Most Wanted

by Michele Martinez

  Bernadette’s was the corner office, sitting at the intersection of two hallways housing the Major Crimes Unit. Melanie took a deep breath, studying her nameplate: BERNADETTE DEFELICE, CHIEF. She squared her shoulders and walked as calmly as she could manage into the anteroom. Bernadette’s secretary, Shekeya Jenkins, played solitaire on the computer as she fielded phone calls, working the telephone buttons with a pencil held gingerly between inch-long, gem-studded nails. Shekeya was the only secretary who ever lasted more than a week with Bernadette, and she prided herself on the accomplishment. She had elaborate braids bleached orangey-red, a big heart tattooed on her arm that said KWAME, and a poisonous tongue. Shekeya didn’t hesitate to give back to Bernadette as good as she got. She raised her eyebrows at Melanie dubiously.

  “You want an audience with Her Majesty?”

  “Uh-huh. She on the phone?”

  “What else? You on your own, honey, because the way she acting, I’m not buzzing her. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  As Melanie moved toward the door to the interior office, Bernadette screamed, “Who the fuck is on line three? Why is line three still blinking? Shekeya?”

  “She can answer her own goddamn calls, see how she like that,” Shekeya said, turning back to her card game, a bored look on her face.

  Bernadette sat with her back to the door, facing her computer and a bank of telephones, but turned as she heard the clicking of Melanie’s high heels.

  “Oh. Hold on. You, I wanna talk to,” she said, picking up the telephone and pointing at a guest chair. Melanie sat down and listened. Might as well learn something. Bernadette was stroking the guy on the other end of the line. He was a boss at DEA, and Bernadette was trying to get some business out of him.

  “Larry, don’t worry for a minute, we can jam the thing through Washington in no time. I’ll put my best people on it. You’ll get a nice seizure, we’ll get a few bodies to prosecute. Everybody walks away happy.”

  She was smooth, no question, yet the cracks were showing. It wasn’t her looks, exactly, because Bernadette was still beautiful. But she was in her mid-forties now and overcompensating, fighting too hard. Her shoulder-length hair, once a rich dark brown, was colored an unnatural red. She wore too much makeup. And her clothes…well, tight clothes suited some people—take Melanie’s sister Linda, a Latina diva if ever there was one. But on Bernadette they looked cheesy, desperate. Bernadette had never married, had no kids. A career spent sleeping with cops wasn’t likely to pan out into anything permanent, but no other type of guy seemed to do it for her.

  Bernadette hung up and focused on Melanie. It was scary, because she did not look happy.

  “How did you know Jed Benson was murdered?” Bernadette demanded. Melanie knew from that tone she would never deliver the speech she’d been planning.

  “I was there last night, at the scene.”

  “Yes, I know that, miss. I had to hear it from Lieutenant Ramirez instead of your sneaky little mouth. How did you know to go there?”

  Melanie had guessed Ramirez would tattle to Bernadette, but still it infuriated her.

  “It was an accident. I mean, it was a coincidence,” she sputtered as Bernadette fixed her with a cold stare. “I live right near there. I was out for a walk, and I happened to go by and see the fire trucks.”

  “You just happened to be out for a walk?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why were you out walking at ten o’clock at night?”

  “My baby couldn’t sleep. I thought a stroll would help.”

  Bernadette leaned back in her chair, seeming to accept her answer, but then sat up suddenly, jabbing her finger at Melanie. “Lieutenant Ramirez claims you said I sent you!”

  “I never said that! I was careful to avoid saying that, in fact. It looked like an important case, so I wanted to grab it for us, Bern, before the state got it. Be aggressive, take a page from your book. So I bluffed him. Pretended I was supposed to be there. If he thought I was just passing by with my baby stroller, he never would’ve given me the time of day.”

  “So you felt that justified going outside the chain of command? Doing this without consulting me?”

  “I thought it was what you would want me to do.”

  “Hmmmph. Well. You put me in a difficult position, girlfriend. Two of my favorite management principles are in conflict here. Do you know what they are?”

  “No.” She hated the meekness in her voice. Bernadette could always do this to her, reduce her to a timid little mouse. And Melanie was not easily intimidated.

  “Principle number one: punish insubordination. Principle number two: reward initiative. Do you see how your actions force me to choose between them?”

  “Yes.” She despised her own weakness. But what could she do, not answer Bernadette’s rhetorical questions? That would read like rebellion.

  “I can’t have my people running around this city barging into crime scenes without my permission. I bring in the business around here. I make the assignments. I maintain the relationships with the bosses at NYPD and the federal agencies. Not you, not anyone else in this unit. Me. Is that understood?”

  “Of course, one hundred percent, Bern. I wasn’t trying—”

  “But having said that, I do try to teach you people to be go-getters, and your instincts were right in this instance. We should have this case. Jed was one of ours, after all. His murder should be ours.” Her voice cracked slightly, reminding Melanie that the victim wasn’t just any corpse.

  “Bernadette,” Melanie interjected, “I was at the scene last night. I have knowledge nobody else—”

  Bernadette held up her hand. “Quiet, please, I’m thinking!”

  Seconds passed as Melanie sat in suspense, waiting for Bernadette’s verdict. Her boss’s lips twitched into a sly smile.

  “Pop-quiz time, girlfriend. How are you planning to federalize this murder charge?”

  Melanie hadn’t had one second to hit the books since stumbling across the Benson crime scene last night, but she could fake it when she needed to.

  “Well, it depends on how the facts unfold, but there are several possibilities. May I borrow your code book?”

  Bernadette reached back to her credenza, where several fat paperback volumes stood upright between metal bookends. She yanked out one called Federal Criminal Code and Rules and handed it across the desk to Melanie. Melanie opened it, pretending she had a plan, doing her best to keep her face blank but feeling herself flush as Bernadette watched her. Bernadette must have been working on a RICO case recently, because she’d tabbed the racketeering statute. The book naturally fell open to it.

  “Here’s an option,” Melanie said, straining for a perky, confident tone. “Section 1959. Murder in aid of racketeering.”

  “Okay, but you’d have to prove up a racketeering enterprise. Not easy. Keep going. See anything else?”

  Melanie flipped pages, trying not to look nervous. “We could use Section 1958. Murder-for-hire. It’s a federal crime as long as interstate telephone lines are used and there’s evidence of payment. Or the drug-murder statute, if we can link the perpetrator to narcotics.”

  Bernadette raised her eyebrows, smiling broadly, enjoying watching Melanie scramble. “You’re really reaching with those. Your first shot was your best one, even if you only picked it because I had the statute marked. Give me the book, hon,” Bernadette said, chuckling.

  Melanie handed it back to her, spirits soaring at the sudden warmth in Bernadette’s voice. “The point is, Bern, we have options. Something’ll stick, I’m positive.”

  “You think on your feet, and I like that. Look, I’m gonna be frank. Your gutsiness last night weighs in your favor, but it’s not necessarily enough. Normally I wouldn’t consider handing you a case of this magnitude. It’s not a matter of talent. You’re good in front of a jury. You have a good head for investigation. But you’ve never been in the spotlight before. You’ve only done basic bread-and-butter stuff. And what’s more, you’re not
performing up to your abilities right now.”

  “What do you mean?” Cold anxiety flooded her chest again. An encounter with Bernadette was always a roller-coaster ride.

  “Well, honestly, I question your commitment to the job. You have a new baby at home. That may be a big deal for you, but it’s no excuse as far as I’m concerned. I’m very aware of when my people come in, when they leave, how many weekends they’re putting in, that sort of thing. I don’t see you here as much as I’d like to.”

  “My husband’s been traveling recently, so a lot’s fallen on me at home, but that can change. I can get extra baby-sitting if I need to. I’ll put in whatever time is required, I promise.”

  “We’re talking a lot of time. Like, bring-a-toothbrush-because-you’ll-be-sleeping-here kind of time.”

  “Understood. I can do it, Bernadette. Just give me a chance.”

  Bernadette cupped her chin in her hand and gazed at Melanie. “Hmm. You’re hot for this case, I’ll say that for you. And the politics would certainly work out well.”

  “Politics?”

  “Yeah. The front office wants Joe Williams on this case. Joe’s close to the big boss. You know how the black prosecutors stick together. I’d have a spy in my midst. No way am I gonna let that happen. Politically, I think I can push you as an alternative, because you’re a twofer.”

  “A twofer?”

  “Yeah, you know, two for the price of one? Hispanic and female? A new mom to boot? We promote pregnant women, that sort of thing?”

  “I’m not pregnant.”

  “But you were.”

  “And I’m only half Puerto Rican. I mean, I grew up in a Puerto Rican neighborhood and all, but my mother is Italian.”

  “Well, don’t go around telling people that.”

  Melanie laughed in astonishment, then fell silent. She could barely muster words to respond. She hated taking advantage of her heritage at work, playing it up to get a case. She was a talented prosecutor. Bernadette should choose her because she deserved the assignment, not because of her last name or her dark hair and eyes. Playing ethnic politics like that made her uncomfortable. How many times had she sat in court and realized that, going by looks, she could be the defendant’s sister or girlfriend? Not that the shared ethnicity made her sympathetic. Quite the opposite. She knew better than anybody how crime ravaged her neighborhood.

  “I don’t see what anybody’s ethnic background has to do with deciding who’s the best prosecutor for the case,” she protested.

  “Oh, you don’t, Miss Priss? Spare me! All that stuff matters big-time these days. How else do you think I can spin your appointment, given how junior you are? It’s our best shot.”

  Shekeya buzzed Bernadette with an important phone call, so Melanie had a minute to think. She couldn’t believe it, but she was getting cold feet. This was starting to seem like a bad idea. Not only was she overwhelmed at home, but the Benson case was a minefield. Bernadette would be watching her like a hawk. If things got to be too much, she could take a spectacular fall.

  Bernadette hung up and looked at her. Melanie hesitated, then said, “Joe Williams is a good friend of mine. I don’t want to steal the case out from under—”

  “I can’t believe this! You come in here begging for the Benson case, you convince me you’re the right person for the job, and suddenly you choke? Do you think Joe Williams would think twice about stealing this case from you? This isn’t Mommy and Me class where everybody shares. This is every man for himself.”

  “I just—”

  “Let me help you out here, Melanie. Your other choice is not rushing out the door at five on the dot to relieve the baby-sitter. You’ve been back from maternity leave for three months now, and I’ll feel justified in piling the work on whether we’re talking case of the century or endless bail duty. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Perfectly,” Melanie replied icily.

  “Good. Secondly, if that’s the stick, here’s the carrot. You’ll be working with the best agents in the city.”

  “Agents? What agents? I thought Lieutenant Ramirez was doing the case.” It dawned on her how odd it was that Rommie had left the scene last night and hadn’t returned. A queasy stomach couldn’t account for that. Had he been taken off the case?

  “Romulado was too close to the victim. He may not have the emotional distance to work the case.”

  “I see,” Melanie replied, although she really didn’t.

  “Besides, he’s going through a very bitter divorce right now.”

  “Oh. I didn’t even know he was married.”

  “Yeah, for about five minutes, and now she wants big bucks. Problem is, he already pays every red cent to his wife and kids from his first marriage. Poor thing can’t get a break, at work or in his personal life.”

  “Sounds complicated.”

  “Yes, well, I’ve convinced him to disqualify himself from the Benson case for the time being. On the understanding that I’ll supervise it personally, of course.”

  “Of course.” Melanie could only imagine the nightmarish level of scrutiny that would entail. This got worse every minute.

  “So as I was saying, the people assigned to the case are top-notch. Randall Walker from the PD and Dan O’Reilly from the FBI. They were partnered up on that gang-homicide task force until O’Reilly got transferred to work terrorism. Randall’s a burnout case now, but there was a time when he was hands down the best detective in the PD. He was the first black guy to make first grade, so you can imagine how good he was back then. O’Reilly’s the real star now, though. Smart and brash and as cute as they come. We were very fortunate to get him. His supervisor was a friend of Jed Benson’s, and he detailed O’Reilly to us to work this.”

  “Maybe I should take a few minutes to think this over, Bernadette.”

  “Sorry, Charlie! You already sold me. The Benson case is yours. And you’d better get started, because I want charges brought within a week.”

  “A week? How can I possibly bring charges in a week? Have there been arrests? Are there even any suspects?”

  “Oh, yeah, I figured you knew since you were there last night. Romulado says it looks like a paid hit. His best guess is, it might’ve been contracted to retaliate against Benson for a big case he did years ago. He put away the founder of a major Puerto Rican drug gang for a triple homicide. By the way, Puerto Rican suspects, Puerto Rican prosecutor? See what I mean? They’ll love you on the six o’clock news, hon. Anyway, Delvis Diaz was the kingpin’s name. So start with the theory that the murder was payback for that case, and see what you come up with.”

  “But how do we know we’ll be able to catch the killers by then?”

  “Since when do you need the suspects locked up in order to bring charges? What is this, Crim Law 101? Present the testimony, get the indictment voted, and seal it until you catch the perpetrators. Now, report to your office and get to work, kiddo. I’d hate to see Joe Williams get the glory while you’re stuck in night court doing bail hearings for the next six months. Understood?”

  They stared at each other across the desk. This battle was over. Melanie’s only option was treating it like a victory.

  “Understood. I’m sorry if I seemed nervous for a minute. It won’t happen again. I appreciate your confidence in me, and I won’t let you down.”

  “That’s more like it. I told O’Reilly to stop by right away and give you the details. Now, get moving.” Bernadette turned back to her telephone and began dialing. Melanie was dismissed.

  Melanie walked down the hall toward her office, feeling like she’d been hit by a truck. Brooding over her encounter with Bernadette, she wandered distractedly into her office but stopped short in the doorway. A guy was sitting behind her desk, talking on her telephone. He looked up, and their eyes met. Bernadette, the case, everything fell away. She completely forgot what she was thinking about.

  7

  SHE’D NEVER MET THE GUY SITTING BEHIND HER desk, yet she felt the shock of recognition.
As they looked at each other, he blushed and lost the thread of his conversation.

  “I didn’t catch that. Say again?” he said into the telephone, making a visible effort to break off eye contact with her.

  He must be Dan O’Reilly, the agent Bernadette had told her about. Melanie walked in and leaned back against her filing cabinet, checking him out. He was big and handsome, with a masculine face and thick dark hair, and he looked strangely familiar to her. Maybe she’d seen him around, or maybe he just had that all-American jock look a lot of cops and agents have. But it was more like she’d been waiting to meet someone who looked like him. Even the sound of his voice—the deep, comforting timbre, the slight New York accent—seemed right on the money, like something she’d been expecting to hear for a while without quite realizing it. He kept sneaking glances at her as he talked. Finally he hung up.

  “Melanie Vargas?” he asked.

  “One and the same.”

  “I should have known it was you. You look like your name.”

  “Yeah? Someone told me once my name sounded like a stripper’s.” She blushed bright red the second that popped out of her mouth.

  “No comment,” he said, laughing gently. He had a boy-next-door quality, clean-cut, sweet. “I’m Dan O’Reilly.”

  “I figured. Bernadette told you she’s assigning me to this case?”

  “She said probably. She had to work out the details.”

  “It’s done. You’re looking at your prosecutor.” She sat down across from him and reached for some folders he’d spread on her desk. “What do you have for me?”

  “Not so fast,” he said, grabbing at the folder she’d picked up. They had a tug-of-war over it, their eyes locked together. She lost her nerve for a second and let go.

  “What, you don’t let the prosecutor see your files?” she said breathlessly. Her voice sounded young and foolish to her own ears. Stop that, she scolded herself. Act like a professional.