doctor.”
McCoy sighs. “As far as we can tell-”
“Don’t tell me ‘as far as we can tell,’ Agent. Tell me thatwe know exactly what is going to happen here.” A vein appears prominently inShiels’s forehead. He is quick to heat, at least that’s what the other agentssay. McCoy has never seen an eruption firsthand. But she can tell just bylooking at him. His skin is damaged, broken blood vessels on his cheeks, worrylines on his forehead, a worn mask that ages him beyond his fifty-four years.He wears the authority well, but the skin doesn’t lie. Stress will take itspound of flesh one way or the other.
Sure, she understands. This is a career-maker or — breakerfor both of them. But Jesus Christ, Shiels knows there are limits to theirsurveillance of Doctor Lomas. They can’t infiltrate the lab and they can’t bughis house.
“Sir,” McCoy begins again, choosing her words with care,“Doctor Lomas is going about his business as always. He has one messed-up lifethere, but when he’s in the lab, he’s going great guns. We’re hearing a coupleof weeks, he’ll have the formula perfected.”
Shiels sighs and raises a hand, as close as he will come toan apology. “The doctor’s still clucking?”
“Yes, sir,” McCoy says, her tone indicating that she is assurprised as her boss. It continues to amaze McCoy that some cocaine addictscan function indefinitely in society. They teach their classes, make theirdeadlines, argue their cases in court. As long as they have their breaks forthe occasional fix, they can go out and do their jobs. Some of them give in,are overcome by the addiction, but the truth is, what stops many junkies is thelack of money to continue their habit. And financial resource is one of the fewproblems that does not plague Doctor Neil Lomas.
“What about the other problem?”
McCoy shakes her head. “He’s not gambling anymore. He seemssteady enough.”
Shiels seems okay with that, or maybe the momentary glazingover of his eyes is due to sleep deprivation. “What do you get,” he poses,“when you cross the murder of a lobbyist with a bribery scandal with aterrorist operation that could kill hundreds of thousands of people?”
“An ulcer?” she tries.
“Right. Yeah. Exactly.” He moves past McCoy and touches thechair by her shoulder. “And how is the loose cannon?”
Allison Pagone, he means. “Not loose at all, sir.”
“Are we sure we know everything there is to know about her,Agent?” Shiels is at his window now, looking over the downtown.
“I’m confident,” McCoy says, with a twitch to her gut. Thetruth is, she thinks she knows all there is to know about Allison Pagone. Butshe has been around the block. No matter the resources you employ, there isonly so much you can know about a person, especially what’s inside her head.
Shiels turns and faces McCoy. “And what about the rest ofher family?”
“It’s covered, sir.”
“Covered.” He moves his shoe over the carpeting, drawingwith his foot, as far as she can tell, a tic-tac-toe pattern. Could be acrucifix. Shiels has seen a lot in his years with the government, and the factthat this thing has him so jumpy doesn’t exactly ease McCoy’s mind.
“We’re watching Allison,” McCoy adds.
“You were watching Sam Dillon, too.”
McCoy bows her head. A sore point, for all of them.Especially for McCoy. She will not repeat the mistake with Allison Pagone. Shecan’t. It would mean the end of her career, first of all. Maybe not an outrighttermination but an unspoken demotion, a reassignment, shitty casework. And hercareer is the least of her concerns. She took it hard when Dillon was murdered,took it personally, even though she had never so much as spoken a word to theman.
“Just what we fucking needed,” Shiels moans, pacing the roomagain. “A celebrity. It’s bad enough that all of this is connected. Bad enoughwe have the county prosecuting a murder case around all of this. Bad enoughthat Pagone could be telling her lawyer God knows what-”
“She doesn’t know, sir-”
“-no, that’s not enough. No,this case has to involve abest-selling novelist. We only have about three hundred media outlets coveringthis story.”
“Don’t worry about Allison Pagone, sir,” says McCoy.
The special agent-in-charge looks at Jane, then sits on theedge of the desk near her.
“Agent McCoy,” he says, “we need Allison Pagone alive.”
“Yes, sir.” McCoy nods.
“This was your call, Agent.”
“Yes, it was.”
“And I backed it up to Washington. I told them Jane McCoy’sthe one they want in charge of this operation. I backed up everything you’vedone on this. You think I don’t get a call from Virginia every single day onthis? You know how many people think the Bureau is the wrong agency for this?”
“Sir, I won’t let you down. We’ll get them.”
“Good enough.” Shiels moves back to his desk, takes a seat andputs on his reading glasses. This is his way of saying Get up, get out.
And don’t screw this up.
APRIL
ONE DAY EARLIER…
I work at the city office of Dillon and Becker,” says thewitness, Veronica Silvers.
Allison remembers her. This woman worked the reception atSam’s firm in the city.
“Let’s turn to Friday, February sixth of this year,” RogerOgren begins. The day before Sam Dillon was murdered. Allison remembers this dayall too well, remembers storming into Sam’s office. It’s hard, that memory, thestate she was in, and now hearing it aired in public.
“I’d say it was late morning,” the witness says. “Aftereleven.”
Allison wishes she could curl up under the table.
“She walked right past me. She was in a mood. She waslooking for Mr. Dillon.”
“Was Sam Dillon in the offices that day?”
No.
“No. He was at the capital. I tried to tell her.”
“What did the defendant say?”
“She didn’t seem to believe me. She walked past me and wentthrough the entire suite. She really made quite a scene.”
Allison closes her eyes.
“She walked all the way through the offices, opening doors,calling out his name. I was following her, telling her she had to leave. Butshe wouldn’t, not until she was satisfied that Mr. Dillon was not there. I-wasabout to call security.”
“And once she was satisfied that Mr. Dillon was not there,what did she do?”
“She left. She didn’t say a word. She just walked out, veryquickly.”
“Very good, ma’am.”
“And the next thing, she goes down to the capital to findMr. Dillon.”
Allison’s lawyer objects. This is outside this witness’spersonal knowledge, but really, what’s the point? Everyone knows what Allisondid next.
“Thank you, ma’am. No more questions.”
Allison chooses not to even look at Troy Thompson as hetakes the witness stand. This was the guy down at Sam’s office in the statecapital who caught Allison on her way in that Friday, after she had come fromSam’s city
