Jessie gestured at one of the metal chairs, then took a seat in the other one. The table between them was mottled with stains, its edges dulled by many nervous hands. The air had an unpleasant odor, as if the room had trapped someone's bad breath. But Kelly barely seemed to notice their surroundings.
“It's been so long, but I feel like we were in class together yesterday,” Jessie said.
With a wistful smile, Kelly said, “You look great.”
“You, too.”
Kelly looked around. Her nose wrinkled as she finally seemed to take in their squalid surroundings. “Back when we were studying for our Contracts exam, I never would have imagined you working for the city as a homicide prosecutor.”
“I didn't think you'd become a personal injury lawyer.”
Jessie immediately regretted the comment. She knew Kelly’s area of the law was considered shabby in many circles. People—even other lawyers (maybe especially other lawyers)—mocked personal injury lawyers with derogatory names. Ambulance chasers. Bottom feeders. But if Kelly was offended, she didn’t show it.
“I wanted to run my own firm. I have an entrepreneurial spirit, I guess.”
“That's really impressive. I don't think I could do that—strike out on my own like that.”
“Don’t sell yourself short.” Kelly looked down at her hands, and Jessie noticed the woman's fingernails were ragged, chewed. “Remember how worried you were about our Contracts final? And you aced it.”
“I do remember that.”
“I doubt there’s anything you couldn’t do if you put your mind to it.”
“Kelly, tell me what’s going on.”
Kelly seemed to hesitate. “I think someone wants to hurt me.”
“Have you gone to the police?” Jessie felt a bolt of adrenaline.
“Yes. They told me there’s nothing they can do. Not unless someone makes an overt threat, or actually tries to harm me. Just the feeling that I'm being followed around, that's not enough for them to act on, apparently. And besides that, you probably know about….” She looked away and her voice trailed off.
Jessie leaned forward. “I probably know about what?”
Kelly shook her head. “Nothing. I'm sure the police are just following protocol. They can’t spend all their time and resources protecting every person who feels threatened. I understand that.”
“Why do you feel threatened?” Jessie said.
“I’m working on something big. A case that could cost some rich people a lot of money. Maybe worse.” She paused and seemed to study Jessie, as if deciding whether to trust her.
“You came to me, Kelly. If you don’t tell me what’s going on, how can I help you?”
Kelly took a deep breath. “About a month ago, a husband and wife came to my office. Parents. They'd just lost their two-year-old son. They were grief stricken, but also angry. One day he was a normal toddler, and the next he was struggling to breathe. They took him to their pediatrician, who diagnosed him with restrictive airway disorder—it’s common, usually a minor condition for kids. The pediatrician prescribed an inhaler. But the same night after visiting the pediatrician, he suffocated in his sleep and died. Acute respiratory failure.”
“That's awful.”
“I hear a lot of awful stories in my line of work. I guess you do, too.”
Jessie nodded.
“The parents wanted to hire me to pursue a med-mal claim against the pediatrician. They believed their son's death had been unnecessary, that the doctor caused it by failing to properly diagnose his condition. I agreed to look into the claim.” She ran her fingertip along a rough line of graffiti someone had gouged in the table’s surface. “The way I work usually is that I will consult with a trusted expert to see if a claim has validity. If it does, I will usually take a case on a contingency basis. If I win, I get a percentage of the damages or settlement awarded to my client. Usually one-third. If I lose, I bill nothing. That's my risk.” She looked up at Jessie. “The parents were okay with this and agreed to wait for me to look into the claim and get back to them. I know a doctor, an MD, PhD. Great expert witness. I brought him the information and the file on the case.”
“What did you find?”
“Not what I expected.”
“The pediatrician didn’t screw up the diagnosis?”
“Oh, he did, but that was the least of it. My guy’s findings suggested that the condition itself had been brought on by exposure to excessive levels of formaldehyde. He proposed examining the family's living area to try to identify the source. We found it. A toy called Dinowarrior—it was a popular gift for boys last Christmas. The toy tested extremely high for levels of formaldehyde. The parents confirmed that the toy had been their son's favorite gift and that he'd been inseparable from it. That toy killed him.”
Jessie suppressed a shiver. “So the parents have a claim against the toy manufacturer?”
“Potentially huge,” Kelly said. “We filed a complaint against the company and a motion to certify the case as a class action.”
“How many of these toys were sold?”
“Thousands."
In her head, Jessie put the pieces of Kelly’s story together. “Someone from the company threatened you?”
“Not exactly. But … I don't know. It’s like I'm being followed. Like someone is watching me. I feel like someone wants to do me harm.”
“Kelly, you’re not giving me much to work with here.”
She hesitated. “I can tell you the toy company is Boffo Products Corporation. They’re big, but they started as a local company. Their headquarters is still based right outside of Philly.”
“And the name of the family who lost their son?”
Kelly hesitated again. “Rowland.”
“I can understand this Boffo company fighting you in court, but to come after you personally? That seems unlikely, doesn't it?”
Kelly brought a hand to her face and gnawed on the nail of her index finger. She seemed to realize she was doing it and stopped, intertwining her fingers on the table instead. Jessie waited patiently.
“There's more to it,” Kelly said.
“I'm listening.”
“I have reason to believe the president of the company, a man named Douglas Shaw, knew about the risk, but continued to distribute the toys anyway. He intentionally put his company’s profit above children’s safety.”
“You can prove that?”
“I’m not sure how much I should tell you, Jessie. I don't want to put you in danger, too.”
“I’m an assistant district attorney. I'm not an easy target.”
Kelly nodded and took a deep breath. “All I’ll say is that someone within Shaw’s company reached out to me, a person with a guilty conscience. This person told me that Shaw knew about the danger. This person assured me that the evidence is there. I guess we’ll find out during discovery, but I believe this person.”
Jessie absorbed the information. “If that’s true, Shaw could face criminal charges.”
“Exactly. No amount of insurance will protect him from that. So he does have a reason to come after me. Self-preservation.”
Jessie watched the woman. She looked genuinely afraid.
“I hate to impose on you,” Kelly went on, “and ask a favor like this, but you're the only person I know connected with law enforcement. Can you talk to some of your friends in the police department? Get them to help me? I don't need a full-time bodyguard or anything, just someone to look into this, see if I'm being targeted. I'm thinking any police involvement at all might be enough to scare off Shaw.”
“Of course,” Jessie said. “I'll make a call. Why wouldn’t I?”
Kelly shifted her gaze away, and for a second Jessie thought she might actually answer the rhetorical question. “Look, I didn’t go into public service like you. Most of what I do—it’s like a game. Someone will come to me claiming an injury. Half the time, it’s made up or exaggerated. But if I think I can sell it in court, I’ll take
the case.” She seemed to watch Jessie’s reaction closely, and although Jessie struggled to hide her distaste, it must have shown. “I know that sounds bad, but the insurance companies are even worse. They’ll happily collect their premiums, but the moment someone makes a claim, they’ll use any excuse to avoid paying on a policy. My job is to negotiate with them—sometimes even begin a trial—and eventually there’s a settlement payment. It’s how the system works.”
Jessie thought of her elevator chat with Randal Barnes. He’d said something similar, and similarly unconvincing to Jessie.
“But the Rowlands’ case is different,” Kelly said. “Do you understand? The Rowland case is a chance for me to actually do something good. I know that sounds stupid. Naïve.”
“Not to me,” Jessie said.
Kelly nodded. “You’ll help me?”
“I’ll help you.”
3
The walk from the Criminal Justice Center to Police Headquarters took about fifteen minutes. Jessie spent most of that time in her own head, thinking about her conversations with Randal Barnes and Kelly Lee. By the time the distinctive, curving edifice of Police Headquarters loomed above her—the building was called the Roundhouse because of its shape—she barely remembered the walk.
She entered the Roundhouse and exchanged smiles and hellos with half a dozen cops before reaching the Homicide Division’s bullpen. She found Detective Emily Graham sitting at a computer.
When she’d first met Graham a few years ago during a school shooting case, the two hadn’t exactly hit it off. Graham seemed to think of the DA’s Office as a necessary evil her job forced her to deal with, rather than as a partner. But while working together on that case, they’d discovered an unlikely friendship. Now, Jessie considered Graham her best friend, and was pretty sure the feeling was mutual.
Graham looked up, saw Jessie, and smiled. “What's up, Legal Eagle?”
Jessie leaned against the desk. “You sound uncharacteristically upbeat.”
“What are you trying to say? You don't think I'm an upbeat person?”
“You're a very upbeat person.”
“Yeah, well, I just closed a major murder case. So that helps.”
“Congratulations.”
“Another killer off the street. Assuming the lawyers don't screw everything up and render my months of dedicated work worthless.”
Jessie knew better than to take the comment personally. “Now that's the cynical Emily Graham I know.”
Graham laughed. “What's going on? Aren’t you supposed to be in court for that Alvarez case?”
“The judge granted the defense a continuance.”
Graham made a face. “You’ve been prepping for that trial for weeks. On the bright side, I guess you’ll have some free time.”
Jessie nodded. “I was thinking maybe a last-minute vacation, if Leary can get away. Did I tell you we’re going out to dinner tonight with my dad? Since it’s restaurant week, I made reservations at a nice French place.”
“Good idea. Is that your dad’s style, though?”
“I’m hoping he’ll like it.”
“Well, tell them both I said hi.”
”I will.” She paused. “Emily, I’m actually here to ask a favor.”
Graham rolled her swivel chair away from her computer. “What’s up?”
“There’s a lawyer, a friend of mine from law school. She’s involved in a case against a big company and she thinks someone might be following her.”
Graham’s eyes narrowed. “Did she go to the police?”
“She says they brushed her off.”
“Really? That doesn’t sound likely.”
Jessie shrugged. “I agree, but that’s what she says happened. I was hoping you could throw your homicide detective weight around, get someone to look into it.”
Graham seemed to consider the request. “I am very powerful around here,” she deadpanned.
“You’re practically the commissioner.”
“Okay, give me the details. What’s this lawyer’s name?”
“Kelly Lee.”
Graham seemed to flinch at the name. She looked away. “I just remembered, I need to meet with the medical examiner.”
“Now?”
“Yeah.” Graham rose from her chair.
Jessie tried to make sense of the sudden change. “Are you okay?” She watched as Graham grabbed her suit jacket from the back of her chair and shrugged her arms into the sleeves.
“I lost track of time,” Graham said. “Sorry. I need to run.”
“Will you help with my friend?”
Graham continued to avoid eye contact. “I’ll call you.”
Graham started walking away from her desk. Jessie pursued her. They navigated between workspaces in the overcrowded bullpen. “Emily, look at me.”
Graham stopped. “What?”
“Obviously I said something that upset you.”
The detective looked like she might deny it. She seemed to study Jessie for a second, then let out a breath. “You know how I feel about lawyers.”
“Me excluded.” It was an old joke between them. Jessie said the words almost automatically.
“Kelly Lee isn’t some heroic lawyer fighting for justice,” Graham said. “She’s a liar who will do anything to make a buck.”
“You know her?” Jessie could not mask her surprise.
“Not personally. But I know she’s brought a ton of police misconduct suits against the PPD. Did you know the city pays out nine-million dollars on average every year to settle claims against police officers? Do you know how much the city has to pay for reinsurance premiums alone because of all these claims?”
Graham’s voice rose. The squad room was mostly deserted, thankfully, but the few cops in the room had turned to watch the confrontation. Jessie could feel the weight of their stares.
“I didn’t know Kelly was involved in police misconduct litigation.”
Graham tilted her head and offered a big, fake smile. “Well, now you know.”
The intensity of Graham’s response surprised her. Jessie could almost feel the heat of her friend’s anger radiating from her body. “I didn’t realize this was an issue so close to your heart.”
“It should be close to your heart, too. These settlements come out of a tax-payer-funded city budget. And lawyers like Lee tarnish your profession.”
“Maybe you’re too close to this to be objective.” Jessie regretted the words the moment they left her mouth.
“I’m completely objective.”
“Don’t you think the police should be held accountable if they abuse their authority?”
Graham rolled her eyes, a mannerism Jessie had found infuriating during her first interactions with the detective. “These cases aren’t real, Jessie. They’re cooked up by greedy lawyers.”
Against her will, Jessie found herself remembering something Kelly had said to her. Most of what I do—it’s like a game. She mentally shook off the voice in her head. “All of the claims? You can’t believe that.”
“Look, if Kelly Lee feels scared, she can use some of the money she took out of our pockets and hire a security guard. I’m not going to help her, and I doubt you’ll find anyone in the department who feels differently.”
Jessie watched, stunned, as Graham strode out of the Homicide Division, leaving her to wonder what the hell had just happened. And why the hell Kelly Lee hadn’t warned her about her reputation with the PPD.
4
Mr. and Mrs. Mark Leary, he thought, savoring the words in his head.
“Leary, are you even listening?”
Mark Leary jumped. He had no idea where the conversation had gone, or even who had been speaking. He looked from Jessie to her father and felt his cheeks redden. “Sorry, I've got work on my mind.”
Jessie's father shook his head. “The two of you, always thinking about work. It was your idea to take me to this hoity-toity place. You could at least be mentally present.”
“
Hoity-toity?” Jessie said, arching an eyebrow.
Her father shrugged. “You prefer fancy-schmancy?”
“How about elegant?”
Watching the two of them banter, Leary couldn't suppress a smile. It had occurred to him that Harland Black might not feel at home in a French restaurant full of well-dressed people sitting at tables covered in spotless white tablecloths, speaking in subdued voices against a background of classical music, clinking silverware, and decanting wine. But he'd kept the thought to himself because Jessie was excited about the idea. It was Restaurant Week in Philadelphia, and Jessie wanted to take her father out for a nice dinner. That was sweet, and he knew her father would appreciate the gesture even if he didn’t appreciate the “hoity-toity” ambiance.
Even better, it dovetailed beautifully with Leary’s own plans.
Under the table, he forced himself to stop tracing the circular shape in his pants pocket. “I’m mentally present now. What did I miss?”
“I was just telling Dad how great it is to work together, now that you’re a detective at the DA’s Office,” Jessie said. “Walking to work in the morning, seeing you in the halls, that kind of thing.”
“And you thought combining our work lives with our private lives would be a recipe for disaster,” he reminded her.
“I did think that. But now that it's happened, I have to admit it's really nice.”
“Better than nice. It's great.”
“I was just kidding about the restaurant,” her dad said. “The food looks pretty good. Even if I can't pronounce any of it.”
“Next time,” Leary said, “we'll let you pick the place.”
“Deal.”
“Excuse me,” Jessie said, rising from her chair. “I'll be right back. I need to use the ladies' room.”
Finally, Leary thought. He waited until Jessie disappeared through the doorway to the restrooms, then turned to her father. The man stared back at him and an awkward silence descended. Leary fought the urge to spout small talk about the Phillies or the Eagles. He didn’t know how much time he would have before Jessie returned.
He cleared his throat and leaned forward, struggling to remember the words he’d thought up the night before. It would mean so much to me to receive your permission. No. Your blessing. No. Your—
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