Sasha McCandless 02 - Inadvertent Disclosure

by Melissa F. Miller

  “I can’t really take credit for that,” she said.

  She paused, considered what she was about to do, and then forged ahead. “In fact, I have some concerns that the sheriff’s office is rushing to judgment, sir.”

  His tone got serious fast. “What makes you say that?”

  “Well, a number of things. For one—”

  He cut her off. “Actually, it really doesn’t matter, does it? You were appointed because the chief judge had concerns that a member of the bar was involved. Have you found any evidence of that?”

  “No, but my investigation isn’t even twenty-four hours old. I think—”

  He jumped in again. “And, of course, you don’t have any law enforcement experience, so your judgment of the sheriff’s investigation can best be called uninformed, don’t you agree?”

  That stung her into silence for a second, but then the words came out before she could stop them. “With all respect, I have the same qualifications I had yesterday when you appointed me the special prosecutor.”

  He softened. “Of course, of course. I don’t mean to offend you. The Attorney General’s Office—indeed, the Commonwealth—is grateful to your service on short notice and under the circumstances. I’ll have the press office draw up a very complimentary release. Now, with my personal thanks, your service is no longer required.”

  The band of pain spread from the back of her head and circled all the way around to her right temple, creating a halo of pressure. She considered how best to argue against this course of action, and the image of Judge Paulson and Chief Justice Bermann smiling into the camera at some chicken dinner flashed into her head.

  “Has Chief Justice Bermann agreed to shut down the investigation?”

  He answered with an undercurrent of warning in his voice.

  “The chief justice would never presume to meddle in a criminal investigation. He’s well aware of the division of power. Now, it’s time for you to go back to Pittsburgh and savor your victory. Add it to your resume and move on.”

  CHAPTER 26

  Sasha’s cheeks still burned with impotent anger. Having to stand next to the rank-smelling sheriff and smile and nod while he puffed out his chest and trumpeted his great detective work to two local newspaper reporters and a field reporter for the nearest television station had not improved her headache.

  She’d made a beeline from the courthouse steps to Gloria’s house. She wanted to get out of town as quickly as possible.

  She was throwing files into her briefcase, haphazardly, and perhaps with more force than was strictly necessary. She had already shoved her clothes into the overnight bag and tossed it by the door.

  Judge Paulson’s cats had sensed the gathering storm as soon as she’d come into the apartment and had slunk under the judge’s bed to wait it out.

  Gloria tapped on the door and eased it open slightly.

  “Sasha, may I come in?”

  “Sure,” she said without looking up from her packing.

  Gloria approached her, holding a cardboard recipe box that bore a drawing of a rooster on one side and the words “Kitchen Favorites” in a flowery font on the other.

  “Here, I know you wanted my stew recipe and my sourdough bread recipe.”

  She thrust the box toward Sasha like it was burning her hands.

  Sasha took it and stared at the woman.

  “Uh . . . thanks?”

  She had complimented Gloria’s cooking at dinner, both to be polite and because the food had tasted good. But, Sasha most certainly hadn’t asked for any recipes. She’d sooner change the brakes in her car than attempt to make bread from scratch. Maybe Connelly had asked for them.

  Gloria went on, “I know you’re in a hurry, so I didn’t take the time to copy them. Those are the originals, but I don’t need them. Goodness, I have them memorized.”

  Sasha shrugged and tossed the box on top of the papers in her bag. She fastened the briefcase’s buckle and scanned the room, looking for any items she’d forgotten to pack.

  “Well, I guess that’s it. Is Leo downstairs?”

  “Yes, he and Jonas are on the porch. Are you sure you aren’t going to stay for the memorial service? Luke and Linnea are coming in tomorrow; I’d like for you to meet them.” Gloria’s eyes got soft at the mention of the service.

  The woman was a cipher. She seemed so kind, but she was clearly keeping secrets.

  Whatever. It wasn’t Sasha’s problem anymore. She’d been dismissed.

  “I really need to get back to Pittsburgh, Gloria. I’m sorry. I’d like to meet your children some time. They sound like great people. And I wish I could stay for the memorial service, but I’m a one-woman show and my work is really piling up.”

  It was true, she had plenty of work waiting for her at home. But the reality was, she wasn’t sticking around for the memorial because she wanted to lick her wounds in private.

  Gloria nodded. “I understand.”

  The cats, sensing a drop in the tension in the room, emerged from the bedroom, stretching and preening.

  “Did you say goodbye to Deputy Russell?” she asked, petting Atticus Finch.

  “I left him a message. I’m not sure where he is, actually. He didn’t show up at the press conference.”

  Sasha’s doubts about Russell were growing. Again, whatever. Not her concern.

  She sighed and hefted the bag onto her shoulder.

  “Gavin’s a good man, Sasha. I know it. He may have gone out to visit with his folks. They’re kind of isolated out there in Firetown and now that the last well on their land is active, they’re keeping to themselves even more.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Oh, it’s so hard to explain what’s happened here. At first everybody thought fracking was going to save the town. So much money was coming in. Everybody was for it, even people like us, who don’t own property on the Shale.”

  “And now?”

  “Well, now, the town’s fractured, I guess, you’d say. Brothers and sisters not speaking. The school board voting to lease the rights under the playground and the parents up in arms. People lighting their well water on fire and posting it on YouTube. But, then you have people like Bob, selling the diner, and cashing out, retiring to Florida. Or even us; I mean, look at Luke. He just graduated and has a good, secure job thanks to the Shale. It’s a mess is what it is.”

  Sasha didn’t know what to say.

  “And poor Judge Paulson, so worried about every decision and its impact on future generations. He never said anything, mind you, but I could tell. It was taking him longer and longer to get out his decisions that involved the Shale. I wonder what will happen with a new judge?”

  It was a question without an answer.

  Gloria made an awkward move toward her, and Sasha realized the woman was going to hug her.

  She hugged her back, surprised at the intensity of Gloria’s embrace, and said, “Thank you for everything. Take care of yourself.”

  She bent to pet the cats, who were now rolling around, exposing their furry bellies in a bid for attention.

  Then she walked through the door and down the stairs.

  CHAPTER 27

  Leo was glad he and Sasha were caravanning back to Pittsburgh in their separate cars. Sasha was still smarting from having been fired, and he hoped the hypnotic rhythm of highway driving would soothe her enough that she’d be ready to talk about it when they got home. Plus, he wanted to make a phone call without her in earshot.

  As he followed her car over a hill and down into a small valley, he noticed the scenery that he’d missed on the drive up in the dark. Drilling equipment rose up among the trees, sitting in muddy patches of earth, surrounded by large green tanks, pumps, batteries, and vehicles. Sand trucks, trailers, pickups, and other trucks formed rings around the derricks. Interspersed between drilling sites, capped wells dotted the fields.

  A lot of activity. And a lot of activity meant a lot of money.

  He picked up his phone and dialed
from memory a number at the Environmental Protection Agency’s Criminal Investigation Division.

  “CID. Special Agent Ortiz.”

  “Manny, it’s Leo Connelly.”

  The clipped businesslike tone that Manuel Ortiz had used to answer his phone dropped away, replaced by genuine joy. “Leo! How you doing, man?”

  Leo smiled. Manny Ortiz had been a student in the very first class he had ever taught at the federal law enforcement training center. Leo had stood in the front of the sweltering room, cooled by a fan and an underpowered air conditioner that was no match for the Georgia heat, looked out at all the serious, eager faces, and wondered what the hell he’d gotten himself into.

  His stomach had dropped when he realized they were waiting for him to dazzle them with his brilliance. But before his nerves had gotten the best of him, he’d been beaned in the forehead by a sheet of ruled paper fashioned into the shape of an airplane.

  The room had erupted into laughter, and a slight, dark-skinned man sitting in the approximate middle of the room had shot a fist into the air and shouted, “Yes! A direct hit on the air marshal.”

  Leo had managed to keep a straight face, but he’d been grateful for the room’s lightened mood. So much so, that when he asked Manny Ortiz to stay after class, it was to thank him, not reprimand him.

  That exchange had led to a beer, which had led to more beer and some karaoke at a dirt-floored country bar. And, like that, the man had become a fixture in Leo’s life. He always thought of Manny as a Hispanic elf. Mischievous and jolly.

  “Good, good. It’s been too long,” Leo said now. “How’s Josie? And the kids?”

  Manny’s voice swelled with pride and love as he detailed the achievements of his three children and his wife’s work as an interior designer. He interrupted his own story about his middle daughter’s exploding science fair project and said, “Eh, that’s not why you called. Leo Connelly doesn’t make personal calls on company time. What’s up, brother?”

  Leo chuckled. Manny couldn’t resist pointing out his more uptight character traits. “As it happens, I need some information on an outfit called Big Sky. Know them?”

  It was Manny’s turn to chuckle. “Yeah, I know them. Huge player. Oil and gas giant out of Texas. What do you need to know?”

  “Are they dirty?”

  Manny fell silent, thinking about the question. For all his joking, Manny took his work seriously. Leo knew whatever Manny told him would be accurate and well-researched.

  Finally, he said, “Nah. We’ve investigated them nearly a dozen times—including two cases I worked personally. If they were dirty, we’d have found something by now, but nada. Every time, the tip that started the thing just peters out. They play hardball, which pisses people off, man, but nothing illegal. They go right up to the line but don’t cross it. They don’t have to. Do you have any idea how many lobbyists they have? Politicians are throwing themselves at the oil and gas industry. Especially these guys.”

  “Any chance they’re just that good at it? They’re playing dirty but getting away with it?”

  Most law enforcement personnel would have bristled at the suggestion. Not Manny. He gave it a moment’s consideration.

  “Anything’s possible, but I don’t think so. We’ve crawled all over them, more than once. They have too many employees; if they were breaking the law, someone would have slipped up somewhere. They’re clean.”

  “Okay,” Leo conceded.

  “Can you tell me why you’re asking?”

  “No real reason. This isn’t an air marshal investigation. You hear about the state judge who got killed up in Pennsylvania?”

  “Sure, out in the middle of nowhere.”

  “Sasha’s mixed up in it. Or she was. Anyhow, the whole town’s divided over fracking and Big Sky seems like the biggest player in town.”

  “Almost certain to be,” Manny said. “They’re the big dogs in the industry. Their Marcellus Shale strategy is very straightforward: they just sue everybody who interferes. They tried the whole PR blitz and got mixed results, so now, anybody who complains about the drilling, they just sue ‘em. Sick kids, contaminated water, noise pollution, whatever. People start griping and Big Sky runs to court to get an order declaring whatever they’re doing is legal. Gotta keep the lawyers fat, eh?” Too late, he remembered Sasha was a lawyer and added, “Not to insult your lady, man.”

  “No worries.”

  “What’d you mean, anyway—she’s mixed up in the murder?”

  “She has a case up there and the judge appointed her to represent some local guy on an unrelated matter. Then the judge happens to get killed on a day she’s in town. Next thing you know, she’s appointed special prosecutor because there’s a theory the shooter was a member of the local bar.”

  Spelling it out like that, Leo realized Sasha’s appointment made zero sense. At least for the stated reason.

  “And she thinks, what, Big Sky hired somebody to kill this judge?”

  “She doesn’t even have a working theory. The sheriff announced this environmental protester as his chief suspect and the state AG shut down Sasha’s investigation about twenty-four hours after he appointed her.”

  Manny’s confusion beamed up to a satellite and into Leo’s ear. “The sheriff’s running the homicide investigation? Are they in the Old West?”

  “It’s a mess up there, Manny. But, I was thinking maybe this protester was a plant, like Big Sky sent him in to cause trouble and maybe got a little too enthusiastic. He has no ties to the area, he’s vanished, and . . .” Leo paused.

  He didn’t want to share with Manny that he’d run an unauthorized search of the Guardian database.

  He went on, “My contacts can’t or won’t tell me anything about this group. Something’s up.”

  “Nah, nah,” Manny said.

  Leo could picture him shaking his head, his dark hair flipping from side to side.

  He got thoughtful, dragging out his words. “Not their style.”

  Maybe not, Leo thought, but he knew whose style it was.

  CHAPTER 28

  The road had rolled out ahead of Sasha in a ribbon leading her away from Springport and back to Pittsburgh, and her headache had eased with each passing mile. By the time she swung the car into a parking spot at her condo at dusk, she felt almost human. She turned off the ignition and watched Connelly’s headlights rise over the speed bump and fall, before turning in to the spot next to hers.

  She stepped out of the car, ready to apologize for her earlier crankiness. He stayed in his car but buzzed the window down and waved her over.

  “Listen, Connelly, I shouldn’t have—”

  He put his hand up like a crossing guard. “Forget about it, okay? You’re under a lot of pressure. But, I need to run out to the field office to take care of something. I won’t be long.”

  He reached across to the passenger side floor and lifted a soft-sided cooler he’d borrowed from Gloria. It held his long-delayed Thai chicken. He handed it to her out the window and spoke slowly, “Are you listening?”

  She nodded.

  “Okay, in the cabinet under your sink there’s a stainless steel slow cooker. Do you know what I’m talking about?”

  She huffed. One time, one time, she mistook his rice cooker for the slow cooker and she was never going to hear the end of it. It wasn’t her fault all his appliances were sleek, modern, and had the same shape.

  “Of course I do.”

  His raised an eyebrow but just pressed ahead. “Put the chicken and the peanut sauce in the slow cooker. Plug it in. Set it to the lowest level. Put the noodles in the refrigerator and then walk away. Don’t touch anything else. I’ll finish dinner when I get home. I’ll be two hours, tops. Probably less.”

  Home? Had Connelly just called her loft home?

  “Sasha? Do you understand?”

  “Yes, I’m not a moron.”

  “No, you’re not. You are, however, an unmitigated disaster in the kitchen.” He said it like
he meant it but softened it with a crooked smile.

  “Whatever. See you later.”

  She gave a little wave and turned to gather her bags as he put the car into reverse and backed over the speed bump.

  She pushed through the front door of her condo, her arms full of bags, and left her keys dangling in the door while she dumped the bags on the kitchen counter and turned on a light.

  Before she could forget, she crouched and retrieved the slow cooker from its home under the sink. She slid the chicken out of its container and into the vessel, dumped the sauce on top of the chicken, plugged in the appliance, and turned it on. She stepped back and waited for the beep to tell her she’d done everything properly.

  She figured while the food heated she might as well run over to her own office and catch up on all the administrative details that she’d ignored while in Springport. She started up the stairs to her loft bedroom and remembered the keys in the door. She reversed course and fetched her keys then jogged up the stairs to change into her running clothes.

  Back in the kitchen, she eased her laptop out of the briefcase and into her padded backpack. Wriggled into the pack and clicked the straps closed across her chest. As she pulled her hair back into a low ponytail, her eyes fell on Gloria’s recipe box, still in the briefcase. She placed it on the counter, next to the slow cooker, so she wouldn’t forget to give Connelly the recipes. She looked around for a piece of paper to leave a note for Connelly, then decided there was no need; she’d probably be back before he was.

  She inhaled the aroma of the peanuts and ginger, and switched off the lights.

  * * * * * * * * * *

  Sasha had poured her anger at Griggs and Stickley into a speed workout. Now she caught her breath and waited on the sidewalk, one hand on the wall while she stretched her hamstrings, until there was a pause in the flow of pedestrians past her office building. Then she cupped one hand around the keypad and punched in her access code with the other.