"The question is, what do I do about it?"
"Nothing," Dan answered firmly.
"What? Why? I have to call Bale, I should tell him."
"Tell him later. If you call him now and start talking like this, he'll fire you for good. He didn't sound happy last night, and Saxon will have called him already." Dan relaxed back in his chair. "Lower the temperature of the situation. Let it sit for today. It's Morty's memorial, you know about that?"
"Sure."
"That will suck."
"Yes."
"Mariella might be able to go, if she can get somebody to take her place."
I could take her place. "That would be nice."
"So I say, let it be. Let Saxon forget your conversation and let Bale cool down."
"But they should follow up."
"They will. If you figured it out, they can figure it out. They really are professionals, Vick. Tell them next week and let them take it from there." Dan's tone turned almost plaintive. "Get real, girl. You did great, but Jamal Browning is a killer. A bona fide killer. You're out of your league."
Vicki knew it was true. She didn't have the stuff to go after Jamal Browning. She couldn't prove if he was behind Shayla's murder or if someone else was. And she didn't know if he or his underlings had anything to do with Mrs. Bristow's murder. She knew only that she had the information that would support the wiretaps and surveillance that would lead to the truth.
"Okay, I call Bale now and I'll play it by ear." Vicki rose to go to the phone, newly nervous. She couldn't afford to lose this job, but she wouldn't tell Dan her money worries. No one wanted to hear rich girls plead poverty. God bless the child. Vicki lifted the phone receiver. "I'll apologize for what I said to Saxon, then if Bale sounds like he's in a good mood, I'll tell him the theory. If he fires me, I'll shut up."
"Sounds like a plan. Should I stay or should I go?"
Is holding my hand an option? Vicki thought, but what she said was: "Stay." She picked up the phone and pressed in Bale's cell. It rang a few times, then his voicemail picked up, so she left a message, and managed to avoid begging for her job.
But she hung up with a bad feeling she couldn't quite explain.
PART THREE
The soil is good, the air serene and sweet from the cedar, pine and sassafras, with wild myrtle of great fragrance.
– WILLIAM PENN, in an early description of "Penn's Woods," the emerging colony of Pennsylvania and its capital, Philadelphia
Q: All right. Now, at the time, were you all selling drugs?
A: Well, at the time "G" had various corners that he was supplying, but there was those corners and I was selling drugs down the street from my grandmom's house at the projects, 55th and Vine.
Q: And when you say Gio had various corners, do you remember what the corners were that Gio had at the time?
A: Well, back then, a corner called 56th and Catherine was one of the major corners and he was serving the guys on Ithan Street quantity, small quantities of drugs back then.
Q: What does "serving" mean in the trade?
A: It means when the guys buying stuff off you. Like you go to the store you buy something.
Q: Uh-huh.
A: They just call it serving. It's slang like.
Q: So if you were "serving" somebody that meant you were selling them drugs?
A: Yes.
– JAMAL MORRIS, United States v. Williams, United States District Court, Eastern District of Pennsylvania, Criminal Docket No. 02-172, February 19, 2004, Notes of Testimony at 255
TWENTY-FOUR
Vicki had never been to the wake of an officer killed in the line of duty and hadn't realized that it would be a state occasion. At least a thousand mourners packed Prior's Funeral Home in the Philly suburb of Fort Washington, filling it to capacity. The reception line flowed out of its largest viewing room, spilled into the hallway, and continued outside the funeral home, where massive loudspeakers had been set up. Top brass from ATF in Washington, masses of ATF, FBI, and DEA agents, politicians, U.S. Attorneys, several federal judges, squadrons of uniformed police, support staff, and more than a few reporters made up the massive throng, which was somber and businesslike in mood.
Vicki had arrived early, and even so, stood in line, just outside the viewing room in the entrance hall. She had heard that only family was invited to the funeral tomorrow morning, and now she understood why. She couldn't see the front of the viewing room for the crowd, and multicolored roses, carnations, calla lilies, and gladioli filled every available spot. A large ATF plaque covered with a crepe sash hung on the front wall. The scent of the bouquets thickened the air, commingling with mint aftershaves, heavy perfumes, and cigarette smoke every time the front door opened.
Vicki counted herself lucky to be inside the funeral home at all, and the distance from the hallway to the main room gave her time to deal with the situation. For her, this wasn't an official function, and she knew that Morty would be lying in a casket at the front of the room. The thought left her with a numbness throughout her body. She felt stiff in the navy wool suit, with a white silk blouse, which she wore under her down coat. She bowed her head to marshal her strength, hearing snippets of the conversations buzzing around her.
"We don't need Lawn Doctor, honey," the woman in front of her was saying in a wifely tone, to a gray-haired man who was obviously her husband. "I don't like those little green balls all over the lawn."
"They keep out the crabgrass and the dandelions."
"But I like the dandelions."
The husband chuckled. "I do, too. Have we met?"
Vicki screened them out in favor of the couple behind her, also talking quietly.
The man was saying, "The best was when he comes up with, ‘I make good choices, Daddy!' At seven years old, can you believe that?"
The woman answered, "Dave, how many times you gonna tell that story?"
"As many times as I can," the husband retorted, and they both laughed.
Vicki looked up, wondering where Dan and Mariella were. Somewhere in the thick line of married people, standing two-by-two, like animals loading onto Noah's ark. She scanned the crowd but didn't see him. Or Bale, Strauss, or any of them. They'd be at the front, where there was movement, then the unmistakable sound of someone tapping into a microphone.
"Sound check, sound check," boomed a man's voice, and the room quieted. "Thank you, people. Excuse me, may I have everyone's attention?"
Saxon. Vicki recognized that sonorous bass. She considered running for her life but angled for a better view, standing on tiptoe and coming between the married couple in front of her. Where were Dan and Dr. Bitchy?
"Thanks to all of you for coming today." Saxon towered at the head of the room, a big blond bear in dark suit and tie. "I thank you on my own behalf and on behalf of the ATF family, who gathers on this tragic occasion to honor one of our finest agents, Special Agent Robert Morton."
Vicki swallowed hard. Women sniffled, their heads bowed, and men in suits studied their wingtips. Everyone stopped talking. The only sound was the scratchy undertone of the microphone and the echo of Saxon's voice amplified outside, slightly delayed.
"I'd like to introduce the director of the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms, and Explosives, here from Washington to attend in Morty's honor. Director Louis W. Bonningtone."
Saxon moved aside for the director, a distinguished man whose short stature prevented Vicki from seeing him, given the heads in front of her. She tried to listen to his speech, which was generic, formal, and laden with government-speak, leaving her with the impression that the director had never met Morty in his life. Saxon retook the floor, and then Vicki could see the speaker again.