"I got no enemies."
"Hard to believe," Vicki said, and they laughed, now that they were friends. Almost.
"Think they're connected?"
"Possibly." Vicki was kicking herself. She should have thought of that herself, but she had been so focused on Morty. "It doesn't change what we have to do. Let's let the cops work from that end and we'll work from ours. If we meet in the middle, we still win."
Reheema nodded. "So, what's the plan?"
"We canvass the neighborhood."
"Which means what?"
"Well, our problem is that we don't know why Jackson set you up. We have to learn more about Jackson and figure out her connection to you. So we ask her neighbors. Cops do it all the time after a murder. It's only because this time they had an eyewitness-me-it wasn't so necessary. Or if they did it, I don't know."
"What about what you thought before, that maybe Jackson was jealous of me? That Browning and her saw me and so she set me up."
"That's one of the reasons I want to find her friend Mar, who her mother told me about. Mar could tell us if Browning even knew you." Vicki remembered that missing file of grand jury testimony. "Without support, it's farfetched."
Reheema fell quiet as the Cabrio wound its way through traffic, and so did Vicki, until a thought struck her:
"What if you're in danger now, Reheema?"
"What?"
"What if whoever was hired to kill your mom intended to kill you, too?" Vicki's fingers squeezed the steering wheel, as the possibility began to dawn on her. "I mean, you were supposed to be released from the FDC earlier that day, and the paperwork got held up. Maybe you were the real target, and your mom was just there. Or they meant to get you both." Vicki locked eyes with Reheema and they both knew it wasn't that crazy. "Whoa."
"Yeah." Reheema winced as Vicki dodged a SEPTA bus passing on her left. "But who would know I was being released? Had to be somebody at your office."
"What?"
"Think about it. If that's true, the only people who knew I was being let out of the FDC were the people in your office, whoever they are. Or the Philly cops, or the ATF guys. Did any of them know?"
Vicki scoffed. "Then that's not what happened. Forget it. That's impossible."
"Is it?" Reheema lifted an eyebrow.
"Of course it is. But it is possible that you're in danger, so it's all the more reason we have to learn more about Jackson. Her mother told me that Jackson had decided to change her life and was going to move. We know she was packing." Vicki toted it up. "I think she broke up with Browning and wasn't dating anyone."
"Okay. So?"
"None of us lives in this life alone. She had a friend. Mar." Vicki was thinking out loud, too, and it was nice to have someone else as a sounding board. Maybe that was the Almost Friend part. "Did she go to a gym? Did she go to a doctor? She was pregnant, so she'd need prenatal check-ups. Who's her doctor?"
"Okay, so we go to the houses and we ask questions."
"Right." Vicki took a left turn, and Reheema frowned.
"You're lost, aren't you?"
Vicki nodded. "Don't start with the Harvard stuff again."
"Did I say anything?"
FORTY-ONE
An hour later, Vicki parked the Cabrio, grabbed her bag and the newspaper, and they walked together in the cold sun to Jackson's house, a two-story brick semidetached. The crime scene tape was gone, though a shred of yellow strip flapped in the bitter wind. Vicki felt herself shudder at the sight. Coming back to where Morty had been killed was easier in theory than in practice. Somehow, having his killer in custody didn't ease the pain.
She and Reheema walked up the concrete front steps of the row house attached to Shayla Jackson's and knocked on the front door. The door opened, an older man answered, and Vicki stepped forward. "Sir, my name is Vicki Allegretti, and I'm trying to learn a little about your neighbor, Ms. Jackson, who was killed the other day."
"Didn't know her," the man answered, and slammed the door shut.
"Nice technique," Reheema said, and Vicki smiled as they went down the front walk and to the next house.
Vicki knocked on the door, and an older woman answered, so she introduced herself and said, "I'd like to ask you a few questions about your neighbor, Ms. Jackson, who was killed the other day. It won't take long."
The woman looked from Vicki to Reheema, behind her bifocals. "What do you wanna know?"
"May we come in?"
"No."
"Did you know Ms. Jackson?"
"Not very well, she kep' to herself."
"Did you talk to her much, even casually? Like if she had to borrow something, or you did?"
"No. I saw on the TV they caught the guys that killed her."
"They did. Were you here that night? Did you see or hear anything?"
"I was at work, I clean at night. I missed the whole thing."
I didn't. "How long did Ms. Jackson live here, if you know?"
"She moved in two years ago, maybe less. I hardly talked to her but once or twice, when the trash man didn't come, during the strike, you know."
"Did she work?"
"I don't think so. She stayed in a lot. Played her music, I use ta hear it through the wall."
Vicki made a mental note. "Do you know if she owned or rented?"
"Rent. We mostly rent on this street. From Polo Realty, in Juniata. They own all these houses."
"Did she live alone, as long as she lived here?"
"Yeh."
Vicki held up the newspaper through the plastic storm window. On the second page were photos of the people killed in the Toys "R" Us murders, with a sidebar about Browning and his driver, whose name was David Cole. Vicki pointed at Browning. "Ever see this man visit Jackson at her house?"
"That was her boyfriend."
"Why do you say that?"
"He was here a lot."
"When would that be about? From when she moved in or later?"
"When she moved in, I think. He helped her move in. I seen him."
"Was she pregnant then?"
"She was pregnant?" The woman's graying eyebrows raised. "Oh yeah, I heard that on the TV but I didn't know that, for myself."
"Okay, ever see the other two?" Vicki pointed to the pictures of Cole and Bill Toner.
"No."
"Ever see any other men visit?"
"No."
"Ever see girlfriends visit?"
"No."
"No one girlfriend in particular? You know, like girls have a best friend?"
"No."
"Ever hear her mention a girlfriend named Mar?"
"No, I hardly talked to her." The woman looked behind her. "I gotta go now. I got a cake in the oven."
"Thanks so much for your time," Vicki said, and the door closed.
Reheema said, "She was lying about the cake."
"I would, too."
Vicki and Reheema tried the next seven houses, stopping at the end of the street; two of the neighbors wouldn't answer the door, and the other five knew progressively less about Shayla Jackson. Then they went back to Jackson's and resumed at the first house on the other side, with Reheema pressing the bell. A black teenage boy answered, his eyes widening when he saw a gorgeous black woman standing on his doorstep, having stepped out of his dreams.
"I'm Reheema Bristow, is your mother at home?" she asked, and the kid nodded.
Suddenly, Vicki's cell phone started ringing in her purse, so she stepped back and pulled it from her bag.
Groaning when she read the display.
Vicki stepped off the elevator into work, surprised to find the floor crowded and abuzz with action. Reporters and photographers spilled into the elevator bank, talking and laughing in groups, with still cameras hanging on their shoulders and steno pads stuffed in the back pocket of their jeans. ATF personnel, Philly uniformed cops, and an older AUSA stood talking to the press. She had to barrel through the throng to the reception room, and heads began turning as reporters recognized her and began to call to her.