
most from Melanie.
Susan hung up and looked at her.
Dyou win? Melanie asked.
Whupped their bee - hinds, girl, Susan exulted, taking a swig
from a bottle of Poland Spring water on her desk and smiling broadly.
It was a beautiful thing. Theyre so friggin full of themselves.
Score?
Six three. A clear victory. Watch, none of my prisonersll get
transported to court next week, but I dont care. Were celebrating at
Gradys tonight if . . . oh, but what am I saying? Youre too busy.
I listened to your message. Whats up? Melanie asked.
I got a call from the front office, Susan said, referring to the
big walnut - paneled suite that housed the U. S. attorney and his fi rst
assistant.
That cant be good, Melanie said. Theyre concerned about the press activity in your case. Are you
aware that Target News is doing twenty - four/ seven live coverage on
the Butcher?
I heard they were making a stink. Thats their style, Melanie
said.
With all that dead air to fill, theyre spouting a lot of dreck, as
you can imagine, and some of it upset the higher - ups. Take a look.
Susan picked up a remote and clicked, and a television sitting on
a wheeled cart beside her desk sprang to life. She rewound to an image
of Lorraine Shepard clad in the exquisite black Chanel jacket and
pearls shed been wearing this morning, standing outside the Frank E.
Campbell Funeral Home.
I loved her with all my heart, Lorraine said as tears welled picturesquely
in her big blue eyes. My only daughter. And to think that
cronyism is standing in the way of arresting her killer. The people of
this city should demand answers. It was my daughter this time, but
that animal is out there. Next time it could be yours.
Lorraine Shepard gets her fifteen minutes of fame, Melanie said
with disgust. This woman has a habit of second - guessing investigations.
Good to know. But keep watching, Susan said.
The camera cut to file footage of Clyde Williams walking down
the steps of City Hall, flashing his toothsome smile as he waved to a
crowd of well - wishers.
Allegations of cronyism and special treatment swirl around this
man, the correspondents resonant, Australian - accented voice said,
City Councilman Clyde Williams, the subject of a scathing exposé
aired on High Crimes just last week by the brave and relentless and
now very dead Ms. Shepard. Williams is currently the front - runner
for the Democratic mayoral nomination, but his prospects have been
seriously undermined by allegations first reported by Target News that
he had an affair with this woman-- the image changed to a high school - yearbook photo of a pretty blond girl-- gorgeous, young Emily
King, intern in Williamss office, a mere twenty years old, sophomore
at Princeton University and daughter of a wealthy Connecticut
footwear magnate.
Footwear magnate. I love that, Susan said, chuckling. Shed
been leaning back with her feet up on her desk, but now she sat forward
and paused the video. Okay, its this next part that has the front
office, well, concerned. Listen and tell me what you think, she said,
pushing play again.
Despite questions about the obvious motive Williams or his supporters
might have had to harm Suzanne Shepard, the voice - over
continued, no action has been taken against him in the days since the
brutal crime was committed. Target News has uncovered an alarming
explanation for this otherwise unthinkable oversight in the person of
Williamss son-- here the screen flashed to footage of Clyde and Joe
shaking hands side by side on a receiving line, both in tuxedos, looking
a lot alike-- Joseph Franklin Williams, a prosecutor in the very
same office as Melanie Vargas-- and here, footage from Melanies
press conference-- the young, inexperienced prosecutor handling the
Shepard murder investigation.
Inexperienced! Melanie exclaimed.
Shh, Susan said, holding up one hand and pointing at the screen
with the other.
Target News has learned that Vargas is not only acquainted with
but in fact good mates with the younger Williams, and on close personal
terms with both Clyde Williams and his wife, Cherise, because
of that relationship, the voice - over continued. The screen faded in
to focus on a big blond man with a chiseled face standing outside the
building in which Melanie and Susan now sat.
With the Butcher of Central Park still at large, what do the parties
involved have to say about this disturbing conflict of interest? Can
it be possible that one of our brightest politicians has knowledge of, or even involvement in, one of our most horrifi c crimes? Councilman
Williams plans to address the allegations at a press conference later
tonight, which we will bring to you live. The U. S. Attorneys Offi ce,
for the moment, remains suspiciously silent. Duncan Gilmartin, Target
News, outside the U. S. Attorneys Office, waiting for some answers.
Cassandra, back to you in the studio.
Susan clicked and the screen went blank.
I can tell you exactly why theyre doing this, Melanie insisted.
Seth Parker, the producer at Target News, wanted me to embed this
guy Gilmartin with the investigative team, and I refused.
Embed, like in Iraq?
Yes.
Thats a new one. We dont do that.
Thats what I told him. Now hes punishing me for turning them
down. And obviously, theyre looking for a ratings bounce.
I believe you, but that doesnt change the fact that the front offi ce
is upset. Nobody told them this Williams thing was out there, and
they dont like surprises.
Bernadette was in the loop. I went to her earlier today and asked
her to speed up the paperwork at Main Justice so we could go after
Clyde and address the allegations of favoritism. I specifically told her
that the NYPD was upset with the press coverage. Shouldnt she have
been the one to say something to the front office? Its hardly like I play
racquetball with the U. S. attorney every morning.
Susan looked thoughtful. Hmm, theres an angle. You know
Witchie - poos on their shit list, right?
Seriously?
Why do you think shes so keen to get out of here?
I thought she was itching to get on the bench, Melanie said.
Shes itching to jump before she gets pushed. Bernadettes turf
battles have come back to bite her. Turns out her enemies are better
connected in the front office than she is. If we hand them Witchie poo on a platter, we could save your butt on this one, Mel. Being
Bernadettes good German isnt necessarily a smart strategy for you
right now in any event.
Im not her good German, Melanie said, her cheeks burning.
I dont follow her blindly. But she is my boss, and I respect chain of
command.
Im just saying its time for you to raise your profile with the
higher - ups. You know, look independent, differentiate yourself from
Bernadette. Letting them know she was the one who dropped the ball
on this Williams thing would go a long way toward achieving that.
Im not selling her out.
I admire your loyalty, but get real. If Bernadette lets you take the
fall, isnt she selling you out?
What kind of fall are we talking about here? Melanie asked.
For starters, after the higher - ups saw this-- Susan gestured at
the TV-- they wanted to pull you off the Shepard case.
Melanie was stricken, and it showed on her face.
I talked them out of it, Susan said. I bought you some time to
do damage control. At least a day.
A day?
Hey, its better than nothing. A lot can happen in a day on an investigation
like this. Who knows, you could have the Butcher locked
up by tomorrow.
Susan, this is really stupid. The Clyde Williams thing is a distraction
manufactured by the media. He didnt kill anybody.
People can surprise you, Susan said with a shrug. But Clydes
guilt or innocence isnt the point. The front office knows Target News
is a bunch of tabloid crap. The content of the story didnt upset them
as much as the fact that they got blindsided. They need controversy
fronted to them ahead of time, before they see it live at six.
I understand. Good, then were on the same page. Heres the plan. I go to them
with the Bernadette explanation, then we--
No. Im not down with that.
I dont know why youre so devoted to her, Susan said, exasperated.
Shed feed you to the lions in a heartbeat if it suited her
purpose.
Maybe youre right, but Bernadettes done a lot for me. Besides,
shes getting married tomorrow.
Yeah, poor Vito.
Melanie and Susan looked at each other, at an impasse.
May I speak frankly? Susan asked fi nally.
Of course.
I have an ulterior motive here that you should know about. I
plan to be chief of this unit once Bernadettes gone, which may be
sooner than anybody expects. And I want you as my deputy. That aint
gonna happen if we dont fix this little dustup.
Im flattered. But why would you want me for deputy instead of
Brad Monahan? You guys are such good friends.
I love the Bradalator, but I dont trust him to watch my back.
Hed be too busy scheming to get my job. You, on the other hand,
would be an awesome deputy, and as youve just demonstrated, youd
be loyal to a fault. So what do you say?
Im still not tattling on Bernadette.
Ill try my best to find a way around it, scouts honor, but youve
got to give me some latitude to work here. Theres something else you
need to focus on if you want to redeem yourself with the front offi ce.
Whats that?
Like the man said, Clyde Williams is holding a news conference
tonight after his big fund - raiser. On the steps of the Met, surrounded
by his glitterati contributors no less. You need to find out what hes
going to say, so were not caught off guard again. How am I supposed to do that?
You could try asking him.
He threw me out my ear just a few hours ago.
I trust you to overcome whatever hard feelings might exist and
get Clyde to spill his guts.
What about the ethical implications? Clyde is a suspect. How
can I beg him for a favor like that?
In this job, we work for the greater good. Were public servants,
not blind technocrats. You do what needs to be done in the big picture,
regardless of what the fine print says. Are we in agreement?
Melanie shook her head, marveling. Youre a force of nature, Susan.
Im not sure whether thats a compliment, Susan said with a
23

As Melanie walked down the hall toward her office, anxiety took
hold of her. She could handle running a huge case with a thousand
scattered leads. And she could handle having a sicko creep Web stalking
her. But the office politics really threw her for a loop. Susan
could say what she wanted about fixing this dustup, but with the front
office breathing down Melanies neck, she was starting to worry about
getting fi red.
She opened the door to find Dan seated behind her desk, talking
on her telephone. Their eyes met, and he smiled. God, that
smile, those eyes. Suddenly she was back in one of the most intense
moments of her life-- the first time shed ever seen him, when
shed returned to her office just like now and discovered a gorgeous
stranger sitting in her chair. Her marriage had been on the verge
of collapse, and shed seen the echo of her own need in Dans eyes.
In that very instant, Melanie fell hard, even though she had every
reason not to.
She watched him for a moment. Then, seemingly of its own accord,
her hand reached out, closed the door, and turned the lock. laugh, but Ill take it as a yes. Yeah, she just walked in, Dan said, holding her gaze as he
spoke.
Hed noticed that Melanie had locked the door. He raised an eyebrow
at her and she raised one right back, provocatively. She had no
idea what had come over her, but whatever it was seemed to have a
will of its own, and she was in no mood to argue with it.
Dan was staring at her. Uh, Julian, can you hold off on giving
me that report on Ortiz? I have to take care of something over here
first . . . Okay, okay, if its that important. Go ahead.
Dan pointed at the phone and shrugged helplessly. Melanie walked
around behind the desk and sank her fingers into his thick dark hair,
pulling his head back. He shook his head no, but she leaned down
and kissed him anyway, slowly and lingeringly, in careful silence, until
she got a reaction. Within seconds, they were licking and biting and
breathing hard. She straddled him on the chair, and he tucked the
phone against his neck and ran his hands up under her skirt, making
her shiver. She loved the way he tasted, the clean way his skin smelled.
So many things in her life were insane right now, but Dan made her
feel good.
She pulled away. She was wearing a tailored wrap dress and high heeled
pumps. With the telephone receiver on his shoulder, Dan eased
her back against the desk and carefully undid the cord that held her
dress closed. She shrugged the dress from her shoulders and let it fall
into a heap on the floor. His eyes glittered as they raked over her body.
Melanie could hear Detective Hays voice squawking on the other end
of the line.
I didnt catch that, Dan said sideways into the telephone, his
voice hoarse.
Melanie grasped Dans hands and drew him to his feet. He was tall
and massive as a brick house. She reached for his belt buckle.
Youre crazy, he whispered, but he didnt tell her to stop. Quite
the contrary. He fumbled at his waistband for his gun, almost drop ping it, catching it again, and setting it down on top of her desk with
a thud. He helped her get his pants down, using his feet to get out of
his shoes and yank the pants off, but keeping his Jockeys on. He was
hard as a rock.
Im still here. Must be a bad connection, Dan said into the
phone.
He was getting impatient now. As he spoke he unhooked Melanies
bra, yanked it from her shoulders, and tossed it aside. She leaned
back against the desk, arched her back, and gave herself up to his
hands, which were kneading her breasts and exploring her flesh all the
way from her throat down to her underpants, which he was beginning
to work off her hips. He bent forward and kissed her neck and started
sucking her nipples, and she shuddered.
Hang up, she whispered, her legs so weak she could barely
stand.
But he shook his head, and she could tell he was getting off on
the situation, the idea that this was all happening in her office, in the
middle of a phone call.
Youre twisted, OReilly, she whispered.
Dan leaned sideways, looking at her complicated telephone. Me?
Wheres the goddamn mute button? he said under his breath.
She muted the telephone. Dan held the receiver in one hand, and
he placed the other lightly over her mouth.
People in the hall can still hear, he warned.
You gonna let that stop you? She raked her teeth up and down
his fingers, staring at him with challenge in her eyes.
Agh, Jesus, what are you doing to me? Im climbing the walls
here.
He slammed the phone down and spun her around, grasping the
back of her neck and bending her over the desk, so her back was to
him. He yanked her panties down to her ankles, pulled his own underwear off, and put his hot mouth against her ear. Is this what you want? he demanded.
Yes.
Tell me. I need to hear you say it.
Cmon, fuck me.
He entered her from behind with one hard push, thrusting in and
out until she was breathless and panting. She gripped the edge of the
desk till her knuckles went white, squeezing her eyes shut, every nerve
in her body alive and vibrating.
Yes. Keep going, she said, gasping.
She mustve been too loud because he put his hand over her mouth
again and shushed her tenderly. But she could tell Dan was having as
much trouble as she was staying quiet. He had great stamina, almost
too great. After a while, she started worrying that someone was sure
to knock on the door, theyd been at it so long. Then, suddenly, he
clutched her by the shoulders, bucking and twisting, gave a still ed
gasp, and collapsed against her.
They stayed that way for a minute, not moving. Then Melanies
phone rang. Dan laughed and pulled out of her, grabbing his underwear
from the floor. She was naked except for her high heels when she
picked up the phone.
Melanie Vargas, she said, and cleared her throat.
Melanie, its Julian. Is Dan there? We got cut off.
Sure. Just a second.
As Dan resumed his phone call, they both found their clothes and
hurriedly got dressed. His hair was damp with sweat; he ran his fi ngers
through it. Melanie took her handbag from the bottom drawer of her
desk and fi xed her makeup. She went to the ladies room, came back,
and Dan was still on the phone. Finally, he hung up.
They looked at each other.
What the hell was that? he said. Melanie couldnt tell whether
he was amazed or upset, so she just shrugged.
That was the best sex I ever had. In my life, he said. I cant believe we did it here, she said.
Coming down from the high of the sex, Melanie was beginning
to feel defl ated and upset with herself. How could she have gone and
instigated something so risky, so foolish, so plain unprofessional, and
at a moment when the front office was mad at her, no less?
But Dan felt otherwise.
Believe it, sweetheart, he said, laughing joyously. Youre incredible. No wonder Im out of my mind over you. 24

I
I
have some big news, Dan said.
They had adjusted their clothing, opened Melanies offi ce door,
and sat down. They were sitting and talking as calmly as any prosecutor
and agent discussing evidence in a case, as if the wild tumult of ten
minutes earlier had never happened. Melanie felt relieved, like shed
stepped onto solid ground after being lost at sea.
You found out whos sending the e - mails? she guessed.
What e - mails?
Didnt you get my message?
Dan pulled out his phone and looked at it. Oh. Sorry, Ive been
on the damn thing the whole time.
Youve been hard to reach lately.
Dan looked back at her without answering.
Never mind, she said. Tell me your news first, then Ill explain.
David Harris is free and clear. The DNA profile developed from
the skin found under Suzannes fingernails doesnt match the sample
he gave. We already pulled the surveillance detail off him. Quick turnaround time on the DNA test, she commented.
Yeah, even I cant believe how fast they did it, and I was the one
hounding em. We still dont have the results back from the CODIS
database comparison, and we sent that sample over almost a full day
earlier.
When will we get that?
I was told by close of business today, but it hasnt come through.
I have no idea whats taking so long. Alls they have to do is push a
button on a computer.
Can you call them again?
I tried. Nobody picked up. Im afraid were gonna have to wait
till Monday morning now.
If Harris is innocent, that means the real Butcher is still out
there, and we need to fi nd him. Fast, Melanie said.
I know that. But its not like the results on Harris come as a surprise.
You didnt really think he did it, did you?
Not really.
To me, his story always had the ring of truth. I mean, what married
guy is gonna put himself in the Ramble looking to blow another
guy if it isnt true? Even to beat a murder rap?
We should offer Harris protection, Melanie said. If hes not the
Butcher, then hes my star witness.
Youre right.
Her phone rang. Hold on a second, she said, picking it up.
Melanie listened to the sound coming over the wire. It took her a
minute to figure out what she was hearing.
Whats the matter? Something wrong? Dan asked, seeing the
look on her face.
Thats so weird. Its-- its me.
What?
She pressed the speakerphone button. The sound of Melanies
own voice filled the room, answering a question at the news conference shed given in the early morning hours after Suzanne Shepards
murder.
What the hell is that? Dan said.
Its me. At the news conference. Somebody must have recorded
it off the TV.
Is anybody on the line? Dan asked.
Hello? Hello? Melanie said into the speaker.
The only reply was audible breathing, followed by a moan.
What the fuck! Dan leaped to his feet and came charging around
the desk. Whos there? he yelled into the speaker.
The line abruptly went dead.
Melanie looked up at him with frightened eyes. I wonder if thats
the same guy whos e - mailing me.
Tell me about these e - mails right now, Dan demanded.
She took a deep breath. Ive gotten two so far. Both moderately
obscene in content. The first one was the morning after the murder.
The guy said hed seen me on TV, which is what makes me think this
phone call might be from him. Janice and I decided he was just some
creep, that it was nothing to worry about. But he sent another one
earlier today, and he makes it sound like hes following me. That one
got me nervous.
Any reason to think this asshole is connected to the murder?
In the first e - mail, he called Suzanne Shepard a bitch and said the
Butcher did the world a favor, but that wasnt enough to raise a red
flag for me. I figured the actual killer would have said something more
specific about the crime.
Show me the e - mails, now.
Dan was scowling. It occurred to Melanie that getting him involved
might not have been the smartest move. Dan had a tendency
to become overprotective and lose his cool when her safety was at
stake. Too late now. Under his thunderous gaze, Melanie printed out
the two e - mails and handed them to him. Why is it you invariably fail to tell me shit like this in a timely
fashion? he demanded when hed fi nished reading.
I left you a message that you didnt bother to listen to, remember?
Why is it you havent been answering your phone lately?
Dont change the subject. You left that message an hour ago, but
you got the first e - mail a day and a half ago.
Were not talking about me, and I dont want to fight. Just tell me
what you think of the e - mails.
Dans face flushed with fury. What do I think? I think Im gonna
find this prick and pummel him to a bloody fucking pulp without due
process of law.
Be serious.
Im very serious. Break every bone in his goddamn body and
leave him bleeding in the gutter.
But do you think hes dangerous?
I think hes a dead man.
Okay, I get the point.
Fucking psycho. The guy was jerking off on the phone just now,
you know.
She swallowed hard. We cant be sure of that.
Oh yeah? What do you think he was doing?
Melanie didnt answer.
Im gonna put him in the ground, Dan said.
You dont mean that.
But he stormed out of her office, slamming the door behind
him.
You wonder why I dont tell you this stuff, she muttered to the
still - vibrating door. 25

It was seven oclock on Friday night, and Melanie was running late,
although that wasnt why she took a taxi instead of the subway to her
favorite neighborhood pasta joint. With the memory of the strange
phone call fresh in her mind, and a sense of unease left over from her
encounter with the man in the hooded sweatshirt, Melanie felt more
comfortable in the private cocoon of a cab. She didnt want to overreact
to a couple of crank e - mails and a heavy- breathing call, but neither
could she disregard them.
Inside, the place was crowded, and deliciously redolent of garlic
and tomato sauce. The harried hostess directed Melanie toward the
back of the restaurant, where little Maya sat in a high chair chomping
on a huge piece of Italian bread as Melanies good friend and former
college roommate, Sophie Cho, cut up some ravioli for her.
Mayas eyes lit up as Melanie approached. Mama! she cried, lifting
her arms with delight.
Hola, niña pequeña. Mommy missed you all day. Melanie leaned
down and covered Mayas face with little kisses that made her giggle.
Careful, shes quite sticky, Sophie said. Did she eat the meatballs? Melanie asked, slipping into an
empty chair. She had to talk loudly to be heard over the din in the
restaurant.
Theyre mostly on the floor, but shes crazy about my spinach
ravioli.
Maybe shell grow up to be a vegetarian like her aunt Sophie.
Id like to think Im having some influence. I ordered your food
about fifteen minutes ago, so it should be here any minute.
Thank you, and thank you so much for picking Maya up from
my apartment. Sandy hasnt been feeling well enough to work past six
these days.
Sandy Robinson, whod been babysitting for Maya for over a year
and doing a splendid job of it, was seven months pregnant.
What is she planning to do when her baby comes? Sophie
asked.
Shes planning to quit. I have to start interviewing, I just havent
been able to face it yet. The thought of learning to trust a new person
with this little girl-- ugh. Makes me wish I could afford to quit, too,
and just stay home with her. Melanie surprised herself by tearing up
for a moment, her chin quivering. She took a deep breath and a sip
of water.
Dont worry. Youll find someone good, Sophie said, and patted
her hand.
Youre so reassuring, Soph. I love that about you.
Im just being realistic. Youve always had good people, because
youre careful about who you hire. Sandys wonderful, and even that,
what was her name, Eloise?
Elsie.
Elsie was good, too, Sophie said.
She was good with Maya. Me, she hated, Melanie said. But
enough about my babysitter problems. You know what I want to hear.
How was your date with Ray - Ray? Melanie had set Sophie up with a DEA agent named Raymond
Wong, but she hadnt had the chance yet to find out how it had
gone. Ray - Ray was a deeply decent guy, but ex - military and tightly
wound, which Melanie thought might suit him well to Sophie, who
was high - strung, extremely bright, and obsessed with her fl ourishing
career as an architect. Either theyd hit it off or theyd hate each
other, but either way it was worth a shot. Like Ray - Ray, Sophie was
so buried in work that she didnt have time for a social life, yet she
longed to be a mother, as shown by the hours she devoted to babysitting
Maya. Melanie was convinced that Sophie had trouble meeting
men only because she made no effort. She was reserved to the point
of being cold. And while a pretty appearance might have made up
for that, Sophie wasnt beautiful in the conventional sense. She had
lovely skin and eyes, but she was short and chubby, pulled her hair
back any old way, and wore a hipster - architect uniform of black
pants, black T- shirt, and black Nikes every single day. Melanie had
decided to give fate a shove and help Sophie find a man who would
appreciate her.
The date was nice, Sophie said in a neutral tone.
That could mean anything from I hated him but I cant say so
because hes your friend to were engaged.
Sophie laughed. In between. I understand why you fixed us up.
We have a lot in common. Similar backgrounds and values. We met
for coffee last Sunday and went for a stroll afterward. He was intelligent
and polite. Id go out with him again. I couldnt tell whether he
felt the same way. He said he would call, and he hasnt yet. So there
you have it. She finished with a shrug.
The waitress arrived with Melanies fettuccine.
Enough about my so - called love life, Sophie said. Lets talk
about yours. How are things with Dan?
Great, although sometimes I think Im just . . . I dont know,
mixed up about him, Melanie said, flashing on the intense sex theyd had in her offi ce. Wow. She felt her cheeks get hot, and wondered if
Sophie noticed her blushing. She had to fight off a powerful urge to
sneak outside and call Dan up to see if they could do it again. She
twirled fettuccine around her fork and shoved it in her mouth.
In the depths of her handbag, Melanies cell phone rang, and she
dug for it frantically. The display showed an incoming call from Julian
Hays cell phone.
Oops, sorry, work, she said to Sophie as she flipped the phone
open. Hello?
Melanie, Julian. I only have a second. I need to know. You want
I should go ahead and buy this dude, or what?
You mean Miles?
Who else, boss?
Youre in a position to buy from him already? Im amazed!
Yeah. Turns out hes moving crystal meth, and hes like begging
to sell me some.
Now, this was the reason to have Julian Hay on a case. He might
be a slacker when it came to matters that didnt interest him, but there
was no better narcotics undercover than Suave Pierre.
Crystal meth? Hed be looking at real jail time, Melanie said.
Like the Big Bad Wolf says, the better to flip you with, my dear,
Julian said.
If Ortiz flips on Welch, well be cooking with gas. Pierre, youre
a genius.
One step at a time, sister. Im calling only because I need a prosecutors
authorization to requisition the buy money before I start negotiations.
Give me the Benjamins and Ill see what I can do.
Youre authorized. Sign my name on the dotted line.
Now youre talking, sister. My aim is to put your boy in bracelets
in the next twenty - four. Fingers crossed, he said, and hung up.
Melanie put her phone away and looked back at Sophie. Where
were we? You were telling me that things are mixed up with you and Dan.
Ive been waiting for this. Sophie shook her head sadly.
Whats that supposed to mean?
Just that Ive always thought this was a rebound relationship for
you, Melanie. Not destined to last.
Thats not what I meant.
Oh, come on. You got involved with Dan right after learning
of Steves affair. You were distraught over your marriage, afraid of being
alone, and an attractive man fell head over heels for you, so you
rushed into a relationship. Im not blaming you. But what do you
two have in common for the long haul? Hes a very nice person, and
great looking, but hes not your equal intellectually or emotionally.
You share no interests beyond work. Hes a blue - collar suburban guy.
Youre an uptown girl. He--
Stop right now. Be quiet!
Reading Melanies expression, Sophie looked startled. Im sorry.
I didnt mean to upset you. I thought I was only saying things you
already knew.
I dont know anything of the kind. Im madly in love with this
guy.
Sophie sipped her Diet Coke, looking chastened. Well, that
doesnt mean you cant question it.
I cant. I dont. Im way too into him to question anything right
now.
Thats not good.
Melanie sighed. Maybe not. But its the truth.
I would never say this if I didnt love you and Maya so much,
but is this really the right moment to be in such a passionate, all consuming
relationship? What about her?
Melanies eyes lingered on Maya, who was busily feeding ravioli to
her doll, chattering away in half English, half baby.
I do worry about the time I spend on Dan, Melanie said, and how much room he takes up in my heart. Sometimes I think I should
focus on nothing but her, at least until shes older. But am I not entitled
to have a man in my life? Dans it for me, Soph. I dont want
anybody else, and I cant imagine feeling this way again. Am I supposed
to let him go because he came along too soon?
Do you ever think the strength of your feelings might come from
the fact that you met him at such a vulnerable moment? In a crisis, we
dont always make the best decisions.
That sounds like something you read in a magazine. Smart
women, stupid choices. Im not a self - help stereotype.
Maybe you just dont want to hear what I have to say, Sophie
said gently. But fine, on a more practical level, then, does Dan accept
Maya?
He adores her. You should see him down on the floor with her,
playing with her dollies, rolling her around.
No, but . . . This is sensitive, but how does he feel about dating
a woman with a child? Do you think he would marry you, or is this
bound to be a temporary thing?
I just got divorced.
So he hasnt asked?
Of course not, Melanie snapped, her tone defensive. Its much
too soon.
Dan hadnt introduced her to his family, either. It wasnt too early
for that, and Melanie was beginning to fi nd the omission worrisome.
But she had her pride, and she wouldnt voice her fears to Sophie,
given the tone of this conversation.
But he loves you, right?
I think he does. Hell say hes crazy about me, or that he cant
live without me. He doesnt actually say, I love you, but thats not
his style.
Sophie frowned. Hes never told you he loves you?
Will you stop? Im happy with Dan. More than happy, Im be sotted. I express one little iota of doubt, and suddenly youre on this
rampage of negativity. I dont want to hear it.
I just worry that youll get hurt, Melanie. A man changes once
the chase is over, once youre under his thumb. He loses interest.
Fine, so Im making a huge mistake, Melanie said, exasperated.
Its my life. Butt out. Not to mention that youre hardly the queen of
relationships, she thought.
Melanies phone started ringing again. She was glad for the excuse
to end the conversation, which was more troubling than she cared to
admit. Dan had been difficult to reach over the past few days, and a
nagging little voice in her head was starting to ask if something was
going on. What if he was seeing somebody else? He wouldnt do that,
would he? What if he broke up with her? Steve had shattered her
plans, but Dan could break her heart, and she knew it.
Sorry about all the calls, she said to Sophie as she fl ipped open
her phone. Work is crazy right now.
Tony Mancuso from Target News security was on the phone.
Sorry to bother you, he said, but I have some news I thought
youd want to hear immediately.
What is it?
I brought the box of dog shit to the FBI guys this afternoon, and
they examined it right away. They dont have the fingerprint analysis complete
yet, but listen to this. The packing tape used to seal up the box?
Yes?
It matches the tape used to gag Suzanne. Matches exactly. Not
just the same brand, but theres a flaw in the weave that matches up
so perfectly, they think it was contiguous pieces ripped off the roll.
Melanie, the Butcher definitely sent this box. 26

David Harris was on the telephone with his wife, and the call was not
going well.
But I didnt have to tell you! he said, exasperated, dropping his
head into his hands. Dont you see, Robin, I could have just lied. You
would never have found out. I told you the truth because I love you,
honey, and I want to make things right.
You think Im an idiot? Of course I wouldve found out, and Im
not the only one! Youll be testifying about this abomination in open
court. The whole world will know. My parents. All the moms from
play group. The teachers at Jakes school. And she started to wail.
Robin, I didnt even do anything. I told you, nothing happened.
It was just something I was thinking about. A fantasy.
Sex with a prostitute is your fantasy? How do you think that
makes me feel? she screamed.
Dave felt a migraine coming on, a bad one. In confessing to Robin,
hed left out the gay part, which was just too hard to explain. He
kneaded his forehead with his fingertips and directed himself to remain
calm. And you do it in the park? Robin yelled. You cant even be discreet
and call some high - class hooker so people dont fi nd out? That
is sick.
I feel terrible that I hurt you, honey. I swear to you, nothing like
this will ever happen again. Ill go to therapy. Ill get to the bottom of
this. It was the stress. You cant imagine the pressure Im under, with
the partnership decision so close. Well come out better than ever,
promise . . . Robin?
But she was sobbing hysterically on the other end of the phone.
I have an idea. Robin? Robin, are you listening? Sweetie? Listen
to me.
Dont call me sweetie! she cried. What am I supposed to do
now? I have the kids. I havent worked in ten years! How am I supposed
to support them?
Ill support us, like I always have. Dont talk that way, please. We
can work this out. I know youre upset about what people will think.
How about this? We buy a house in Scarsdale. A big house with a backyard
for the kids. We can even renovate if you want. New kitchen, baths,
the works. Youll make friends whove never heard about out troubles.
Scarsdales . . . not . . . far enough! Robin said, sputtering through
her sobs. Everybody in Scarsdale knows people in the city. Theyll
fi nd out!
Bedford, then. We can get enough land for a pool.
Bedford? She quieted, hiccuping and snuffl ing.
Sure.
You always said you wouldnt commute that far.
Id make that sacrifice if it would help you get past this. I know
you love it in the country. Well get a dog, have a separate laundry
room instead of that stacking thing stuck in the closet. Live like human
beings.
Robin coughed and blew her nose loudly. But, Dave, Bedford is
expensive. Doesnt matter. With prices in the city what they are, well clear
a mint on the apartment. And Im still gonna make partner. I can get
old man Feinerman back in my camp if I just ace this Simpson litigation.
I know I can. What do you say, Rob?
She was silent.
Robin? Are you there?
Are you sure nothing happened? I need to go over that part
again.
R
R
obin had eventually agreed to let him stay in the apartment that
night if he slept on the couch in the den. Dave consulted his
watch. It was about nine oclock, on the early side to leave his desk.
Putting in face time was critical to making partner at Feinerman, to
the point that certain senior partners were known to call around late
at night in the months leading up to the decision, professing to ask
for research on some minor point when in fact they were checking
whether you were still at your post. Dave was scrupulous about not
getting caught out like that. But what the hell. Hed just witnessed a
brutal murder and his marriage was on the rocks. He could knock off
early for once.
Dave speed - dialed the internal extension that patched him
through to Tri - State Limo.
Tri - State Limousine Service. How may I help you, Mr. Harris?
Ready now at the offi ce.
Destination?
Home.
Very good, sir. You want your regular driver?
Yes, I want Stanislaus. How long?
Let me check. Hold on please.
Dave waited on hold. He drummed his fingers on his desk impatiently,
studying the photograph that sat in a silver frame next to his telephone. Dave, Robin, and the kids, taken by a professional
photographer last summer in Westhampton. They were seated on an
appropriately beachy rock, wearing matching outfits of khaki pants
and white dress shirts, looking prosperous and content. Like a family
should.
The dispatcher came back on the line.
Good news, Mr. Harris. Stanislaus is actually downstairs outside
your building. He just returned from his previous call.
Car 130 as usual?
Thats correct. Hell display the number in the window.
Thank you.
Have a good night, Mr. Harris.
Outside, it took a second before Dave spotted the town car with
the big red number 130 in the window. Stanislaus hadnt parked in
his usual spot. Instead of idling directly in front of the building with
all the other black sedans from Tri - State that awaited the departures of
other lawyers from the Feinerman firm, Stanislaus had for some reason
parked halfway down the block on the opposite side of the street.
Dave waved at him testily, but getting no response, gave up with a
sigh and trotted across the street, dodging traffi c.
Whats the idea, parking all the way over here? he said as he
slid into the roomy leather backseat and slammed the door with a
thunk. The smoked - glass barrier between the front and back seats
was raised. Apparently Stanislaus hadnt heard Dave, because instead
of responding, he pressed the button that locked all the doors and
pulled out into the stream of traffic so fast that Dave rocked backward
into the seat.
Take it easy, Stan! Even his driver was stressed out tonight.
The Wall Street Journal was folded neatly in the seat - back pocket
in front of Dave, just as he liked. He turned on the small reading light
above his door, took the newspaper out, and snapped it open, enjoying
the smell of fresh newsprint. But as he scanned the bullet points in the Whats News section, his head started to throb again. Wherever
he turned, this nightmare dogged him. David M. Harris, Esq., a litigation
associate at Feinerman, Seidel, Brinkley and Tate, testifi ed today . . .
the news brief began. He flung the paper aside furiously, his breath
catching in his throat. This was not how hed planned to make his fi rst
appearance on the front page of the Journal.
Dave sank back into the cushy seat and rubbed his temples, closing
his eyes and resting for a few minutes. Eventually, he took a few
deep breaths and looked out the window.
As he registered his surroundings, Daves heart gave a jagged
thump. They were nowhere near where they were supposed to be.
Instead of heading uptown via the Westside Highway, toward his
apartment, they were somewhere in the no - mans - land leading to the
Holland Tunnel, heading for New Jersey. What the . . . He opened his
mouth to yell at Stanislaus, but shut it again as all the signposts fi nally
clicked into place. He felt like throwing up. What an idiot hed been,
caught up in his meaningless personal problems. Hed forgotten to
stay alert to his environment. How could he have been so stupid? He
was an eyewitness to a brutal murder. His name and photograph had
been in every newspaper. Had been on the evening news, for Gods
sake. Of course the Butcher wanted him dead. What had happened to
his survival skills, honed like a knifes edge in the desert so many years
ago? Hed gotten soft and lazy, and now hed pay the price.
It was true what they said: Daves life flashed before him. A beautiful
day in Jerusalem with his best friend when he was nineteen,
holding his fathers hand as he died, the birth of his fi rst son. No, he
thought, I will not leave my children fatherless.
Dave snatched up the newspaper from the seat and pretended to
read, his heart pounding. He knew how to do this. He could cope. He
could fight. He could escape. Using the paper as a screen, he unfastened
his seat belt and leaned sideways to peek at the driver up front.
Silently, Dave berated himself. How could he have failed to notice? This man was blatantly, obviously not the diminutive Stanislaus. He
was taller and bigger altogether, robust and thick - necked. He was an
impostor, armed and dangerous, surely intending to shoot Dave in
cold blood and leave him to die like a dog in the street. Additional
visual reconnaissance supported that awful conclusion: the drivers
hands on the steering wheel were encased in rubber gloves. Daves
scalp crawled at the sight.
They were doing about forty, and the street was deserted. They
were five blocks from the tunnel. Dave was running out of time fast.
He didnt want to leap out inside the tunnel, and he would have a
decidedly poorer chance of survival once they reached the other side
and the dumping grounds of the Meadowlands. If it was empty here,
it was desolate there. Now was the time to make his move. Realizing
that, Dave panicked, his eyes darting around wildly. He had to struggle
to control his breathing so as not to alert the driver.
Still holding the newspaper in front of him for cover, Dave tried
the door lock. It wouldnt budge. He tried the window. Same result.
The automatic locking mechanisms must be equipped with those
childproof features, like they had on their minivan, where the backseat
controls could be disabled completely. His best option was going
to be kicking out the window and escaping though it. Dave studied
the window. It was tinted, but otherwise appeared to be made from
standard automotive glass. A well - placed, vigorous kick would shatter
it. He was wearing his Johnston & Murphy wing tips, which had
hard, sharp heels. They would do the trick. What he needed now was
a diversion. A loud noise perhaps. Something to confuse the driver
for several seconds, or as many as he could manage anyway, to allow
Dave to make his escape before getting shot to death. He contemplated
what hed brought with him in his pockets and his briefcase
and weighed the possibilities.
They were heading straight for the tunnel entrance. Still camoufl
aged behind the Journal, Dave drew his cell phone from his pocket. Calling for help was useless: he was flat out of time. But his phone
came with a variety of ring tones, including one that sounded like
a police siren. His hands shook violently as he scrolled through the
menu searching for that one. He ramped the volume up as high as it
would go and selected test.
The shrill blast of a wailing siren filled the car. Dave reeled back
onto his shoulders, raising his legs and kicking with all of his substantial
strength. Just as the window shattered and he felt the rushing air
on his face, he heard an explosion. Chunks of rough glass showered
down on top of him. Hed propelled himself forward and up, going
for the window. He heard a second explosion and felt a burning in his
back. His breath had been knocked out of him; hed been kicked or
punched or . . . Robin! Everything went black. 27

T
T
he facade of the Metropolitan Museum of Art had recently undergone
a cleaning that had left it draped in a material resembling
cheesecloth for nearly two years, but the end result was breathtaking.
Melanie paused at the bottom of the sweeping limestone steps that led
to the main entrance of the museum, her eyes drawn upward to take
in the magnificent sight. On this sultry Friday night, with spotlights
trained on it, the Met glittered like a white diamond set against a
purple velvet sky. Three enormous banners in jewel tones of red, blue,
and green graced the facade, trumpeting the latest blockbuster exhibits.
The gigantic structure stood sentry at the eastern edge of Central
Park, and the scent of flowers and green leaves floated out to Melanie
on the warm summer breeze. It would be easy enough to forget to
look over her shoulder tonight, or to lose sight of the fact that she was
here on serious business.
Clyde Williamss fund - raiser was going on inside. When Susan
Charlton had instructed Melanie to intercept Clyde and find out what
he intended to say at his press conference, they had both been relatively
confident of Clydes innocence. But Melanie had since learned that the killer had gagged Suzanne Shepard with the same packing
tape used to seal the box of dog excrement. This established an undeniable
nexus between the box and the murder. The box had contained
a photograph of Suzanne taken an hour after the segment about Clyde
had aired, and it had been mailed the following day. Circumstantial,
Melanie told herself. Perhaps only coincidence. Yet the inference was
there to be drawn. There was at least some chance that Clyde Williams,
the father of one of her best friends and many voters hope for
the future of this city, had if not actually committed murder at least
arranged for it to happen. Or that somebody close to him had. And
not just any murder, but a horrific, ugly, brutal murder, the gruesome
results of which Melanie herself had witnessed two nights ago, less
than a ten - minute walk from where she now stood.
Immediately inside the main entrance, velvet ropes channeled
Melanie toward a long table used for searching bags. Several guards
in blue blazers were stationed there. One of them, a tall Indian man,
gestured at her warningly, saying something, but his words fl oated up
and dissipated into the vast empty space between the terrazzo fl oor
and the three formidable marble domes that topped the Great Hall.
Im sorry? Melanie said.
The museum is closed, maam.
Im here for the Clyde Williams fund - raiser at the Temple of
Dendur.
In that case, I need to see your invitation and picture ID, the
guard said, holding out his hand.
I forgot my invitation, but heres a photo ID. Melanie handed
him her creds, crossing her fingers that they would impress suffi ciently
to do the trick.
If you dont have an invitation, youll have to wait while I check
the guest list, he said, and walked away with her credentials.
Damn, they were sticklers here. Sure, they were guarding world
treasures, but did she look like an art thief? Melanie pulled out her cell phone, toying with the idea of calling
Joe Williams, whose cell number she had in her directory. Surely Joe
was inside and could come out and vouch for her. But she hesitated,
thinking how awkward that would be in light of her mission. Yes,
there was the part about asking Clyde what he planned to tell the
media. But first, Melanie intended to inform Clyde about the packing
tape, on the off chance that the news might shock him into confessing.
If there was anything to confess.
Before she could make up her mind, Melanie spotted the guard
walking back toward her, frowning. Almost simultaneously she saw a
familiar, slight figure crossing the cavernous hall. Chance had decided
for her.
Joe! she called, waving. He saw her and hurried over.
Melanie. I had no idea you were planning on coming tonight.
Everything all right?
Joe searched Melanies face, and a great deal of information passed
between them silently. He understood she was there for reasons that
would upset him if he were fully informed about them. She wished
she could tell him what they were, but she couldnt. He realized that
she was only doing her job, and he wouldnt stand in her way.
This young lady is a friend of our family, Joe said to the guard.
Shes a crasher, the guard retorted.
If her names not on the list, then theres been an oversight. She
can come in. Ill escort her back to the Temple, Joe replied.
The guard thrust Melanies credentials at her, obviously annoyed
that his authority had been trumped. Melanie and Joe took off for the
Egyptian wing, their shoes ringing out on the hard marble fl oors.
Once were out of range of that guard, you can go in on your
own. Ive got to find Rocky Davis so he can set up for the press conference.
You know how to get to the Temple, right? Joe asked.
Sure.
They paused in front of a set of ruined walls built from colos sal marble blocks many thousands of years old, and Joe turned to
Melanie.
Ill let you go on from here, but theres something I need to say
first, he said.
Sure.
Melanie, I havent interfered in your investigation. Ive been silent
because its technically the right thing to do, but whats technically
right can be wrong in your heart. I get the feeling that youre here
because youve got new information, information that refl ects badly
on my father.
As Melanie opened her mouth to reply, Joe held up his hand.
Im not asking you to disclose any evidence. And when Im done,
you can report me if you feel you must. But hear me out.
Go ahead, Joe. Im listening.
My father admittedly has some bad qualities. Hes arrogant and
full of himself. Hes manipulative, as many successful politicians are.
Im even willing to buy that hes a bit of a womanizer and hasnt always
been faithful to my mother. But what hes not is a rapist and a killer.
Melanie nodded solemnly.
Hes just not, Joe repeated. I swear to you. So please, examine
your evidence carefully before you accuse him of any crime. Examine
your conscience. Otherwise youll risk damaging the reputation
of an innocent man, possibly with very serious consequences for his
career.
Joes eyes were haunted as he turned and walked away. Speaking
out had clearly cost him a great deal.
Watching her friend disappear into the next gallery, Melanie was
at a loss. Joe had as good as invited her to rat him out for trying to
influence her investigation, but she wouldnt. He was one of the most
ethical people she knew, and his words rang true: the technical rules
didnt always jibe with what was morally right. Shed have done as
much herself for somebody she loved and believed in. The problem wasnt that Joe had tried to sway her, but that hed succeeded, at least
partly. His plea had taken the wind out of her rush to judgment, and
now the doubts were pouring in. What evidence did she have against
Clyde Williams, really, beyond the mere coincidence of timing? A
politician of Clydes skill and finesse wouldnt resort to brutish murder
to silence an enemy, even an enemy with a bully pulpit as powerful
as Suzannes. Clydes reputation mattered to his career, and his career
mattered to the future of the city. Melanie might be under pressure to
get a killer off the streets, but that didnt justify anything less than the
greatest caution in investigating this important man.
But wait a minute. Had Clyde put Joe up to making his emotional
appeal? Was she allowing herself to be manipulated? It was like
shed told Dan the other night when shed hesitated about going to the
crime scene-- big cases, big problems. And big confusion. As she stood
at the entrance to the Temple of Dendur, surveying the lavish scene,
Melanie felt less certain than ever that she could solve this case. 28

Even under normal conditions the Temple of Dendur was a sight to
behold, its ancient stones bathed in sparkly light and set against a
vast, slanting wall of crystalline glass. But decked out for a party, it was
drop- dead gorgeous. A reflecting pool shimmered before the indoor
plaza where the millennia - old structure had been reassembled, meant
to evoke the Temples original location beside the Nile. Tonight, the
pool was decorated with potted reeds and grasses that swayed in the
breeze from the air - conditioning. The spaces between the Temple columns
were filled with enormous arrangements of palm fronds and
lilies. Altogether, the scene bore an uncanny resemblance to the Nile
on a dazzling Egyptian afternoon. The crowd sipping cocktails on the
marble plaza was just as glamorous as the location. Melanie recognized
many famous faces-- media people, politicians, even the stray
movie star or two-- interspersed with those who were lesser known
but, to a person, beautiful and richly attired.
Unsure of her purpose and feeling intimidated, Melanie hesitated
on the outskirts of the party. The buzz of laughter and conversation
washed over her, and a waiter walked up carrying a silver tray. Champagne, miss? he asked.
Thinking shed look less conspicuous with a glass in her hand,
Melanie accepted. The champagne was pink. Holding it up to the
light, she watched tiny bubbles race to the top of the fl uted glass. The
color suggested it would taste cloyingly sweet, but when she sipped,
the champagne had a dry, delicate bouquet. Oh, to be rich. Maybe she
should quit this crazy job and go to work for some sweatshop law fi rm
that would pay her a ton of money. But then she thought of David
Harris, how miserable he seemed, how shoved into an ill - fi tting mold,
and realized that wasnt an option for her.
The crowd parted, and-- as if conjured by Melanies fl eeting
thought of David Harris-- his lawyer, Bob Adelman, stood before her
amid a group of powerful - looking people.
Bob! Melanie said, startled.
Hi, Melanie. What are you doing here? Isnt there a rule against
you people contributing money to political campaigns?
There is, she said. Im here on business, not as a contributor.
Then, fearing hed guess that she was here to investigate Clyde Williams,
Melanie quickly changed the subject. Didnt you get my voice
mail about your clients DNA results? she asked.
Yes, I did, and I was thrilled. Hey, Lester, dont you love it when
you stand up in court spouting off about how a guys innocent and it
actually turns out to be true?
A man in a fancy suit turned around. He had a memorable face--
strong nose, heavy black eyebrows, and shoulder - length, snow - white
hair. Talk about famous. Bob Adelman might be revered within the
New York legal community, but Lester Poe was as celebrated as lawyers
got-- nationally known, a cultural icon, a legend even. For decades,
hed defended the highest - profile and hottest - button criminal cases.
He was a counselor to celebrities and royalty as well as to prisoners of
conscience, and a fixture on all the talking - head TV news programs.
I only represent the guilty, Bob. Less stressful that way. Now, who is this lovely creature, and where have you been hiding her? he
asked, grasping Melanies hand in both of his.
Melanie Vargas from the U. S. Attorneys Office. Pleased to meet
you, Mr. Poe, she said, amazed to be speaking to somebody of Poes
renown.
Are they making prosecutors younger, Bob, or are we just getting
older?
Both! Adelman said, laughing.
Theyre certainly making them better - looking.
Melanies trying to harass me about business while Im drinking,
Les.
Hopefully that means shes not here to fork over her hard - earned
cash to Clydes campaign. The bastard has a big enough war chest
already. Take my advice, dear. Keep the pittance they pay you and go
buy yourself something pretty.
I could do that. Or I could buy food, Melanie said, smiling.
Poe raised his glass. Heres to the government underpaying its
lawyers. May they all see the wisdom of joining the defense bar.
Hear, hear, Adelman said.
When you get tired of the noble - suffering routine, Melanie, give
me a shout. I can always use a smart young lawyer. And easy on the
eyes doesnt hurt, either. Oh, I see Katie Couric. I owe her a phone
call. Do you have a card? Poe asked.
Melanie took a business card from her wallet and handed it to
him. He put it in silver card case and withdrew one of his own, pausing
to write something on the back. The number Im giving you is
my private line, so you dont have to go through a secretary. Give me a
call. Well talk about your future, he said, and walked away.
Am I dreaming, or did Lester Poe just offer me a job? Melanie
asked.
Actually, I think he was hitting on you. But with Lester, its always
a fi ne line. Melanie laughed.
On a more serious note, I did indeed get your message about
David.
Im so glad I found you. The surveillance team was pulled off
hours ago. I dont like leaving Harris out there uncovered. Say the
word and Ill get protection assigned to him right away.
Thanks for your concern, but were not interested in your help
under present circumstances.
Why not? The killer is at large, and they dont call him the
Butcher for nothing. He knows your client is a witness. It was in all
the papers.
My client is not a witness. He has no intention of testifying for
the government as long as the obstruction charges stand.
Are you kidding me?
Why would I kid about that? Dave doesnt want to cooperate
with you while youre intent on a course of action that will destroy his
legal career. Makes sense to me. Drop the charges and Im sure I can
get him to reconsider.
But if he testifies, hell get credit at sentencing and do zero jail
time.
He wont do time anyway, not in a million years. We both know
that. The only thing hes interested in from you is a complete dismissal.
And fast, before it screws up his partnership chances.
He did obstruct justice, Melanie said.
So what? People do all sorts of things and never get charged.
Thats why they call it prosecutorial discretion, kid.
If the government makes the charges disappear, Harris loses
credibility as a witness in the eyes of the jury. Sweetheart deals dont
sit well, Melanie said.
Thats your problem, not his, Adelman insisted. Im sure youre
a talented enough trial lawyer to make a jury comfortable with that
situation. But what about the protection we can offer your client?
Why does he need the government for that? Dave leads a very
sheltered life. Doorman building, car service home, the whole nine
yards. If he feels he needs something more, this town doesnt lack for
top - shelf protection services.
Im sorry Harris feels that way. But dismissal isnt warranted
here.
We obviously dont see eye to eye. When youre ready to do business,
give me a call. Until then, enjoy the party.
Adelman turned and strode away. 29

Melanie made a complete circuit of the Temple grounds, working up
her nerve to approach Clyde Williams. Clyde stood in a prominent
spot on the plaza surrounded by an ever - shifting horde of well wishers
and glad - handers. Melanie sampled the hors doeuvres along
the way. She had to; they were too tempting. Tuna tartare with dilled
crème fraîche, puff pastry filled with wild mushrooms, rare roast beef
with wasabi cream on pumpernickel toast points. The food was delicious,
but her excursion was nothing more than a stall for time, and
she knew it.
Melanie could no longer justify her presence at the party if she wasnt
going to do her job, so she climbed up onto the plaza and attached herself
to the outer edge of the crowd that orbited Clyde. She began working her
way inward until she could overhear the conversation-- which was better
described as a monologue, really, given that Clyde was the only person
talking. Everybody else seemed to be there merely to laugh appreciatively
at the proper intervals.
Back in 79, President Carter had called up and asked me to lead
a task force on urban renewal, Clyde was saying. We were looking for a public face, somebody glamorous for the press to latch on to.
Even then, we understood PR. Well, one night I was out at CBGB for
an aides birthday. The club of the moment, what Lotus is now. What
Studio 54 used to be. But hardly my sort of crowd. There were, there
were--
At that moment, Clydes restless eyes settled on Melanie, and he
lost his place in his speech. Rockwell Davis was standing beside him.
When Davis noticed his bosss stumble, his glance sought out the point
where Clydes eyes had fixed. As he caught sight of Melanie, Daviss
expression changed dramatically, and he slipped from his bosss side,
melting into the crowd.
It was a punk crowd, Clyde said, recovering, with a dangerous
vibe, not my scene at all. But suddenly across the room I spot Debbie
Harry. This was in Blondies heyday. She was a huge star and hot,
mmmph, like you would not believe. About five minutes later, she
sends somebody over with a note asking me to meet her in the bathroom.
Being a single brother at the time, and club bathrooms being
what they were in those days, naturally I had some exotic things on
my mind. Here I am thinking me and Blondie--
Rockwell Davis suddenly materialized at Melanies elbow, giving
her a start. He leaned down and whispered fiercely, Who let you in?
I need to speak to Clyde right away. Something big has come up.
Im sure hed rather hear it from me than on the eleven oclock news.
He cant talk to you now. Whatever you have to say, you can say
to me. And outside.
Daviss fingers closed around her arm with viselike strength. Melanie
locked eyes with him.
Hustle me out of here against my will and not only will I make a
huge scene, but youll face charges, she said through gritted teeth.
People were turning to look, and Davis saw that. Clyde was watching
them out of the corner of his eye, and he raised his voice, racing to the punch line to distract his curious guests. And then Debbie said, Why, Mr. Williams, thats not what President
Carter told me!
The crowd broke into waves of laughter. Rockwell Davis dropped
her elbow, but the way he loomed over her was pure intimidation.
The only road to Clyde is through me. Your choice. We step
outside or you leave.
Back off, I said.
Melanie stood her ground, and Davis took a step backward. There
was ruthlessness in his ascetic, pockmarked face. Clyde might be too
smart and too smooth to commit murder in pursuit of his political
goals, but was Davis? Melanie had asked Dan to look into Daviss alibi
as well as Clyde Williamss, but with everything else going on in the
investigation, she hadnt had time to follow up. Could she be looking
at the Butcher of Central Park?
Come with me. Well talk privately, Davis said under his
breath.
He turned and headed for the exit that led out into the Egyptian
galleries. Melanie considered the possibility that shed be walking into
a trap if she followed. Granted, she was now powerfully curious about
Rockwell Davis, but that was no reason to get sloppy. She checked
the reception on her cell phone and noted the locations of guards
surrounding the Temple entrance. She wouldnt sacrifice her safety,
but she had to follow him. She couldnt resist the prospect of learning
more about Davis.
M
M
elanie stepped into a long gallery that displayed mummies and
sarcophagi and sculptures of emaciated cats with blank eyes. The
place was full of dead people, empty of live ones, and eerily silent in
contrast with the buzz of talk at the party. Melanies footsteps echoed
back at her as she walked halfway down its length looking for Rock
well
Davis, who seemed to have disappeared. She was far away from the guards, but still within screaming distance. Melanie paused before
two identical statues flanking an entrance to a secondary gallery. They
were strange beasts carved from blackest stone, with the head of a lion
and the body of a woman.
sekhmet. this goddess represents the force of violence
and unexpected disaster, read the plaque.
Great.
In here, a voice, insinuating and cold, said from behind the
statues.
Melanies senses were on high alert. She found Davis standing before
a glass case that held a display of three painted coffi us suspended
by wires. They levitated weirdly, one on top of the other, several feet
apart.
Why the theatrics? she asked.
No theatrics. Im just looking for privacy. Theres press around. I
saw that piece of trash Gilmartin before. God knows how he got in.
I need to talk to Clyde, Melanie said.
You told me that already. Im indulging your request by meeting
with you myself. You should be grateful for that, given what happened
at our meeting earlier today. You can tell me your news, and if I think
its important, Ill convey it to the councilman.
Youre calling the shots around here, arent you? Melanie asked.
I dont have time to discuss the dynamics of our organization
with you. Say what you got to say, or Im going back inside.
She noticed he hadnt denied her accusation.
We have evidence that Suzanne Shepard received a threat the day
after she broadcast the segment on Clydes affair with Emily King--
Melanie began.
Alleged affair. We deny it.
Alleged. Whatever. Thats not my concern. The point is, weve
now linked this threat definitively to the murder. Id be willing to
preview the evidence for Clyde and give him a chance to prove that he wasnt the one who made the threat. But in return, I need some
information.
What kind of information?
A heads - up on what hes planning to say at the press conference
later.
Davis laughed. Am I hearing right? Youll allow us to give you
some information if we pay for it by giving you some other information?
What kind of suckers do you take us for?
I dont understand why this has to be such an adversarial discussion,
Melanie said.
Maybe because youre trying to hang a murder on my man that
he didnt commit.
Im not trying to hang anything on anybody. Im looking for the
truth.
You say that, Davis said, snorting derisively. But in reality
youre looking for a conviction and some sweet press. Who you have
to screw over to get to that, you dont care.
Youre wrong, Rockwell.
You want to know what Clydes gonna say at the press conference?
Hes gonna say youre harassing us. And the more you mouth
off, the louder hes gonna say it. Hes going to accuse you by name
of trashing his reputation in order to throw this election to his opponent.
You coming here to try to sabotage our fund - raiser just gives
him more ammunition.
Sabotage? Im beginning to think youre seriously paranoid.
Think whatever you want, sister. But if I was you, Id watch my
back. Davis pushed by her roughly and was gone.
Was that a threat? By telling Melanie to watch her back, was Davis
signifying an intent to get violent, to go to the mattresses? Filtered
through his icy anger, the words had seemed deadly enough. Melanie
decided that on balance, this encounter had been quite productive.
Not only could she give the front office a heads - up on the scathing press she was about to receive, but she had a viable new suspect, one
she hadnt focused on carefully enough before.
But as she turned to leave, the unmistakable sound of a footfall in
the long gallery froze Melanie in place. Somebody was out there, just
beyond the twin statues of Sekhmet. The steps sounded like a mans,
and they were coming in her direction. Had Davis returned to make
good on his threat?
Melanie ducked around behind the case holding the three coffi us and
peered through the glass, prepared to make a run for it if she saw him. But
it wasnt Davis. Hed been wearing a dark suit, and this guy had on a blue
blazer with brass buttons. She couldnt see his face, but he was big and
blond. Big and blond, big and blond. What was she remembering? Male,
big, and heavyset, probably white, David Harris had told them about the
man hed seen in the Ramble. But no, this didnt add up. Killers didnt buy
their clothes at Brooks Brothers, not in her experience. She was just about
to emerge from behind the glass case when he spoke.
I know youre in there, he said.
And he reached into his pocket and pulled something out. Melanie
saw the bright glint of metal. A gun, a knife? She backed up fast
and slammed into a huge marble sarcophagus. Her head connected
with the stone and she grunted in pain. She looked around for an
exit, but the gallery came to a dead end. The only way out was back
between the statues, right past her pursuer.
You can run, but you cant hide, he called out, and this time
Melanie listened to his voice. It was deep and resonant, with a heavy
Australian accent.
She stepped around the case, so mad she could have spit.
What the hell are you doing, Gilmartin?
Im working on a breaking story, Vargas. He pushed a button on
the small silver tape recorder he carried. Duncan Gilmartin reporting
from the Clyde Williams benefit at the Metropolitan Museum, speaking
with Assistant U. S. Attorney Melanie Vargas. Put that thing away! she snapped.
Im giving you a chance to respond to the allegations, he said.
Id take it if I were you, or things might get unpleasant.
What allegations?
The allegations of a cover - up. The allegations that Clyde Williams
will go scot - free despite all the evidence pointing to his involvement.
Dont you people worry about libel laws?
Oh, we study them carefully, looking for loopholes. Truth is a
defense. Its true Suzanne Shepard was murdered after she aired a segment
on Clyde Williams. Its true that youre friends with the Williams
family. What I make of that truth is protected speech.
Go to Clydes press conference. Youll see what good friends
we are.
There were no limits to what this guy would do to advance his
career. As Melanie looked at Gilmartin in disgust, something clicked.
Something in his height and build, in the way he carried himself.
Wait a minute, you followed me onto the subway the other day,
didnt you? she said.
I do what it takes to get the story, Miss Vargas.
Stay the hell away from me.
Melanie turned and hurried toward the exit, pleased with herself
for finding Gilmartin out, for refusing to let him get over on her.
Then she realized that his tape recorder had been on the entire time.
So much for outmaneuvering the tabloid press. Shed be hearing her
bold words played back to her on the eleven oclock news. 30

Melanie slept like the dead, and didnt wake until eight oclock on
Saturday morning when she heard Maya chirping from her crib
in the next room.
Mama mama mama mama mama!
She rushed into the nursery to find all of Mayas stuffed animals
on the floor and the little girl standing up holding on to the crib rail.
How long have you been awake, pobrecita? Melanie asked. Im
so sorry. Mommy was really tired.
Toast! Maya said.
Ill bet youre hungry. Did you throw these poor babies down?
Dont do that, Maya. It makes them sad.
Melanie bent over and started picking the animals up and tossing
them back into the crib. Down the hall, the telephone shrieked, so she
lifted Maya up and deposited her on the fl oor.
Hold on, sweetie. Ill change you in a sec, she said, sprinting
back to her room to catch the phone before the machine picked up.
Melanie worried with each step that it was Susan calling to tell her she
was fired. Susan had been very reassuring last night as they watched the eleven oclock news together over the phone from their respective
apartments. And in truth, not only had Clyde Williamss press conference
been better than Melanie had feared, but Duncan Gilmartin had
restrained himself from playing the tape of her telling him to go to
hell. Maybe he hadnt liked the prospect of getting taken down a peg
on national TV.
She swiped the phone from its cradle just in time. Hello?
Melanie. Julian.
Julian, she said, relieved. Whats going on?
Good news. I popped your boy Miles Ortiz with enough product
to put him away for a good long stretch.
How much?
Sixty grams of crystal meth.
Whoa. Thats a ten - year mandatory minimum.
He knows that. And now the man would like to talk.
Fantastic work. We need to hold a proffer session right away.
Make sure you have him execute a Waiver of Speedy Arraignment fi rst
so we dont have to take him to court today. If Miles got arraigned in
open court, his arrest would become public knowledge, and hed no
longer be useful to do undercover work for them.
Im not down with paperwork, sister, Julian said. Not my style.
When you get here, you get him to sign whatever you want. I paged
OReilly, and hed like to participate in the debriefi ng, too.
The mention of Dans name reminded her that shed tried his cell
phone three separate times last night to fill him in on what had happened
at the museum, but with no success. Shed ended up leaving a
curt message on his voice mail about how inconvenient it was not to
be able to reach him, and he still hadnt called back. Sitting awake last
night in the chair in her bedroom with the phone in her hand, staring
out at the sky, Melanie should have been worrying about the case or
about her career. But instead she was in a panic over Dans mysterious
tainly-- Dans sudden change in behavior would be enough to convince
her he was seeing someone else. That was the reason men made themselves
unreachable, wasnt it-- to sneak off with other women? Given
Melanies personal history, her mind naturally went there. But this was
Dan OReilly, she told herself. He was incapable of infi delity.
As hard as she tried to believe that, Dans phone had kept on ringing.
Finally, Melanie had dragged herself into bed and fallen into a
dreamless sleep, blank and deep, hiding from her life.
Where do you want us to meet you? Julian asked, snapping her
back to the present.
Before she could answer, Maya came toddling into the room, and
another unpleasant truth dawned on Melanie. It was Saturday. Her
babysitter didnt work today. Steve was in L. A., and she hadnt heard a
peep out of him, and Sophie had more than done her duty by watching
Maya while Melanie went to the fund - raiser last night. Melanie
had an important suspect to debrief and her bosss wedding to attend.
But in order to do those things, she needed to find somebody to watch
her daughter.
She picked Maya up and kissed the top of her dark head.
Ill see you at my office in an hour, she told Julian.
A
A
n hour later, Melanie struggled out of a taxi in front of her offi ce
with Maya on her hip, her dress for the wedding draped over her
arm, and a diaper bag full of toys, snacks, and videos hanging off her
shoulder. Melanies mother, Carol, would take Maya starting at three
oclock and keep her overnight. Carol helped out when she could, but
she had a job and an active social life to work around. For the hours
between now and then, Melanie had come up empty - handed. Steve
hadnt returned from his business trip or made any arrangements for
Mayas care despite the fact that this was his weekend. Sophie Cho was
working on a rush project all weekend herself. And Melanies glam disappearing act. If hed been a different man-- if hed been Steve, cer orous sister, Linda, was on assignment in Miami for her job as an
entertainment reporter with a Spanish TV network. That left Melanie
with two options. Either she could bring Maya into the debriefi ng
with Miles Ortiz, who was a thug, a meth dealer, and possibly a killer.
Or she could leave her seventeen - month - old alone in a separate room
where she couldnt see her, with only a Barney video for company, at
a moment when some psycho creep might or might not be stalking
Melanie.
Signing in at the guards desk in the lobby, she saw that Shekeya
Jenkins had come in an hour before. Beneath Shekeyas signature, two
other names were printed in childish letters-- Khadija and Rashida,
Shekeyas little girls, who were seven and five. Melanie stopped on the
Major Crimes floor on her way to the war room, and poked her head
in to the chief s suite to commiserate. Shekeya was at her computer.
Her daughters sat on the floor nearby with their coloring books.
Hey, girl. You brought reinforcements, too, I see, Shekeya said,
smiling at the sight of Maya.
Khadija, the older child, jumped up and ran over to Melanie.
Can I hold the baby? she pleaded. Melanie set Maya down.
She immediately began giggling and running around in circles, which
made Shekeyas girls crack up.
Theyre getting so big, Melanie said.
I havent brought em into work in a while, so you havent
seen em.
Youre working overtime? Melanie asked.
Actually, Im filling out the application for the paralegal position.
I waited till today so there wouldnt be any chance of the boss showing
up to look over my shoulder.
Shes getting her hair and makeup done, right? Melanie asked.
Mmm - hmm. I have the place to myself. By the way, thank you
for the letter of recommendation. I know how busy you are, but you
still found time to do it. No problem.
What are you here for? Shekeya asked.
Proffer session.
Youre not bringing Little Miss Thang to meet your bad guy, are
you? Shekeya asked disapprovingly.
I dont have a choice. I got caught with no babysitting.
I hear you. Kwames working today, and my sisters putting on
a potluck at her church. Thats why I brought these two in. But leave
Miss Thang here. Well watch her for you.
Seriously?
Sure. My girls love babies. Especially pretty ones with hair they
can fix. Youll make their day. Dont be surprised if you get her back
with a new hairstyle, though. 31

Melanie sat in the war room on the sixth floor facing Miles Ortiz
across the table. His eyes were glittery and sharp as ice picks.
The left one was decorated with a jailhouse tattoo that looked like a
stitched cut, as if Miles had just been sliced with a beer bottle in a
bar fight. The pricey personal trainer dressed in pure gangsta - thug
style-- diamond studs in both ears, a nylon do - rag tied over his black
hair, and a wifebeater T- shirt showing off lean, muscled arms. For the
bored housewives of the Upper East Side, there was nothing sexier
than violence.
Dan and Julian sat on either side of Miles. Theyd been in place
already when Melanie had arrived at the war room, putting to rest
her faint hope of seeing Dan alone. She had plenty to ask him about.
The status of his investigation into her Web stalker. Where Rockwell
Davis and Clyde Williams had been at the time of Suzanne Shepards
murder. And of course, why hed ignored her phone calls again last
night. But this debriefi ng was just too pressing. Her questions would
have to wait.
You speak and read English? she asked.
Yes, maam, Miles said. His voice was a hoarse growl.
This is a Waiver of Speedy Arraignment form. Saturday arraignments
happen only in the mornings. We can either bring you before
the judge right now, in which case your arrest becomes known and
your value as a cooperator diminishes accordingly, or else you can sign
this and wait until Monday morning, when well try to arrange for a
closed - courtroom arraignment. There are no Sunday arraignments,
so if you want to do the debriefing, youll have to spend tonight and
tomorrow night in jail before seeing a judge. Are you comfortable
with that?
It true what Pierre say, Im looking at a ten - to - life? Ortiz
asked.
Despite his chilling appearance, Miless demeanor was matter - of fact
and intelligent. As a seasoned narcotics trafficker, he handled his
arrest in a businesslike manner-- exploring his options, unbowed but
not whining.
The quantity of methamphetamine you attempted to sell to
Detective Hay carries a mandatory minimum sentence of ten years,
Melanie said.
But I can get out from under the minimum if I talk?
If you cooperate, I can ask the judge to reduce your sentence.
Otherwise, hes required to sentence you to ten years. But cooperation
isnt just talking. For somebody in your position, with a signifi cant
criminal record, arrested selling a large quantity of a drugs, you need
to make cases and testify.
Make cases. You mean wear a wire?
Do something that helps us arrest other violators. What that
is depends on you, on what information youre privy to. The whole
point of talking today is to figure out what you can do, and whether
its worthwhile for us to proceed.
But if I dont go to court, I dont get no lawyer? Melanie slid a piece of paper across the table. If you want a lawyer, I can call somebody in right now to advise
you on the cooperation process. Thats not a problem.
That would be good. I dont need to go to court, but I want a
lawyer to talk to before I decide.
Is there somebody in particular youd like me to call?
Legal Aid is good with me. They always done right by me before.
Fine. Ill make some calls, Melanie said.
If we just sitting around, any chance I could get a coupla Egg
McMuffins? Ortiz asked Julian.
Within half an hour, Jerry Siler from Legal Aid showed up to
confer with Miles while Melanie, Dan, and Julian waited outside the
war - room door. Jerry was an old - timer, a stoner, affable, burnt - out,
cynical-- all of which made him wonderfully easy to work with. Short
and slight with graying hair, he wore red high - tops with his shabby
suit and gave the impression of someone who wasnt paying attention,
which was far from the truth. Jerry got better results for his clients
than virtually any other lawyer in Legal Aid. Hed been around the
block a few times too many, and it showed in his face, but he knew
his job inside out. After fifteen minutes or so, he called them back into
the room. Jerry sat beside Miles now. The two of them had taken to
each other with no fuss, like the professionals they both were.
Were good, Jerry said, lacing his fingers behind his head and
contemplating the ceiling. Miles has some information I think youll
be happy with. We need to execute a proffer agreement first to protect
him in the event the cooperation doesnt go forward.
Ive got one right here, Melanie said.
They all signed the agreement.
Dan flipped open a notebook to make a record of what Miles said
in case he decided to recant later. Miless right hand was cuffed to the
chair, and he was using his left to polish off one of the Egg McMuffi us
that Julian had ordered for him.
Okay, lets get started, Melanie said. Melanie had planned to begin by discussing last nights methamphetamine
bust and Miless other drug activities, which she believed
would be fairly painless topics for him. Once she had his confi dence,
shed circle around to his relationship with Dr. Benedict Welch, the
burglary of Suzanne Shepards apartment, and other more sensitive
subjects, including the murder itself. But her strategizing turned out
to be unnecessary. Dr. Welch figured more prominently in Miless
criminal activities than Melanie had ever suspected, and Miles gave
him up without batting an eye.
The meth Pierre took off of me, it locally produced, he said
meaningfully.
You mean, not imported? Melanie asked.
Correct, Ortiz said.
This was, in fact, unusual. The vast majority of methamphetamine
consumed in the United States was imported from Mexico, where a
robust trade in precursor chemicals like pseudoephedrine allowed it to
be produced in enormous quantities. Pseudoephedrine had once been
readily available as a decongestant in the United States until exploding
methamphetamine addiction had convinced most states to regulate
it. Pseudo, as it was affectionately known in the trade, was now kept
behind the pharmacists counter and even required a doctors prescription
in some places. Anybody wanting to make meth in their garage
would find this necessary ingredient hard to come by. Domestic meth
labs got a lot of press, but they were a tiny slice of the voracious meth
market, just little mom - and - pop shops, for exactly this reason.
So what are we looking at? Melanie asked. A lab in somebodys
bathtub?
Naw. Big - time.
Whats that mean, Miles?
A whole warehouse. If and when we get to yes, Ill give you the
411 where it located at.
What kind of quantity are they producing? Melanie asked. Between twenty and fifty keys a week, depending, Miles
replied.
Dan glanced up from his notes and their eyes met. Melanie had to
look away, or those baby blues would suck her to a place she couldnt
afford to go right now.
Youre kidding me, Dan said. Fifty kilos? Thats just not
possible.
Miles looked unfazed. Im telling the truth. Whether you believe
me or not, I dont give a shit.
Whats the street price of meth these days? Melanie asked.
About fifteen thousand a key on average, Julian replied.
Melanies phone had a calculator function, and she did the math.
So this organization is pulling down somewhere between three hundred
thousand and seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars a week
in sales?
Sounds about right, Ortiz said.
Not bad, Julian said.
Where are they getting their pseudoephedrine? Doesnt it take a
huge amount of pseudo to produce a kilo of meth? Melanie asked.
Yeah, Dan said. Thats why Im finding this so hard to believe.
It takes over seventeen thousand pills to make a kilo, Julian said.
Seventeen thousand two hundred and eighty to be exact.
My man know his drugs, Miles said, smiling.
Miles didnt seem the least bit angry at Julian for arresting him,
although hed apparently called Kim Savitt every name in the book
when the cuffs went on. Julian was that rare cop who had an effortless
rapport with his informants. They were too happy hanging with him
to want to blame him for their reversals of fortune, which naturally
enhanced his success at undercover work.
Answer the question, Julian said, looking Miles in the eye.
Where I got the pseudo? Miles repeated.
Yeah, Julian said. We got a connect who can get however much we want.
Melanies ears pricked up. She felt something big coming.
Why is it that your supplier can get so much pseudoephedrine?
she asked, her eyes glued to Ortizs face.
Because, Miles replied, he a doctor. 32

Miles Ortiz had met Dr. Benedict Welch eight months earlier in
a perfect example of Manhattan networking. Itd happened at a
separation shower thrown for Kim Savitt by her girlfriends the night
after shed moved out of the five- story town house shed shared with
her mogul husband, Drew, and into her luxurious bachelorette apartment.
The shower gifts tended toward La Perla lingerie and the latest
designer meds displayed in carefully selected, jewel - encrusted pill
cases. Miles attended in his capacity as Kims personal trainer and one
of her many lovers of the moment. Dr. Welch was there as her plastic
surgeon, and because he always got invited to everything. Welch
had heard all the rumors about Miles; beyond hearing, hed listened.
He knew every flavor of drug Miles dispensed and every detail of his
criminal record. Far from shying away from the man because of this,
Welch had crossed a crowded room to seek him out.
Miles had been hovering awkwardly beside a table laden with
caviar, sushi, and salmon in aspic. He felt out of place. The room
was packed with gorgeous, rail - thin women getting smashed on Grey
Goose martinis who wouldnt dream of coming near the food table because they never ate in public. Miles wouldve been right at home if
called upon to train them, fuck them, or sell them drugs, but he didnt
have a clue how to make jaded small talk with them over cocktails. He
was quite alone when the good doctor approached.
Welch began by sampling an unagi roll. When hed swallowed
it, he turned to Miles nonchalantly, as if he were simply a random
stranger standing within earshot.
The eel is a bit dry, dont you think? Welch asked.
What?
Did you try the sushi?
I cant eat that shit. What the fuck is in it anyway?
Welch laughed as if Miles had made a clever joke. Touché.
Welch smeared a blini with some black caviar, topped it with a
dollop of sour cream, and shoved it into his mouth, contemplating
Ortiz the whole time with the watchful gaze of a cat.
So youre the famous Miles Ortiz, are you? he said eventually.
What are you, a faggot?
No, although youre not the first person to mistake me for one.
As a well - dressed man with good manners, well . . . He gave a worldly
little shrug.
Why you talking to me, then?
This is a party. Arent you here to talk to people?
Not to you Im not.
With his sunken dark eyes and ripped muscles, Miles looked utterly
menacing, but Welch neither flinched nor retreated.
The thing is, I understand from my dear friend Kim that you
have a sideline beyond your employment with Flex Gym.
Huh?
I hear you sell drugs.
You a narc?
Not at all. Im a doctor and a businessman, and I have a proposition
that I think will interest you. S
S

o it was Welch who approached you? Not the other way around?
Melanie asked Ortiz.
Thats right. I did a stretch in Rikers a few years back that wasnt
no fun. My best shorty got shivved right before my eyes, died in my
arms. After that, I clean up my act, throwed out my gang beads, and
got my personal - trainer certification through this reentry assistance
program the city got. You people should make more programs like
that; they help put guys like me on their feet. Anyways, when Dr. Ben
come to me, I was out of the life, just pitching small - time shit to my
ladies at the gym. Club drugs, tranquilizers, maybe some reefer now
and then, nothing thats gonna bring la DEA down on my head. Flying
below the radar, you feel me?
Give us the details on the offer Welch made to you that night,
Melanie said.
He tell me he got girls at every pharmaceutical company in the
U. S. willing to give him as much pseudo as he want for the right
price.
Girls?
Like, sales associates. They all pretty girls be selling to the doctors.
Ex- cheerleaders and such. Anyway, Ben realize what a gold mine
he sitting on, how many Washingtons within his reach, but he aint
got the connects to make it happen. Thats where I come in. He tell
me, think of it like you an entrepreneur getting offered a partnership
in a dot - com start - up. Dont miss the boat.
And you went for it?
Fuck, yeah. I aint no loser, Miles said, flaring his nostrils.
So whatd you do?
Im from Marcy Projects. I got my peoples there.
You contacted individuals you knew to be in the drug trade, she
translated.
Exactly. Like who? We need names, Melanie said.
Miles hesitated and looked over at Siler, whod been busy folding
a discarded Egg McMuffin wrapper into an origami bird. Siler looked
up, instantly grasping the situation.
It never feels good to rat out your homies, Miles, he said. But
the government wont accept half - assed cooperation. If you dont have
the stomach for it, quit now and we can still get you arraigned today.
The statements youve made here cant be used against you because of
the proffer agreement.
But my man Pierre got me on tape selling him sixty grams of
meth.
Then your choices are simple, Siler said. Answer every question
they ask, or step up and do your time.
I dont mind the inside, but ten years? Miles said.
They got you by the balls, man, I cant disagree, Siler said. So
how do you want to play it?
Miles shook his head. I dont know. Some a these dudes I been
with from a shorty. I dont think I can.
Melanie wasnt about to let this witness slip away over the names
of a few meth dealers in Marcy Projects. She wasnt here to make a
drug case; the meth bust was just her leverage over Miles. What she
needed was evidence on the murder.
Miles, if this part is difficult for you, it can wait. We will eventually
need those names, but there are other topics Id just as soon cover
fi rst.
They had to keep their eyes on the prize. If Welch and Ortiz had
been mixed up in major narcotics trafficking, if that was the deep,
dark secret Suzanne Shepard had unearthed about them, then it was
looking more and more likely that one or both of them had a motive
to kill.
Getting back to Welch, Melanie said, does he use? His eyes
looked funny to me when I met him. Yeah, uh - huh, Miles said nonchalantly.
What drugs?
Little of this, little of that. But with the ice, he got a real habit.
Like, he cant be without it.
With the methamphetamine, you mean?
Yes.
New topic, okay? she said.
Sure thing, Miles said.
Siler leaned back in his chair and resumed work on his origami.
Dan picked up his pen.
I hear you knew a woman named Suzanne Shepard, Melanie said.
Whoa, time - out. This comes out of left field, Siler said, springing
to life.
I need to explore this area with him, Jerry.
This is the woman who was murdered in Central Park a few
nights back. By the guy theyre calling the Butcher, right?
Yes, it is, she said.
My clients in here charged with a narcotics offense. Thats all Ive
discussed with him, and all hes prepared to discuss with you. If youre
trying to put him with a murder, or even knowledge of a murder,
weve got a problem.
I-- Miles began, but Siler clapped a hand over his clients
mouth.
Shut up and let me do the talking here, Siler said. I assume
from what you just said that you have evidence that my client knew
this victim?
Thats correct.
What evidence? Siler asked.
I cant go into it with you.
The second you told a suspect what you knew, you were setting
the parameters for what hed confess to. Melanie had learned that the
hard way on other cases. If Ortiz knew what Melanie had on him, hed admit to exactly that much and not one iota more. But if he didnt
know, hed be much more likely to tell her something approximating
the truth about his involvement in Suzanne Shepards death.
Do you have any evidence he was involved in the murder? Siler
asked.
I have some evidence tending to suggest that, but now that hes
in custody, we can find out definitively. All he has to do is submit to
a DNA swab.
You can get that whether we consent or not.
Yes, I can, and I intend to. But if hes really innocent, let him
submit voluntarily. Keeps things friendly, Melanie said.
Siler looked troubled. The swab isnt a problem, but I need some
time to speak to him. I cant just let him start yapping about a murder
without knowing what he plans to say.
Fair enough, Melanie said, nodding.
Julian rehandcuffed Miles behind his back, and he, Dan, and
Melanie stepped out into the hallway again, shutting the door. Melanie
used the time to check in with Shekeya, who reported that her
girls were having a tea party with Maya as guest of honor.
After a few minutes, Siler opened the door and beckoned them
inside.
Were making progress, he said. My client is prepared to proffer
on his involvement in the burglary of Suzanne Shepards apartment
at the behest of this Dr. Welch. But he insists he had nothing to
do with the murder.
Is he willing to submit a DNA sample for testing? Melanie
asked.
Not only willing, enthusiastic, Jerry said. Hes confi dent the
test will show hes innocent.
All right, well make arrangements to get the technicians over
here. In the meantime, lets hear what he has to say, Melanie said.
They all resumed their seats. Siler nodded at Ortiz. Heres how the burglary go down, Ortiz began in his gruff voice.
We up and running on this meth operation. I get a small percentage
and my man Ben get a handsome chunk of change outta every batch.
Sales is good. Everything going nice and smooth. Then one day about
three weeks ago, Ben come to me and say we got a problem. I say,
What? He say, somebody sniffing around, asking too many questions,
and I need you should do something about it.
Did he tell you who was sniffi ng around?
He tell me straight up it Suzanne Shepard. I know exactly who she is
because my friend Kim be friends with her. I met her a coupla times.
What did Dr. Welch want you to do?
First thing he want is, I should find out how much Suzanne
know.
How did he want you to do that? Ask her?
No. He tell me she gots lots of information written down in fi les
that she keeps in her house.
He wanted you to break into her apartment?
Right.
Why didnt he do it himself? Hes the one who knew what to
look for, Melanie said.
The man dont like to get his hands dirty, you feel me? Ben know
Im hooking up with Kim. He know Kim live in that same building,
and her husband own it, so he want me to have Kim help get me into
Suzannes apartment. He dont want no involvement. He dont want
me mentioning his name. None of that.
Did Kim Savitt actually agree to help you burglarize Suzannes
apartment? Melanie asked.
Miles sighed and looked over at his lawyer.
Any chance we can finesse this point? Siler asked.
Melanie looked at Miles pointedly. For purposes of todays interview,
yes, but if Kim Savitt is involved, she doesnt walk. Youll need to
give her up, because Im not letting her off the hook. Custody battle or no, how much slack could Melanie cut the
woman? Kim was a drug user. She consorted with serious criminals.
And now it looked like shed conspired to commit a burglary and lied
to the feds about it.
Look, the bitch ratted me out, he said, but I wont tell on no
woman.
Take the weekend to get comfortable with the idea, Miles, but
its not negotiable. For now, lets move on. With or without Kims assistance,
you knew you were entering Suzanne Shepards apartment
illegally?
For sure. I aint playing with you. I know this is a B and E on my
record, straight up. I stole shit, too.
You mean you took more than just the files Welch asked for?
Yes, maam.
What did you take?
Miles proceeded to recount the burglarized items so precisely that
he might have been reading from the police report Lorraine Shepard
had filed. He was being scrupulously truthful.
What did you do with the proceeds of the robbery? Melanie
asked.
The money I spent. The jewelry I sold to a fence I know and
then I spent what he gave me for it.
Did you share the proceeds with Benedict Welch?
Hell, no. He just tell me take the files. The other stuff was my
idea, my work, so it belong to me.
Okay, lets focus on the files now. Exactly what did you take?
Melanie asked.
One folder with Bens name on it. Another folder with my name
on it. Got em off a desk in the back bedroom of Suzannes place, right
in plain sight.
Thats what Dr. Welch had told you to take?
He say, take anything about him. About him? About Welch himself? Not about you, or the methamphetamine?
Naw. He say about him. It was only once I got in there that I saw
a file with my name on it. Naturally I took that, too.
Did you open the files after you found them?
Yes, I did. Once I made it back to my crib, I read em cover to
cover.
And did it appear that Suzanne Shepard was onto your methamphetamine
operation?
No.
No? She didnt know about the meth?
Thats what so weird. She aint know nothing about it, not as far
as I could tell from the fi les.
So what was in the fi les, then?
In mine, it was like, what clients Im hooking up with, and a rumor
Suzanne heard that I was selling Ecstasy last year at a party. Bitch
be paying attention, looking for dirt on me.
A flash of anger in Ortizs eyes when he said that made Melanie
study him more closely. It was hard to read people sometimes. She
generally bought what Miles was saying. That Welch was the instigator.
That Miles was small - time. That he didnt have the motive or even
the imagination to have murdered Suzanne. Yet Melanie couldnt help
wondering whether she was getting suckered. It would hardly be the
first time a cooperator had lied.
What did you do with the information in the file about you?
she asked.
Burned it.
Melanie looked Miles dead in the eye. Burning the notes didnt
change what Suzanne knew. She could still have made trouble for you.
Jerry Siler, whod been using a pen cap to clean his fi ngernails,
stopped and zeroed in on Miless face, listening attentively. But Miles
kept his cool. If you asking whether I killed her, I didnt, Miles said. Test my
DNA and youll see. Why would I? Just because she knew I hooked
up with a few clients or sold a couple tabs of X? Big deal. That cant
hurt me.
Miles was so matter - of - fact that Melanie couldnt help believing
him. What about Dr. Welch? she asked Miles. If Suzanne didnt
know about the meth operation, then what did she have on him?
His file was interesting, Ortiz said. It was a bunch of articles
and court transcripts and shit from way back, about a murder. Some
girl got raped and stabbed. The strange thing was, the stuff wasnt
about him. Didnt talk about him at all.
The articles didnt mention Benedict Welch? Melanie asked.
No. They caught the guy that did the murder, and it wasnt
Welch. Whoever it was got locked up.
What was the killers name?
Miles shrugged. I dont remember.
What about the girl? The victim? What was her name?
I dont remember that either. Just some girl. A stripper.
Well, try. This is important, Melanie said, glancing at Dan and
confirming that he was getting all this information down.
Uh, lemme see. Her name was maybe April. Or Sheri. Something
girlie.
April or Sheri? Melanie repeated. Thats the best you can do?
I said, I cant remember. Maybe itll come to me.
How long ago did you say this happened? Melanie asked.
Like twelve, fifteen years, something like that.
Here in New York?
No. In California. In L. A. That part I remember.
What did you do with the file on Welch after you read it?
I gave it to him.
Did he say anything about it?
He say, good work. No, I mean did he say anything about the newspaper articles
or the transcripts? Did he explain what connection he had to that
murder?
No.
Did you ask?
Miles snorted. Why Im gonna mess in his business like that? As
far as he concern, I never look inside the file, so he not gonna start explaining
some shit about some old murder. Either it aint got nothing
to do with him, or if it do, he dont want me to know.
Did he look at the file while you were there?
Yeah, he checked to make sure I got what he wanted, Miles said.
And? Did he seem surprised about what was in there?
No. He seemed like that was what he was expecting. He looked
through it and he nodded, like.
Did he say anything at all about the files, or what was in them?
Melanie asked.
He just say one thing. He say, Miles, if anybody ask you, none
of this ever happened. 33

After the proffer session, Melanie left the agents and the defense
attorney waiting with Miles Ortiz for the DNA technicians to arrive,
and went back her offi ce to get organized. There was a big team
meeting scheduled for late that afternoon, and she planned to report
on her new favorite suspect. Dr. Benedict Welch was a major player
in a serious narcotics conspiracy, and he also might be linked to the
rape and murder of a stripper in Los Angeles over a decade earlier.
Okay, she had to admit that part was pure speculation. But what else
could those newspaper articles that Miles had stolen from Suzanne
Shepards apartment mean? Welch hadnt expressed any surprise when
hed examined the contents of Suzannes file on him in front of Miles.
That told Melanie that hed expected all along to find out Suzanne was
investigating that old crime. He must have had a guilty conscience.
She would have to figure out some way to track down those articles
despite the scanty information Miles had provided.
For the first time, Melanie was starting to feel like the investigation
was on track. With her other suspects-- David Harris, Clyde
Williams, and even Rockwell Davis and Miles Ortiz-- shed harbored doubts about whether they were capable of rape and murder. But she
didnt feel that way about Welch, whod struck her from the start as a
classic sex offender. Her suspicions about Welch had seemed to rest on
shaky foundations, based on her own personal repulsion at the way hed
touched her. Yes, the complaints shed seen suggested hed fondled his
patients when they were unconscious. But those allegations hadnt been
substantiated, and didnt prove he was a cold - blooded killer. But if she
could link him to another sex slaying-- well, that would be a different
story. Then shed believe that Welch not only had a motive to kill Suzanne
Shepard, but the proclivity as well. Melanie wouldnt forget about
her other leads, but she decided to move this one to the top of the list.
The red light on her phone was flashing insistently, reminding her
of the disturbing phone call from yesterday, the one where her news
conference had been played back at her, set to a sound track of heavy
breathing. Melanie ignored the light; she had no time for voice mails
now, especially if there was a chance they might upset or distract her.
There was too much work to do.
She found Pauline Estradas cell number and dialed. The rings had
a faraway sound and took a while to go through.
Hello? Pauline whispered.
Pauline, its Melanie. Weve had some big developments in New
York today, and I need to hear everything youve got on Benedict
Welch right away.
I cant talk. Im in a library and Im getting dirty looks.
Well, go outside. This is urgent.
After a few minutes of silence and static, Pauline said, You still
there?
Yes. What are you doing in a library? Youre still in Tulsa,
arent you?
Of course. I was researching Benedict Welch.
Okay, good. I want to hear all about it. Let me give you the
thirty - second rundown so you can see how high the stakes are. Melanie quickly explained how Julian Hay had arrested Miles,
and what Miles had revealed about the meth operation, the burglary,
and the contents of the files hed stolen from Suzanne Shepards
apartment.
Benedict Welch is now at the top of my list of suspects, Melanie
concluded.
Theres only one problem, Pauline said. His alibi checks out.
At the time of the killing, Welch was stuffing his face in a fancy restaurant
with three of his doctor pals from that charity. You know, the
one where they do plastic surgery on poor kids?
Damn. There goes my theory, Melanie said.
Hey, just cause he has an alibi doesnt make him innocent, Pauline
said. Maybe he had an accomplice. Remember, we were saying
maybe Miles and Welch were in it together?
Based on the debriefing, I just dont think Miles committed
the murder. He came across as sincere. But well know for sure soon
enough. Miles is giving a DNA sample even as we speak.
Welch is too fishy to be clean. Listen to this. You ready for my
big news? Pauline asked.
Yes. Tell me.
His name isnt really Benedict Welch! When you said he looked
too young for the pedigree information we had on him, you were
right on the money. Hes an impostor. The real Dr. Benedict Welch
was a well - known doctor here in Tulsa, but he died in a car accident
eleven years ago. I have a certified copy of his death certifi cate.
Jesus. If the man we met isnt Welch, then who is he? Melanie
asked.
That I havent figured out yet.
We need to find out, Pauline. I need to know everything there is
to know about this guy.
Im working on it, but its Saturday. A lot of offices are closed
over here. I have to wait till Monday to get into the archives. My as sumption is, our fake Dr. Welch wouldve filed paperwork requesting
replacement copies of the medical license, the diplomas, and whatnot
to use in his medical practice in New York. Im hoping to get his
true name that way. The other thought I had was to research the real
Welch, the one who died. Thats why Im at the library.
Good idea, Melanie said. Our Welch must have known the
dead guy. Why else would a criminal from New York assume the name
of a dead doctor in Tulsa? It cant have been random. They must have
crossed paths somehow.
When Im researching the real Welch, Ill look for anybody
around him who might have a criminal record and be the right age to
be the man we met, Pauline said.
Perfect. And while youre at it, heres something else to look for.
She told Pauline everything Miles had remembered about the news
articles on the murder of the stripper in L. A.
With no victims name or anything? Thats shit to go on, Pauline
said.
I know, but its important, Pauline, Melanie said. Like you said,
even though Welch has a valid alibi, there are just too many suspicious
things about him. And the fact that Suzanne Shepard seems to have
connected Welch to an old sex slaying is the most suspicious of all.
Ill do my best.
Call me as soon as you find anything, Melanie said, and
hung up.
She heard a noise, and jerked her head up to find Dan standing
in her doorway.
You scared me, she said.
Sorry. You must be on edge because of that creep.
Ive been too busy to think about him, thankfully. But yes.
He came in and dropped into her guest chair. She hadnt noticed
in the war room how tired he looked, his blue eyes dark and shadowed,
his face drawn. Is that where you were last night? she asked. Looking for the
heavy breather? Because you didnt answer your phone again. I called
three times.
Melanie heard how clingy and accusatory her words sounded, and
she blushed for herself. But she couldnt help it. The bad times with
Steve were recent enough to be an open wound.
Heres what I got on it so far, Dan said, flipping open his notebook,
ignoring the part of her question that was personal. The call
you received yesterday came from a prepaid cell phone, one that can
be purchased for cash at newsstands, drugstores, and the like, so it
cant be traced through subscriber records. The particular ESN number
comes back to a batch sold by a chain of newsstands in midtown
Manhattan. Its pretty unlikely that well ever be able to tie the number
to an individual purchase.
So the stalker is careful, Melanie said. Hes taking precautions
not to be identifi ed.
Yup. I dont like that.
Neither do I. Were you able to get cell - site information?
Yeah. The call bounced off a cell tower in Jackson Heights,
which means the guy was within about a quarter mile of there when
he placed the call.
Jackson Heights?
Yes, maam.
Thats in Queens, right near Flushing.
I know. I thought about that. I thought about the fact that the package
of dog shit was mailed from Flushing, and that the call to Suzanne
Shepard on the night of her murder was made from a pay phone in Flushing.
Its not hard proof, and it doesnt convince me that the Butcher and
your stalker are one and the same. But it bothers the crap outta me.
What do you think I should do? Melanie asked.
What can we do? Take extra precautions. Ill drive you wherever
you need to go. Well keep investigating. Thats about it. Melanie rubbed her eyes. Im so confused. How are these
things related, if at all? We have this bizarre evidence about Benedict
Welch-- Melanie filled Dan in briefly on her conversation with Pauline
Estrada-- but does Welch have any connection to the threatening
package, or to the call Suzanne received on the night of her death?
Not that weve seen so far, Dan said.
And what about my Web stalker, my obscene phone caller?
Theres no evidence that hes the Butcher. Theres no evidence that
hes Welch, either. He could be anybody. Or he could be related.
With him, all I can say is wait and see if he calls again. The more
he makes contact, the better our shot at tracking him down.
That reminds me, Melanie said, glancing at the fl ashing red
light on her phone. I have voice mail. With Dan here, she felt less
nervous about listening to it, and she dialed in and began listening to
the message. It was from Bob Adelman.
Oh my God! she exclaimed.
What?
David Harris was shot! Hold on, Ill put it on speaker.
Adelmans voice on the tape was distraught. David was gunned
down in a car outside the Feinerman firm last night. Hes at St. Vincents.
Critical condition. Im heading over there right now. Call me
on my cell. I cant believe what an idiot I was. I shouldve listened to
you, Melanie. I should have listened.
Melanie turned to Dan in shock. The Butcher got to him! Oh,
Jesus, dont let him be dead.
Take it easy, Dan said. Call Adelman. I bet he knows more
by now.
Melanie dialed Adelmans number. She hadnt particularly liked
David Harris, but she was so afraid for him now that she could hardly
breathe.
You were right, sweetheart. Harris needed protection, Dan said. I didnt do enough! I should have insisted on the surveillance
team whether Harris wanted it or not.
Its his own damn fault. He refused protection.
They sat there staring at the phone, listening to the rings together.
Finally, they got a recording saying Adelmans cell phone was temporarily
out of range.
He must be in the hospital, Dan said. Hospitals block cell service
because it interferes with the medical equipment. Thats why you
havent been able to reach me the last couple nights. Remember? My
friend is sick.
Despite her terrible anxiety about David Harriss condition, Melanie
registered that information and felt a measure of relief on her
own account.
St. Vincents, Bob said? she asked.
Yes.
Lets go. 34

T
T
hey found Bob Adelman pacing outside the open door of David
Harriss hospital room. Inside, a team of doctors stood in a semicircle
around the bed, conferring with a short, plump woman with a
tear - streaked face. Presumably David Harris was lying in that bed, but
Melanie couldnt see him through the hovering crowd.
Robins in there with the doctors now, and it sounds like encouraging
news, Adelman said, a smile lighting up his hound - dog face.
The bullet missed all major organs. The surgery went well. They just
upgraded his condition from critical to serious.
Melanie exhaled and met Dans eyes. Thank God.
You dont know how bad I felt for not accepting your offer of
protection, Adelman said.
Dont blame yourself, Bob, Melanie said, although of course
shed been blaming herself.
I felt that way at first, but then I found out what time Dave
was shot. When you and I were chatting over drinks last night, this
had already happened. So even if Id taken you up on the bodyguard
offer, it wouldntve changed the outcome. I know that doesnt make Dave getting shot okay, but at least I dont have to feel like a total
schmuck.
What time was he attacked? Melanie asked Adelman.
Around nine.
If David Harris had been shot during the fund - raiser, then neither
Rockwell Davis nor Clyde Williams could have been responsible,
Melanie realized. Dan was supposed to have been looking into their
alibis.
Can I ask you something? Melanie said to Dan, pulling him
aside so they were out of earshot. Were you able to confirm alibis for
Clyde Williams or Rockwell Davis?
Yeah. Theyre both in the clear. Things have been so crazy, I didnt
get a chance to tell you.
Thats a relief. At the fund - raiser last night, Davis acted so intimidating
that I was starting to think wed missed the boat on him,
and that he was our man. That maybe Clyde was too smart to commit
murder, but Davis wasnt. But neither one of them could have shot
David Harris, because they were at the fund - raiser.
They didnt kill Suzanne, either, Dan said. They were both
otherwise engaged. We can cross em off the list.
Where were they? Melanie asked.
Rocky Davis was at Raos schmoozing some potential contributors
on Wednesday night. A lot of people saw him. And Clyde, youre
not gonna believe.
What? Tell me.
He was in a hotel room with Emily King, Dan said.
No way!
I kid you not. I pulled Emilys phone and credit - card records
myself. She had a charge on her AmEx for a Marriott in midtown that
night, and a bunch of calls back and forth with Clydes cell. I went
to the Marriott, and an employee remembered seeing Clyde come
through the lobby at the relevant time. So I confronted the girl and she gave it up. She claims they only met to talk about how to manage
the scandal. Swears they never slept together. But the timing makes
Clyde a no - go for the murder.
Did you believe her? About them not having sex, I mean?
If all youre gonna do is talk, why get a room with a king bed and
a minibar? Dan said.
Going to a hotel with her after their affair got outed on national
TV? How could he be so reckless? Its almost like hes begging to get
caught.
Dan shrugged. Some people are danger junkies. But at least we
know Clydes not the killer.
Now I understand why he stonewalled when we asked about his
alibi, Melanie said. So Joes father wasnt a murderer; he was just a
womanizing louse. She could live with that, though barely.
The crowd of doctors that had been in David Harriss room came
spilling out into the hallway. Melanie saw Robin Harris emerge to a
hug from Bob Adelman.
Lets see if they have an update on Harriss condition, Melanie
said.
Adelman introduced them to Robin, who was wearing sweatpants
and a crumpled T- shirt and looking utterly exhausted.
We were lucky, Robin said. A couple of millimeters in either
direction and my David would be dead. He was shot in the back while
jumping out the window of the moving car. Luckily hes strong as an
ox. He served in the Israeli army, you know.
Mrs. Harris, I am so sorry about what happened, Melanie said.
And I want you to know, well be putting a twenty - four - hour guard
on his door.
A little late, isnt it? Robin demanded. Where were you people
last night when David was attacked?
We tried to assign protection sooner, but we were told that Mr.
Harris didnt want it, Melanie said. Robin threw Adelman a shocked look. Is that true?
Its complicated, Adelman replied. It has to do with the obstruction
charges. Let me buy you a cup of coffee and explain, Robin.
But Robin had already turned on Melanie. Wait a minute, youre
the woman who charged my David with a crime? Where do you get
off jeopardizing his career like that? He has a family to support.
Robin, please. Youre upset, Adelman said.
My husband gets arrested and then he gets shot? Youre damn
right Im upset!
Mrs. Harris, just so you understand, I charged your husband because
he lied to us about being in the Ramble on the night of Suzanne
Shepards murder, Melanie said.
He likes to jog after work. Big deal. Why would he lie about
that? Robin said. But her beet - red blush and veiled eyes made Melanie
wonder how much she actually knew about her husbands extracurricular
activities.
Lets not get into the obstruction charges right now, Melanie
said. Theres a good chance well be dropping them anyway. We
should be helping each other instead of arguing. I want to catch the
man who shot your husband, and in order to do that, I need to be
able to interview him. Do you know when he might be ready to speak
to us?
Speak to you about what?
We need to show Mr. Harris some pictures, maybe bring a sketch
artist in, that sort of thing.
You want to interview Dave? Make him relive his nightmare? I
cant allow that.
Dont you want the shooter caught? After all, he might be the
Butcher himself, and he might try again, Melanie said.
Of course I want him caught! Robin cried, tears welling in her
eyes. We have three children. Im living in fear.
Then we need to interview your husband. Hes the main witness. Hes not well enough to talk, Robin insisted stubbornly.
We understand that, Adelman said. Shes asking when he
will be.
I dont know. Hes fucking unconscious, okay? And Robin burst
into sobs.
Come on, honey, let me buy you that coffee. Itll do you a world
of good. Adelman took Robins arm. Shes a wreck, he whispered
to Melanie behind his hand.
Call me as soon as Harris wakes up, Melanie called out as the
lawyer pulled the sobbing woman toward the elevator.
D
D
an and Melanie cornered one of the detectives whod responded to
the David Harris shooting last night and asked him for a report.
His name was Wayne Gallagher; he was sweaty, paunchy, and plainspoken,
wearing thick - soled shoes. Gallagher had come to the hospital
in the hope of interviewing Harris himself, and when he learned that
wasnt possible at present, he was glad enough to brief them so his trip
wouldnt be a total bust. Unfortunately, the news he had to share was
worse than Melanie had anticipated.
Driver still hasnt been found, Gallagher said curtly.
What driver? Melanie asked.
The one the shooter grabbed in order to get your witness. Name
of Stanislaus Wyszinski. Polish immigrant. Green card. Fifty - three
YOA. Married, no children.
I dont understand. I thought Harris was attacked in front of his
law firm. But now that she thought about it, Robin had said something
about a moving car.
Harris was kidnapped from in front of his law firm by a man posing
as his regular car - service driver, Gallagher said. Harris walked
out and got into a town car thinking he was gonna get a smooth ride
home, but the perp was sitting in the front seat instead of the driver, and he headed for Jersey instead of the Upper West Side. At some
point, Harris figured it out and tried to escape. The perp shot him
before he made it out of the car, on the ramp leading up to the Holland
Tunnel.
How could this happen? Melanie asked. The question was rhetorical,
more like a cry to heaven, but Gallagher answered matter - of factly.
Well, for starters, this perp is very cunning. He staked your boy
Harris out. He learned which car service Harris used and who his
regular driver was, and he was ruthless enough to make the driver
disappear. We found Wyszinskis bloodstained jacket with his wallet
still in it lying near a Dumpster in close proximity to the law fi rm. We
think the shooter mightve chucked the body in the garbage. Not an
unusual disposal method after you whack somebody. Were sending
teams out to Fresh Kills and some of the other landfills to search.
Youre saying the drivers dead? Melanie asked.
Gallagher shrugged. I cant be sure, but when theyre raking the
landfills for you, things dont look too good.
Dan had his notebook out and had been taking notes. Any eyewitnesses?
Nobody noticed anything when the kidnapping went down, but
I got a coupla Dutch kids who were in the vicinity looking for a youth
hostel at the time of the shooting. They heard the shots fi red, saw
Harris hit the pavement, and saw the town car speed off. The kids
called 911 right away. Probably saved Harriss life. They didnt get a
look at the perp, though.
Have you found the town car? Melanie asked.
Hasnt turned up yet, but it will, Gallagher said.
Youll call us if you learn anything new? she asked.
Sure thing.
They exchanged cards. Dan and Melanie went to the elevator. It
took a while for it to come. You look worried, Dan said as they waited.
I am. Think about what happened today, Dan. Weve ruled out
almost all of our suspects. We know David Harris didnt kill Suzanne.
Neither did Clyde Williams or Rocky Davis. Miles Ortiz was so eager
to get his cheek swabbed that Ive got to assume the DNA test will
clear him. And Benedict Welch, as guilty as he looks, appears to have a
valid alibi. Maybe he ordered Suzanne killed, but unless those doctors
are lying, he didnt personally rape her and carve her up.
So youre saying were nowhere?
No, Melanie said. I wish we were nowhere. But unfortunately,
we have one guy left on our radar screen.
Whos that?
The one whos been e - mailing me about how I look naked. 35

Melanie-- [ the e - mail began], Show some respect and write back or itll
go hard for you when we meet. Youre wearing black pants and a black
sweater today. The sweater is nice and tight and shows off your tits. What
kind of noises do you make when youre scared? It wont be long now. Dont
believe me? Think Im playing? You saw what I did to Harris last night.
He didnt see it coming. You wont either.
She was alone in her offi ce when she read the message. The team
meeting was scheduled to begin in fifteen minutes, and the hallway
was full of cops. Just to be sure, Melanie got up and walked over to the
door. Lieutenant Deaver stood not twenty feet from her, conferring
with two large detectives. The sight of their guns calmed her down.
No way could this psycho get to her here.
Melanie went back to her computer and read the message again.
She realized that up till now, despite her own better judgment, shed
nursed a faint hope that her stalker wasnt involved in the crimes she
was investigating. That he was just some loser who got off on scaring
women. Well, that hope had just died a painful death. He had to go
and tell her hed shot Harris. Wait a minute, should she believe him? Or was this a con? The
David Harris shooting had been all over the news today.
But no. Wishful thinking again.
Melanies mind was a muddle. Soon it would be time to go to
the meeting, and she couldnt decide what to do. Maybe she should
print his message out and show it to everybody. Or maybe she should
write back to the creep and try to get more information out of him.
She could try to confirm that he actually was the killer, and not just
some wannabe attention seeker. That would be a coup-- walking into
the conference room with an e - mail from the Central Park Butcher
describing some overlooked detail of the crime.
Melanies eyes fell on Mayas picture, and she lost a couple of moments
to a reverie about her daughter, intensely relieved that the little girl
was on her way to safety at Melanies mothers apartment. After hearing
about the way David Harris had been watched and stalked, Melanie had
taken precautions, insisting that Dan drive Maya to Forest Hills himself,
alone, without Melanie in the car. Dan was trained in countersurveillance
driving, and he knew how to make sure he wasnt being followed.
But Dan hadnt come back yet, and he hadnt called.
Melanie had just picked up the phone to dial Dans cell when
a sharp rap sounded on her office door. She looked up, her heart
pounding. But it was only Susan Charlton. Standing beside her was
Mark Sonschein, the deputy chief of the Criminal Division, the one
Melanie found so intimidating.
I come bearing tidings from the front office, Mark said.
Its really not a good time, she said.
I know youre about to start a meeting, he replied, but this cant
wait. Its about the Shepard case.
Mark and Susan both wore grim expressions. Behind Marks back,
Susan caught Melanies eye and mouthed, Sorry. Something bad
was coming. Melanie put the phone down. Im taking over as lead prosecutor, Mark said. You should not
take this as a vote of no confidence. You can continue to work the case
as my second seat. With the two new murders--
One new murder if youre referring to the limo driver. David
Harris will recover, Melanie said. Her voice was flat. She felt numb
more than angry. Too many difficult things in a short period of
time.
One new murder is one too many, Mark said. The point is, the
press is going apeshit. The Butcher case is the biggest investigation in
the office right now by far, and its too much for you to handle alone.
That is not a criticism of you or your work.
Im not alone. Janice Marsh from the D. A. s offi ce is assigned to
help me. She would have been at the meeting today, but she had to go
to a wedding in Cape May.
A. D. A. s have no work ethic, Mark said. You just proved my
point. Who goes to a wedding in the middle of a murder investigation?
You need somebody federal. Somebody proven and senior. If I
blame anyone for the lack of progress, I blame Bernadette for leaving
you poorly supervised.
Of course, Bernadette herself was getting married in a couple of
hours, and Melanie intended to be there. Minutes ago, she would
have been spitting mad at Mark for speaking to her like this. But now
her thoughts were taken up with a more pressing concerns.
No point in arguing, Mark insisted, though Melanie wasnt putting
up much of a fight. The decisions been made. Ill attend the
team meeting with you and introduce myself to the troops. I still need
you to run it, since Im not up to speed on the facts. Youre okay with
that?
I guess so. Yes.
Glad to hear it. Well, Im looking forward to working with you.
Melanie didnt reply. Mark looked fl ustered. Uh, well, all right, then. Ill . . . see you in there. He fl ashed her
a big phony smile and backed out the door.
Dont feel bad, Mel, Susan said when he was gone. This really
isnt about you. Its about a million things other than you, in fact.
Marks shouldering two private school tuitions and he needs some
good press to help him get a law - firm job. Bernadettes at war with
the front office, and putting Mark on the case is a way for them to
slap her. The press is on a rampage, so the higher - ups want somebody
with an impressive title doing the news conferences instead of a line
assistant like you. I could go on and on.
Melanie stared back at Susan in stony silence. If she couldve mustered
a drop of real indignation over this turn of events, she might
have directed some of it at the woman standing before her. Susan was
a political animal. Who knew what shed said about this decision behind
closed doors? As much as Melanie liked and admired Susan, she
never fully trusted her.
Are you okay? Susan asked.
I have a lot going on right now, Melanie said.
I understand. All the stress. And this cant be welcome news.
Its not.
One more thing and Ill get out of your hair. You should know
that this isnt Marks fault. The higher - ups asked him to step in. If he
comes across as a dick, its because he honestly feels bad about cherry picking
your investigation but he lacks the social skills to communicate
that to you. Underneath his pompous exterior, hes a good guy,
really. And a fi ne prosecutor.
If you say so, Melanie said.
I do. Give him a chance. Try to make friends.
All right.
At the end of the day, I know you two will hit it off. Youll catch
the bad guy together, and hell reward you. Im sure of it. Then well
get what weve been after. Me as chief, and you as deputy. Susan smiled at Melanie brightly, and then turned and left.
If Im still alive, Melanie said under her breath.
M
M
elanie considered her predicament and decided there was only one
thing for it. She needed to deliver up this stalker creep with his head
on a platter and prove he was actually the Butcher. Then she could kill
two birds with one stone. One, revive her career. Two, save her life.
She turned back to her computer and clicked reply.
Why should I believe you when everything you say comes straight from
the TV news? Youre a big liar. If you were the real killer, youd tell me
something I dont already know, she typed.
Melanie clicked send. While she waited for an answer shed
call Dan.
Hey, he said, picking up on the fi rst ring.
Everything go okay? she asked.
Dropped the cutie off. No sign of trouble.
Did you fill my mom in on whats going on? she asked.
Yeah. Nice lady. Shes worried about you.
Im worried about Maya.
Shes safe where she is now. Its a secure building, and your mothers
on a high floor. I told her not to go out or let any strangers in.
You think thats enough? Melanie asked.
I do. Lets not lose perspective. We dont have any proof that
the guy who e - mailed you is the same one who shot Harris or killed
Suzanne Shepard.
Not yet, she agreed, looking at her computer screen, which didnt
show anything new.
He could just be some pathetic jerk with time on his hands.
Have you had any luck tracing the e - mails? she asked.
Agh, long story, Dan said with obvious frustration. Ill give a
full report at the team meeting. The bottom line is no. I have some leads on where to look, but nothing solid. Hes been using public access
terminals. I sent guys to stake out the two places he used. But A,
hes probably too smart to use the same terminals again. And B, we
dont actually know what the prick looks like.
Hes careful. Its going to take a creative strategy to fi nd him.
Dan went quiet for a moment. When you start saying stuff like
that, I get very nervous, he said fi nally.
Melanie looked back at the computer screen and drew a sharp
breath. She had a new e - mail. It was from him.
You there? Dan said.
Yeah. How far away are you? she asked.
Ten, fifteen minutes, depending on traffic. I might be a little late
for the meeting.
Do me a favor, keep your phone on.
I will, he said. Promise me youre not planning anything crazy?
But shed already hung up. Melanie opened the e - mail.
Something you dont know, you uppity whore? Hows this? The best
way to shut up a whiny bitch is with a stun gun blast to the neck. Should
I use it on you? I dont think so. I want you awake, feeling things. Youll
be begging me to kill you.
Reading his words, Melanie felt cold and nauseous, but her brain
still functioned. She remembered that the stun - gun lesion on Suzanne
Shepards neck hadnt been reported in the media. It hadnt even been
confi rmed by their forensics people yet. But it was defi nitely real. He
was telling her something true. Melanie knew that because shed seen
the mark with her own eyes, that night in the Ramble when shed
viewed his handiwork. There was no question in her mind now that
this was the killer talking. This was the Butcher. She knew what he
was capable of. Shed seen what hed done to Suzanne. And he was
saying he planned to do the same things to her. 36
Melanie might be reckless, but she wasnt stupid. Once she was convinced
she had the killer online, she called in the big guns.
When he heard the news, Mark Sonschein rushed to her offi ce,
bringing along his boss, Sam Estes, who was the chief of the Criminal
Division. Sam had been on his way out the door to a meeting in
Washington with the deputy attorney general, and the fact that hed
taken time out to confer with her brought home to Melanie the gravity
of her situation. These guys were the front offi ce. When people
talked about the higher - ups, when they worried about what the chain
of command would think, this was who they meant. And now they
were sitting here with Melanie talking strategy. She realized this was
because she was in danger, not because she was a force to be reckoned
with in the office. Yet she couldnt help feeling gratified at how impressed
Sam and Mark seemed by her bravado.
We should view this as an opportunity, Estes said. He was
blond, bearded, and thickset, with a reputation for being a big- picture
guy, an idea man, while the thin, intense Sonschein specialized in
nitty - gritty details. How do we use the e - mail connection to capture the killer while keeping Melanie safe? Has any effort been made to
trace the e - mails?
The FBI already determined that this guy is using public access
terminals, Melanie said. Different ones for each communication.
Even if we run down an e - mail as soon as it comes in, hell be gone by
the time we get people over there.
What about the e - mail address? Sam asked. Partysover2007@
yahoo. com? Have we investigated who holds that account?
Thats the first thing the FBI did, Melanie replied. Yahoos a
free service. They dont require address verification to send a bill. The
name and address used were false. We did learn that the account was
opened only thirteen days ago, for what its worth.
Does the e - mail address itself mean anything to either of you?
Sam asked.
Partys over? Mark said. It sounds like he plans to put an end
to somebodys fun.
Yeah. Like mine, Melanie said.
The guys laughed, but she didnt.
Hmm, well . . . is there some way to get him to tell us his location?
Sam continued. I mean, here we sit, three of the most skilled
questioners in America. We should be able to come up with a clever
way of asking.
What question could we ask that he wouldnt see through? Melanie
asked.
Hed have to be an idiot to fall for that, Mark said. Besides,
wed risk scaring him off. Whatever message we send has to be carefully
crafted to keep the lines of communication open.
Maybe we should consider an e - mail wiretap, Sam said.
Wiretaps tell us the content of his communications, not where
hes e - mailing from, Mark said. We already know what hes saying,
since hes writing to Melanie.
Wait a minute, I think thats an interesting idea, Melanie said. What if the killers writing to other people, too? If we find out who
hes communicating with, what hes saying to them, maybe we can
identify him that way.
Like if hes writing to his aunt Flo in Peoria, we track down Aunt
Flo, Sam said.
That wont work, Mark insisted. Youd be asking to intercept
innocent peoples communications. What about Aunt Flos privacy
rights? No judge would sign off on such a request.
We limit our request to communications that reference the killers
identity or location, Melanie said.
Who knows, it just might fly, Sam said.
Mark frowned. How long is Main Justice taking to turn around
an authorization on an e - mail wire these days?
If were lucky, a few days, Melanie said. With an unusual request
like this, maybe closer to a week. She sighed. Youre right, Im
dead by then.
No moping now, Sam said. He gave Melanies shoulders a
jaunty squeeze, like she was a prizefighter and he was her trainer.
Were the feds. The bad guys never beat us. Mark here managed to
outwit an entire Colombian cartel, and hes not half as smart as you
are, Melanie.
Actually, Sam, I do consider myself half as smart as Melanie,
Mark said, deadpan.
You were threatened by the Colombians? she asked.
Yeah, good story, Mark said. About five years back, we were up
on a wire on this big cocaine cartel, and the agents called me up all
excited because theyd intercepted a call about a murder plot. Our targets
were negotiating for some C - 4 to make a car bomb. So the agents
bring me the transcript, and Im sitting there reading along. The bad
guys start talking about this Honda Civic they want to blow up. They
give the plate number, and lo and behold, its my car.
What happened to the Colombians? Melanie asked. Thirty to life, the scumbags, and it was better than they deserved,
he said.
No, I mean how did you catch them? she said.
Oh, we set up a sting. We used my car as bait. Lured them out.
They all looked at one another.
I know what youre thinking, Melanie, but in this case, the bait
wouldnt be a car, Mark said. The bait would be you.
Its the obvious next step, isnt it? she asked.
Put you out there with a panic button to push when the Butcher
shows up? Sam said. No way. You could be killed. This offi ce isnt
losing any assistants on my watch.
Thats a job for agents, not prosecutors, Mark said.
Gentlemen, Im divorced and I have a daughter to raise, Melanie
said. Im not looking to take foolish risks. But this lunatic is after
me anyway, and I want him caught. Cant we come up with something
more controlled? A scenario where we lure him to a specific place, and
I have protection?
You can have protection without doing a sting, Mark said. Im
calling in the Marshals Service the second were done here.
Its my safety at stake, and Id rather be proactive than sit around
and wait for the ax to fall, Melanie insisted.
Look, I respect that, Sam said.
Me, too, Mark said, but wed also understand if you were reluctant
to take this kind of chance. In fact, wed think you were smart.
Youre missing the point, she said. Im already in danger. Ive
been in danger for a while now. The Butcher fixated on me after seeing
me talking about him on TV, the morning after Suzanne Shepards
murder, but we just didnt realize it. He hasnt gone away, and hes not
going to.
Youre right, Sam said. By e - mailing him, what you accomplished
was outing the threat. Now we know your cyberstalker is the
Butcher. And we know the Butcher is serious about attacking you. We also know what hes capable of. Thats why I want to get out
in front of the problem, Melanie said.
Sam turned to Mark. If thats how Melanie feels, maybe its worth
you talking to the FBI about a sting.
Cant hurt, Mark agreed. Ill find out what they think and
what the logistics would be. Whos the supervisor of the squad thats
working this case, Melanie?
Mike Fagin.
Dont call him, Sam said. I know the guy, hes got shit for
brains. Whos the case agent?
A noise at the door made them all look over. The case agent was
standing there, and he did not look happy.
I heard youre e - mailing with the Butcher, Dan said, glaring at
Melanie, ignoring the powerful men who stood beside her. Are you
out of your fucking mind? 37

Half an hour later, Melanie took her seat at the head of the long
table in the windowless conference room down the hall and called
the team meeting to order. Shed succeeded in convincing Dan that
luring the Butcher into the open was a better option than sitting by
and waiting for him to fi nd her. Dan had already set somebody from
the tech squad to work on tracing the last e - mail, the one in which
the Web stalker had confirmed that he was indeed the Central Park
Butcher. Now, as the lead FBI agent on the case, Dan had primary responsibility
for formulating an ops plan. Many of the cops and agents
whod showed up for the meeting had been sent home, so that the
only personnel remaining were those with direct contributions to this
critical phase of their investigation. They planned to play the sting
operation close to the vest and watch out for leaks.
As I see it, we have three priorities, Melanie said. We need a
strategy for how to lure the Butcher out from under his rock. We need
a meeting place that the FBI deems suitable for a surveillance and
capture operation. And we need to pull together our evidence on the
Butchers physical description so we know who were looking for. I can help with that last part, piped up a petite woman with a
poodle perm sitting midway down the table. Terri Landry, United
States postal inspector. Im in charge of investigating the threatening
package Suzanne Shepard received.
You took over from Target News security? Melanie asked.
Thats right. We have jurisdiction under the threat by mail statute.
Okay, quick background. Suzanne Shepard received a box of dog
excrement in the mail two days before her murder. The box also contained
a ripped - up Polaroid taken by somebody who was following
her. Yesterday, we were able to confirm that the Butcher himself sent
the package. The lab reported that the package was sealed with the
same tape used to gag Suzanne Shepard during the attack. Contiguous
pieces from the same roll.
Wasnt there was a surveillance camera in the post offi ce where
the package was mailed from? Melanie asked.
Yes, and weve reviewed the tape, Terri said. Unfortunately, the
date and time stamp were screwed up, so we werent able to reconstruct
the time frame down to the exact minute. But I can show you
photos of six males with large builds who were in that post offi ce at
approximately the time the package was mailed. The camera was at
an angle and the image quality isnt terrific, but its the best weve got.
Here goes.
A projector and screen had been set up, and Terri shut off the
lights. One after the other, grainy black - and - white stills of men standing
in line at the post offi ce flashed on the screen. The mens faces
were blurry, but the hairs on Melanies neck still bristled as each image
appeared. One of these men was the Central Park Butcher, and
he wanted to kill her. But which one? The muscular guy with the
bandanna and leather jacket? The strange one with the weird mustache?
The strung - out - looking guy with greasy hair? It could be any
of them.
Stop, somebody called out. Go back to that last one. Terri clicked back to the previous image, which showed a large,
moon - faced man in his thirties or forties with close - cropped light
hair. He was wearing jeans and a T- shirt that said we deliver fresh
food fast.
Well? Terri Landry asked.
I dont recognize the guy, but I recognize the shirt, the agent
said.
Your name? Melanie asked.
Special Agent Tim Crockett, FBI. Im from Dan OReillys squad.
Delivery guys all over town wear that shirt, Mark Sonschein
observed. He was sitting at the foot of the long table, opposite from
Melanie. Its from that chain soup place.
I feel like I saw it recently, while I was on the job, Crockett said.
Go through your surveillance notes, Dan suggested. See if you
come up with anything concrete.
Will do, Crockett said.
In the meantime, lets mark that picture for special attention,
Melanie said. Well show it to David Harris when he regains consciousness.
Can we compare it to mug shots of known sex offenders?
Melanie asked.
The Bureau can do that by computer, Dan said. We have special
software that scans the photos in, sorts em by basic facial characteristics,
and compares em to mug shots. Unfortunately, you probably
need better images to work with than what we got here. But well
give it a shot anyway, see what we get.
Is this really all we have on the killers physical description and
identity after so many days of investigation? Mark Sonschein asked.
Only three days, Dan said, annoyed.
Weve ruled out a bunch of our early suspects, Melanie explained.
We have one guy left who seems really fishy, but even he has
a valid alibi.
She gave Mark a brief rundown of what theyd learned about Dr. Benedict Welch, including the fact that he was living under a false
identity, had orchestrated the burglary of Suzanne Shepards apartment,
was involved in a big meth operation and might be connected
to the murder of a stripper in Los Angeles years earlier.
As soon as David Harris is conscious, I plan to show him Welchs
photograph, Melanie said. Ill also show him the photos from the
post office surveillance video. Hopefully hell be able to recognize the
Butcher, either from the night of the murder or from when he was
kidnapped last night.
What about the newspaper articles your cooperator saw, about
the old murder? That sounded like a hot lead, Mark said.
We dont have much to go on, Melanie said. I can assign somebody
to do an online search for all murders of strippers that occurred in
the Los Angeles area between twelve and fifteen years ago. But we dont
have a victims name, or the name of the man who was convicted.
Do it anyway, Mark said. Any results you get can be shown to
your cooperator. Who knows, maybe something rings a bell.
Okay.
As they turned back to discussing the sting plan, Dan got a call
on his cell phone from the FBI tech squad. Theyd managed to trace
the most recent e - mail to a computer in a public library in the East
Thirties.
Whats he doing there? I thought we had him pinned down to
Queens, Melanie said.
Theres a Little India in that part of Murray Hill. Maybe hes
going out for Indian food, somebody suggested. A couple of people
laughed nervously.
Hes getting smart, is what hes doing, Dan said. He fi gures he
needs to change up in order to avoid detection.
He is smart, Melanie said. So how do we come up with a hook
that hell fall for?
Dan, Lieutenant Deaver, and some of the other agents began bat ting around ideas for meet locations. They wanted somewhere well lit,
with clear lines of sight, not too many civilians around, but enough
cover so that a surveillance team could set up without attracting attention.
The problem was, everyplace they suggested seemed certain to
arouse the Butchers suspicions. When they started talking about the
piers in Brooklyn, Melanie had had enough.
Youre doing a good job of convincing me this whole idea wont
work, she said. What am I supposed to say to the guy? Meet me at
the piers at midnight. Ill come alone. Hed have to be brain - dead to
agree to that.
Shes got a point, Sonschein said.
We need to be subtle if we want him to take the bait, she said.
We should propose a place he expects me to go anyway, like my offi ce
or the courthouse. And I should just let it slip that Im planning to be
there, like its an accident. Thats our only hope.
I dont like it. Office, courthouse. Both those places got too many
civilians, Deaver said.
Not on Saturday night they dont, Melanie replied.
Saturday night. Melanie wistfully pictured the party dress that was
hanging on the back of her office door. Bernadettes wedding ceremony
began in less than two hours. But what could she do? Her boss would just
have to understand that when the most vicious killer in recent New York
City history was after you, it was hard to take time out for a wedding.
T
T
he reply that Melanie ultimately sent to the Butcher was as subtle
as she could make it, which unfortunately wasnt terribly so. If she
buried the message too deep, shed risk having him miss it altogether.
But that was a difficult balance to strike, and Melanie worried that
her plan would backfire. Her only other option, however, was to do
nothing and let the Butcher pick his moment to strike. She found that
one plain unacceptable. You dont scare me, she wrote to partysover2007 as a roomful of cops
and prosecutors looked over her shoulder, offering advice on wording.
Im safe in my office on the sixth floor of the U. S. Attorneys Offi ce. We have
bulletproof windows and doors. You cant get to me here, you creep.
Its enough of a provocation that he just might go for it, she said
as she clicked send. But there was doubt in her voice.
The sixth floor held only war rooms and debriefing rooms and
was seemingly deserted on this Saturday afternoon, but the FBI did
a security sweep for good measure anyway. Melanie took up position
in an office that faced the public plaza, although it was unlikely that
the Butcher would be able to see in from the street six stories below, at
least until darkness fell, which wasnt for several hours yet. The offi ces
on either side of the one where Melanie sat were filled with cops. The
FBI arranged to replace the guard in the lobby with one of their own.
The lobby was well lit, and the sham guard was instructed to take
conspicuous ten - minute breaks at predictable intervals and forget to
lock the glass door to the street. A number of cops and agents were
stationed in undercover vehicles at strategic points around the plaza.
Now all they needed was for the Butcher to take the bait.
After an hour alone in the decoy office during which she kept
calm by Googling her own name and catching up on press coverage of
the Butcher case, Melanie really started to get antsy. She dialed Dans
cell phone. Through the shoddily constructed government wall, she
heard it ring in the next room.
Whats up? Dan asked. Did he respond? Were monitoring
your e - mail over here and we dont see anything yet.
No. Im just getting impatient.
Then you could never be a cop. A lot of what I do is this. Sit
someplace all night staring at nothing until my ass falls asleep.
I feel bad about missing Bernadettes wedding.
You never know, we might still make it, Dan said. I got my suit
downstairs in the car. I have my dress in my offi ce.
Yeah? What are you wearing?
The black halter with fl owers.
Mmm, I like that on you.
Careful now. The guysll hear what youre saying.
They know were going out, Dan said, and theyre all jealous.
Hey, pal, you better not be--
But Melanies reply was swallowed up in her gasp as her eyes
caught the computer screen.
Oh my God. He wrote back.
Yeah, we just got it in here, too, Dan said.
She opened the e - mail, and it was as bad as her worst fears.
I knew you would pull something stupid, you bitch. You think I cant
smell a setup? You think I dont know what floor your office is on? You
just made a huge mistake. I was planning to hurt you before, but now its
gonna be so much worse. 38

T
T
he upside of having her plan to catch the Butcher fall flat on its face
was that Melanie got to go to her bosss wedding. The tech squad
went to work tracing the new e - mail, and Mark Sonschein made arrangements
for the U. S. Marshals Service to begin providing round the
- clock security for Melanie starting first thing in the morning. In
the meantime, shed be with Dan. Dan always carried his Glock
nine - millimeter, and besides, they were going to a party full of cops
who would be armed to the teeth, even while off duty. For added security,
Dan instructed Agent Tim Crockett to take up position outside
the church.
Bernadette was getting married in a magnificent Gothic edifi ce
on a picturesque, brownstone - lined block in Brooklyn Heights. Dan
and Melanie, decked out in their party clothes, pulled up in front of
the church mere minutes before the ceremony was to begin. The New
York City law enforcement community had turned out in full force,
so not only was every parking space taken, but every legally parked
car was blocked by double- and triple - parked ones, each with a police
placard in its window. This looks bad. Should I run in and get us seats while you fi nd a
spot? You can watch me from the car to make sure its safe, Melanie
said.
Not on your life, princess. Im not missing the I - dos. I love weddings.
If youre lucky, Ill start blubbering like a little kid and youll
have something to blackmail me with.
Dan threw the car into reverse and backed down the street at top
speed. Then, taking advantage of a small gap between the parked cars
at the corner, he threaded the needle, driving up onto the sidewalk
with tires screeching.
That defensive driving course comes in handy, he said, cutting
the engine and grinning. His smile took her breath away.
They leaped from the air - conditioned car into sticky heat. During
the course of the afternoon, the weather had turned sultry in a way
that felt permanent. The few hours of glorious summer New Yorkers
were granted each year had ended, and theyd have dog days from now
to September. As they dashed toward the church hand in hand, Melanie
felt like she was running through warm water, and was grateful for
her bare halter dress and high - heeled sandals. Halfway up the steps,
she was gasping for breath and laughing when Dan abruptly turned
and caught her by the waist.
Hey, he said.
What?
Cmere.
He pulled her tight against his chest, which felt hard as steel. In
the glow from the setting sun, his blue eyes looked bottomless. She
wanted to fall in and drown. They kissed for a long moment, and she
forgot all the bad and scary things in life. All around her the sounds
of the city hushed so that the only thing she heard was the beating of
their hearts.
Mmm, she murmured.
Lets go. Were missing it, Dan said, and grabbed her hand, pulling
her the rest of the way up the stairs.
The ushers had already disappeared. Melanie and Dan ducked
into a back pew just ahead of the wedding party. The church was
jam - packed and eighty degrees inside. All around the soaring space,
papers fluttered as guests fanned themselves with hats, invitations,
newspapers, anything they could find. Dan took her hand, and they
turned to watch bridesmaids and groomsmen step in time down the
aisle. Bernadette appeared on the arm of her frail father. She wore
a true fairy - princess dress-- pearl - encrusted bodice, enormous tulle
skirt-- and a long, trailing veil, and the incongruity of the costume
on her calculating, tyrannical boss seemed to Melanie like the pure
triumph of hope over cynicism.
As hed promised, Dans eyes glittered with real tears. He raised
Melanies hand to his lips and kissed it tenderly. With a price on her
head, everything became clear. So there were ups and downs. So this
relationship was intense and stormy. So be it. She wanted to be at his
side. Inside, the organist struck up The Wedding March. 39

In New York, the line between the cops and the bad guys can be paper
thin, as befits people living cheek by jowl in the same colorful neighborhoods.
The catering hall in Bensonhurst where the Albano - DeFelice
reception was being held was straight out of a wiseguy movie, and
so were a lot of the guests. Christmas lights twinkled in June. Naked
nymphs danced in the wall murals, squirting wine from leather pouches
into one anothers mouths. Men in pastel satin tuxes imitated them,
feeding champagne to their big - haired, big - bosomed companions.
A ten - piece orchestra played as Melanie and Dan wound their
way across the teeming dance floor to their table. They were seated
with others from the Major Crimes Unit, next to a table full of judges
and their clerks. Melanie slid into a seat beside Susan Charlton, whod
brought her girlfriend, Lisa. Susan wore a practical navy - blue business
suit and Lisa a tank top and sequined peasant skirt. On the other side
of Melanie, Shekeya Jenkins and her husband, Kwame, who worked
for the MTA, were tucking into plates groaning with enormous piles
of antipasti. Shekeya, who looked like a celebration in hot - pink satin,
waved her fork enthusiastically. The shrimp is out of this world, girl. You got to get some before
its all gone.
Melanie glanced over to an adjoining table with cops and agents
from Vito Albanos Elite Narcotics Task Force. She spotted DEA
Agent Raymond Wong, the guy shed set her friend Sophie up with,
sitting there among his colleagues. She waved at Ray - Ray, but he
didnt notice, so wrapped up was he in a conversation with the perky,
athletic - looking blonde sitting next to him, who wore a red dress. As
Melanie watched, Ray - Ray leaned in and smooched Detective Bridget
Mulqueen full on the mouth.
She turned to Dan. Hey, is something up with Bridget and Ray Ray?
Theyre here together? Dan asked, following the line of her
gaze. What do you know? They were sorta going out for a while, but
I heard she dumped him.
I set him up with Sophie Cho.
Your friend Sophie?
Yeah, just last week. I had no idea he was dating Bridget. He
never mentioned it.
Dating is an overstatement. He follows her around like a dog.
Sometimes she lets him, mostly she just kicks him. But hes a goner. I
wouldnt hold out much hope for your friend.
I thought Ray - Ray hated Bridget.
Theres a thin line between love and hate, Dan said, and then
laughed at himself. Listen to me, the philosopher. Like I have a fucking
clue.
You do okay, Melanie said.
From across the table, Joe Williams gave Melanie a look so withering
that it shocked her. Her stomach sank. Regarding the whole
Clyde matter so far, Joe had been more than understanding, and now
Clyde was cleared. Joe didnt know that yet, but why would he suddenly
get so angry? Had something changed? Joe was alone as usual, the seat beside him empty. In all the years shed known him, Melanie
had never seen Joe with a date. She made up her mind to go sit next
to him and find out what was wrong, but then the band segued into
a romantic song.
Come on, Dan said, grabbing her hand.
We just sat down.
Its a slow dance, he said.
The lust in his eyes worked on her like a narcotic. Okay, she said.
On the dance floor, Dan put his powerful hands on her hips.
Their eyes locked together and their bodies melded from the waist
down. His hands caressed ever so slowly from her bare back to her
derriere and up again.
I cant stop thinking about the sex we had in your office, he said,
his voice husky and low, so only she could hear. I cant get the image
out of my mind. You, bent over, looking back at me with those hot
eyes. Aagh, lets do that again.
She rested her head against his broad chest, closed her eyes, and
sighed. Okay . . . but not in my offi ce.
How about my car? Or better yet, the stairwell over there? Standing
up against the wall. You like it like that.
She opened her eyes and stared at him. Now?
Dont expect me to wait until I get you home. Youre way too
sexy in that dress. Your ass looks amazing. I was walking behind you
the whole way, drooling.
Dan, Ive got a psychotic killer stalking me.
So what? Hes not in the stairwell.
How do you know?
Ill check it out first, he said.
She laughed. Seriously, we cant do that again.
Cant do what?
Have sex like that. Where we can get caught by people I work
with. Its unprofessional. I mean, it could jeopardize my career. His face fell. Dont say that! Ive been fantasizing about it nonstop
ever since.
Im sorry, but thats how I feel.
Why not? People already know were going out.
Going out is one thing. Knocking boots on my desk could get
me in trouble.
Im in trouble. Have been from the day we met. Jump in, the
waters fi ne.
She laughed.
Come on, he coaxed, leaning down to whisper in her ear. The
soft buzzing made her melt all over again. If were careful, we wont
get caught. Thats half the fun, the challenge of the thing. Dont you
want to have crazy memories to look back on when were sitting in our
rockers on the front porch fifty years from now?
I never thought of you as so reckless, she said, struck by his
reference to the future. Fifty years from now. Hed talked of marriage
when they first met, but not recently. Was that only because Melanie
seemed like she wasnt ready? She wasnt ready, yet when hed stopped
mentioning it, shed begun to worry.
Look whos talking. You locked the door and jumped me, Dan
said.
Youre right. It was all my fault.
That wild streak. I cant get enough of it. And what a contrast
with how sweet you seem on the surface.
The song ended. She shook her head, Lets sit down.
Fine, but Im not giving up. A little vino, and maybe youll
change your mind. A guy can always hope, anyway, he said, smiling
at her dreamily.
When they returned to the table, Joe Williams was gone. Shekeya
said hed gone to the mens room, but when he didnt return after a
while, Melanie got worried. She thought about calling his cell phone,
but she wasnt sure what to say. What if Joes absence had nothing to do with her? Shed just be harping on a sore subject. Then dinner
was served. Melanie had prime rib and lots of red wine. Everybody
seemed to be in a great mood. Susan danced with Judge Fox, whod
been threatening to sanction her the day before, and came back pink cheeked,
telling everybody what a charmer he was. Dan and Kwame
got into a rousing argument about the Knicks that ended with them
laughing uproariously and slapping each other on the back. By the
time the best man, a hefty lieutenant with white hair whom Melanie
recognized from somewhere or other, tapped on a wineglass to make
the toast, shed utterly forgotten that the Central Park Butcher was
stalking her, or that one of her best friends had walked out on the
wedding because he was so pissed about how shed handled her investigation
into his fathers activities. As Bernadette and Vito crammed
fluffy white cake into each others face, Melanie cheered and hooted
with the rest of the crowd as if she didnt have a care in the world.
When the newlyweds stepped onto the fl oor for their fi rst dance,
most of Melanies table got up to join in. Melanie and Dan stayed
behind, their fingers intertwined. She leaned toward him and they
kissed, their tongues exploring, teasing. Before she knew it, she was
thinking about that stairwell.
Lets go home, she said, sliding her hands up his muscular thighs.
Just then, Dans phone buzzed in his jacket pocket. He pulled it
out and held it up to read the display, which glowed a vibrant blue
green in the romantically lit room. Melanie glanced at it, absorbing
without intending to.
Hold on, I have to take this, he said, and despite the dim light,
she saw his face fl ush red.
The number had come up as diane cell. It took a minute for
Melanie to get her mind around what her eyes had just seen. If his
ex - wifes cell - phone number was registering that way on his caller ID,
it must be programmed into his phone. Yet Dan had assured her he
never had contact with Diane. Whats up? Any news? Dan said. She couldnt help noticing that
his tone betrayed no surprise at the call. To the contrary, he sounded
as if hed been expecting it.
Aw, jeez, I am so sorry . . . God, I loved that guy. We knew it was
coming, but that doesnt make it easier . . . I cant right now, Im at a
wedding right . . . Yeah, yeah, with Melanie, Dan said, glancing up
at her as he spoke her name.
Seeing the stunned expression on Melanies face brought Dan up
short.
Listen, Diane, Im gonna have to call you back . . . No, I really
have to go. Tell your mom to count on me for a pallbearer, okay? Bye.
He hung up and thrust the phone back into his pocket. Within
seconds, it started vibrating again insistently, but he didnt answer.
Your phones ringing, Melanie said hollowly.
It can wait. You look upset.
She shook her head, at a loss for words. Upset? Melanie felt like
shed been kicked in the stomach. She felt like somebody had taken
the world and tilted it sideways until she didnt know where she was.
Not to be the only woman in Dans life? Then she didnt recognize
herself.
That was my ex - wife, Dan said.
I figured. I thought you said you never talked to her. Her voice
came out lower than normal, quiet, unlike herself.
I just . . . well, I hadnt, not for a long time. But come to fi nd
out, her dad was dying of cancer. She just called, uh, just now, actually,
to tell me he passed. I think I told you once, Seamus was like a
father to me growing up because my old man didnt give two shits.
Seamus really stepped up and did right by me. So I been going by the
last couple of nights, to pay my respects.
The sick friend you were visiting in the hospital was your ex wifes
father? When I couldnt get you on the phone? When you didnt
return my calls? When I didnt know where you were? Dan was watching Melanies face intently. Yeah. Uh - huh.
When you visited, she was there, too?
Sure. Yeah, of course. Not only Diane, but her whole family.
You never mentioned any of that. You never told me.
I meant to. But you know, weve been so busy with the case
and all.
Melanie looked down at her hands dumbly. Dans last remark
had been her cue to shrug the incident off. To say she understood
and that this wasnt a big deal. But she didnt, and it was. Early in
their relationship, Dan had been so jealous of Steve that Melanie
had taken to reporting on all her contacts with her ex - husband, just
to make Dan feel secure. She thought of this as their full - disclosure
policy and shed always assumed Dan was following it, too. But
obviously, he hadnt felt obliged to. How could she have been so
trusting?
So you do talk to your ex - wife? Melanie asked. Her words were
coming out slow and strangled, like she was underwater.
Only in the past couple of days. But dont worry, sweetheart,
nothings going on. We just hung out at the hospital a little bit. I
bought her dinner the other night, but that was only--
You bought her dinner? she repeated, trying to comprehend the
enormity of that revelation to her own heart. She couldnt remember
the last time Dan had bought her dinner. Her last birthday-- many
months ago now? Their dates generally consisted of Dan coming over
after Maya was asleep. Which wasnt his fault, really. Maybe if she
didnt have Maya he would take her out to restaurants more. Not
that she would ever wish not to have Maya. But as things stood, they
tended to order in Chinese or pizza and take turns paying.
Just in this diner across the street from the hospital, Dan was
saying. I felt sorry for her, with her dad dying right after her husband
left. But it wasnt a big deal.
Her husband left her? This kept getting worse. Diane was avail able, and hurting, and Dan was comforting her. Suddenly all the food
and wine Melanie had consumed werent sitting well in her stomach.
Yeah, I guess I forgot to mention that part. He left her for some
chick who works in a tattoo parlor. Not that Diane doesnt deserve it,
seeing how she left me for him and all, but still, its hard not to feel for
her. You know, you should meet Diane. I think you would like her. I
mean, shes an untrustworthy bitch, but otherwise, shes a lot of fun.
He forced a laugh.
Melanie stared at him, dumbstruck. Then, because she couldnt
think of anything else to do, she stood up and grabbed her handbag.
Where you going? he asked, concerned.
I dont feel very well. I think Ill go home now.
Okay, Ill drive you.
No. No, you stay. I think Id rather just take a cab.
A cab? You cant do that.
Melanie took a few steps backward. Dan stood up and clutched at
her arm, but she yanked it away. She was trying not to cry.
Sweetheart, youre overreacting, he said gently.
Dan, she said, struggling to keep her voice calm, I inform you
every time Steve calls, every time he e - mails, for Gods sake. And you
dont mention this? Not one word?
I just did. I told you about it.
Because she called you right in front of me!
I told you that I bought her dinner, he said. Dans voice was
getting shaky, and he was starting to look upset. I didnt have to say
anything about that.
Right, you could have deliberately concealed it from me. Lets
award you ten points for honesty, she said bitterly.
Youre taking this the wrong way.
Your ex - wife just separated from her husband. Shes crying on
your shoulder, and you dont mention a word about it until youre
caught in the act. Whats the right way to take that? What Im trying to say is, nothing was going on. Nothing physical.
She wasnt crying on my shoulder physically. She was just doing
it, like, metaphorically.
Metaphorically? You sure about that? Thats a big word for you.
His eyes widened with hurt. As Dan hesitated, Melanie turned
and ran for the exit.
Get back here! Dan called after her. Were not done!
Despite his longer stride, she was smaller and lighter and maneuvered
through the dense crowd more nimbly than he did. She beat
him to the street and hailed a passing taxi, but the driver didnt see
her, thank God. Because the next second she had the sense to stop and
refl ect on what she was doing. The sickest killer shed encountered in
her entire career was out there somewhere, lurking in the dark night.
And as much as she wanted to get him, it seemed he wanted to get her
more. Dan was right. She shouldnt take a cab.
She spotted the unmarked car parked across the street and ran
for it, banging on the passenger - side glass. Agent Tim Crockett rolled
down the window.
Everything okay? he asked, concerned.
I need a ride home. Now.
Melanie jumped in and slammed the door. Dan plunged through
the catering hall door just in time to see them speed away. 40

I
I
n front of her building, Melanie told Agent Crockett that it wasnt
necessary for him to come inside as long as he watched to make sure
she made it to the lobby safely. Shed managed to hold herself together
on the ride home, but the strain of her fight with Dan was beginning
to tell. She needed to be alone. If she broke down and cried, she didnt
want some guy she barely knew from Dans squad witnessing her pathetic
scene.
I live in a doorman building, she explained. Its pretty secure.
Ill take down your cell number and call if anything seems out of
place.
Ill remain stationed here until U. S. Marshals Service relieves
me.
Thank you. Just so you know, my protection detail isnt showing
up until morning.
No problem, maam.
Melanie dashed from the door of the unmarked car into her
building. In the lobby, she was greeted by Hector, her portly, fatherly
Puerto Rican doorman. The sight of him made her think twice about having Agent Crockett come in. Melanie loved Hector to death, but
the most vigilant guy on the planet he was not. He was too fond of
his newspaper and of chatting with delivery people to keep an unrelenting
watch. He made her building feel like a home, but a clever
intruder would get past him with little trouble.
Hey, Melanie, a man was here looking for you, Hector said.
Did he give a name? Melanie asked, anxiety clutching at her
chest. Had the Butcher figured out where she lived? She wouldnt be
able to stay in her apartment.
No, he didnt say.
What did he want?
To see you, chica. He asked was you home, but he gave me a bad
vibe. So I sent him away and didnt tell him nothing about you.
What kind of bad vibe?
Pushy. Mean.
What did he look like?
Hector, who was short, held a hand up over his head. Big, tall
guy with blond hair.
You told him I live here?
I didnt have to tell him. He already knew.
Right, of course. Im sorry.
Something wrong, mija? Hector asked.
Maybe. How long ago was this?
Over an hour, and he hasnt come back. Listen, I know from the
papers that youre working on that Central Park Butcher case. I read
your name in the Daily News. I want to say on behalf of Puerto Rican
people everywhere, you make us proud. And you can count on me to
keep the door secure.
Youre the best, Hector. I do count on you, Melanie said. She
gave him a peck on the cheek, but she pulled out her phone and dialed
Agent Crockett all the same.
Agent Crockett came into the lobby immediately, and together he and Melanie debriefed Hector about the visitor. The fact was, if
the Butcher had paid a call on Melanie at home, not only was that
a security issue, it was also a potential break in the case. They decided
to show Hector the photos of the men standing in line at the
post office on the day the threatening package was mailed. Agent
Crockett had the photos in his car, and he fetched them and lined
them up on Hectors bellman stand. The doorman studied the photos
diligently.
These pictures. So blurry, Hector said, shaking his head. Im
sorry, but I dont recognize nobody. I dont think its that the pictures
is bad, either. I think the guy isnt in here.
Youre sure? Melanie asked.
Hector looked over the row of photos one more time.
Yeah, Im sure of it. Hes not here, Hector said, nodding more
decisively.
Melanie patted him on the shoulder. Good work. That tells us
a lot.
She and Agent Crockett got in the elevator.
What exactly does it tell us that your doorman cant pick anybody
out of the photo lineup? Crockett asked.
Hector might seem goofy, but he remembers faces, Melanie
said. So either it wasnt the Butcher who visited me or we dont
actually have the Butchers picture among those surveillance shots
from the post office. I dont know about you, but Im pulling for the
former.
When they got to her floor, Agent Crockett unholstered his gun
and did a security sweep. He checked the back stairwell where the trash
chute was located. Then he put his ear against the door to Melanies
apartment for a long moment and just listened. Hearing only silence,
he nodded to her, and she turned her key in the lock. He fl ipped the
light switch in the foyer, setting the place ablaze with light.
Stay here, he whispered. He came back after a few minutes and reported that everything
looked normal.
What should I do? Melanie asked. Should I sleep here tonight?
Should we call in forensics guys to dust the lobby door for prints?
Your call, maam. Youre the prosecutor.
Crockett wasnt much help in the ideas department. Melanie
caught herself on the verge of calling Dan for advice, but then the
memory of their argument hit her with the force of a punch.
Give me a minute to think, she said.
Melanie settled Agent Crockett in the living room and went to
get her gun. Shed had the foresight to purchase one-- or really, the
hindsight-- after surviving a harrowing episode on another case. Every
once in a while, shed catch a ride to the range upstate with some
DEA or FBI guy and practice firing. Melanie was actually a decent
shot, though of course there was a world of difference between hitting
a paper target and going to the mat with somebody in a gunfi ght. Still,
having the gun made her feel better at moments like this.
The metal gun safe was hidden at the back of a high shelf in her
bedroom closet. She felt around for it blindly, dislodging several unopened
packages of panty hose and sending them raining down on
her head. She pulled out the matte - black pistol. The Beretta seemed
to exude a brilliant light-- trust the Italians to make even an instrument
of death look sexy. Melanie kept the gun unloaded and stored
her ammunition at the top of a cabinet in the kitchen in another
locked metal box. All the manuals on gun safety said to do this if
you had children in the house. Well, Maya wasnt home tonight,
thankfully. She was safe with Melanies mother. Besides, the gun
wouldnt be much help against an intruder if its bullets were on the
other side of the apartment.
She had to go to the kitchen to get the bullets. The light was
blinking on the answering machine on the counter. Melanie played
the message as she loaded the gun. Melanie Vargas, Duncan Gilmartin of Target News. Ive now obtained
your home address and telephone number, so you cant hide
from me. As you may have heard, I paid you a visit tonight. I will not
rest until I get the real story. What is your reaction to Mr. Sonschein
revealing at the press conference that Clyde Williams was trysting with
Emily King at the time of the Shepard murder? Did you tell him to go
public with Clydes alibi? What do you say to the speculation that the
Emily King affair is being used as a smoke screen to distract the public
from Williamss involvement in the murder? And whats your comment
on Clydes decision to drop out of the mayoral race? You might
as well call back, because I wont give up.
So that was why Joe had been so upset at the wedding.
And, more urgently, thats who had paid her a visit. Duncan
Gilmartin was a tall, blond male. It was Gilmartin whod been here,
not the Butcher. At least, she hoped it was him. One way to fi nd out.
Melanie went over to the intercom and buzzed down to the doormans
station.
Front desk, Hector answered.
Hector, its Melanie in 8 - B.
He aint showed his face again, mija, and I didnt leave my post,
not even to use the lav.
Let me ask you something. This man, did he have an accent?
Yeah, he did. English or something.
Could it have been Australian?
Australian?
Like Crocodile Dundee.
Oh yeah. It was just like that.
Thanks, Hector.
Dont worry about a thing. I got your back.
Melanie told Agent Crockett the news, then sent him down to
his car with a bag of microwaved popcorn and a can of Diet Coke.
She brushed her teeth, tucked the Beretta in to sleep beside her on the nightstand, got her cell phone out in case she needed to call for help,
and huddled under the covers.
Shed planned to have a good cry, but she just couldnt. She felt
too numb and empty inside. Instead, she stared at the ceiling in the
dark for what felt like hours, and fell asleep wondering where her life
was going. 41

M
M
elanie opened her eyes to dazzling sunlight and a shrieking telephone.
Her cell was going nuts right beside her head, half hidden
under the pillow.
Hello? she mumbled. Her brain was foggy from lack of sleep.
Something terrible clawed at the edge of her consciousness, then broke
over her like a wave.
Dan!
Miss Vargas? Hello? Are you there?
Her throat burned with tears, but she wouldnt let herself cry.
Whos this? she managed, her voice barely audible.
Peter Terrozzi from the U. S. Marshals Service. Im assigned to
protect you this morning. Im standing down in the lobby, maam.
Your doorman buzzed you several times on the intercom but got no
response.
Melanie held the cell away from her ear for a moment and looked
at it. Other things were falling into place now. The e - mails from yesterday.
The Butcher.
How did you get my cell - phone number? she asked. From my office, maam, which presumably got it from your offi
ce.
I need a minute, Deputy. Stay where you are, okay? I have to
make a phone call.
Uh . . . okay, he said, sounding confused.
Under present circumstances, Melanie couldnt just let some
stranger into her apartment because he claimed to be her protection
detail. Mark Sonschein was the one whod made the arrangements
with the U. S. Marshals Service. She got out her office directory and
paged him. By the time he called back, shed made a much - needed pot
of coffee, and she was standing at the kitchen counter in her nightgown,
drinking some, her gun set down next to the milk carton.
Sonschein here. Somebody page me?
Mark, Melanie Vargas.
I was just about to call you.
My protection detail is down in the lobby. I need to confi rm his
name and get a physical description before I let him in.
Smart move, but youll have to call the Marshals Service. They
didnt tell me who they planned to send.
Oh, so why were you--
Calling? Because I just heard from the FBI. We got a big break,
and I need you to come into the office right away to follow up on it.
Turns out you were on the right track, Melanie. More than anybody
knew. The Bureau traced the final e - mail the Butcher sent you last
night. You know, the one where he told us to pound sand, that he
wasnt falling for the ruse?
Yes?
The e - mail was sent from the office of Dr. Benedict Welch.
M
M
elanie grabbed her bathrobe from the bedroom and ran to answer
the buzzer. She tried to put her gun into the pocket, but something was in the way. Reaching in, she pulled out a pair of lace panties. The
other night, in between Dans birthday celebration and getting called
out to the crime scene, theyd done it on Melanies living room couch.
Somehow the panties had ended up in her bathrobe pocket. She looked
down at the wispy fabric in her hand as if she was seeing an artifact from
another century. Would she ever have sex with Dan again?
She shoved the panties back where shed found them, put the
gun in her other pocket, and peered through the peephole. The man
she saw matched the description shed just been given over the phone
by the U. S. Marshals Service: short, muscular, balding. He did not
match the description of the Central Park Butcher, to the extent they
had one. While this should have reassured her, it didnt. According
to what David Harris had told them, the Butcher was a considerably
larger man than the one who now stood outside her door.
Deputy Terrozzi?
Yes, maam. You can call me Pete. I was starting to think I was at
the wrong door.
No. Im here. Can I see your shield, please?
He held his shield up in front of the peephole. It looked offi cial
enough. She undid all three locks and opened the door. Terrozzi was
no taller than Melanie and wide as he was high, with biceps and thighs
thick as hams. His head was shaved, and from the pattern of the dark
stubble it was plain to see this was done to camoufl age encroaching
baldness. His pleasant smile marked him as a nice guy who worked
out a lot rather than a fearsome pit bull of a cop. If this was her protection
against the psycho whod mutilated Suzanne Shepard and shot
David Harris in the back, Melanie couldnt help worrying that he
wouldnt be equal to the task.
Rough night? he asked, smiling as he took in her bed head and
swollen eyes.
I was nervous. I didnt sleep well. I dont know whether you were
briefed, but the man who threatened me is extremely dangerous. Sure, but you were in good hands. The agent who just left struck
me as extremely competent.
You met Tim Crockett outside?
Crockett? No. He said his name was Dan OReilly.
Melanie stared at him in stunned silence.
May I come in? Terrozzi asked fi nally.
Oh. Sure.
Melanie held the door open. She told Terrozzi where to fi nd the
coffee, and turned away to go shower and dress.
Uh, Miss Vargas? he said.
Yes?
Whats that in your pocket?
She looked down. A blush started on her cheeks because she
thought he was asking about the panties, but his gaze was fixed on the
handle of the Beretta protruding from her bathrobe pocket.
Thats my gun, she said.
Uh - uh. He held out his hand. Hand it over.
Excuse me?
Are you qualified with that thing?
I go to the range, Melanie said indignantly.
What, like once a month?
She shrugged. It was less than that, actually. A lot less.
I cant protect you if Im worried about you whipping out a pistol
and plugging me one by mistake, Terrozzi said.
Melanie hesitated. She believed this guy was indeed her protection
detail; she just didnt trust him to protect her. She toyed with the
idea of keeping the gun and getting rid of Terrozzi instead.
Thats not me talking, he said, seeing her hesitation. Its U. S.
Marshals Service protocol. The protectee should remain unarmed
unless the protectee is duly qualified and authorized to carry a fi rearm.
From what my supervisor told me, which was based on what your supervisor, Mr. Sonschein, told him, youre not authorized to
carry a firearm as part of your duties. Am I right?
The weight of all those supervisors was too much for Melanie to
fight. Reluctantly, she handed Terrozzi the gun.
But I want it back whenever youre not with me, she insisted.
Ill always be with you. From what I understand, Im stuck to
you like glue till the Butchers caught. Were gonna become very good
friends.
Time to solve the damn case, Melanie thought. 42

M
M
elanie and Mark Sonschein sat in his office, strategizing their next
move.
We have PC to search Welchs office, because thats where the
Butcher sent the e - mail from, Melanie said. But we dont have an
eyewitness who can finger Welch and say he sent the e - mail himself.
Without that, Welch can argue somebody else got access to his offi ce
computer and did the deed. Bottom line, we dont have enough to
arrest him for murder.
One fallback position would be to get the search warrant for
now, and hope that a search of his office turns up proof of the murder,
Mark said.
And if it doesnt? Welch is still on the street. Youve seen the
crime- scene photos from the Shepard murder.
Yes, and Ive read those sickening e - mails he sent you. I want the
Butcher locked up as badly as you do. Isnt there something else we
can arrest him for?
Conspiring to burglarize Suzanne Shepards apartment, Melanie
said. But my proof is weak. I have the testimony of one cooperator with no corroboration. Miles Ortiz. Hes got a sheet as long as your
arm, and he looks the part, too. I dont see putting him up against a
supposedly reputable doctor. Not with Boutros on duty.
Shes still on? Mark asked, frowning.
Until tomorrow morning. We could wait. Judge - shopping was
an honored tradition in their offi ce.
Whos on duty if we wait?
Melanie flipped through the court calendar she had Scotch - taped
to the inside of her official U. S. Government Planner. Warner. Even
worse.
Hmm. Mark steepled his fingers and thought. Reputable doctor.
But hes not, right? Didnt you say Welch is a fraud?
Yes, but practicing medicine without a license? We cant get him
remanded on that, Melanie asked.
Im not suggesting we arrest him for practicing medicine without
a license. Im saying maybe the atmospherics make it easier to convince
a judge . . . He trailed off.
What, to issue a warrant for murder when we dont have the
proof to back it up? I dont think so. Not Boutros. And the detective
who was researching Welchs background is on a plane on her way
back from Tulsa. I wont even have proof of the false name in my
hands until late tonight or tomorrow morning.
They were both silent for a minute.
Did you find out anything more about that old murder case in
California, the one your cooperator said was discussed in the fi le he
stole? Mark asked.
We came up with twenty - seven known murders of strippers in
the relevant time period, Melanie said. Well have Ortiz look through
them and see if he can pick out the right one, but its a long shot. Besides,
somebody else was convicted for the murder that Ortiz saw in
the file, so were not even sure what the connection is.
What a mess, Mark said. They were silent again.
You know what I think we should do? Melanie asked.
What?
Set up a drug buy. Ortiz puts Welch in a major methamphetamine
conspiracy. If Welch were to deliver drugs, not only could we
get him remanded, but I bet we could get warrants for his apartment
as well as his offi ce.
Mark nodded. Thats by far the best idea Ive heard. Do it.
Y
Y
ou gonna lock Welch up, no problem, Miles Ortiz said. I know
the man. Show him the green, and he come running.
Melanie had authorized Detective Julian Hay to requisition twenty
thousand dollars in marked buy money. It sat in an open metal briefcase
on Melanies desk, bundled with rubber bands and arranged in
neat stacks. Miles lifted up his Flex Gym T- shirt, exposing coffee colored
skin and rippling abs. Julians face was set in deep concentration
as he taped a recording device securely to Miless lower back.
Julian knew about the e - mail, and knew that Benedict Welch was suspected
of being the killer they were calling the Central Park Butcher.
But there was no need to tell Miles that.
Hes really gonna do this out in the open in a restaurant? Julian
asked dubiously, tearing another piece of black electrical tape from
the roll.
He aint got no fear, Miles said. Never been caught before,
never tasted the inside. He get his kicks selling drugs in front of peoples
eyes and they dont know whats happening.
Brazen, Melanie said. The restaurant he picked is a real Upper
East Side haunt. Ladies who lunch. Or brunch, I should say. Its
Sunday.
Miles fingered a cigarette and tucked it behind his ear like a
pencil. Good to go, Julian said, straightening up. Lets move.
Melanie and Julian accompanied Miles uptown. They planned to
sit in Julians undercover vehicle and listen to the buy unfold over the
wire. Melanie would decide when they had enough evidence to make
an arrest. The car was a late - model black Lincoln Navigator with
custom rims and ultradark tints. It had been seized from a Brooklyn
kingpin whose current address was twenty - three - hour lockdown at
FCI - Florence. The Navigator was a perfect ride for a drug buy on
Queens Boulevard, but it stuck out among the more discreet vehicles
of the Upper East Side, so Julian dropped Miles down the block from
the meet location and found an inconspicuous parking spot on a side
street where they still had a decent view.
The location Welch had chosen was a posh sidewalk café with
marble - topped tables set up outside a Madison Avenue bistro. Miles
sat down alone at a table to wait for Welch to arrive. Julian tuned his
two - way radio to the right frequency and tested to make sure he was
picking up Miles as well as the other agents, who were stationed in
the surrounding blocks awaiting the arrest signal. When he was done
with that task, he took some test shots with the large digital camera
that hung around his neck.
Within minutes, a white Escalade pulled up beside the Navigator
and parked them in, looking every bit as glitzy as they did.
Shit, theyre blocking my view, Julian said, lowering his camera.
Thats Kim Savitts car, Melanie said. She hunkered down in her
seat, until she remembered they had dark tinted windows. Kim would
never spot her.
Kim Savitts here? Julian asked.
Yeah, but why, I havent a clue. Maybe she gave Welch a ride?
I never met her. When she hooked me up with Miles, I spoke to
her over the phone. I hear shes something to see.
The driver came around and opened Kims door, holding out his hand. A slender, tanned arm reached out. Long, bare legs ending in
strappy sandals stepped to the pavement, followed by a lithe torso and
big chest, wrapped up in the most casually chic little cotton minidress.
Acres of blond hair completed the effect.
Whoa, Julian said. The exclamation sounded involuntary.
Who invited her? Melanie demanded.
I dont know, but Im not complaining. Damn, I love my job.
And he lifted his camera and snapped a picture.
Miss Hottie could queer our deal, Julian. Miles hasnt seen her
since he found out she set him up. Hell go ballistic. Hand me that
radio, quick.
The Escalade pulled away, revealing Kim in the process of crossing
the street toward Miles. She saw him and stopped dead in the middle of
Madison Avenue. Even from this distance, Melanie could tell that Miles
looked stricken. A bus was bearing down on Kim. She sprinted out of the
way, heading toward the café, her yellow hair streaming behind her.
Hurry, before Kim gets to the table, Melanie snapped.
Julian picked up a transmitter attached by a spiral cord to the
radio and thrust it into Melanies hand.
Push this and talk, Julian said.
Miles, its Melanie. Do you read me?
Yeah. Miles spoke without moving his lips. If you didnt know
he was talking into a tiny transmitter hidden in his shirt, you never
would have guessed.
You see Kim coming, right? Act like nothing is wrong. If you
confront her, shell know youve been arrested, and it could blow the
whole buy. Do you understand?
The fucking bitch. Im gonna fucking crush her.
Miles, this is important. Youre looking at ten to life. You need
this deal to go through or youll end up rotting in jail. Do what I say,
Melanie insisted.
The radio crackled. Detective Jarmin, over. I got the eyeball. We got Benedict Welch on set. Hes crossing Seventy - fourth, heading
south on the west side of Madison. Subject is on foot, pulling a large
black roller suitcase.
Julian motioned for Melanie to hand him the mike. Roger that,
he said. Subject is approaching. Maintain radio silence until you hear
the arrest signal.
Across the street, Kim was leaning down and kissing Miles on the
mouth. His hand rested nonchalantly on her ass, like nothing bad had
happened between them.
Atta boy, Miles, Melanie whispered.
What up, baby? Miles said to Kim.
Youre not mad, are you? Kim asked. She sat down across
from him.
Mad about what?
Uh . . . just that I havent called you.
You said you wasnt gonna call, remember? Did you come here to
see me? Im supposed to be meetin Dr. Ben. We got business.
Ben told me to meet him here. He never said you were coming,
though. Im surprised to see you.
I bet you are, Miles said, a note of bitterness creeping into his
tone.
Kim looked at him appraisingly. I wonder what Ben was thinking,
not mentioning it, she said.
Ask him. Here he comes now.
As Welch approached, Julians camera clicked repeatedly. Kim signaled
a waiter and demanded a bottle of Pellegrino and some menus
immediately. Welch sauntered into the sidewalk café pulling the roller
bag after him. He did some fancy footwork to maneuver the bulky
suitcase between the tables and up to the one where Miles and Kim
sat. The waiter glanced at the suitcase with an annoyed look. Welch
rapped Miles on the back hard enough to send a loud whooshing
sound over the air, which hurt Melanies ears. Hello, Miles. And beautiful Kim. Dont get up. Welch sat down
between the two of them, his bleached yellow hair competing with
Kims in dazzling display. After hearing Pauline Estradas report from
Tulsa, Melanie had decided that Welch must have dyed his hair blond
and started wearing those weird violet - blue contact lenses in order to
better match the physical characteristics of the real Benedict Welch.
Now that she knew he was the Butcher, it made sense that he needed
a false identity, a place to hide out between crimes.
So Miles and I were sitting here wondering why you invited us
to lunch without telling the other, Kim said.
Whats the problem? You like each other, dont you? You certainly
give that impression, Welch said.
I dont want to discuss business in front of a lady, Miles said.
We dont keep secrets from Kim, Welch said, unfazed. Were
among friends. Now, why dont we order some lunch?
Back in the car, Julian turned to Melanie. I know why Welch
brought Kim, he said.
Why?
Shes his insurance policy. Welch is hinked up. Hes suspicious
of Miles for some reason, and he thinks hell be safer with Kim
around.
Ill bet youre right. Hes in for a shock. Im sure Miles would love
nothing better at this moment than to bring the cops down on Kims
head, Melanie said.
And the press, Julian said.
They went back to watching. Welch was reading the menu. Miles
was glowering at Welch. Kim was looking back and forth between the
two of them, frowning. Julian took a few pictures of the assembled
group. Just when things were starting to drag, and Melanie was seeing
why agents always complained that surveillances were boring, Miles
got to his feet in a pretty good imitation of fury. Welch looked up
from his menu, alarmed. What is it?
Youre stalling! Miles said.
No, Im not. Im hungry.
I didnt come here to socialize. I got my people waiting for this
delivery. You got the pills. I got the money. So lets do the deal.
Will you be quiet? Someone will overhear. Welch scanned the
restaurant nervously.
Why you set the hand - to - hand up here, then? I couldve just as
easy come to your offi ce.
What is going on? Kim demanded. If you guys are doing what
I think youre doing, Im leaving.
Kim, if you walk out, you will draw even more attention to yourself,
Welch said.
I dont appreciate being put in the middle like this. If Drew fi nds
out I was in on some drug deal, hell crucify me in court.
Oh, I forgot. Youre all about keeping your money. God forbid
somebody else should make some, Welch said.
I dont care what you do, but dont mix me up in your shit, she
said, standing up.
Sit down. Welch grabbed her arm and jerked her back to her
seat.
Hey, watch it! Kim exclaimed, rubbing her arm.
Shut up, both a you, Miles interjected in a calming tone. Lets
make the trade and get this over with, so Kim can rest easy. He leaned
over, sinking temporarily from view, and came back up with the silver
metal briefcase that held the money. As Miles placed the briefcase on
the table in plain sight, Julian furiously snapped photographs.
Count it, Miles commanded. Its all there. Now I need to see
the product.
I cant count the money here, Welch said, glancing over his
shoulder. Too risky. And Im not letting you count the pills. You
couldnt possibly, anyway. There are thousands of them. This is so fucked up, Kim said, dropping her head into her
hands. I cant believe you clowns are putting me in this position.
Shut up, Welch commanded. Miles, what happened to the
trust? Weve never counted money or product in public before. Im
telling you, this is not smart. He was talking in a low voice, but urgently
enough that the wire picked him up loud and clear.
I was told to check the merchandise. There was a problem last
time, Miles said.
What problem? You never mentioned any problem before.
I dont know. But if my shorties from the Houses say to check,
Im gonna check. Or else I walk away with the money right now and
this shit is off. Permanently.
Welch stared at Miles with a slackened jaw, then blinked. The
suitcase is beside you, he said, sighing. Tip it over, and youll be able
to open it without having everything spill out. Just please, try not to
let people see.
Miles did as Welch directed. Julian snapped photos of him bending
over, opening the suitcase, and examining the contents. Kim stood up
abruptly and backed away like shed never met either of them in her life.
She turned and broke into a trot. Miles raised his hand high in the air
and gave the previously agreed - upon signal. Melanie nodded at Julian.
We got a positive visual on the drugs. Move in for the arrest,
Julian barked into the mike.
He jumped from the Navigator and hit the ground running. Suddenly
the block was swarming with well - built guys wearing jackets
that screamed NYPD and FBI in big white capital letters.
Police! Dont move! somebody shouted.
Youre under arrest! Youre under arrest! somebody else yelled.
Welch was facedown on the sidewalk being handcuffed. Miles
Ortiz had been hustled away and was no longer in sight. Kim Savitt
raced down Madison Avenue faster than Melanie had ever seen
anybody run in high heels. A tall agent sprinted after her, his legs pumping, and grabbed her around the waist, lifting her into the air
kicking and flailing. After a brief struggle, the agent handcuffed Kim,
his walkie - talkie picking up her curses and screams and carrying them
over the airwaves to Melanie, who could hear them anyway from a
block away, they were so loud.
Let me go! You fucking asshole! Youre hurting me! Do you know
who I am? My lawyers gonna squash you like a cockroach.
Melanie would make sure that Kim Savitt was released. Eventually.
Kim had had no prior knowledge of the drug deal and had beat feet
after she learned about it, so there was no probable cause to charge
her with a crime. Nevertheless, getting hauled down to Central Booking
and cut loose at the last minute before she was processed might
be good for Kim. Might give her some time to think, to reevaluate
her lifestyle and make better choices about how, and with whom, she
spent her time. She ought to. She had a little girl to raise.
Melanie got out of the car and went over to where Julian had
Benedict Welch spread - eagled against a wall. Julian patted Welch
down while other detectives retrieved the cases full of pseudoephedrine
and cash and filled out evidence tags.
Let me see his identifi cation, Melanie said as Julian withdrew a
Gucci wallet from the breast pocket of Welchs tweed blazer.
Melanie systematically went through the wallet. Every piece of
identification in it-- drivers license, credit cards, medical board identification
card, memberships to a golf club and to various museums, a
Blockbuster video card-- was in the name Benedict Harold Welch.
Welch turned around. His eyes glinted savagely at Melanie
through the unnatural violet lenses. She stared back at him with an
expression of revulsion. In her minds eye, she was seeing Suzanne
Shepards brutalized corpse, the left breast severed and hanging loose,
the ugly word carved into her stomach. And she was reading those
disgusting e - mails hed written to her. Hed be locked away now, unable
to harm her. Shed won. Whats your name? she demanded.
You know my name, he replied, clearly taken aback.
I know its not Benedict Welch. The press calls you the Butcher,
but Im going to find out what your real name is.
He looked scared, which gratified her greatly. Hell, he was the
one whod taken this personal, so shoot her if she enjoyed seeing him
squirm. Melanie nodded at Julian, who shoved Welch from behind
toward the police cruiser that had pulled up beside them, its door
yawning open to receive the prisoner. 43

The man who went by the name Benedict Welch was now in the
MCC facing serious narcotics charges. But methamphetamine distribution
was nothing compared to the heinous crime Melanie was
convinced hed committed. She planned to nail him for real, to prove
he was the Central Park Butcher, to lock him in a dark place until the
end of his days. And she planned to do it by tomorrow morning. She
had to: thats when the Butchers bail hearing was set for. She refused
to let this man hit the street.
The evidence was already strong enough that Melanie managed
to get search warrants for Welchs home and office out of Magistrate
Judge Helen Boutros with little difficulty-- and over the phone on a
Sunday, no less. Trailed by Deputy U. S. Marshal Peter Terrozzi-- who
refused to leave her side no matter how much she begged him to or
how loudly she reassured him that the Butcher was already in custody--
Melanie went to Welchs office. Shed left several messages for
Dan OReilly asking him to meet her there to conduct the search.
But neither one of the agents who awaited her on the chintz chairs
bon copies of each other, young and brawny and squeaky - clean with
short brown hair, part of the constant stream of new recruits fl owing
into the Bureau since 9/ 11.
The slightly taller, slightly older - looking one spoke fi rst.
Maam, Agent Ryan Waterman from the Bureau. My partner,
Agent Brandon Mills. My supervisor informs me you need agents to
execute a couple of search warrants.
Are you guys assigned to this case? Meaning, Who the hell are you?
As of now we are.
Wheres Agent OReilly?
Maam, following up another lead and unavailable to work this
search.
Was Dan avoiding her? But hed left her a couple of voice mails
since last night asking her to call, so he obviously wanted to talk to
her. She hadnt returned either of them.
What about Agent Crockett, or any of the agents who attended
the meeting yesterday?
Its Sunday, maam, and were new. Low men on the totem
pole.
Do either of you know anything about the Butcher case?
No, maam, but we are warm bodies with two eyes and two
hands. We can execute a search warrant.
Have you done searches before?
Numerous mock searches at Quantico, Agent Waterman said.
I assisted a real search two weeks ago, Agent Mills added, his
chest puffi ng out.
Well, it seems I have no choice. Ill take you, but you do everything
I say, understood?
The agents glanced at each other uneasily. They might be newbies,
but theyd already managed to pick up the agents code that made
it a point of honor to give prosecutors, especially female ones, a hard
time. of the reception area was Dan. They stood up in unison, virtual car Whatever. Just get in here, she said.
They followed her back to Welchs office with the leather club
chairs and big mahogany desk. She reminded them to photograph
and diagram the place before they searched it.
Standard procedure, maam, Agent Waterman said, though
hed been standing there the second before looking like he didnt
have a clue. The maam thing was starting to bug her, too. It made
her feel old.
Fine. Just checking, she said.
Melanie fell into one of the cushy leather chairs and took a load
off. Her eyes were burning and her head pounding; she could use a
few minutes to catch her breath. When the agents were done diagramming
and photographing, she gave them a copy of the warrant that
listed the items they were allowed to search for. Melanie wasnt supposed
to touch anything herself; she was present only as a legal adviser.
Judging from appearances, these two needed one.
Both agents pulled on rubber gloves. A long credenza sat beneath
the far windows beyond Welchs desk. It was covered with fi les. Ryan
walked over to it and lifted the top one.
Should I read every page of every fi le, maam?
Call me Melanie. No, in fact, if a folder contains medical records,
you shouldnt read it at all. Medical records are privileged. But
if you find something else, let me know.
Every file on the credenza contained medical records, so the search
went quickly. The same was true of every file in the four cabinets
lining the adjoining wall. But when the agents got to Welchs desk,
things got interesting.
All three drawers on the right - hand side of the desk are locked,
Ryan announced.
Melanie, whose head had been drooping onto her chest in the
comfortable depths of the chair, perked up instantly. It was a basic
tenet of her profession that the presence of a lock usually indicated something worth hiding. And something worth hiding was generally
worth fi nding.
The warrant allows you to search locked areas, she said. Do
what you have to do to open the drawers. Obviously, try to keep the
property damage to a minimum.
Ryan opened a duffel bag and pulled out a tool case, taking from
it a tiny screwdriver. He jimmied the top lock easily. Melanie saw his
eyebrows shoot up as he reached in with rubber - encased hands.
Brandon moved in, blocking Melanies view. Yes! he crowed,
pumping his fists as if hed just scored a touchdown.
What have you got? Melanie asked.
Sparkle, Ryan said. Jenny Crank. Redneck heroin. Hillbilly
crack.
Huh?
Brandon laughed. Ryan means methamphetamine. You know
how the Eskimos have fifty different words for snow? Well, the Bureau
dug up Ryan working narcotics in Milwaukee. Meths the only drug
they got out there in East Blowhole, unless you count sniffing gas. He
has a million names for it.
Ryan snorted. Stop making fun of things you dont understand
and grab me a few of them plastic evidence bags and the heat sealer.
Melanie came around the desk and watched as Ryan laid out a
hefty haul of glassine envelopes on the fancy leather desk blotter. Each
glassine held a small amount of a substance that had the consistency
and appearance of sea salt.
Look how transparent it is, Ryan said lovingly. This is highly
pure and very expensive meth. I counted. Weve got fifty - seven doses
here, more than half a G - pack. You want me to field - test one before I
seal em all up for transport?
Definitely, Melanie said. Welch is getting arraigned tomorrow
morning. His lawyer is sure to spend the whole bail hearing talking
about what a reputable member of the medical community Welch is. Id love to fire back with the dangerous narcotics he keeps hidden in
his office drawer, but I need to confirm this is really meth fi rst.
No problem. One field test, coming up.
Melanie watched Ryan break the seal on a fresh field - test kit labeled
with the chemical name for meth. Slowly and carefully, he assembled
his tools and pipetted a tiny amount of crystal from one of
the glassines into a test tube. He squirted in a clear solution from a
plastic bottle, swirled the mixture around, and set it to stand in a
tray.
Thisll take a minute to react, Ryan said.
I know Welch had a meth habit, Melanie said as they waited. But
this is a lot of drugs. Do you think he was selling as well as using?
He was doing both, Ryan said.
How do you know?
I know these drugs are for personal use because theres a pipe in
the drawer, see? Ryan reached in a gloved hand and pulled out a glass
pipe with a visible layer of gunk in the bottom.
Its got obvious residue, he continued, so we know the pipe was
used, if not by him, then presumably by someone else in his presence
since he kept it locked in his desk. The reason I say the baggies were
also meant for sale is that no icehead could smoke this much crank
within sell - by date without going belly - up. Drugs go bad just like
food. Any discerning junkie is gonna care how many days out of the
lab his product is, and he wont pay top dollar for anything older than
a week. With shit this pure, Id say if youre doing two or three bags a
day, thats a pretty intense habit. Any more, and youre incapacitated
and cant hold down a regular job. More than that, youre dead. So
whats here is way too much for one man to use, at least if he wants
it fresh.
I wonder if Welch was selling to patients, Melanie said, her
mind racing. But a really bad personal meth habit. That makes sense,
too, you know? I mean, if Welch is the Butcher. What do you mean? Ryan asked.
The murder were investigating was very brutal. Thats why the
press came up with the nickname Butcher. The victim was raped and
stabbed so many times that one of her breasts was severed. The killer
carved bitch on her stomach with a scalpel. The crime was so ugly
that Id almost have trouble believing Welch committed it, despite
how creepy I find him. Unless he was high on meth.
The Scooby snacks mess with your head big - time, Ryan said,
nodding. He picked up the test tube. The liquid inside had turned
cobalt blue. And we have a yes! The substance has field - tested positive
for the presence of methamphetamine, and Im prepared to swear
to that in court.
Ryan and Brandon went to work cleaning up the field test, sealing
the glassine envelopes and the pipe into clear plastic evidence pouches
and filling out the labels.
This is great evidence for our narcotics charges, Melanie said.
But what Im really looking for is evidence about the murder. I have
the Butcher e - mailing from this office, but I also have three well known
plastic surgeons claiming Welch was with them in a fancy restaurant
at the time of the crime. I refuse to believe Welch is innocent.
Maybe the doctors are lying or maybe he had an accomplice. Either
way, I need a trump card, something powerful enough to give the lie
to his alibi.
Ryan picked up the small screwdriver hed used to jimmy the top
lock. Time to find out whats behind Door Number Two.
Melanie and Brandon watched as Ryan worked the screwdriver
and eased open the middle drawer. Simultaneously, they all made
noises of disappointment. The drawer appeared to be filled with . . .
trash.
Garbage? Melanie asked.
Well, now at least weve learned the guy has a serious Milky Way
habit, Ryan said, reaching in and pulling out a candy wrapper and tossing it over his shoulder. He pulled the drawer out wholesale and
got ready to turn it upside down and dump the contents into the
wastebasket next to the desk.
Wait! Melanie commanded. What are you doing? Lay everything
out on the desk and go through it carefully.
Maam, I can assure you that habitual methamphetamine users,
if they eat at all, eat primarily candy and ice cream. This is exactly
what it looks like-- a bunch of grubby old garbage left over from his
binges, with junkie cooties on every last piece.
Agent, when youre on the stand getting cross - examined by defense
counsel about the manner in which you conducted this search,
do you plan to testify that you picked up a pile of potentially valuable
evidence and threw it in the trash without looking at it because you
were afraid of a few junkie cooties? she asked.
Ryan stopped what he was doing and gazed at her. No, maam.
Then inspect each item, please. Youre wearing rubber gloves,
anyway.
Yes, maam.
Ryan dumped the pile of trash out onto on the desk blotter. As
Brandon began picking carefully through candy wrappers and crumpled
Cheetos bags, examining each one, Ryan bent down to replace
the drawer. He stopped in midfl ight.
What? Do you see something? Melanie asked.
Ryan fitted the drawer back in place, then reached in and removed
a plastic baggie that had been Scotch - taped way at the back. The baggie
had been invisible under all the trash.
Okay, you were right, Ryan said, grinning at Melanie sheepishly.
But I have a good excuse. This is way more finesse than youd
ever see from a crankhead in Milwaukee. Theyre all too wrecked to
think about hiding evidence.
Life in the big city. Even the junkies outclass Ryan, Brandon
said. Blow me, Mills, Ryan said.
Yo, keep it polite, dude. Ladies present.
Let me see that. Melanie held out her hand, her voice husky
with excitement. She took the baggie and raised it up to the light. The
small white rectangle inside was crusted with dried blood, but not so
much that Melanie couldnt make out Suzanne Shepards smiling face
in the lower left - hand corner.
What is it? Ryan asked.
The victims drivers license. It was taken from her wallet by the
Butcher as a sort of grisly souvenir. Gentlemen, everybody who said
three respectable doctors would never lie was mistaken. Weve discovered
evidence proving that Benedict Welch murdered Suzanne
Shepard. He is the Central Park Butcher. 44

But when Melanie called Mark Sonschein to crow about her new evidence,
he delivered some deflating news. Mark and Dan OReilly had
been at the hospital showing photographs to David Harris, and theyd
showed him the mug shot of Benedict Welch taken earlier that day.
Please, Melanie said, squeezing her eyes shut, dont tell me
Harris clears Welch. I have such powerful evidence on the guy now. I
cant go back to square one, I just cant.
Harris doesnt actually clear him, Mark said. What he says is
less definitive than that. You see, Harris never got a good look at the
Butchers face. During the Suzanne Shepard murder, the Butcher wore
night - vision goggles. And when Harris was kidnapped, the Butcher
was sitting in the front seat of a limo with a tinted - glass barrier between
them.
So whats the problem, then? Melanie demanded.
He says the hair is wrong.
The hair? Give me a freaking break.
Look, I know you want this to be over, but we take the evidence
as we find it, Melanie. Thats what we do. She sighed. What about the hair?
Welch has this longish, very yellow hair. Its obviously dyed,
right? Harris says the Butcher was blond, also. But he was staring at
the back of his head on the whole limo ride, and hes very clear that
the Butcher has close - cropped, naturally dark blond hair. Virtually a
crew cut. And a big, thick neck. Welch is tall but hes not robust. The
descriptions dont match.
Were talking about a witness who only saw the Butcher from
behind! And through tinted glass. Thats meaningless.
Would you be arguing that if Harris thought Welch did look like
the Butcher? Mark asked.
Easy for you to say. Hes not after you, Melanie muttered.
Im very cognizant of the threat to you, Melanie. Thats what
makes me want to be sure that weve got the right man. Im not saying
Harriss information is definitive, or that we should cut Welch loose.
But I think it raises serious questions.
Theres a simple way to settle this, Melanie said, and if I hadnt
been so busy with these search warrants, I would have seen to it by
now. We need to have Welchs DNA tested.
The problem was, the only way Melanie knew to get FBI technicians
to show up when and where she needed them was to have Dan
OReilly place the call. Dan was third - generation New York City law
enforcement, a local boy. In New York, where circles were smaller
than outsiders could possibly imagine, being from a family on the job
counted for a huge amount. Cops had their own churches, their own
rec leagues and Catholic schools-- hell, their own entire suburbs. Dan
was savvier than his true - blue, no - nonsense persona would suggest;
and when it came to using his connections and pulling strings, he had
no rival.
But if shed wanted to talk to him, she would have returned his
phone calls.
Mark, is Dan OReilly still with you? she asked. No, he went back to his offi ce.
You should call him and have him get the technicians over to the
MCC to swab Welchs cheek.
You do that. Ive got a conference call in five minutes on another
matter, and then Ive got to get to my mother - in - laws house for supper.
If Im late-- well, lets just say it wont be pretty.
What could she do? Mark outranked her. Besides, she couldnt
very well tell him that she wasnt speaking to her case agent because
theyd had a lovers quarrel. How would that play in the front offi ce
when promotions got decided?
Okay, she said, and hung up.
Melanie was standing with her thumb poised over her cell phone,
having trouble making herself dial Dans number, when Deputy Marshal
Pete Terrozzi poked his head into Welchs offi ce.
Ready to go? he asked. I saw those two FBI agents hauling
evidence out to the car. I got worried about you alone in here.
Im fine. Were supposed to meet up with them at Welchs apartment
to execute the next warrant, but I need to make a phone call fi rst.
No sweat, Terrozzi said, and plopped into one of the leather
club chairs.
I need privacy, Melanie said.
I have a security clearance, you know, he said, sounding miffed.
Of course. I trust you completely, Pete. Its just-- well, you
wouldnt want to be called in to testify just because youd overheard
something about my investigation, would you? You could end up
waiting around for hours.
Okay, good point. Ill hang tight in the waiting room for a little
bit. And he left, closing the door behind him.
Somehow the threat of Pete Terrozzi coming back in, which he
surely would do sooner or later, forced Melanies hand. She found
herself dialing, and then holding her breath as Dans cell phone rang.
He picked up on the fi rst ring. Hey!
The eagerness in Dans voice made Melanie wish desperately that
last night had never happened. If only she could trust him without
reservations, love him without doubts, like she had yesterday. She
couldnt bear to think those feelings were gone.
Hey, she replied, feeling battered, her voice fl at.
Im so glad you called. I was getting worried that youd never talk
to me again. He laughed nervously.
Im calling about the case. I need you to do something.
Oh. She could hear his voice tighten up.
Heres what I need.
Melanie, he broke out, cant we make this up? All that happened
was Diane calling to tell me her father died.
Thats hardly the only thing that happened! Either youre being
deliberately obtuse or you really dont get it, and Im not sure which
is worse.
Enough with the below - the - belt comments there, he said.
Im not upset because Diane called to say her father died. You
were seeing her without telling me! Maybe youve forgotten. My father
abandoned me when he left my mother for another woman. My
husband cheated on me when I was pregnant. Do you have any idea
what alarm bells your behavior sets off, with my history? So take the
consequences. Tell me the whole truth. Apologize. Tell me how youre
going to fix this. Dont act like Im the one hurting you.
You are hurting me. I know all about your husband cheating,
okay? I know about your father, too. I was there in Puerto Rico when
you went to see him. I saw your face when you came out of that
house. Weve both had our heartaches, but thats got jack to do with
you and me. Ive treated you right, yet I get no credit. Youre suspicious
over nothing.
Seeing your ex - wife behind my back is not nothing, she said.
Behind your back? Thats bullshit, Melanie. Its two days since I first saw Diane. Days where you and I were crazy busy and never alone
for a second. I didnt have a chance to tell you.
You were too busy to tell me you were seeing your ex - wife?
Melanie asked incredulously. Thats baloney.
If you think Id go back to Diane after how she treated me, you
dont know the first thing about me, he insisted.
Of course, deep down, that was what Melanie feared most. She
knew his past had great power over him. But she wouldnt let herself
utter that terrible thought aloud.
We cant talk about this now, she said instead. Theres too
much going on, and this conversation is making me too upset.
But he wouldnt let go. You think Ive been calling up Diane crying
in my beer over old times? Is that what you think?
We should just let this drop, Dan, she said.
I barely even talked to her. The dinner lasted thirty minutes tops,
and it was all about her old man. Seriously. I had a burger and she had
a tuna - fish sandwich. Melanie, please, theres no reason to fl ip out.
If this is such a nothing thing, why is her number in your phone?
How many times did you talk to her?
Not a lot.
How many?
What am I, Mark Fuhrman on the stand with the bloody glove
now? I dont like being cross - examined. Either you trust me or you
dont.
How can I possibly trust you after what happened? And when
you wont answer a direct question? Do you think Im a fool? When
you put somebodys number in your phone, it means you talk to them
a lot. Everybody knows that, and now you just proved it to me.
I got a ton of stuff in my phone. Some snitch who called me
three weeks ago with a bogus tip. The pizza place on the corner. Dianes
numbers in there, too, but it doesnt mean anything. There is
nothing going on between us. End of story. This is a woman youve been in love with since childhood who
broke your heart. Im supposed to believe shes the equivalent of a
pizza place?
Youve been in this job too long. Youve lost the ability to trust.
That makes me sad.
Its what you did thats sad. Even with my history, I managed to
put my faith in you. And what did you do? You withheld information
from me that you had every reason to believe I would want to know. I
dont trust you anymore, and I dont know if I ever will, and its your
own fault.
Dan fell silent. Melanies heart was pounding after her speech. She
wanted to hang up on him. She wished she werent in the middle of an
investigation. She would go somewhere dark and quiet and cry really
hard, then go to sleep for a long, long time.
I got to confess, Im surprised, Dan was saying. Im surprised
this made such a big impact. It was really nothing. But Im starting
to see how upset you are over it. Im finally getting that through my
thick skull.
She said nothing.
What do you want me to do? Dan asked. I have to see her, at
least for a while, around this funeral stuff. Do you want me to tell you
when I see Diane, like you do when you see your husband?
Hes my ex - husband.
Your ex?
That would be nice, she said bitterly. It would have nice to begin
with!
Im not used to having somebody looking over my shoulder. But
maybe I could, if that would make you feel better.
She didnt answer. They fell silent. Melanie closed her eyes and felt
them stinging. She knew if she backed down now, and told him she
was sorry for making such a fuss, and said please, please, indulge my
insecurity, they could patch things up. Thats what Dan wanted, but she couldnt give it to him. Not now. Not without more of an apology.
She was like a crab that had been poked with a stick-- closed up tight
within her shell, unable to open herself to him. If she held back, she
risked pushing him into his ex - wifes arms. So be it. If Dan went back
to Diane, then it was meant to be.
As I stand here, Im not sure what would make me feel better, but
certainly not the half - assed response Im getting from you, Melanie
said in a dead tone.
Ah, crap, I dont know then, Dan said.
Melanie heard silence on her phone. She looked at the screen.
It said call ended. Hed hung up. She felt like hurling the phone
against the wall. Instead, she remembered her responsibilities-- to her
job, to her life-- and forced herself to hit redial. Listening to the rings,
she felt strange, like time had stopped, like she was watching herself
from a distance.
What? Dan snapped.
Melanie took a deep breath and focused on the here and now. I
need you to arrange a DNA test for Benedict Welch. 45


Benedict Welchs apartment was situated in a premier Fifth Avenue
building and boasted treetop views of Central Park from every
window. The living room was brimming with sofas and wing chairs
and ottomans and benches, all pricey - looking, all done in shades of
white that contrasted dramatically with the enormous black grand
piano. The overall effect was beautiful and luxurious, if cold. It certainly
didnt look like the lair of a psychotic killer, but Melanie told
herself not to be taken in by appearances. People were so twisted these
days. Once the rich and the powerful were done amassing their material
wealth, they sometimes found themselves bored, with time on
their hands, looking for the next thrill. If Welch had turned to darker
pastimes to keep himself amused, would that really be so shocking?
Shed seen it before.
By the time Melanie reached the apartment, the agents were
nearly done searching, and Welchs wife, Gloria, was splayed out on
a Biedermeier settee staring into the far distance with the eyes of a
woman on heavy meds. She didnt fit the stereotype of a killers wife,
if there was such a thing, and yet she wasnt wrong for the part, ei ther. She wore a bloodred dinner suit that made a gash against the
white upholstery and petted a tiny Chihuahua as serenely as if shed be
heading out any minute to her regular table at Le Bernardin. Melanie
envied Mrs. Welch her pharmaceutical calm. She couldve used a sedative
herself right then, but unfortunately she needed full command of
her faculties to make sense of what Agents Waterman and Mills had
discovered in the apartment. Theyd struck pay dirt in the form of
Suzanne Shepards investigative file-- the one Miles Ortiz had lifted
from Suzannes apartment at Welchs behest. Welch had kept it. Melanie
was so anxious to get her hands on the contents that she couldnt
wait for the agents to make copies. She snapped on rubber gloves, sat
down at a lacquered table beneath a curving Art Nouveau chandelier,
and dug in, determined to find some connection to the man of the
house, whom she had locked up in the MCC.
The manila folder was marked with Benedict Welchs name in Suzanne
Shepards handwriting. Melanie opened it with a racing heart.
Inside, she found copies of the newspaper articles Miles had described
in his proffer session.
Thirteen years earlier, in Los Angeles, a man named Edward Allen
Harvey had been convicted of the murder of a woman named Cheryl
Driscoll and sentenced to fifteen to life. Cheryl had been twenty - four
when she died, a wannabe actress earning her living on the seedy fringes
of the sex industry, dancing at a strip club called Playground and landing
the occasional part in a porno fi lm. The microfilmed copy of the
black - and - white newspaper reprint of Cheryls high - school - yearbook
photo from South Bend, Indiana, was grainy and blurred but still
conveyed her megawatt smile and beautiful wide - set eyes.
Cheryl had been missing for three days, Melanie read, when her
body was discovered rolled up in a blanket in a remote state park
north of Los Angeles. Shed been raped and slashed to death. The L. A.
Times said that the autopsy confirmed seventeen separate stab wounds
on her face, chest, neck, and arms. But her stomach was oddly un touched, except for the word slut cut into her flesh with a carving
knife.
Melanie read that, and the bright white room faded momentarily
to black. This old murder had to have been committed by the Butcher
himself.
When her vision cleared, Melanie pulled herself together and continued
reading. Scandalmonger or no, Suzanne Shepard had been one kick ass
investigative reporter, and shed assembled a thick file on the Driscoll
homicide. Melanie pored over articles on the pretrial hearings that spelled
out the course of the investigation in detail. The homicide detectives path
to the convicted man, Edward Allen Harvey, had been a straight shot.
The murder weapon was a ten - inch - long butcher knife with an acrylic
handle found lying in a gully twenty feet from the victims corpse, and it
had fingerprints on it. The fingerprints matched ones already on fi le for
Harvey, who had a rap sheet for other sex crimes. Homicide detectives
showed Harveys mug shot around at Playground and established that he
was a regular customer, one whod had a few run - ins with the bouncers
for getting rough with the girls. Melanie paged through the file in vain
looking for a picture of Harvey. Every paper that had run a photograph
had gone with the gorgeous young victim instead, who naturally would
have sold more copies at the newsstand.
Melanie found an article describing Harveys arrest. Hed been
working as a handyman for a company that managed a bunch of motel-
like apartment buildings in the San Fernando Valley. Homicide detectives
had located him at work with no difficulty, which gave Melanie
pause. Three days after a murder, and Harvey was going about his
business? In Melanies experience of killers, that wasnt normal behavior.
Men who committed heinous crimes had the sense to run, or at
least to hide. They made more of an effort to cover their tracks than
Harvey had, anyway. Either Harvey was a complete psychopath, accustomed
to killing and getting away with it, skilled at hiding in plain
sight like BTK and others of that ilk. Or else he was innocent-- which of course was what hed claimed. Melanie skimmed through a number
of articles in which Harveys lawyer loudly trumpeted his innocence,
promising an acquittal at trial. Buried at the bottom of one of them,
she finally found the connection to Benedict Welch that shed been
looking for all along.
In her rush, shed almost skipped right over it. The page trembling
in her eager fingers, Melanie read about the alternative suspect whom
Harveys lawyer had offered up to the media. The lawyer claimed that
the real killer was a second - rate plastic surgeon named Howard Vine.
Harvey had met Vine at Playground, where they both hung out and
ogled the girls. According to Harvey, Vine had bragged to him repeatedly
about having sex with patients while they were under, and had
let it slip that Cheryl Driscoll was a patient of his, one for whom he
had sinister plans.
The investigative reporter covering the Driscoll case had followed
up on the lawyers claims and actually found evidence to back them
up. There had indeed been a plastic surgeon named Howard Vine who
had been practicing out of an office in a small strip mall, performing
cosmetic procedures on young actresses and models who couldnt afford
anyone better. At the time of the Driscoll murder, Vines medical
license was in the process of being revoked because of patient complaints
combined with certain irregularities in his licensing application.
Even more critical, it turned out that Cheryl Driscoll had indeed
been a patient of Vines, that shed been reported missing the day after
she was scheduled for a mole removal in Vines office, and that Vine
himself had skipped town shortly after her body was found.
Melanie had years worth of practice listening to bogus claims of
innocence. A large percentage of the guys shed put away-- even those
whod pleaded guilty-- filed appeals and habeas corpus petitions trying
to divert suspicion onto somebody other than themselves. And
they were usually careful to pick straw men who were dead or beyond
the reach of due process, since things got complicated if your true killer showed up in court to defend himself. The fact that the mysterious
Howard Vine was in the wind gave him every appearance of
being a figment of Edward Allen Harveys imagination. Yet, despite
her ingrained skepticism, Melanie thought the whole scenario had the
ring of truth-- or at least plausibility-- about it.
But the jury hadnt agreed. Theyd had trouble with the fact that
Edward Allen Harveys fingerprints were on the bloody knife. Okay,
Melanie had to admit she had a little trouble with that herself. They
deliberated for twenty - six minutes before returning a guilty verdict.
Maam?
Agent Ryan Waterman was standing over her with furrowed eyebrows.
What is it?
Its pretty late. Weve been done with the search for a while now.
I was hoping to place that file into an evidence bag and get going.
She didnt want to give it to him. But he was only doing his job,
ensuring a proper chain of custody.
If you want it back, I need copies, she said.
I can do that for you once we get back to headquarters. I have no
way to make copies here.
All right. Give me a minute to make some notes.
Melanie drew her notebook from her bag and reflected on what shed
just learned. Benedict Welch had ordered Miles Ortiz to steal a fi le from
Suzanne Shepards apartment. Shortly thereafter, Suzanne Shepard had
been brutally murdered. The file turned out to contain articles about a
murder with an MO virtually identical to the Shepard murder committed
over a decade earlier. In the earlier murder, a phony plastic surgeon
had been implicated and had escaped justice. What did it all mean?
As if she didnt have enough on her plate. There was really only
one way to get to the bottom of this mess, and that was to haul her
butt out to California, track down Edward Allen Harvey in prison,
and hear what he had to say. 46

A
A
trip to California to interview Harvey was simply not possible at the
moment. Monday morning dawned with the threat of rain and the
promise of the Welch bail hearing, to be held before Melanies least
favorite judge. The Honorable Wilton Warner had the distinction of
bouncing more good arrests on more inane technicalities than any
other judge in the district. Melanie hated appearing before him on
an average case. The thought of Warner holding Welchs fate in his
hands-- and by extension, Melanies own-- positively appalled her.
Terrozzi dropped her off early at the office so she could prepare.
Melanie had passed a restless night, partly because she missed Maya,
who was staying with Melanies mom until further notice. Partly because
Deputy Peter Terrozzi was sleeping on the living - room sofa-- in
his boxers, no less, which gave Melanie the heebie - jeebies. And partly
because she was preoccupied with all the big, pressing questions in her
life. But shed risen with new steel in her backbone. She had no choice
but to prevail and keep Welch locked up. Her own safety depended
upon it. As to everything else-- her career, Dan-- well, shed just have
As step one in her new regime, she left a message for Dan.
Hey, its Melanie, she said after the tone sounded. This fi ght is
weighing on me. I want to talk. Ive been thinking that maybe I have
some . . . trust issues. Maybe that explains why I reacted so strongly
to you having dinner with Diane. I dont know if I can get past them
or not, but I want to try. The Welch bail hearing is scheduled for nine
and Im not sure how long Ill be in court. But call me.
She paused, worrying that her words might not have sounded
encouraging enough, or worse, mightve come too late. Had he given
up on her already? But she wasnt one for leaving mushy messages, or
desperate ones. She depressed the button with her fi ngertip, disconnecting
the call, and sat there feeling paralyzed, like she couldnt move
on with her day. Luckily, the phone rang and jolted her back to life.
Melanie Vargas.
Hey, its Pauline.
The caller ID indicated that Pauline was standing at the guard
station near the elevator. Youre here?
You bet, baby doll. I brought you some kick - ass shit on your boy
Benedict Welch just in time for the bail hearing. Youre gonna wild
out when you see it. Come get me. The guards not here yet.
Be right out.
Melanie opened the bulletproof door to find Pauline balancing a
cardboard Starbucks tray precariously on top of a stack of fi les. Over
skintight jeans, Pauline wore red cowboy boots.
Welcome home! Melanie said, grinning.
I got you a latte and a banana muffin, Pauline said, gesturing
toward the tray with her chin.
Oh my God, I love you! Here, let me help.
Melanie took the tray and let Pauline slip by her through the
door. A few minutes later, they were settled in Melanies offi ce wading
through articles and photographs from a quarter century earlier.
You were right on the money when you told me to investigate to look her problems in eye and overcome them. the real Benedict Welch, Pauline said. I call him Dead Welch. Like
you said, Welch here in New York didnt just pick this identity out of
a hat. A doctor who died in Tulsa, Oklahoma, eleven years ago? He
picked it for a reason.
He had to have known him somehow, Melanie said.
Exactly.
Pauline handed Melanie a group photo that, based on clothing and
hairstyles, looked vintage late seventies, early eighties. It showed a bunch
of boys of varying ages standing in rows as if for a class photo, with several
sober - looking middle - aged men seated on chairs down in the front.
This is a photo from the Marietta Welch Youth Residence taken
the final year of its existence, which was 1981, Pauline explained. The
man in the front row with the blond hair and glasses is the real Benedict
Welch, whose identity our suspect stole. The home was founded
by Dead Welchs grandmother about fifty years earlier, and any search
you do of the Welch name in Tulsa immediately brings up information
about the home. Just so you understand what type of place were talking
about, it used to be called the Marietta Welch Home for Wayward Boys
until they saw the light of political correctness and sanitized it.
You said this picture is from the last year the home existed?
Melanie asked.
Yes! The place burned to the ground about six months after this
was taken. Arson. It was a huge scandal in Tulsa at the time. Four
boys died, along with a psychiatrist named Howard Vine who was the
director - in - residence. They said the--
What?
What?
The directors name was Howard Vine?
Yeah, so?
Pauline, Howard Vine was the name of a plastic surgeon in L. A.
who skipped town after the murder of a stripper who had the word
slut carved into her stomach. Pauline blinked. Hit me with that again?
Its complicated, but the point is, Benedict Welch wasnt the fi rst
doctor from this boys home whose identity our suspect stole, and I
dont think Suzanne Shepard was the first woman he murdered, either.
I have copies of all the paperwork from that old case. You should look
at it.
Melanies heart was racing with excitement. She held the group
picture up so the morning light streaming through her window would
fall directly on it.
Our Benedict Welch has got to be in here, dont you think? she
asked urgently, scanning the rows of boys.
Check out Mophead, middle row, third from the left. He looks
promising to me.
Melanie squinted. Thats him! Younger and with dark hair, but
its him.
You knew that yellow hair was fake, didnt you? That kids name
is Cory Nash, and hes one of the ones who disappeared.
Disappeared?
Yeah. I didnt get a chance to finish the story. So the bodies of
Howard Vine and four of the boys were discovered after the fi re,
right?
But not Benedict-- I mean, not Dead Welch?
No. The real Benedict Welch survived the fire. He died years
later in a car accident. Anyway, the bodies were burned to a crisp, but
the ME still had the bones to work with, and listen to this. One of the
boys bodies was missing limbs. One of his arms and part of a leg were
chopped off. Guess where they were found?
Where?
In the basement, inside a metal trash can. And the rest of the
body had scoring on the bones like from a cutting implement.
He was stabbed to death and dismembered, Melanie said.
Exactly. Well, more like somebody started dismembering him but gave up because its, you know, a shitload of work. Ive had guys
tell me sawing through all those muscles and tendons is not easy.
So the killer got too impatient to dispose of the remains that way,
and he set the place on fi re instead.
Pauline nodded. Thats what the cops thought, that the killer
burned the building down to cover up the murder.
But he was never caught? Melanie asked.
No. I was getting to that part. Remember now, these kids were
no Eagle Scouts. They were a bunch of delinquents, in fact. When the
dust settled, eight of them who shouldve been present and accounted
for were plain gone, never to be heard from again, and the cops believed
the killer was among them.
They ran away?
Pauline shrugged. Probably. Or met with foul play and the cops
never found out. Who knows.
Cory Nash was among the missing?
Yes, Pauline said.
And he stayed that way, until we just found him masquerading as
a doctor for the second time. Pauline, now that weve got him locked
up, we need to make all three murder charges stick. Suzanne Shepard
and Cheryl Driscoll and the boy he cut up and put in the trash. We
have to close out those cases. Please, tell me you have background on
Cory Nash. Fingerprints? A rap sheet?
No, sweetie, Im sorry. I couldnt get any of that stuff. All the
records were lost when the place burned down.
Ugh. How am I going to prove all this to the judge?
Melanies phone rang. Hold on. Dont go anywhere, she said,
grabbing it. Melanie Vargas.
Melanie? Julian Hay. Im here at the courthouse. We got a problem.
What is it?
Welch is going through some kind of psychosis caused by meth withdrawal.
He just tried to kill himself. Judge wants you in court. Now. 47

T
T
he second Melanie walked into the ceremonial courtroom, she heard
a sound like the wailing of a cat coming from the direction of the
holding cell out back. But the screams were not by any means the
most frightening thing in the room. Magistrate Judge Wilton Warner
had taken the bench. On a good day, Judge Warner made Melanie
quake in her high heels. And today wasnt a good day.
Ah, Miss Vargas, so kind of you to join us, he cried sarcastically,
his voice cutting like a knife across the football - field - size
courtroom. Then he leaned forward until the light bouncing off his
half - glasses made him look like some vacant - eyed madman. Get up
here this minute.
Melanie strode down the center aisle, her cheeks burning with
indignation. She knew what was coming. Warner routinely took the
view that all problems with cases were the result of intentional wrongdoing
by the prosecution. One of these days, she feared, she would
lose her temper and give it back to him good, which of course would
only result in heavy sanctions against her and possible disbarment.
She banged through the low wooden gate that bounded the spec tator gallery and took her place at the governments podium. Her
shoulders were square and her eyes determined. Out of nowhere,
Mark Sonschein and Detective Julian Hay materialized to stand beside
her. She glanced at them gratefully.
Steady as she goes, Mark whispered.
Im cool, she said softly.
But Warner hadnt gotten started yet.
Miss Vargas, I am holding you personally responsible for the fact
that a man is bleeding in my bull pen. What kind of slack, shiftless
custody are you maintaining over these prisoners that allows them to
get hold of razors and try to kill themselves?
Melanie had zero to do with housing or transporting prisoners,
and Judge Warner knew that.
Your Honor, the government just learned of this situation, as
did the court, and we are shocked and dismayed, she said, her voice
firm and her shoulders unbowed. Which, of course, only annoyed
him more.
Dont . . . give . . . me . . . that . . . nonsense! Are you claiming you
didnt know this prisoner had a drug problem? Warner shouted, his
face bright red.
All the things she wished she could say came pouring into Melanies
head with such force that she worried they would spill out of her
mouth. Who has a substance - abuse problem in this courtroom, red
face? When they say sober as a judge, they dont mean you! Luckily,
Julian kept her grounded.
I told the guards at MCC last night he had dependency, he said
to Melanie under his breath.
Your Honor, the Bureau of Prisons was made aware of the defendants
drug use. Many defendants have drug problems--
And meth usually aint this bad, Julian whispered.
-- and Im informed that methamphetamine withdrawal is not
normally expected to lead to such severe-- No excuses! the judge shouted. I dont care what you knew or
what you thought. You obviously didnt do anything! And you call
yourselves public servants. If it were up to me, Id fire every last one
of you. Now either you fix this situation immediately, or Im ordering
this prisoner released without a hearing.
Judge, you cant do that! Hes potentially responsible for three
homicides--
I can do whatever I damn well please.
Judge, we respectfully request--
If you want him remanded, Miss Vargas, you get back in that
bull pen and fix this problem. Now! Do I make myself clear?
Her eyes went wide. Yes, Judge.
Did he expect her to save Welchs life? Melanie wasnt squeamish,
but neither did she have any medical expertise. She gave Mark a baffl
ed look.
Im coming with you, he said, and turned to follow her. Judge
Warner didnt stop him.
What does he think I can do? Melanie whispered.
Hes just grandstanding.
The bull pen was the holding cell adjacent to the courtroom where
incarcerated prisoners awaited their court appearances. Melanie had rarely
been inside one. She knew them primarily by sound: the clanging doors
that meant a prisoner had been brought up in the secure elevator, the
flushing toilet that meant he was ready to come out and face the music.
What unnerved her now was not the sight of the bull pen, but the sight
of Benedict Welch-- or Cory Nash, as she now knew him to be-- writhing
on the floor, whimpering and sweating, his yellow hair matted and
his blue prison jumpsuit stained with several coin - size droplets of blood.
Suddenly he let out an inhuman howl, a sound so terrible that Melanie
shrank back, fearing that hed been mortally wounded. She didnt want
him to die. At least, not before she convicted him at trial.
The cell door was wide open, and a number of uniformed men crowded around the prone figure. To Melanies great relief, she saw
that at least two of them were EMTs, not guards. She angled her way
in and grabbed the arm of the nearest EMT, an enormously tall guy
with red hair in a ponytail, who was holding a roll of bandages and
watching his colleague attend to Welch.
Im the prosecutor. Will he make it? she asked.
Oh yeah, sure. This aint nothin. Shallow cuts on both wrists.
Didnt go deep enough to even nick a vein.
Does he need to go to the hospital?
Not for his hands. Carlos is taping the cuts now. Hell be fi ne
to do his court appearance-- physically, I mean. Only thing is, with
meth withdrawal cases, we normally take em over to Bellevue for a
psych eval, unless youd prefer to have the prison shrink do that.
I have to ask the judge what he wants to do. Do you know how
the prisoner got the knife?
Oh, it wasnt a knife. It was just a little bitty nail he picked up off
the street when he pretended to trip while being transported. He hid
it in his shoe. Hold on, Ill show you.
He passed her a plastic bag containing a small nail encrusted with both
rust and blood. Small was too generous a word-- it was minuscule.
Suicide by tetanus is about all thatll do for you. He knew it,
too, the EMT said.
So you dont believe this was a serious attempt? she asked.
Hes a drama queen. We see a lot of this when people get arrested.
He wants a bed in a nice rehab program instead of at Otisville.
Not gonna happen if I have anything to say about it, Melanie
said.
Several of the guards helped Welch to his feet. He caught sight
of Melanie. His eyes without his contact lenses in were dark brown
instead of violet, with a crazy glint that hadnt been there yesterday.
He looked . . . unhinged. The transformation from suave Upper East
Side society doctor to strung - out junkie was startling. Are you happy, you bitch? Is this what you wanted? Welch cried.
Two guards instantly grabbed him by the arms. He screwed up his
lips and sent a gob of spit hurling in Melanies direction. It splattered
on the floor a foot short of her. Mark Sonschein grabbed her arm and
pulled her forcibly from the bull pen as the guards wrestled Welch to
a sitting position on the fl oor.
You think we can arraign him like this? she asked Mark. Melanie
was shaking but her voice was steady. She was damned if this
lowlife would make her fl inch.
One of the EMTs was now administering a sedative.
Frankly, Mark said, I think you ought to go out there and ask
to have the prisoner sent to Bellevue for evaluation. At least then hell
be on a locked ward. With Warner on the bench, you never know, he
might release the guy otherwise. Especially given the Brady material.
Melanie looked at Mark sharply. Brady material was exculpatory
evidence that prosecutors were required to hand over to the defense
prior to court proceedings.
What Brady material? she asked suspiciously.
Mark gaped at her. You know.
No. I dont.
The fact that your one eyewitness states that your suspect doesnt
look like the killer. And you dont have DNA results back yet, so theres
nothing to contradict that.
Nothing except the victims missing drivers license in his desk!
Melanie exclaimed.
I agree thats good evidence. But you know Warner. Hell want
Welchs fingerprints on it before its worth anything to him.
The killer wore gloves.
Nothing we can do about that. Were still required to disclose
Harriss failure to identify Welch from the photograph.
Mark, what kind of stickler are you? Harris only saw the Butcher
from behind. What kind of aggressive hothead are you?
One with a psychotic killer stalking her. If you tell Warner that,
well lose. Hell cut Welch loose.
Thats exactly what makes it Brady material. Maybe you should
recuse yourself from prosecuting this case, Melanie. Because I know
my ethical obligations, and if you dont disclose this information, I
will.
Ahem.
Melanie and Mark both whirled. Judge Warners deputy clerk,
Gabriel Colón, who was a good courthouse buddy of Melanies, stood
in the doorway, having cleared his throat theatrically to get their attention.
Or to get them to stop blabbing their secrets in front of him.
Defense counsel just showed up, Gabriel said. Judge wants you
front and center.
Thanks, Gabe, Melanie said.
As she passed by him on her way back to the courtroom, Gabriel
winked at her. My lips are sealed, mami, he whispered.
T
T
he fact was, it was very important to Melanie to be an ethical prosecutor.
She honestly thought Mark Sonschein was being overly legalistic
in his interpretation of the evidence. Surely, if a witness hadnt
gotten a good look at a suspect, his failure to recognize him in a photograph
was not exculpatory Brady material. If shed had time to do
legal research, Melanie was confident she could have found dozens of
cases supporting her view. But she didnt have time.
She waited in front of the bench. All the stars had lined up against
Melanie this morning, because Donald Kerr, the prominent and respected
defense attorney representing Welch, was good friends with
Judge Warner. Melanie stood in silence while the judge and the defense
lawyer gossiped about some charitable board they served on
together. After a few minutes, Welch was brought out from the bull pen.
The sedative had been quick acting. He looked meek and glazed and
pathetic in his bloodstained prison blues. Welchs wife, Gloria, sat in
the front row of the spectator benches clad in a demure black suit.
Mrs. Welch gasped when she saw him, and began weeping copiously
and loudly.
Gabriel Colón called the case, and the judge began by demanding
a report on the defendants suicide attempt. Melanie repeated exactly
what the EMS technician had told her about the self - inflicted and minor
nature of the injury. When Judge Warner wasnt satisfi ed, Melanie
got the tall, red - haired guy to come out and testify about it in person.
Any other judge would have recognized the suicide attempt as the blatant
ploy it was, but with Warner, it was an error on the prosecutions
part, and it put Melanie on the defensive. Donald Kerr saw that and
exploited it for everything it was worth.
Your Honor, Mrs. Welch is seated in the front row, Kerr said in
his impressive baritone. She is distraught at her husbands condition,
as you can imagine. She has called in the best professionals in the fi eld
to address this extremely regrettable case of a man of medicine falling
victim to addiction. We see it more and more. The stresses of the
medical profession--
Melanie just couldnt stomach that pretentious garbage given what
she knew about the defendant.
Your Honor, this man isnt even a doctor, and his name isnt
Benedict Welch, she interrupted.
All hell broke loose. Melanie did her best to present the evidence
concerning Welchs false identity, but somehow she just ended up getting
accused of sandbagging the defense by not disclosing her argument
ahead of time. She trotted out Detective Hay to testify about
the methamphetamine bust, and Donald Kerr turned that into a case
of a hardened drug dealer-- Miles Ortiz-- entrapping a reputable man
by taking advantage of his substance - abuse problem. Finally, Melanie pulled out her ace in the hole: the very real possibility, the likelihood
even, that Welch was the killer that the press was calling the Butcher.
The bloody drivers license found in Welchs desk. The e - mail sent
from his office. The fact that hed ordered the burglary of Suzanne
Shepards apartment. But standing up before the judge, with the deputy
chief of the Criminal Division looking over her shoulder and a
court reporter taking down her every word, Melanie couldnt allow
herself to put her own safety before her sworn duty. She disclosed David
Harriss statement that, from behind, Welch didnt resemble the
man whod kidnapped him.
And she lost. 48


Disheartened and anxious, Melanie trudged back to her offi ce to
find Detective Pauline Estrada still there, on the telephone, with a
worried look on her face.
Im on endless hold, Pauline announced, but have I got news
for you.
Ive got news, too. Bad news. We lost the bail hearing.
Youre kidding.
Nope. The judge let Welch out on home confinement. He has to
wear an ankle bracelet. Thats the thing that Martha Stewart bragged
on national television that she knew how to take off.
Dont get upset.
Dont get upset? Pauline, if Im lucky, when he breaks out of
his apartment, a little bell will sound in an office somewhere, so that
when they fish my body out of the East River, some bureaucrat will
go, Oh, thats what that noise was.
Not that this is going to make you feel any better, Pauline said,
but Welch isnt the only guy you should be worrying about.
Why do you say that? While you were gone, a couple of agents stopped by to deliver
copies of a file from your search yesterday, Pauline said.
Agents Waterman and Mills?
Sounds right. Anyway, I was sitting here with nothing better to
do, and I knew the file was about Welch, so I sneaked a peek. Hope
that was okay.
An extra pair of eyes in a case like this is a blessing, Pauline.
Whatd you find out? Melanie asked.
Nothing you wouldnt have found yourself the second you read
my file on the Tulsa boys - home arson. The man convicted for the
Cheryl Driscoll murder, do you remember his name?
Sure. Edward Allen Harvey. I was thinking I should fly out to
California and interview him. Ha, in all my spare time.
Pauline pointed at the telephone she held against his ear. Im on
hold with Pelican Bay right now.
Pelican Bay?
The maximum security facility in Northern California where
Harvey was doing a fifteen - to - life bid.
Was? Melanie asked, with a sinking feeling.
Harvey was released four weeks ago. Fifteen years doesnt equal
fifteen years when you subtract out good time and so forth.
Where is he now?
Thats what Im trying to find out. Theyre supposed to know.
He was convicted of a sex crime. Second - degree murder and sexual
assault. That means he was required to register as a sex offender and
give notice of his address.
Did he?
Pauline shrugged and gestured hopelessly at the phone.
Why am I getting a bad feeling about this? Melanie asked.
Because you have good instincts, Pauline said. The second I
saw Harveys name, I made the connection. Edward Allen Harvey
was one of the delinquents who absconded after the arson at the boys home. The news accounts said that he was the biggest troublemaker
in the place, too, the one they suspected of killing the boy and setting
the fi re.
Harvey had two rape convictions before he was ever arrested on
the Driscoll murder, Melanie said. And we have signature mutilations
in the two murders. Carving a nasty word on the victims stomach
is a highly unusual move. Were looking at the same killer. Or
killers. I knew that as soon as I read about the Driscoll case. The only
difference is, I was thinking it was Welch. But maybe it was Welch
and Harvey together.
Pauline held up her finger and sat up straighter in her chair. Here
we go! Yes, hello, Im still here . . . Huh, really? . . . What do you normally
do in a case like that?. . . . I see. Well, pardon my French, but
that sucks.
Pauline fell silent while the person on the other end of the line
spoke at some length. She took a few notes. At one point, Melanie
caught her eye, and Pauline shook her head and made a disappointed
face. Finally, she hung up.
Well? Melanie asked.
In the wind. They dont have the first fricking clue where he is.
But heres something interesting. You know who visited Harvey in jail
the weekend before he was released? Pauline asked.
Who?
Suzanne Shepard. She must have tracked down the Driscoll case
somehow, and come to the same conclusion you did, that Welch was
in on it. So she went all the way to California to interview Harvey.
All she accomplished was attracting their attention. She dug
her own grave. Melanie picked up the group photo from the boys
home, which had been lying on her desk. Which one is Harvey? she
asked.
Top row, far left.
Melanie looked at the boy in the picture, who was big and blond and moon - faced, and the hair all over her body stood on end. Ive
seen him before! she said.
Pauline gasped. Oh my God! Where?
Melanie smacked herself on the forehead. Shit. I dont know, I
dont know. She shook her head. I just dont know. 49


With two potential killers after her, Melanie suddenly found herself
much happier to have Pete Terrozzis company. She decided not
to make a move without his protection, and when she learned that
Terrozzis ex - partner was currently assigned to the home - confi nement
monitoring division of the United States Marshals Service, she actually
hugged the diminutive deputy. Terrozzi made a couple of phone
calls, and pretty soon hed put Melanie on the line with the guy who
was personally handling the Welch case. That deputy, whose name
was Curtis Jones, had just come back from Welchs apartment, where
hed fitted and tested Welchs ankle bracelet and the portable tracking
unit that went along with it. Not only did the thing work, Jones
reported, but it was one of the newfangled bracelets that utilized GPS
technology. Light - years ahead of the old models that merely sounded
an alarm when the defendant broke confinement. If Welch left his
apartment, not only would Jones call Melanie immediately, but hed
be able to inform her of every move that Welch made.
Melanie was relieved to have this inside connection. She just didnt
expect to take advantage of it so soon. Half an hour later, she was sitting in the sixth floor war room digging
through the boxes from Target News that Assistant D. A. Janice
Marsh had never finished searching. If Suzanne Shepard had interviewed
Edward Allen Harvey mere weeks before her murder, Melanie
reasoned, maybe there was a chance shed kept in touch with him.
Maybe shed written down a phone number or an address that could
lead them straight to Harvey. Melanie was deeply engrossed in Suzannes
datebook when the war - room phone rang.
Melanie Vargas.
Curtis Jones here.
Hey, Curtis. Whats up? she asked nonchalantly.
Benedict Welch is on the move. Ive got him heading south on
Seventh Avenue at a pretty good rate of speed.
It took Melanie a moment to grasp what Curtis was saying. You
mean . . . he left his apartment?
Yeah, why do you think Im calling?
Im shocked. I didnt think hed actually do it.
Well, he did. Do you want to know where hes going or not?
Yes, of course I do. Let me put you on speaker. Deputy Terrozzi
is here.
Terrozzi, whod been leaning back in a chair reading the sports
section, tossed his paper aside.
Like I said, Jones continued, I got the man heading south on
Seventh, doing around thirty, uh, wait a minute, closer to twenty. Uh,
he slowed down. I think he hit traffic. He just crossed Forty - ninth Street.
Hes picking up speed. Now he stopped. He mustve hit a light.
Are you calling in the FBI? Melanie asked.
Not a chance. Prisoners in U. S. Marshals custody once hes remanded,
Jones said.
This is our collar, Terrozzi agreed.
Ill go myself, but Im waiting for some backup, Jones said.
Were short - staffed today. How long will that be? Melanie asked anxiously.
Not long. Fifteen, twenty minutes. But dont worry, we wont
lose him. We got him on the GPS.
Fifteen or twenty minutes was far too long in Melanies view.
We have reason to believe this man is the Central Park Butcher, she
reminded Jones. You should get him back in pocket immediately.
Think of the consequences if he kills again after escaping from home
confi nement.
That could be a problem, Jones admitted. Reflect badly on the
U. S. Marshals Service. Melanie glared at Terrozzi pointedly. Deputy Terrozzi can back
you up, she said.
Yeah, no problem. Curtis, Ill come meet you, Terrozzi said.
Hes still stopped. I got him at the same location for the past few
minutes. I dont think its a stoplight. Too long.
They waited until the blip on Joness computer screen had remained
stationary for nearly ten minutes, then agreed that Welch had
landed at his destination and would probably be staying there for a
while. Melanie wrote down the address.
I know the spot, Terrozzi said. I can almost guarantee you this
is LaserMania.
Whats that? Melanie asked.
Its an arcade and laser tag place right off Times Square, Terrozzi
replied
Oh yeah, Jones said, a real gangbanger hangout, right?
Affirmative. They got shootings in there a lot. You see it in the
papers.
Whats laser tag? Melanie asked.
Its awesome, Terrozzi said. You go into this dark room with all
your buddies and shoot each other with laser guns.
Does it hurt?
Terrozzi snorted with laughter. Does it hurt! Of course not. You wear these special vests. You shoot each other on the vest, and the hit
registers on this digital scorekeeper gizmo. Thats how you know who
lives and who dies. The team with the most kills after ten minutes
wins.
Why would Welch be going to some laser tag arcade? Melanie
asked.
Terrozzi shrugged. Its a fun place if you like to shoot people.
But to break home confinement to do it? That makes no sense.
The judge will be forced to remand him now. Melanie stood up. I
guess theres only one way to find out what hes up to. Lets go.
T
T
hey drove to Times Square. Curtis Jones planned to meet them
there with a couple of other deputy U. S. marshals. As they hit
Times Square, Melanie leaned sideways to appreciate some of the
crazy neon signs, tall as skyscrapers and bright as the sun. This place
was a party for the eyes. It was full of glitzy office buildings and well dressed
yuppies now, but still with those Vegas - style lights stretching
as far as she could see.
The arcade was on a side street. Terrozzi pulled halfway up on the
sidewalk right in front of it and turned off the engine, sticking his
police placard in the window. Just as Melanie was about to get out of
the car, he stopped her.
Youre staying here, Terrozzi said.
What? No way.
If Id been thinking straight, I wouldntve let you come this far.
You cant go inside. I know this place. Trust me, its a fricking zoo. Full
of people. Dark. Loud noises from all the video games. Its too dangerous,
with the killer inside.
Youre supposed to be my protection detail, Pete. You stick to me
like glue, remember? You cant leave me here undefended.
Terrozzi reached into a storage compartment between the two front seats and pulled out her Beretta. Take this. Youre not undefended
now. Im going in to find this guy Welch. When Curtis gets
here, you show him where to go. You know how to work the radio?
She looked at it. It was just like the one in Julian Hays Navigator.
Yes.
Okay, good. So call somebody if you have a problem, okay? And
dont follow me inside or Im gonna have to go up the chain on you.
Theres nothing I hate more than reporting protectees to their supervisors,
but I do it if Im forced to.
I wont, she said. Really. I appreciate everything youre doing
for me.
Terrozzi smiled. Thank you. Thats nice to hear.
As Terrozzi disappeared in the direction of the arcade, Melanie put
her gun in her handbag and resigned herself to a long, boring wait. 50


It was a thick summer afternoon in New York City, nearly ninety
degrees, and the car heated up quickly. Terrozzi had turned off the
engine and taken the keys, and in his rush, hadnt thought to open the
windows. Melanie opened her door to let some air in. Sitting parked
halfway up on the sidewalk with a police placard in the window and
the passenger door wide open, she felt too conspicuous. Not just conspicuous,
but nervous. Out in the open. Without protection. The side
street hummed with traffic. Blazing sunlight beat down on car windows,
so she couldnt see the drivers of the passing vehicles. Melanie
told herself not to worry. Welch couldnt hurt her. He was inside, with
a federal marshal after him.
Of course, the marshal was Pete Terrozzi, not the sharpest knife
in the drawer. Curtis Jones and the others from the U. S. Marshals
Service hadnt shown up yet. She pulled her bag onto her lap, keeping
one hand on the gun.
Her phone rang, and Melanie jumped.
Hello?
Hey. Its Dan. Where have you been?
Working. Listen, I got your message. Youre absolutely right. I
want to talk, too. But thats not why Im calling.
Where are you? she asked. With everything that was going on,
shed nearly forgotten about their fight. Shed forgive him on the spot
if hed come here and protect her. Shed feel a hell of a lot safer with
Dan watching out for her than with Pete Terrozzi.
Im in Queens, Dan said. Ive been trying to get a lead on this
guy Edward Allen Harvey.
Who told you about Harvey?
CODIS told me.
What?
We got the DNA results back. You didnt hear?
No.
The sample taken from under Suzannes fingernails matched to
one Edward Allen Harvey, released four weeks ago from Pelican Bay
in California. So I pulled his mug shot, and guess what?
What? Melanie grasped the gun tighter. Her nerves were tingling.
If Harvey was the Butcher, what did that mean for Melanie,
sitting out here in Terrozzis car with the door open?
We already had a picture of him in line at the post offi ce, Dan
said. Big, inbred - looking guy with blond hair and little piggy eyes,
remember?
I do remember. That must be why, when Pauline Estrada had
shown Melanie a picture of Harvey as a teenager, she hadnt quite recognized
him. Shed seen the picture from the post office, but in that
shot, hed been twenty - five years older.
Harvey mailed the box of dog shit to Suzanne Shepard, Dan
said. Harveys our Butcher. I tracked him to this fl ophouse in Flushing.
Im in his room right now. Hes not here, but its a goddamn
treasure trove. I found a laptop computer with e - mails on it that he
sent to Welch. Do they prove Harvey and Welch were in on the Suzanne Shepard
murder together? Melanie asked.
No, Dan said firmly. From everything Ive seen, Harvey acted
alone.
That cant be right, Melanie insisted. We found Suzanne
Shepards missing drivers license in Welchs desk. And Welch was the
one e - mailing me, remember? The tech squad traced the last e - mail
to his offi ce.
Harvey e - mailed you from Welchs office. And Harvey planted
the drivers license. Hes trying to frame Welch. To get back at him
for walking on the Cheryl Driscoll murder. Judging by these e - mails,
theyve known each other for a lot of years and pulled a lot of sick shit
together. Welch sedated Cheryl Driscoll and handed her over to Harvey.
Then he watched while Harvey raped and murdered her. It pissed
Harvey off to no end that he did time for that crime and Welch didnt.
He says Welch is gonna pay for covering up his role in that one.
So where is Harvey now? Melanie asked. She scanned the
crowded street nervously. The man who wanted to torture and kill
her wasnt inside LaserMania. He was at large. He could be anywhere.
He could be right here on this very block.
Harveys gone, Dan said. The night - vision goggles are gone,
too, but the stun gun is here, along with rope and handcuffs and a
bunch of other tools of his trade. And something else . . . I dont know
if I should tell you. He paused. Your protection detail is with you,
right?
What did you fi nd, Dan?
I dont want to upset you. Listen, put the guy on the phone.
What guy?
Your deputy marshal.
Hes not here. Hes inside the laser tag place, looking for
Welch.
Inside where? LaserMania. In Times Square. Welch broke confinement, and we
came to look for him.
I dont like that place. It attracts scumbags in droves.
Dont worry. Ive been waiting outside in the car. Terrozzi went
in without me.
That doesnt make me happy, either, sweetheart. Welch isnt the
Butcher. Harvey is. Youre in danger just sitting there. Call your marshal
right away and have him come out and get you.
Okay.
Do it now.
I will. But, Dan, what did you fi nd ? You have to tell me.
Polaroids. Of you. Hes been following you.
We knew that. She tried to sound calm, but her heart thudded
sickeningly.
You call that marshal right this second, understand?
Yes.
Im coming over there myself, but Im out in Queens. It could
take a while. You hang up and make that call.
I will. Im doing it right this second. 51

As soon as she broke the connection to Dan, Melanie felt vulnerable,
and very alone. With trembling fingers, she dialed Pete Terrozzis
cell phone. It rang once and rolled over to voice mail. She hung up
and dialed again, breathing faster. Same result. Had Terrozzi turned
his phone off? Was it getting no reception?
Melanie got out of the car and slammed the door. She had no
choice but to go inside and find him. LaserManias enormous neon
sign boasted a half - naked woman with big boobs in thigh - high boots
shooting what appeared to be a machine gun. Gold coins spurted
from the gun in a steady stream, forming an arrow that pointed directly
at the entrance. She ran for it, nervous about being exposed on
the street, hoping to find protection inside. A bunch of guys with fade
haircuts and gang tattoos hung around the door. They eyed Melanie
with cool indifference and moved aside so she could pass. The panic
in her face was nothing to them. Theyd seen women running like
that before.
Inside the door, a black rubber staircase led straight down for several
fl ights, the walls and ceiling surrounding it painted a dead black. After the bright sunshine and vivid neon outside, Melanie could barely
see. She plunged down, praying not to fall. In the basement arcade,
light blazed everywhere, assaulting her vision. Video - game pods and
slot machines flashed like firecrackers, making carnival noises and spitting
out long strands of yellow tickets. The games had ten - foot - high
TV screens, and guns and wands bristling from them. A hip - hop kid
whirled around, pointing a silver pistol at her, and Melanie jumped.
I could have shot you! she shouted. He saw the Beretta in her
hand and his eyes widened.
She put her gun away. It was more of a danger than a help in here.
There were kids around. She pulled out her phone to try Terrozzi
again. But she was deep underground, in a subbasement. There was
no reception. Thats why he hadnt answered.
The place was jammed. Groups of men and boys clustered around
every machine, a weird mix of gangbangers and private school kids in
blazers and ties. Between the low ceiling, the soaring machines, and
the pulsating crowd, Melanie couldnt see more than a few feet in any
direction. A wild clanging of bells and buzzers rang out all around
her, making it impossible to hear any sound originating more than a
foot or two away. How would she ever find her people in this chaos?
She walked forward as calmly as she could manage, looking into each
face she passed. But in the lurid, smoky light, all the players melded
together into a swirling mob. After a few minutes, she came to a driving
game dominated by a life - size replica of a Harley - Davidson, and
realized that shed passed it once before. She must have made a wrong
turn. The space was so confusing and mazelike, and each part of it
looked so much like the next. She was disoriented, with no sense of
which direction she should walk to get back to the entrance. Full fledged
panic set in, and Melanie started to run. She immediately
body - slammed into a guy in a wifebeater and baggy jeans who mustve
weighed at least three hundred pounds.
Watch it! Sorry! Melanie cried.
Something caught her attention out of the corner of her eye. Finally!
Shed recognize that dark head stubble anywhere. Pete Terrozzi
was sitting in a chair in front of a game called Wild Wild West, his
back to her. What the hell was he doing playing some cowboy shoot
em - up thing at a time like this? But as Melanie approached, she realized
with a horrible sinking in her stomach that something was very
wrong. Terrozzi wasnt playing. He sat utterly still, his body at an odd
angle, the screen before him fl ashing insert tokens now.
Melanie came equal with the back of the machine and rounded
it. She gasped as she saw the staring eyes and the slick purple blood
oozing down the front of Terrozzis light blue dress shirt. All around
her, people shouted and laughed and argued, not even aware that a
man sat here with his life snuffed out, a man shed known. Pete Terrozzi
had been knifed to death mere inches from them and they hadnt
even noticed, let alone helped. Had Welch killed him to avoid arrest?
But why? Riveted by the horrific sight of Terrozzis dead body, Melanie
was having trouble thinking clearly. What could this mean? Was
Welch the Butcher after all?
She needed to get help. Melanie turned around, looking for signs,
but nothing was marked. She couldnt tell where the exits were, or
which direction shed come from. She turned back toward Terrozzi,
and then she saw him.
Edward Harvey was a big man, and he stood out in the crowd. He
was heading for her slowly, taking his time, a sadistic smile spreading
across his moon face. He was holding something up. He was showing
her something, displaying it to her. It was a small black gym bag. He
unzipped it, reached inside. Was he going to shoot her? Her gun, her
gun, she made herself reach for her gun. But her eyes were riveted on
that gym bag. As she watched in mute horror, he pulled something
out, and it wasnt a weapon. Melanie opened her mouth to scream,
but she was too stunned to make a sound. Harvey held up a mans foot and the lower part of a leg. Bloody. The shoe still on. With a black
contraption around the ankle. Welchs GPS tracking bracelet, still attached
to his ankle, which was no longer attached to Welchs body.
Harvey had Welchs foot. And he was laughing.
Benedict Welch, Cory Nash, whatever his name was-- hed never
been here at all. This whole thing was a trap, and theyd walked right
into it.
M
M
elanie didnt know where the exit was, so she just turned in the
opposite direction and ran, pulling out her gun as she went. The
entrance to the laser tag room was ten feet away, marked by a fl ashing
sign. A bunch of prep school kids milled around the doorway, laughing
and pummeling one another as they strapped on big Day - Glo orange
vests with blinking red lights on them. She blitzed right past
them. Inside, the room was pitch dark, suffused with the eerie purple
glow of a black light. It felt like a black hole in outer space. All around
her, she saw the outlines of bodies moving stealthily, carrying big laser
guns. There must have been ten or fifteen people in the room, but she
couldnt see their faces.
She lowered her gun. It would be unsafe to fire in here. Shed be sure
of nothing except hitting the wrong person, a kid probably. Nearby,
somebody was breathing heavily through his mouth. Next to him,
Melanie heard muffled giggles. The room was purposely fi lled with
objects ideal for hiding behind-- half walls and pylons and strangely
shaped plastic constructs, most taller than her head, all glowing in eerie
colors. Right beside her, a burst of red laser suddenly spurted from
somebodys gun, and Melanie screamed.
Awesome! I killed Porter, somebody shouted.
Who screamed?
You did, you pansy.
Melanie retreated behind a big pylon and peeked out, her breath coming hard and fast. In the blackness, all she saw were the vests.
When they got hit with a laser, their digital displays lit up red and
showed the score. But the players heads and arms, the color of their
hair or clothing, and everything else about them faded to a weird
empty black. Melanie realized that Harvey would not be wearing a
vest. Why would he? He wasnt here to play. If his clothes were dark,
hed fade into nothingness, become completely invisible. In the heat
of the chase, shed run in here, and now he had her cornered. She
needed to get by him, get out, go to the front desk, call the police.
Have them surround the place and turn on all the lights.
Melanie steeled herself and stepped out from behind her pylon.
She could see the door across the room, lit up and glowing. She
headed for it, moving carefully, trying to reach out with her senses
and feel where the people were. She was making good progress. She
was feeling confident that shed get there. It was so dark in here. If she
couldnt see him, he wouldnt be able to see her, either.
But wait-- the night - vision goggles. Dan had said they werent in
the apartment.
The next second, somebody tall and broad stepped out in front of
her, and she stopped short.
Youre smaller than I thought. I like that, a voice said. A mans
voice, low, guttural, slow, and cruel, with the remnant of an Oklahoma
twang. Then he laughed. Lotta good your little friend did you.
Fucking twerp. Whod you think you were dealing with? You underestimated
me, you bitch. Im gonna do you right in here. By the time
they find you, Ill be halfway to Canada.
Melanie backed away, opening her mouth to scream, but she
wasnt fast enough. He punched her hard in the stomach. No mercy,
he has no mercy, she thought, flying backward through the air. Mercy is
for the weak; who said that? She heard her own cry as if from far away.
Then she was flat on her back on the carpet, no air in her lungs. She
struggled to a sitting position, tasting something foul in her mouth, her insides feeling like theyd been split open. Her gun had been
knocked from her hands. She felt around on the floor and found it.
The air above her went black as he bent over her. She saw a purple
glint of neon on metal. He had a knife in his hand. Melanie pulled the
trigger. He grunted in pain and stumbled backward.
You shot me! he said, in disbelief.
He might be able to talk, and she thought he was still standing,
but she could tell by the movement of the dark shape above her that
shed hit him bad enough to stagger him.
What was that? Did you hear that? a boys voice said.
Some of the kids in the room had heard the shot. Their movements
became panicky. Melanie could feel the air moving as they circulated
all around her. She was losing her nerve. How could she fi re
again in this crowded place? She was a mother. She couldnt risk hurting
somebodys child.
Call the police! she shouted. Theres a man in here with a
real gun.
She leaped to her feet, and on the way up she felt a whoosh of air
and saw the shine of a metal - toed boot as it came sailing toward her
head. Her hands flew out instinctively to deflect the blow, but something
hit her from behind instead. Something heavy and soft with
flailing limbs. A boy, a teenager, had been running and had tripped
over her. They both went down hard. She struggled to get out from
under him. A scream reverberated in the darkness, but it wasnt her
own. Whoever he was, hed taken the kick instead.
Aagh! I think my legs broken! the boy cried out.
Chris? Where are you?
Make them stop the game!
In the darkness and amid the cries of pain, Melanie could tell
Harvey was on his feet and preparing for his next attack. She made
out his arm as it raised up in a perfect arc. She saw the glint of a
long, curving blade. In an instant, it would plunge, aiming for her but perhaps striking the boy on top of her instead. In a savage burst
of strength, Melanie shoved the moaning kid in one direction with all
her might and threw her body in the other. They rolled apart just as
the knife came down.
Aaagh! Harvey shouted as he thrust downward.
Momentum took him, and he catapulted to the ground. From his
grunts, she could tell he was in pain. Where had her bullet hit him?
Why didnt he just die? Melanie got to her knees and aimed her gun,
finger on the trigger. But from right beside Harvey, she heard the teen
crying in fear. It was just too dark. If she fi red, she could end up killing
an innocent boy instead.
Stay down! Ive got a gun on you! she yelled.
She could sense, but not see, Harvey moving.
Stay down, I said.
In the darkness, he laughed, and the sound came from directly
behind her. She whirled around. Where was he? How had he moved
without her knowing?
You cant see me, but I can see you, he whispered, so close she
could almost feel his breath.
Melanie squeezed the trigger, and the gun kicked in her hand.
Suddenly the rooms emergency lights flashed on. She looked up to see
a man wearing night - vision goggles brandishing a knife in one hand
and clutching his stomach with the other. He mustve thought she
wouldnt fire, but shed hit him good this time. She couldnt believe he
was still standing. She got ready to fire again. But the next second, the
side of his head exploded, spattering blood over her, as the sound of a
single, far more powerful gunshot rang out, and Edward Allen Harvey
52

Melanie spent the next couple of days curled up in bed, not sleeping,
haunted by the memory of Pete Terrozzis vacant stare and Edward
Harveys hot blood spraying over her. Dan came by, but she wasnt
ready to see him. Not today. He sent a message through Melanies
mother that Edward Allen Harvey was dead, shot by the police Dan
had called in for her. That news brought Melanie great relief. Hedve
gotten a life sentence, but even then, Melanie would have spent the
rest of her days worrying that hed escape somehow and come after
her again. This way, she could be certain Harvey would never harm
anyone. Cory Nash, aka Benedict Welch, had been found stabbed to
death in his apartment, his right foot severed above the ankle. Melanie
would carry around forever the horrific image of Harvey coming for
her with the foot in his hand.
Charlie Shepard left Melanie a tearful voice mail thanking her
for getting the man whod killed his mother. Melanie believed that
justice had been served, but it would be an overstatement to say she
was happy about it. Seeing even a bloodthirsty killer die before your
eyes was a terrible thing. collapsed to the fl oor. Dan brought her beautiful flowers, which her mother put in a
vase beside her bed.
You should give that boy another chance, Carol said. I can see
in his eyes that he loves you.
On Friday, Melanie got dressed and dragged herself to work. Peter
Terrozzis funeral was scheduled for late that afternoon, and she
intended to be there. Shed stop by the offi ce first and go through her
in - box.
Melanie was considering the idea of resigning and getting a normal
job. Apparently, others had anticipated this possibility. Fifteen minutes
after she arrived, Mark Sonschein and Susan Charlton marched
into her offi ce.
At least you didnt bring coffee, Melanie joked weakly, gesturing
at the four cups sitting on her desk, already provided by concerned
colleagues. She loved that about this office. Starbucks was the standard
gift in moments of crisis, a latte left with no attribution and no
thanks expected. She did have one note with a name signed to it, one
that made her particularly happy. A card from Joe Williams, apologizing
for blaming her for his fathers political downfall, and asking if
they could have lunch to set things straight.
Youll want all that caffeine when you see what we brought, Susan
said, smiling, her cheeks pink with the glow of good health.
Mark placed a thick black three - ring binder on the desk in front
of her.
Whats this? Melanie asked.
Your supervisors manual, he said. I hope you read fast. In case
you didnt know, youve been acting deputy chief of Major Crimes for
three days now.
Melanie laughed, which made her ribs hurt where Harvey had
punched her. Oh, my! I hope I didnt authorize anything I shouldnt
have.
Nope, only good arrests and reasonable plea bargains, Mark said. And keep up the hard work, because I see a bright future ahead
of you.
Thanks, guys. Really, Im honored. This is something Ive always
wanted. But it comes at a terrible time. Im not sure Im up for it, after
everything that happened.
See, what did I tell you? Mark said to Susan with mock indignation.
The girl wont give up the glory. I spend my days stuck in
endless meetings on the Clyde Williams leak, and she gets to go out
and play cops and robbers. But when I ask her to share the burden of
a desk job, she refuses.
Mel goes for the gusto, Susan said.
So be honest, Mark said in a more serious tone. Have you
drafted your resignation letter yet?
Ive been thinking about it.
I cant say I blame you. From everything I heard, you went
through some awful stuff on Monday. And Susan tells me youve had
a stressful year on a personal level, too.
The big D, Melanie said.
Divorce. Thats huge. I must say, you have an admirable work
ethic in light of it all, Mark said.
Thanks.
If anybody should stay in the fi ght, its you, Mark said. Youre
the whole package. You have the brains, you have the guts, you have
the charisma in court. Do you know how few people in this offi ce I
can say that about? Susan, maybe. But not myself, certainly, and not
many others. We live in dangerous times. We need talented people
like you in this job.
That was a beautiful speech, Sonschein, Susan said. My favorite
part was where you admit you dont have the right stuff.
Hes modest, Melanie said with a smile.
Im a bulldog in court, but Im not likable, Mark said.
I certainly dont like you, Susan said, her eyes merry. But, Vargas, seriously, what would do if you left the offi ce? Mark
asked. Criminal defense? I dont see it. Youre no turncoat.
Never. Corporate, maybe, Melanie said.
Corporate work, Susan said, making a face. Ugh, shoot me.
Books and papers. No cops. No bad guys. You never see the inside
of a courtroom. My idea of a good document is a scrap of paper in a
guys pocket that says Flaco, fi fty kilos. No accountants records for me.
No thank you.
In her heart of hearts, Melanie felt exactly the same way. Even after
what had happened, maybe especially after, she loved her job with
a passion. A passion so powerful shed hardly ever felt it for a person.
Maya, yes . . . And Dan. The job was intensely difficult, but deep
down, shed rather have her life be interesting than easy.
The job really takes it toll, she said aloud.
Sure, of course, we all know that, and something needs to be done
to relieve the pressure on you, Mark said. He pulled a piece of paper
from his breast pocket and smoothed it open. I took the liberty of ordering
a statement of your accrued leave. Do you realize you have fi ve
use - or - lose days? Add weekends on both ends and you could get away
for nine. I would strongly urge you to take a vacation before making any
big decisions about your future. Well cover for you here.
I really appreciate the concern, but--
We think very highly of you, Melanie, Mark interrupted. I
personally think very highly of you. Bernadette has never backed you
the way she should. She doesnt watch out for her subordinates. Shed
rather have people under her thumb than create potential rivals by
helping them succeed. And I can promise you Bernadette wont feel
any more generous toward you once she learns Shekeya Jenkins is
getting promoted and that you were one of three prosecutors who
recommended her.
Thats great news. Shekeya will make a fine paralegal, Melanie
said. Great news for Shekeya, not for Bernadette. But dont you worry
about a thing. Im in your corner from now on. Ill protect you. Ill
also make things happen for you. You have my word.
That goes double for me, Susan said. I told you how I felt last
week. This aint no song and dance, Mel. Mark and I are behind you
in a big way, and we count for a lot in this office. Stick around, fi ght
the good fight with us. Well accomplish great things.
So what do you say? Mark asked.
Melanie looked into their faces and saw people she could trust.
They were not without their complications, these two, but they were
honest and committed, and genuine public servants. They were colleagues
to spend a career with.
Im grateful. More than that, Im touched. And I promise to give
your proposal the serious consideration it deserves. 53

Dan drove Melanie to Peter Terrozzis funeral. When she cried, he
put his arm around her, and she leaned into him, grateful for
the comfort of his strong presence. It was Dans second funeral in
two days, since hed attended Seamus Fieldss the day before. Melanie
appreciated his coming, especially because he hadnt known
Terrozzi.
Afterward, Dan asked if she was hungry. For the first time in days,
she had an appetite, and he took her to a romantic little Italian place
in Brooklyn with tablecloths and candles. They ordered a bottle of
Chianti and talked about work for a while. After the second glass of
wine, Dan took Melanies hand.
You and me have some other things to talk about, he said, holding
her gaze with those baby blues.
I know, she said, sighing. We should talk.
Dan laughed. Here I am, the strong and silent type begging to
talk, and Miss Bare Your Soul here acts like Im asking her to get a
tooth drilled.
Its just, we were having such a nice dinner. And youre worried this will ruin it? What could we have to say
that would be so bad? Dan asked.
A lot of things. Whats going on with you and Diane? Why have
you never introduced me to your parents? Whats in our future? All
those questions seem hard to me. But sitting with you in this restaurant,
looking at your face, hearing your voice, that feels good.
Live for the moment, he said.
Yeah, sort of.
Normally, Id be all for that. But I almost lost you the other day.
Standing outside LaserMania when the SWAT guys went in, when
I couldnt find you? It hit me, Im dependent on you. Couldnt get
along without you in my life. Im a guy who hates to be dependent on
anything, but here I am dependent on Melanie Vargas.
You make it sound like some disease.
Its not a disease, Dan said. Its love. I love you.
I love you, too, she said, as if it were the most natural thing in
the world.
Looking back on it, the fight we had was bound to happen,
Dan said. People hit those bumps in the road when they start getting
serious, sweetheart. You freaked out. I freaked out. Totally normal.
I was worried that you still had feelings for Diane, Melanie
said.
You were right to be upset. Not because I have feelings for her,
but because the way I behaved was wrong. Having dinner with Diane
meant nothing, swear to God, but I should never have done it without
talking to you first. Not with your history. Ive been cheated on, and
Ive been left. I should have known better, and I apologize.
Thank you, Melanie said, her eyes misting up for a second. She
couldnt have asked for a sweeter apology. But-- I have to ask. You
dont still have feelings for her, do you?
I wont lie. Diane looms large in my past. But what do I actually
feel for her now? Nostalgia, maybe. Regret. Anger. Any lust? No, I can 
honestly say Im over her for good. Love? Never. Love is only for you.
He squeezed her fi ngers.
But then, why didnt you tell me? I want to understand, so I can
feel confident that it wont happen again.
Let me explain something. This relationship weve got, its new
for me. Im still learning. The example my parents set growing up
wasnt something youd want to imitate. My old man worked himself
bitter. Hed come home late and retreat to the den with his bottle. As
for my mother, after P. J. died-- he was her favorite-- she didnt have
any use for the rest of us. She spent all her time in church. I never saw
them talk, let alone show any affection for each other. Thats what I
knew when I married Diane. And Diane-- she was a cops daughter.
I could disappear for days at a time working a case, and shed never
ask where I was. If she got pissed about how much I was gone, shed
go sleep with some other guy instead of yelling at me. Im not saying
thats good, but its what I was used to. Ive never been much for talking,
or for having a woman looking over my shoulder, and thats why
I got upset when you questioned me about Diane. I thought, hey, this
chick is fencing me in. I have my pride. But that lasted about as long
as it took to realize Id hurt you. Then I felt like shit, and all I wanted
was for us to make up. Youve changed me, see, and I think I could
change more. I think I could even get good at talking. Anyway, I have
no choice.
Why not?
You know me. Im a homebody at heart. I imagine being married.
Having kids, taking care of the yard. Sharing the couch and
watching a little TV on a Saturday night. That what I want. Now that
Ive been with you, Im ruined for anybody else. Youre it. So I guess
Im gonna have to keep on talking.
And youre okay with that? Melanie asked.
He grinned. Strange, but I am. Im actually having fun right now.
Satisfied? Dan asked.
Yes. This was good, and I feel like were done for now. I dont
need to know what happens in the end.
Oh, I can tell you how it ends, Dan said. You really want to
know?
Melanie took a sip of wine. Nah. Too serious for a Friday night.
Im on a campaign to lighten up and relax.
Hows this for now? You and me sitting by a pool, sipping piña
coladas.
Mmm, sounds good. You know, Mark Sonschein told me to take
a vacation.
And hes the big boss. Count me in, Dan said.
Theres only one problem. I cant leave Maya for that long.
Who said anything about leaving her? You know where Ive always
wanted to go my whole life, but never had the chance?
Where? Melanie asked.
Disney. What do you say we take cutie, hit the Magic Kingdom
in the morning. Then do the pool and the drinks with umbrellas in
em in the afternoon.
That would be great. Sounds expensive, though.
What the hell, sweetheart. Ive got a Visa card, and Im not afraid
to use it. Me, too, Melanie said. Acknowledgments

I have the amazing good fortune to work with three of the best women
in publishing. My agent, Meg Ruley, my editor, Carolyn Marino, and
my publicist, Dee Dee DeBartlo, not only contributed hugely to this
book, but they make every day of this job fun. I am also grateful
to all of the other wonderful people at the Jane Rotrosen Agency
( especially Don Cleary, Peggy Gordijn, and Christina Hogrebe) and
at HarperCollins ( especially Lisa Gallagher, Michael Morrison, Lynn
Grady, Liate Stehlik, Jennifer Civiletto, and Wendy Lee) who do so
much for me.
Im lucky to be able to call upon colleagues from my law
enforcement days when memory fails or when I need to catch up
with changing times. I am indebted to Eric Friedberg, former chief of
narcotics in the EDNY U. S. Attorneys Office, now one of the nations
leading experts on computer crimes; Christopher Falkenberg of Insite
Security, formerly a special agent with the U. S. Secret Service; and
Special Agent John Kleczkowski of DEA, whos still fighting the good
fight. They gave generously of their time and knowledge; any errors or
exaggerations are mine alone. Many thanks to Micah Fink for reading and commenting on an
early draft of this book. His insightful comments improved it greatly.
I am grateful to Dean Larry Kramer and the terrific staff at the
Stanford Law School Alumni Office for their extraordinary support.
Susan Charlton is a happy and successful lawyer in large part because
of the three joyous years she spent in Palo Alto.
Love and gratitude to Mom/ M and Dad/ B for giving me shelter
and sustenance when I needed to disappear and write. And of course
none of this would be possible without the love and support of my
three great guys my husband, Jeffrey, and my sons, Jack and Will
who have endless patience and enthusiasm for my writing career.