“Wait, I didn’t dictate yet.”
“Oh, you didn’t, huh? Well I’m dictating, not you. Sign this.” He tears off a piece of paper and slides it along the counter to me. At the top it says CONTRACT. Underneath that it says I PROMISE NOT TO GO ON ANY MORE SECRET MISSIONS OR WINN CAN TAKE ME TO THE PARTY OF THE FIRST PART.
I smile.
“Sign,” he says, handing me the pencil. “I’m not interested in losing my most confidential informant.”
“It’s not a valid contract. There’s no consideration.”
“Ha! You’d take money from a homeless man?”
“It doesn’t have to be money, it could be anything of value. Not that you have anything of value either.”
He reaches into his pocket and offers me his battered photo of Tom Cruise. “My most prized possession. Now sign.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope.”
“If I sign your statement, will you sign mine?”
“Yes.”
So I sign. It’s not enforceable anyway.
The kitchen fills up with the homey smell of fresh-baked rosemary chicken.
Winn’s phone call comes at the worst time, when I’m rushing like a madwoman to get Maddie to school. I leave her at the front door holding her Catwoman lunch box, run back to the kitchen, and struggle over the gate penning Bernice in the kitchen.
“They arrested McLean this morning,” he says.
I feel a thrill of excitement. “They got the bad guy! All right!” Even Bernice wags her tail.
“Your identity remains a secret. Even from my boss, the president.”
I’m juiced up, like I just won a jury trial. “So tell me what happened.”
“Mom, we have to go,” Maddie calls from the door. I’ve been pushing her all morning, and now she’s going to push back.
“Tell me fast,” I say to Winn.
“They picked him up at home, no muss no fuss. He denies taking the message. He’s mad as hell.”
“You saw him?”
“Through the two-way mirror. The man has a temper and a history of some pretty rough street fights.”
“I’m not surprised. He doesn’t deny being in the office, does he?”
“Mom,” Maddie says, coming into the dining room, far enough from Bernice to feel safe. “We have to go.”
I hold up my index finger, the universal sign for please-let-Mommy-talk-on-the-phone. Bernice sticks her head over the gate, begging for Maddie’s attention.
“He admits to being in Galanter’s office,” Winn says, “but he claims he was just checking. He was on duty that night. Said he heard a noise.”
“I take offense. I didn’t make any noise.”
“I know, master burglar. He has no good alibi for the time Faber was killed. Says he was off by himself, fishing.”
“In Philadelphia?”
“On the Schuylkill.”
I laugh. “Real believable.”
“Right. The boats fuckin’ dissolve, the fish don’t stand a chance.”
Maddie says, “Mom, I’ll be late. I don’t have a note.”
I check my watch. She’s right. “Wait a minute, Winn. When does he say he was fishing?”
“At dawn, the same time Faber was killed.”
“Also the same time Armen was killed.”
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
“What’s the connection to Armen? Did they find out anything?”
“No.”
My heart sinks. “But then why would McLean kill Faber? I thought it was because he was investigating Armen’s death. Getting closer.”
“Wrong motive, and I’m not sure Galanter had anything to do with it either. We may be back at square one.”
“What?” It comes out like a moan.
“McLean had it in for Faber. Turns out they had a couple of run-ins last week, with all the press coverage of
I remember McLean taking off after Faber at the memorial service.
“Last month, McLean caught Faber bothering the U.S. Attorney and roughed him up. Faber reported him for it and they were considering discipline. McLean was about to lose his job.”
“Jesus.” I think of the reporter, beaten to death, and reality sinks in. Catching McLean doesn’t bring Faber back or erase the violent way he died. And Armen is still a question mark.
“Mom, she’s staring,” Maddie says, watching Bernice anxiously. “Is she gonna bite me?”
I scratch Bernice’s head. “No, honey, she loves you.”
“You love me?” Winn says. “I knew it. Tell me what it was that turned you on. Was it my body odor? The tartar on my gums? My tattoo?”
I laugh. “Basketball tattoos don’t do it for me, pal.”
“It’s not a basketball. You don’t know what it is.”
Maddie narrows her eyes. “Is that your boyfriend, Mom?”
I silence her with a glare. “I gotta go, Winn. I have to take Maddie to school.”
“But we love each other!”
Maddie dances around, singing, “Mommy has a boyfriend, Mommy has a boyfriend.” Bernice watches her, wagging her tail harder.
“Is that Maddie?” Winn asks. “What’d she say?”
“Nothing.”
“She likes me, you know. She told me after dinner.”
I hold the phone close to my chin and wave to Maddie to stop, but she doesn’t. Who raised this child? “I have to go, Winn. We’re late.”
“All right, but stay out of trouble. Call if you have to, cuz.”
“Fine.”
“No more funny stuff, remember our contract. Things are heating up. Anything can happen. If McLean didn’t kill Armen, whoever did is still out there.”
Maddie skips around the dining room table. “Mommy has a boyfriend, Mommy has a boyfriend.” As soon as I hang up, the child says, giggling, “I’m telling Daddy.”
“The hell you are,” I say, and chase her around the table.
28
Wednesday is my alleged day off, but I decide to go in until Maddie gets out of school. I drop her off, still the only mother who walks her child all the way into line, and drive into town.
I rack my brain about McLean and Armen the whole way in; somehow the two must be connected. Al McLean was a cop, Winn said. Where do a cop and a judge meet up?
In court.
Cops are in court all the time as witnesses. Maybe Armen let a defendant go free on appeal, somebody that McLean had testified against in the trial court. It’s just a hunch, but it’s not a bad one. I hit the courthouse with my
