"I know what I saw, and so do you." Vicki leaned forward. "The opening of a crack store on Cater, supplied by a dealer on Aspinall. And Browning is connected to Shayla Jackson because of the bills in her house. It's a silver platter."
"It's good, but it doesn't prove anything yet."
"I make out an affidavit of what I saw, to get you probable cause for search of the house and for arrest of the two street dealers and whoever's at that crack house. Business is booming and will only grow. We can end this thing right now."
"We?"
"Yes, we. This could lead to whoever killed Shayla and Morty, and maybe even Mrs. Bristow. It's a good lead."
"I agree, it's a good lead, I didn't say it wasn't a good lead."
"Not to mention that the drug business will take down the street, then the neighborhood."
"I've heard that happens, yes." Detective Melvin was already gathering up Vicki's notes, his muscles flexing in the gray pullover he must have been wearing under his leather jacket this morning. Hard to believe that was the same day; Vicki was already feeling like they were old friends, though she could have been delusional.
"Did you see Browning yet? Did you question him?" "Not yet, but we will." "What's the holdup?" "We have procedures, Ms. Allegretti." "Please, call me Vicki when you lie to me." "I'm not." Detective Melvin pursed his lips. "What procedures, then? The homicide procedures I remember are running down leads. Browning is a clear lead in Jack-son's and Morty's murder, and they may all be connected."
"This is a complicated situation, and I'm not at liberty to discuss the particulars of the investigation," Detective Melvin answered firmly, and Vicki eased back into her chair. Being pushy was getting her nowhere fast, and she could see Melvin wasn't happy about the situation, either.
"Does that mean we can't talk about wiretaps? Are you going for a wiretap on my cell? You could get one, based on these facts."
"We understand that and we're investigating it." "I know ATF would get a Title III tap." "We'll investigate our way, not yours or ATF's." "Which would be what?" Vicki knew she was on thin ice, and Detective Melvin's eyes went hard. "Look, I don't have to keep you apprised. If I call your boss and tell him what you've been up to, he'll fire your ass." Gulp. "But if you could just tell me what you've been doing, maybe I can help."
"I don't need your help, thank you. I thought I made that clear this morning." Detective Melvin stacked her notes into a little Filofax tower, like silver-dollar pancakes. "I'll talk to my sergeant about what you learned today, about Browning on Aspinall and the Neon. And I'll turn your notes over to the Narcotics Strike Force."
"The Narcotics Strike Force? But what if the Cater Street store is connected to the murder of my partner?"
"We handle that part, they handle the other. They've had other complaints from the neighbors. They know about the situation, but they're taxed. They'll give this attention if it comes from Homicide."
"Will they coordinate with the feds?" "I'm sure they will, but there are jurisdictional issues." "Who has jurisdiction, state or federal?" "I'm not at liberty to discuss that with you," Detective
Melvin answered, but Vicki couldn't let her hard work fall between the cracks.
"I say you have jurisdiction over the whole case. It's a murder, at bottom, whether a federal agent or not, and I think it has to stay with you, not the Narcotics Strike Force." Vicki was thinking out loud, issue-spotting in criminal procedure. She knew that Homicide could run-and-gun in a way the feds never could. Making a federal case wasn't just an expression.
"Thanks for the vote of confidence." Detective Melvin's forehead relaxed, and his voice softened. They both knew that jurisdiction was a question of legal power, so it always became a legal power play, and this situation would only make it worse. "But at this point, we think it's a local offense, so it's ours. Doesn't mean we don't have to coordinate."
"With whom?" "A task force." "Oh no." Task force was police code for a committee. Vicki could only guess the pressure he was under. "But somebody has to be running the store, right now. Time matters in a murder investigation."
Melvin managed a smile. "I've heard that, too." "What's the precedent in cases like this?" "There isn't any." "There has to be," Vicki said in disbelief. "Morty couldn't have been the first federal agent killed in the line of duty."
"Actually, in Philly, he is. Except for one case that doesn't help us much. An FBI agent, Chuck Reed, was killed making an undercover buy in the nineties, remember? In a car at Penn's Landing?"
"No." Vicki was at Harvard Law in the nineties, but she never dropped the H-bomb unless she had to. "Remind me."
"It was a buy-bust that went wrong, in that yuppie cocaine ring. The dealer was coked up and panicked. He shot Reed, who shot back. They were both killed." Detective Melvin winced with the regret that cops show at another's passing. Grief was the one thing that crossed jurisdictional lines.
"So there was no need for an investigation to find Reed's killer."
"Right, there's no precedent on this one."
"But it is a state law matter, and civilians were killed, too- Jackson, her baby, and Mrs. Bristow, if her murder is related." Then even Vicki thought better of it. "Still, everybody at ATF loved Morty. They'll want to take care of their own."
"Right, of course. So would we." They fell silent on their respective sides of the desk. Vicki felt the tug of conflict, and Detective Melvin sighed, a resigned sound that came from deep within his broad chest. "We already scheduled a meeting about your partner's murder with top brass at your office, and with ATF, DEA, and FBI."
"Why would FBI have jurisdiction? Because they take it?"
"I didn't say that."
"No, I did." Vicki considered the situation. The FBI was the grabbiest federal agency in existence, after the IRS. "When is the task force meeting?"
"They were talking about Tuesday, but realistically, it'll be Wednesday. They need a day after the memorial service of your partner."
Morty's funeral. Vicki felt a tightness. She'd been so wrapped up in catching his killer, she hadn't thought about his burial. "When is the memorial service scheduled for?"
"I got a memo. The wake is tomorrow night, the memorial on Monday."
Vicki checked her emotions. "Wednesday is when you all meet? That's forever, in a murder investigation."
"This has to be done right," Detective Melvin said, but even he didn't sound like he believed it, and Vicki was shaking her head.
"Procedures?"
"In a word."
"So we have a tangle over whether it's state or federal, then we have a tangle over which federal it is, ATF, FBI, or DEA."
Detective Melvin looked almost as miserable as Vicki. "I'm not even invited to the meeting, only my captain and the feds."
"All that law getting in the way of justice."
Detective Melvin smiled crookedly, but Vicki was already rising to her feet.
"Got a Xerox machine?"
"Sure, why?"
"Time's a-wastin.' "
Vicki reached over and picked up her notes.
TWENTY-TWO
It was almost seven by the time Vicki made her way through the snowstorm to the United States Custom House. A frigid wind gusted from the Delaware River, snow flurries flew around the building, and the American flag at its top flapped madly. Custom House, only ten minutes by Cabrio from the Roundhouse, was a stolid gray edifice that anchored the corner of Second amp; Chestnut Streets and housed a number of federal agencies; the passport office, the FDA, GSA, and ATF. The building looked positively bureaucratic in contrast with the funky restaurants, art galleries, and bistros dotting Olde City, and only a single couple was out in this bitter night, walking cuddled together against the storm. Vicki hurried past them, up the cleared granite steps, and into Custom House.