"Thank you, Director," Saxon began, shifting his weight. "I won't talk long, though I wanted to reiterate how vital Morty was to the agency, how valuable his skills and his tenacity were, over seventeen years. Morty ran the Boston Marathon in his younger days, and I always thought of him as a marathoner, mentally and physically. And he was a handsome devil, even if he was too skinny for my wife's taste."
There was laughter, and even Vicki smiled.
"Morty never met a case that didn't completely absorb him. If others were style, he was substance. He was the best of us, and we won't rest as a family until we bring to justice those responsible for his murder."
At this, there was clapping, and Vicki wished she could believe it, and almost did.
"Let me take a brief minute to introduce to you His Honor, the mayor of Philadelphia, then Ben Strauss, the U.S. Attorney for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania, and finally, Anthony Cardinal Bevilacqua, of the Archdiocese of Philadelphia, who will pray with us. Mr. Mayor, sir?" Saxon gestured grandly to his left and the mayor stepped in front of the microphone, and a ripple of curiosity went though the crowd, acknowledging his celebrity.
Vicki only half-listened to the mayor's speech, an adequate lecture by a man who had never met Morty, either, and looked around the room for Dan. He would have arrived early, because he always arrived everywhere early, so he'd be in this room somewhere. When the crowd shifted at the front, Vicki spotted Chief Bale with his chic wife. Bale squared his shoulders, because Strauss was taking the microphone.
"Welcome, everyone. I'm Ben Strauss, the U.S. Attorney for our district, but I consider myself honorary ATF today. But don't let me anywhere near a weapon. It wouldn't be the first time a lawyer shot himself in the foot."
People laughed softly, even agents who couldn't abide Strauss. All was forgiven today, and death had a way of persuading people to set aside their differences. Everybody, that is, except Vicki.
"Frankly, I didn't know Morty that well, at least not as well as my AUSAs knew him. For that reason, I'd like to introduce one of them who knew Morty exceptionally well, Dan Malloy, who will say a few words on Morty's behalf."
Whoa. Vicki's ears pricked up. Dan hadn't mentioned it at breakfast. Maybe it came up after? In the next minute, he emerged from the crowd at the front and stood tall before the microphone. His hair had been combed back, wet as a little boy's, but his suit was sharply tailored and Italian. He looked like a candidate for something, and even though Vicki was miffed that he hadn't mentioned it to her, she would have switched parties to vote for him.
"Welcome, everyone." Dan managed a smile, but it was shaky. "Morty worked closely with so many of us AUSAs that sometimes I thought he was a prosecutor. He knew more criminal law than most lawyers, and he had more street smarts than most crooks."
People laughed, nodding, and Vicki bit her lip. It was true.
Tell it, Dan.
"I loved Morty. He was everything a federal law enforcement agent should be, and everything a man should be. Morty always said he would lay down his life for his job, and he died the way he lived-in the service of all of us." Dan paused, swallowing visibly, and Vicki wondered for a minute if he'd lose control. "I knew Morty very well and saw firsthand all the hard work he did-work that, frankly, I got the credit for. Morty made me look good, and that's the way ATF, FBI, and DEA agents are-they make us prosecutors look good, and we get the glory while they labor, literally, undercover."
Around the room, ATF and FBI agents nodded, and conferred briefly.
"Morty, I'm speaking for each and every AUSA in the Philadelphia office when I say: we love you and we miss you already. I'll never play ‘Brick House' without thinking of you. Thank you."
People sniffled, and ATF agents hung their heads. Even if they didn't know Dan, his words had identified him as a real insider. Only someone who knew Morty would know he loved "Brick House." Dan had comforted all of them, even Vicki. Cardinal Bevilacqua himself then took the microphone, saying a brief prayer, and everyone bowed his head. When Vicki raised hers, her gaze found Dan, standing between Strauss and Mariella. Mariella had her arm around him and her head close to him; his broad shoulder shook slightly and his head hung. Vicki felt a stab of sympathy for him. She wished she could comfort him, but Dr. Bitchy was on the spot. Bitterness edged Vicki's thoughts, and she willed herself to banish it. Wives and husbands belonged together at times like this.
I have to get over him.
The reception line started to move so people filtered past the casket, and Vicki's throat felt tight as she reached the front of the line. She spent the next hour in a fugue state of heart-wrenching images. Bent gray heads in line. A flag holder on a stand next to the coffin, the red, white, and blue a neatly folded, thick triangle. An open casket, and Morty. His face still in death: his cold hand tacky to Vicki's touch, from whatever makeup they'd put on his skin. Photos of Morty at the Elliot Ness party were placed in his coffin with paper notes and a Commodores CD. And gallows humor; propped on an easel, an enlargement of a silly photo of Morty in a T-shirt that read, I HAVE A RESCUE FANTASY.
Vicki blinked back her tears and shifted over, shaking hands with the few family members who stood beside the casket, Morty's cousins or something, then Strauss, a priest, and finally, Bale. She was way too emotional to be talking to Bale about Aspinall Street, and he hardly met her eye anyway. She escaped the room and was in the entrance room on the way out when someone touched her arm.
"Vicki?" It was a man's voice, and she turned. A tall, dark-haired man about her age stood there, looking attractive in a dark, pinstriped suit. "I'm Jim Delaney, I don't know if you remember me. I came to the D.A.'s office right when you were leaving. I'm in the Insurance Fraud Unit."
"Right." Vicki remembered him only vaguely. "We met at that party."
"Ken Stein's barbecue, in Merion."
"Right."
"I'm sorry about what happened to Agent Morton." Delaney looked at her with obvious sympathy. His eyes were a watercolor blue. "I read in the newspaper that you two worked together."
"Thanks." Behind Vicki, the front door opened and a cold gust blew in. People shuffled ahead in the reception line, the women drawing their coats tighter around them.
"Are you leaving? I'll walk you out."
"Sure." Vicki turned, zipped her coat on the fly, and went outside, descending the granite steps. Her hair blew in her face, and she almost tripped at the bottom, where Delaney put a steadying hand on her elbow.
"You all right?"
"Yes, thanks." The cold air stung tears drying in her eyes.
"How about I walk you to your car?"
"I'm parked in the far lot." Vicki pointed, and they took off.
"Are you going to be okay, after this?"
"Sure." Vicki nodded.
"It must have been awful, to be there when he was killed. That's traumatic."
"It was," Vicki said, though she hadn't thought of it that way until now.
"You know, people at the D.A.'s office still talk about you. You were a great prosecutor, quick on your feet. I saw you in court once, I don't know if you know that. I was at Dechert at the time. You were trying the Locke case."
"Locke." Vicki flipped through a mental file cabinet. "Home invasion. Wait, I lost that one."
"Yes." Delaney laughed, and so did Vicki. "But you made me want to try cases. Criminal cases."
"I did?"
"I made my decision that day," Delaney answered warmly, which was when Vicki realized what was going on. His hand hadn't left her elbow, and since he didn't have a wedding band, she wasn't pushing it away.
"Really? Little old me? Tell me more about how great I lost."