“That’s kind of paranoid, isn’t it?” Jacoby said.
Leary didn’t think it was paranoid at all. “We already know one guard—Estrada—was in on it.”
“The Sheriff’s Office doesn’t suspect this deputy,” Williams said. “Have you talked to Jessie?”
“Yeah,” Leary said. “About an hour ago. Did you?”
Williams nodded. “For thirty seconds before she hung up on me.”
Leary laughed involuntarily, which earned him a disapproving look from Jacoby.
“I guess all we can do now is wait,” Williams said.
“Not me,” Leary said. “I’m doing something.”
“I thought the situation was being handled by Special Operations.”
“It is.”
Williams’s face creased with unease. “Don’t tell me anything I don’t want to hear, Detective Leary. I know you and Jessie have some kind of thing between you—”
“This isn’t about that,” Jacoby broke in. “Leary’s working directly for Lieutenant Kareem Chancey on this. Anything between Leary and Jessie, that’s in the past. It’s not relevant.”
Williams seemed to study Jacoby for a moment. “If you say so.” He turned to Leary, and the skepticism in his gaze was palpable. “And what are your orders exactly?”
“I’m looking into Reginald Tuck. We think he’s the target, the reason those men smuggled weapons into the courthouse. The obvious connection is Tyrone Nash, the man Tuck was supposed to testify against today, but I’m going to look a little deeper into Tuck’s file, see who else might want him dead.”
“You mean Tuck’s informant file?” Williams raised an eyebrow. “No problem, but it’s going to take you a while to read.”
Warren Williams wasn’t kidding about Tuck’s informant file. It spanned three folders. In the few years that Tuck had been incarcerated, he’d apparently heard more confessions than a priest.
Williams offered him Jessie’s office. Sitting there without her present felt somehow wrong, like an intrusion, but he accepted the workspace. Jacoby lingered in the doorway, then wished him luck and returned to his own duties, leaving Leary alone there.
He tried not to look at the framed photographs on her desk, one of her dad, another of her brother’s family, a third of Kristen Dillard, a crime victim with whom Jessie had become close as the prosecutor in the case. He was keenly aware that he was sitting in her chair, holding her pen, breathing her air. He could smell her.
Jesus, get it together.
He opened the first folder of Tuck’s informant file and settled in for a long read. He’d been aware of Tuck’s repeat performances as a witness for the prosecution, and the five trials at which he’d testified against his fellow inmates. What he had not expected to see was a list of additional overtures Tuck had made to the DA’s Office over the years, most of which the prosecutors had declined for one reason or another. Altogether, Tuck claimed to have heard eleven confessions from inmates since his incarceration had begun.
No way all of those confessions were real. It didn’t matter how charming Tuck was, or how manipulative, or even how lucky. There was just no way one inmate could get eleven criminals to confess their crimes to him. He was a liar. Had to be.
How could Jessie trust him? How could she put him on the stand, knowing that his testimony was almost certainly false?
Leary shook away the thought. That didn’t matter right now. If he was lucky—if they were all very lucky—he could confront Jessie with that question later. For now, he needed to figure out who would want Reginald Tuck dead. And given what he was seeing in Tuck’s file, the answer was starting to look like a long list.
He started at the beginning, where someone had typed up some notes about Tuck’s background. There wasn’t much there. Date of birth. Parent—only a mother was indicated. Last known address. He looked at the address for a moment. It was in the Mantua neighborhood of Philly. Might be worth a trip. A person’s home could tell you a lot—although that sort of information had an expiration date, and Tuck had been in prison for three years already. He noted the address, but continued flipping pages in the file, looking for a more promising lead. He read summaries of Tuck’s communications with the DA’s Office. He stopped when he saw a notation that said “Conviction overturned on appeal, grounds unrelated to Tuck’s testimony.”
His eyes scanned the page, taking in the rest of the facts. About a year ago, Tuck had testified at the trial of a man named Miguel Silba. Silba was accused of raping and killing a woman in a SEPTA subway station in West Philly. According to Tuck, the two men briefly shared a holding cell at the CJC when Silba was awaiting his preliminary hearing and Tuck was waiting to testify at a different trial. Supposedly, Silba had opened up to Tuck, and among other things had confided to Tuck that he had forced the woman to have sex with him, but that she had deserved it because she had been leading him on all night at the club he’d followed her from. According to Tuck, Silba said he had killed her after the rape when she threatened to call the police. The jury had found Silba guilty on all counts, and Silba had gone to prison.
Leary turned his attention to Jessie’s computer. He opened a Web browser and navigated to the court system.
It did not take him long to find the information. Like many convicted defendants, Silba had filed an appeal. His lawyer identified several evidentiary rulings made by the trial judge that were not in line with legal precedent. The appeals court, persuaded by the arguments, overturned Silba’s conviction. The DA’s Office decided not to pursue a new trial, and Silba walked. As a cop, Leary knew all too well that this sort of thing happened—it was what people meant when they said someone “got off on a technicality.”
Silba had been released from prison eight days ago.
Leary’s heart rate accelerated, and he felt a familiar thrill rush through him—the excitement of a break, a lead. Miguel Silba had spent close to a year in prison, in part because of Tuck’s testimony. By telling the jury about Silba’s confession, Tuck had either betrayed Silba’s confidence, or lied about Silba on the stand. Either way, Leary couldn’t imagine Silba not holding a grudge. If not for his lawyer’s Hail Mary appellate brief, Silba would have spent the rest of his life in a maximum security hellhole.
He scooped the documents back into their folders and began to shut down Jessie’s computer when he remembered the address he’d noted. Tuck’s last known address. Not as promising a lead as Miguel Silba, but maybe still worth a look.
He wondered just how busy his old mentor Isaac Jacoby was today. Then he called him, and asked for a favor.
14
Rais looked relieved when he delivered Jessie and Reggie to one of the courtrooms that the deputies had established as safe zones. She let him enjoy the sense of accomplishment, and didn’t remind him that she’d talked him into letting her bring a convicted felon into a room full of civilians against the orders of Courthouse Security and his own common sense. Reggie was her witness, and that made him her responsibility. She would keep him safe, even if that meant breaking a few rules.
“Okay,” Rais said. He guided them inside. “We’ll hang out here until this is over.”
Reggie’s head swiveled as he took in the room, then he let out a low whistle. “Man, I’ve seen friendlier faces in prison cafeterias.”
If he was exaggerating, it wasn’t by much. Lawyers, witnesses, victims, and other workers and spectators had been crammed into the courtroom with no regard for the room’s intended function. She had expected to find the pew-like benches of the gallery filled, but seeing random people clustered at the counsel tables and judge’s bench as well was a surprise. The jury box was filled, too, but not with jurors. Spread among all of these people were a handful of deputy sheriffs and cops, standing with their firearms drawn and their bodies taut. Nobody looked happy to be here. The whole place seemed to vibrate with tension.
“Well,” Jessie said, “no one likes to be cooped up in a crowded room.”
“Then
what are we doing here?” The sideways glance Reggie cast at Rais looked accusatory.
“Would you rather go back to the holding cells?” Rais said.
“This is the safest place we can be right now,” Jessie said.
“You sure about that?” Reggie looked at them. “How do you know the guys who broke in here didn’t bring grenades? Bombs or something? Pack everyone and their mama in here, you just make it easier for the bad guys to blow up everyone at the same time.”
“I guess we just have to hope they don’t have any explosives,” Rais said.
Thinking of the elevators, Jessie wondered how realistic that hope really was.
“We just have to hope?” Reggie said, seeming to echo her own concerns. “That’s the plan? Hope?”
“Excuse me,” Rais said. He crossed the room to where two other deputies were standing, leaving Jessie and Reggie alone.
“You shouldn’t give him a hard time,” Jessie said. “He’s trying his best.”
“You’re awful calm for a woman who almost got her head shot off a few hours ago.”
“I don’t see any point in panicking. Do you?”
Reggie fixed the knot of his tie. “Don’t worry about me. You know I’m cool.”
“Oh yeah,” Jessie said, not bothering to hold back her sarcasm, “real cool.”
He smirked at her. “Damn straight.”
There were no seats left that she could see. With a sigh, she lowered herself to the floor and sat there with her legs tucked under her. Reggie followed suit, sitting awkwardly on the floor beside her. She expected him to say something—she couldn’t think of a moment he had not filled with words—but for once he was silent. His usual smile faded as he stared into space. She supposed that like her, this was his first moment to pause and let everything that was happening sink in.
What was happening? She wasn’t sure. She had arrived here this morning to call Leary and Reggie to the stand as witnesses against Tyrone Nash. Instead, she was fending off killers and bumping around the courthouse like a mouse in a maze. All she knew for certain was that someone wanted Reggie dead, and had gone to a lot of trouble to smuggle a team of men into the courthouse to kill him. She didn’t know why. If the purpose was to stop him from testifying against Nash, then the attack on the courthouse had served two purposes—putting Reggie in the killers’ cross-hairs and giving Nash an opportunity to escape. Had all of that been part of the plan? No, she didn’t think so. The more she thought about it, the less she believed that what was happening here had anything to do with Tyrone Nash at all.
This was about Reggie Tuck.
Her cell phone vibrated. She looked at the screen, saw Leary’s name, and answered the call. “Hello?”
“Are you okay?” he said. The breathless concern in his voice took her by surprise.
“Yeah. Reggie and I are in a courtroom with a lot of civilians. There are deputies and cops here. I think it’s about as safe as we can be, given the circumstances.”
He sighed, sounding relieved. “Good. I heard about the shooting, the captured gunman being killed during interrogation. I don’t like you being in the middle of this, Jessie. You’re a lawyer, not a cop.”
“I know,” she said.
“Just because you deal with criminals every day through the judicial system doesn’t mean you’re equipped to deal with them in a life-or-death situation.”
“Leary, I’m agreeing with you.”
“I hear that,” Leary said, “but I’m not sure I believe it. You mentioned ‘Reggie.’ You mean Reginald Tuck? You’re with him?”
Jessie glanced at Reggie, who still appeared to be lost in his own thoughts. “He’s sitting right next to me.”
“And you think that’s a good idea?”
“What do you mean?”
She heard him sigh into the phone. “From what we can tell, Tuck is the reason the intruders are there. By staying close to him, you’re putting yourself in danger. Not to mention, by putting him in a room full of civilians, you could be endangering everyone in the room.”
She thought of Reggie’s comment about grenades and bombs, but didn’t mention it to Leary. He sounded worried enough without adding Reggie’s conjectures to his own. “You’d prefer that I leave him outside in the hallway? Maybe tie him to a post, like a sacrificial lamb?” She tried to keep the irritation from her voice, but heard it there despite her effort. She couldn’t help herself.
Reggie was not a model citizen—she would be the last person to argue about that, and had been plenty reluctant to use him as a witness in Nash’s trial. He had cheated people out of their savings, destroyed people’s hopes and dreams by gaining their trust and then betraying them. He was a con artist and a manipulator and a criminal, and who knew if his partnership with the DA’s Office was anything other than his newest scam? But she had summoned him to the courthouse today. Her call had put him on the bus. She was responsible for him—the District Attorney’s Office was responsible for him—and she believed that entitled him to some regard, if not respect.
“I’m not saying Tuck shouldn’t be protected,” Leary said hurriedly, as if sensing her anger. “Just that he should be protected far away from you and the other innocent bystanders. If four armed men are hunting him, it might not be the best idea to stick him in a room full of people, you included.”
“We don’t have a lot of real estate to work with, Leary. One floor of the courthouse. There are only so many places to hold our ground, and only so many deputies and cops to help.”
“I know,” he said.
She tried changing the subject before he could launch into another attempt to convince her to abandon Reggie. “What’s happening outside?”
“I’m on my way to West Philly. There’s a man named Miguel Silba. He may be involved.”
She knew that name from somewhere, but couldn’t place it. “Who’s Silba?”
The name seemed to break Reggie out of his trance. He turned, looked at her sharply.
“Tuck testified against Silba last year,” Leary said.
Now she remembered. “Right. And Silba prevailed on an appeal recently, right?”
“Released from prison eight days ago.”
How the hell had she forgotten that? “So Silba has motive.”
“Not only that,” Leary said. “I did some quick digging in the system. Silba served in the Army before he was dishonorably discharged.”
“The guy who attacked Reggie seemed like he had military training,” she said.
“And the timing fits. They could have known each other.”
“Too bad he’s dead and we can’t ask him.”
Leary sighed into the phone. “If I can rattle Silba, that won’t matter.”
“You think this is really all about revenge?” Jessie said.
“Sure, why not?”
“I don’t know. It seems so ... petty.” She looked at Reggie, and tried to imagine anyone hating him enough to go to all of this trouble to have him killed.
“All those months in prison, Silba thinks about how Tuck screwed him over in court,” Leary said. “Then suddenly, Silba’s a free man. It wouldn’t take much work to learn that Tuck was scheduled to testify today. Silba could have rounded up some old friends from the Army, or hired someone from that period in his life. It’s plausible. Now I’m going to track him down and find out if it’s the truth.”
Jessie nodded. “Keep me posted.” She hesitated, tempted to say more but stopping herself. “Bye.”
She ended the call and found Reggie staring at her. “That sounded like an intense call,” he said. “You want to share?”
“I want you to tell me about Miguel Silba.”
15
Aside from a handful of exceptions, Miguel Silba’s neighborhood was a run-down part of the city riddled with crime and poverty. Silba’s home was not one of the exceptions—one look at the bars on the windows, the crumbling cinder block, and the warped metal fire escape twisting away from the side of the buil
ding was enough to tell Leary that much.
He jammed his finger against the dirty intercom button. No one responded, and he couldn’t tell if the thing was even working. Then the door opened and two women burst out, almost knocking him over. Neither of them acknowledged his existence as they continued past him, talking loudly to each other in rapid, angry voices. Leary didn’t pause to try to understand their conversation. He slipped inside the building before the door closed.
The sunlight filtering through the grime-crusted windows looked sallow, and was barely sufficient to beat back the shadows. Leary passed an elevator with an out-of-service sign taped to its doors and pushed his way into the stairwell instead. Silba’s apartment was on the third floor. He sighed and started up the stairs.
His thoughts returned to Jessie. He had suggested to her that sticking by Tuck’s side wasn’t the safest course, but she seemed determined to keep herself in harm’s way. If Leary was going to keep her safe, then stopping the attack at its source was his best option. He hoped Silba was that source. Leary knew the man had motive. What he didn’t know was whether there was any connection between Silba and the armed intruders in the courthouse. Assuming there was, Leary would need to play this encounter carefully, and make Silba think he knew more than he actually did. That was his only chance at arresting Silba and getting the man to call off the attack.
Lost in thought, he almost planted his shoe in a pile of rat droppings. He swerved around it, and then around garbage on the stairwell steps. The stink of spoiled food and vomit filled his nose. If Silba lived here, maybe he would have been better off in prison. Leary reached the third floor and practically threw himself at the door in his hurry to get out of the stairwell.
He found Silba’s door and knocked. There was no response, but he could hear the sound of a TV inside the apartment. Actors speaking lines, punctuated by a laugh track. He hammered the door with his fist. He almost announced that he was the police, but he didn’t want to risk scaring Silba out onto the busted fire escape. The man would be of no use to him pancaked on the sidewalk below.
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