There was a lot she wanted to talk to Leary about. She wanted to tell him about Briscoe. She wanted to ask him about his visit to Douglas Shaw’s office and why he hid it from her. But she didn’t trust herself to raise either of those topics right now, so she focused on chewing her General Tso’s chicken.
“Is something wrong?” he said.
She shook her head, eating.
He put aside his own food. “You seem … distant.”
She shrugged. “I’m just thinking about work.” Her usual, go-to excuse.
“Work, or Kelly Lee?” He sighed. “Emily told me you’re still trying to get the police to investigate the accident. I told you that’s a bad idea, Jessie. The PPD and the DA’s Office—”
“When did Emily tell you? When the two of you questioned Douglas Shaw?”
Leary froze. “She told you about that?”
“Yeah. So I guess it’s okay for you to disregard Warren’s orders, but not me.”
“I’m trying to protect you.”
“You’re trying to investigate, because you know I’m right. There’s more to Kelly’s accident than the police are willing to consider.”
Leary sighed. “I don’t know. Shaw didn’t strike me as a guilty man trying to hide something.”
“Who else would steal Kelly’s files?”
He spread his hands. “How many people did she sue?”
“Point taken.” Jessie got up. “Do you want a fortune cookie?”
“Sure.” She handed him one, took one herself, and sat down next to him on the couch. He said, “Jessie, is everything okay? I mean, other than me acting like a hypocrite by doing what I told you not to do?”
“Yeah.” She tried to laugh, but couldn’t. She was the hypocrite, hiding much more from him than he’d hid from her. But she knew if she told him about Briscoe, he would become even more protective of her. She didn’t need that from him right now. Didn’t want it.
Her arm still ached from Briscoe’s attack. Poking around the woman’s life had been a mistake. Visiting Trevor Galway in prison, meeting with Lorena Torres of Organized Crime. Jessie should have known that these actions might get back to Briscoe, and that Briscoe would not be happy.
“You will find treasure in an unexpected place,” Leary said, reading the slip of paper from his cookie. “What’s yours say?”
She forced a smile and cracked open her fortune cookie. There was no slip of paper. Jessie made a face. “When I was a kid, my friends and I used to joke that if your fortune cookie was empty, you were going to die.”
“Don’t eat the cookie, then. If you don’t eat the cookie, the fortune doesn’t come true.”
Jessie scoffed, but she didn’t eat the cookie. “I’ll clean up. You get changed.”
She waited for Leary to disappear into the bedroom. She could hear him hanging his suit in the closet. She went into the bathroom, locked the door, and turned on the shower. The sound of pounding water filled the small room.
She took out her phone and called Graham. “It sounds like you’re in a rain forest,” Graham said.
“Bathroom. I’m running the shower for cover.”
“Uh-oh.”
“I can’t talk to Leary about this, but I need to talk to someone. My heart is still racing.”
“What is it?”
Jessie watched the mirror fog with steam. “Vicki Briscoe found out I was asking questions about her. She came to my home, threatened me.”
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” Jessie massaged her arm. It still ached.
“Did she hurt you?”
Jessie hesitated. “A little. Only to make a point.”
“For God’s sake, Jessie.”
“She just wanted to make sure I know what a badass she is.”
“Are you going to tell the police?”
“Other than you? No. I don’t think that’s the right move.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t think she had any involvement in Kelly Lee’s accident. She admitted that she had been stalking Kelly, and that she had fantasized about getting some kind of revenge against her. I don’t think she would have admitted those things if she caused the accident.”
“So what? She broke into your apartment and assaulted you.”
“She was angry that I visited her ex-boyfriend. The best thing to do is back off. I don’t need anything from her, now that I’m pretty sure she’s not the killer we’re looking for. We’ll go our separate ways. I’m sure one day, her time will come. I’ll leave that to Lorena Torres and the Organized Crime Unit.”
There was a stretch of silence on the line, with only the steady white noise of the shower. “If she comes back—if she so much as passes you on the street—you let me know, Jessie.”
“I will.”
“Promise.”
“Yes. I promise.”
22
With Noah Snyder officially substituted as plaintiffs’ counsel in the case of Rowland v. Boffo Products Corporation, Judge Dax had authorized Snyder to obtain the sealed court files, which included all pleadings filed to date. While technically those documents were confidential, Snyder had ignored the court’s order and immediately sent them to Jessie.
Now, sitting in her office, she stared through bleary eyes at the documents. Because the trial had been interrupted in its early stages, there wasn’t much here—the complaint, answer, and reply, and the two motions Judge Dax had told her were currently pending before the court—the plaintiff’s motion to certify a class and the defense’s motion for summary judgment. She found Kelly’s brief in support of the motion to certify a class, and Boffo’s brief in opposition. Typically, a reply brief—the movant’s opportunity to address the arguments in the opposition brief—would complete the series, but there was no reply brief. Kelly’s accident must have happened before she could file one.
The motion for summary judgment had a brief in support by Boffo, a brief in opposition by Kelly, and a reply brief by Boffo.
Jessie called Snyder, on the off-chance that he’d missed sending her a document. “I don’t see a reply brief for the motion to certify a class.”
“Maybe Lee didn’t bother with one?” Snyder suggested. “Reply briefs are optional.”
“Kelly doesn’t strike me as the kind of lawyer to take a shortcut. I think she may have died before she could file a reply.”
“I guess that means we’ll have to write one. And when I say we, I mean you.”
“Yeah, I got that,” she said, but Snyder had already disconnected. Great.
She’d work on a reply brief after she got her arms around the facts and the law. The problem was, the documents she had did not include a lot of information. Probably, Kelly had been holding back, not wanting to give the defense too much advance warning of her legal arguments and factual evidence she planned to use at trial. Also not in the file were the witnesses Kelly planned to call. These would have been produced during the discovery phase of the trial, which had not occurred yet.
All of that information was presumably in Kelly’s own case file—the one that had vanished from her office along with her other client files.
Jessie stared at the documents she did have, unsure where to even start. The most immediate threats were the two motions currently pending before the court—the plaintiff’s motion to certify as a class, and the defendant’s motion for a summary judgment dismissing the case. Jessie needed to draft a reply brief, and then help Snyder prepare for a hearing. It was going to take a lot of research into areas of the law Jessie was not familiar with, along with an unhealthy amount of coffee, to even get started.
She felt a spark of hope when the phone on her desk rang. Maybe it was Snyder, calling to tell her he’d been joking about her doing all the work. But it wasn’t Snyder. It was Warren. She picked up, said, “Hey.”
“Come to my office.”
“Everything okay?” His voice sounded tight, clipped, but she couldn’t be sure that wasn’t an effect of his new
rising-before-the-dawn morning routine.
“Now, Jessie.” Not a good sign.
Was he still angry that she’d gone to Kelly Lee’s apartment? She thought she’d gotten him past that when she’d explained she was just helping Snyder. Walking to his office, she wondered what new thing might have irritated him. Had he somehow found out that Snyder had sent her the pleadings?
His office door was closed. Definitely not a good sign.
She knocked, took the half-snarl, half-grunt she heard through the door as an invitation, and went inside.
The small office was unusually crowded. Warren slouched in his office chair. Standing rigidly behind him was a man in a pristinely pressed police uniform whom she recognized as Captain Henderson, the head of the PPD Homicide Division. In the visitor chairs facing the desk were two people Jessie could recognize even just seeing the backs of their heads. Mark Leary and Emily Graham. They glanced back at her as she closed the door.
“Well, now we’re all here,” Warren said.
Jessie shifted her weight from one leg to the other. Nervousness burned through her. “What’s going on?”
“I told you,” Leary said quickly, before anyone else could respond. “Jessie doesn’t know anything about this. We did it on our own. We didn’t even tell her.”
Graham remained silent, but glanced at Jessie with an apologetic look.
“What didn’t you tell me?” Jessie said.
“Apparently, Douglas Shaw, the president and CEO of the company Kelly Lee was suing, received a visit from Detectives Graham and Leary, who claimed to be there as representatives of the PPD and the DA’s Office,” Warren said. “You can probably imagine the consequences when that happens to a wealthy, powerful person like Shaw.”
“Angry complaints,” Henderson put in. “Threats. Political pressure.”
“You two had no authority to question Shaw,” Warren said. “Your insubordination has put us in a very uncomfortable position.”
“Insubordination?” Graham’s voice rose. She looked to Henderson. “Captain, I—”
“AID closed the case,” Henderson snapped. “The Homicide Division was not supposed to get involved.”
“All we did was ask a few questions,” Leary said. “We didn’t take him into custody.”
“It’s my fault,” Jessie spoke up. “I’m the one who wanted to continue investigating Shaw. Emily and Mark were only trying to help. If you’re going to discipline anyone here, it should be me.”
“That’s not true,” Leary said, leaning forward. He started to stand up.
“Sit down, Mark.” Jessie felt a flash of anger. She didn’t need Leary to sacrifice his career for her. “This is on me.”
“Maybe we’ll discipline all three of you,” Warren said.
“That’s one way to go,” Jessie said. “That might appease Shaw. Or it might not.”
“But you have a better idea, of course,” Warren said dryly.
“Tie him to Kelly Lee’s death. Then he and his company go down, and the DA’s Office and PPD are heroes.”
No one looked impressed by her plan. “The AID investigation found no evidence suggesting that her death was anything but an accident,” Captain Henderson said.
“The AID investigation missed something,” Jessie said.
Henderson’s gaze swung to Graham. Graham said, “I think it’s possible that Jessie is right, Captain.”
Henderson made a noise in his throat. He looked at Warren. “I don’t like this.”
“Neither do I,” Warren said.
“If I can bring you evidence proving that Kelly Lee was murdered,” Jessie said, “then no one in this room needs to be reprimanded, right?”
Warren and Henderson exchanged another glance. Warren said, “I can give you a few days. But you better believe this is serious, Jessie. If you don’t come through, we may have to sacrifice all three of your jobs for the good of the PPD and DA’s Office.”
Jessie nodded. “I understand.”
“Good,” Warren said. “Get out. All of you.”
They filed out of Warren’s office. In the hallway, Graham said, “What the hell was that, Jessie?”
“Did I have a choice?” She looked at her friend. “You realize they were about to suspend, or maybe even fire you, right? Promising them evidence was the only way to save us, after you and Leary went and poked the hornet nest by questioning Shaw.”
“There’s just one problem,” Leary said. “There is no evidence.”
“Actually, I think there might be.”
Leary and Graham stared at her. “What are you talking about?” Leary said.
But Graham had already caught on. “Vicki Briscoe.”
“Exactly,” Jessie said.
“Briscoe? As in Ray Briscoe?” Leary said.
“Vicki is his daughter,” Jessie said. “She’s a doctor—or used to be. Kelly brought a medical malpractice claim against her and she wound up losing her job and her medical license. She wanted revenge. She was following Kelly, stalking her, just before her death.”
“Doesn’t that make her a suspect?” Leary said.
“I don’t think she killed Kelly. She wanted to, but I think she would have done it in a more … hands-on way. She told me—”
“You spoke with her?” Leary looked horrified. “Jessie, these are extremely dangerous people.”
“The point is, Vicki Briscoe was stalking her. She saw everything Kelly did, everywhere Kelly went, and everyone Kelly talked to, in the days leading to her death. If anyone can lead us to evidence, it’s her.”
“Why would she help us?” Graham said. “The last time she saw you, she assaulted you.”
Leary’s eyes bugged out. “She what?”
“We can talk about that later,” Jessie said to Leary. To Graham, she said, “Lorena Torres said the Dark Hounds have their headquarters on a former Amish farm. I’m going to drive out to Lancaster and see if I can find Vicki there. Convince her to help us. Or try to, anyway. So are we going to go on pretending we aren’t all working on this investigation, or are you two going to come with me?”
23
They took Leary’s car to make the drive to Lancaster, with Leary driving, Jessie in the passenger seat beside him, and Graham in the back. For most of the ride, they were silent, each of them staring out the windows.
Only an hour outside Philadelphia, and it was like a different world. Pennsylvania Dutch Country was an historic area of Pennsylvania in which thousands of Amish people still maintained their unique, centuries-old way of life. Touristy beds and breakfasts, restaurants selling shoofly pies, and shops offering homemade furniture eventually gave way to windmills, horse stables, and acres and acres of farmland. Even with the windows closed, the odor of horse manure penetrated the car. It was a smell Jessie had always disliked. Soon enough, they approached a horse and buggy riding on the road.
“It’s weird,” Graham said from the back seat. “They don’t use electricity, but their buggies have headlights.”
“They also have brakes and a suspension system,” Leary said. He carefully maneuvered around the buggy and horse. A man and woman wearing traditional Amish attire—plain and black—sat at the reins. Neither looked over as Leary’s car passed them.
“I don’t get it,” Graham said.
“They don’t use public power,” Leary said, “but they use batteries. It’s not about electricity. Well, not exactly.”
“Thanks,” Graham said. “That clears it up.”
Leary shrugged. “Sorry I don’t have a PhD in Amish religious doctrine.”
Jessie admired the ability of Leary and Graham to crack jokes en route to the headquarters of a dangerous organized crime family. It must be a cop thing. Her own stomach churned with nausea. She glanced at the GPS app on her phone. Almost there.
“Do they have cup holders?” Graham said.
Leary tilted his head up to look at the rearview mirror. “What?”
“In the buggies.”
“Good question,” Leary said. “When we get back, I’ll look that up in my comprehensive treatise on Amish vehicle accessories.”
“I think this is the turn,” Jessie said.
She was staring at her GPS, but when she looked up, she realized she probably didn’t need it. The farm was immediately different from its neighbors. Whereas the Amish farms all appeared neat and well-maintained, the one the motorcycle club used as its base of operations was overgrown and weedy. No cows or horses, or any other animals, in sight. No crops, either. A collection of dark, ominous buildings squatted far back on the land, at the end of a winding gravel road.
She noticed the bantering stopped abruptly. Leary’s back seemed to straighten, and she heard the sounds of Graham checking her gun.
Leary’s car bumped from pavement onto gravel and their speed slowed. He pulled up in front of the largest building, shifted the car into park, and turned off the engine. Jessie reached for her door. Her hand trembled. She took a deep breath. Tried to steady herself.
Nothing bad is going to happen. Biker gangs know better than to mess with law enforcement for no reason.
She popped her door open and slid out. The sound of three car doors closing seemed ear-shatteringly loud in the otherwise silent day. She exchanged a look with Leary, then with Graham. They headed for the building together, but stopped short when four men materialized from the shadows at the edges of the structure. They came quickly. The instinct to turn and run almost took over, but Jessie managed to stand her ground. From the corner of her eye, she saw Graham’s hand move to her hip and hover there.
“My name is Jessica Black.” She spoke quickly, before the encounter could escalate to violence. “I’m with the District Attorney’s Office of Philadelphia. We’re looking for Vicki Briscoe—”
One of the men gripped her arm. He was bald and had a tattoo of a spiderweb on the pale dome of his head—not exactly Amish style. A second man, short, squat, and wearing a Harley-Davidson baseball cap, approached her with his hands out, then started to pat down her sides. The other two men frisked Leary and Graham, taking their weapons.
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