Nicole stared at Pleazy. The man was proposing some sort of indentured servitude. She shook her head.
“Now, wait up before you say no, just hear me out. You keep a third of what you make. I take another third. The rest goes to T-Rex. I run a good stable. Got four good girls upstairs. They make, average, five hundred a night. You’ll be all paid up in a couple months. Free to go do whatever you like. You could go, you could stay. You might find you like my way. Maybe you even learn something. Meanwhile, I keep you safe, give you a roof over your head. I set up the appointments, I take care of the business. All you gotta do is what you’re already so good at. It could be good for you, Nikki. You could stop running.”
There was something seductive about his voice and about what he was proposing. The idea of relinquishing control was incredibly tempting. Stop running. Stop struggling to make things work. Stop being surrounded by alien pimps taunting and hitting her. She wasn’t equipped to deal with the world she’d gotten into. He would take care of her, protect her, run the business. She could just lie back and
let the world spin underneath her without constantly trying to stay upright.
A tiny part of her old self shook its head. She’d never wanted this.
“Oh, and Nikki.” Pleazy’s voice was like honey, so sweet that even the nickname sounded smooth on it. “There’s one more thing.”
He took his hand off her cheek, and she backed up, thinking he might hit her. But he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small cylindrical glass tube and a tiny Ziploc bag with a waxy yellow-white rock in it. It was what she’d craved every minute of the last few days.
He took out the rock and placed it in the glass pipe in front of a steel wool filter, then pulled out a lighter and held it out like a prince offering the keys to his kingdom. She reached for the pipe, but he held it away from her. “Mm-mm. What do you think, Nikki? Have we got a deal?”
Her jaw throbbed, making it hard to think, but that was the least of it. She had to have that pipe. She would do anything for it.
“Okay,” she said. “Okay.”
“That’s my good girl.”
He handed her the pipe. She flicked on the lighter, held the flame to the glass, and inhaled. The fire incinerated the rock, and smoke poured into her lungs. Finally: relief and release and sweet annihilation. She closed her eyes and basked in the chemicals coursing through her body, delivering pleasure to every nerve. Everything was gonna be okay.
She opened her eyes to find Pleazy smiling at her with great tenderness. His face was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. He leaned down and kissed her, ever so gently.
“We’re gonna make a fine team, Nikki. I’ve got big plans for us.”
He took her hand and led her up the stairs.
29
T
he newspapers fell for Madeleine Connor, and they fell hard, like a tweenage boy with his first crush. Anna sat at a computer in the war room and scanned through the Google hits. The Capitol murder investigation was the top story on the home page of every newspaper she clicked to. The story had the perfect dynamic: Murder and sex drew in the readers, and the political element meant even the most respectable journalists could talk about it.
By now all the papers had pictures of Caroline. There was a photo from her high school yearbook, with her blue eyes radiating innocence, and a more recent picture from Facebook, where her smile had an inscrutable quality that hinted at something darker. The papers also ran photos of Madeleine Connor with the courthouse behind her. The madam was photogenic—the Botox and plastic surgery looked odd in person but made for a glamorous head shot. Bloggers were raving about her beautiful white linen suit, the particular pink of her lipstick, where she might have bought her shoes. In the most popular photo, she smiled with her eyes averted from the camera, pushing aside a strand of caramel hair that the wind had blown into her face. She looked sexy and mysterious and just vulnerable enough to elicit sympathy for the woman who was being forced to disclose the dirty secrets of powerful men.
With the coverage came criticism of the government’s work. Why hadn’t they arrested Lionel yet, some bloggers asked. Few of the friends Lionel had made in over thirty years on Capitol Hill would go on the record in his defense. There were odds posted on when he would resign. Many people were betting on, and clamoring for, a quick arrest.
Anna wasn’t bothered by that criticism. The nation could jump to conclusions—and they might be right—but an important part of her job was not bringing charges against an individual until she
was sure. “Beyond a reasonable doubt” was a heavy burden, and for good reason.
One criticism did bother her, however: the assertion that by forcing the madam to turn over her entire client records, the government was needlessly humiliating people, clients and escorts alike. Many assumed Congressman Lionel was the culprit and thought that the prosecutors were fishing for other politicians to target for visiting prostitutes, or that they were motivated by prurient interests. These were activities between consenting adults, the writers said, so why should a puritanical government snoop into them?
“It’s like we’re Big Brother in a pilgrim’s hat.” Anna looked up from her computer to Jack, who was typing away on the other side of the conference table.
“Don’t worry about it.” He didn’t look up from his laptop. He was deep into his work, editing the motion she’d written to compel Madeleine’s documents.
Anna kept reading and stewing. She needed a fuller picture of the business—especially of Caroline’s johns—before she would feel confident that they had the right guy. She wasn’t about to let Madeleine decide which lines in her record books were relevant and which could be redacted.
“It’s ridiculous,” she said. “This is a murder investigation.”
Jack looked up. “Anna, what have I been telling you from the beginning? Don’t worry about what people are saying. It’ll always be something. You just do the right thing. Keep your head down, ignore the hype, do your job.”
She nodded, admiring his steadiness. He was so much better than she was at focusing on what was really important. But his advice was easier to follow if you were already a legal star. Unlike Jack, she was still building her reputation. It mattered what people said about her.
She pushed herself away from the computer and rolled her chair to the conference table. As she flipped through her legal pad, a small flower fell out. A sprig of lavender had been pressed between the pages. She appreciated both Jack’s gesture and the fact that he’d done it discreetly.
“Thank you,” she said quietly to him.
He smiled at her. His smile still had the ability to make her heart do a little flip-flop.
Jack e-filed the motion to compel Madeleine’s records. After he pressed
send,
he turned to her again. She expected him to head home. It was a little after six
P.M
., and he usually tried to be home by seven to eat dinner and spend time with Olivia before the little girl went to bed.
Instead, he said, “McGee’s bringing the ring to the Tiny Jewel Box tonight. Want to meet him there?”
“What about that whole ‘let the cops do their thing, we’ll do ours’ lecture you gave me?” Anna looked at him curiously.
“We did our thing. Our motion is filed.” He smiled at her. “I just thought it would be fun.”
She agreed. Her favorite part of the job was going out with the police and talking to witnesses. They gathered their stuff, headed to the elevators, and rode down to the first floor.
As they stepped out of the steel doors and into the USAO lobby, Anna saw Eva Youngblood coming in through security. The self-defense instructor picked up her purse from the X-ray conveyor belt and waved at them.
“Well, hello. It’s my two favorite prosecutors,” Eva said. “Anna, are you coming to class tonight?”
“I have to miss it again. We’re working on a pretty intense investigation.”
“That poor girl killed at the Capitol?”
Anna nodded.
Eva turned to Jack. “I’m sorry if our friendship is causing you trouble on this case. Dylan didn’t mean to put you in the crosshairs by praising you. He just thinks the world of you, that’s all. Now I hear Lionel wants you off the case.”
“I’ll be fine,” Jack said. “It’s nothing I haven’t handled before.”
“Do you think that woman, the madam, will have to give you all her escort agency records?”
“We can’t comment,” Jack said. “It’s a grand jury investigation.”
“Of course.” Eva pushed the button for the elevator. “I bet there’re a lot of nervous heads on Capitol Hill tonight.”
The Tiny Jewel
Box was D.C.’s iconic jewelry store, where the wealthy and stylish went for baubles. Anna had passed the signature red awnings countless times while walking on Connecticut Avenue. She’d never had a reason to go inside.
The bells tinkled lightly as she and Jack stepped out of the noisy city heat and into the cool, quiet store. Crystal chandeliers illuminated ivory-and-glass cases full of sparkling jewelry. The salespeople were dressed in suits one notch finer than most lawyers’. Anna watched a salesman hand a velvet tray of David Yurman pendants to an older gentleman who looked vaguely familiar.
“These are the ones on your wife’s wish list, Ambassador,” the salesman said.
Anna felt intimidated and out of place. Her dad had been an autoworker in Flint before he was laid off and descended into alcohol-fueled tirades; her mom became a medical assistant after she finally left him. The fanciest place Anna had shopped growing up was Meijer, a downmarket version of Target. When she went to law school, she kept herself reined to a tight student budget. Here in D.C., she lived modestly on the salary of a government worker who was paying back law-school loans. She’d graduated from Meijer to Ann Taylor, but her specialty was scouring the sales racks for suits marked down from $299 to $59.99.
Jack seemed perfectly comfortable in the fancy store. He waved Anna over to a jewelry case and pointed to a display of engagement rings setting off a blaze of glitters. She looked for ones that were similar to the ring McGee had found on Lionel’s balcony. But Jack pointed to a completely different model. “Do you like this one?” he asked her.
She looked at him, first puzzled, then panicked. Had he initiated this outing as part of the case development or to gauge her reaction to different styles of engagement rings? Suddenly, the room felt too hot.
A grandmotherly saleswoman came over. “May I help you?”
“Can we see this ring?” Jack asked.
“A wonderful choice,” the saleswoman said. “As soon as you came in, I could tell you were a couple in love.”
“We’re actually here from the U.S. Attorney’s Office,” Anna said quickly. “Part of an investigation. We have an appointment with the owner, Matthew Rosenheim.”
“Ah. I’ll get Mr. Rosenheim for you.”
The saleswoman hurried off. Anna could sense Jack’s disappointment. She continued to look down at the jewelry, now to avoid making eye contact with him. The last thing she wanted to do was talk about the style of engagement ring she liked.
The grandmotherly woman returned. “Come right this way,” she said. “Mr. Rosenheim will see you in the Red Room.”
Anna noticed the other customers watching them walk through the store. An old lady looking at brooches gave them the stink-eye; Anna occasionally got these looks of disapproval as one half of a mixed-race couple. A middle-aged woman smiled at them and whispered to her friend, “Beautiful couple.” That was slightly better, but Anna didn’t want to hear
any
comments, positive or negative, on how she and Jack appeared together.
We’re prosecutors, people,
she thought.
Here on a very important case.
Jack seemed amused by the attention.
The Red Room was a romantic room with red walls and another crystal chandelier. She and Jack waited in carved chairs before a cherrywood table. Sitting there, she found it hard not to feel like they were a couple about to embark on a romantic journey together. She looked everywhere but at Jack’s face.
Detective McGee came into the room with the store owner. Matthew Rosenheim was a smiling, elegant man who looked like he’d be comfortable showing earbobs to the Duchess of Cambridge. He greeted them cordially and took a seat. Jack explained that they’d found a ring in the course of a homicide investigation.
“It appears to be from your store,” Jack said. “We’re hoping you might be able to tell us who bought it.”
McGee took out the plastic evidence bag and handed it to Matthew. The store owner looked at the ring through the clear plastic.
“Yes, that certainly looks like one of our rings. The TJB stamp is right here.”
“Can you tell who bought this particular ring?”
“It’s quite possible. But we are committed to the privacy of our customers. If we’re given a subpoena, we will of course comply with it, but without that, I’m afraid I can’t divulge personal information about our clients.”
Anna had anticipated that. She handed him the subpoena she’d typed for this purpose. The store owner looked at it and nodded. “Very well. May we take the ring out of the bag?”
McGee sliced the bag open, made a quick note on the chain-of-custody log stapled to it, then handed the ring to Matthew. It had already been dusted for fingerprints.
Matthew took the ring like a nurse in the delivery ward of a hospital, with great care and expert handling. “May I keep it overnight for analysis?”
“’Fraid not,” McGee said. “Gotta keep the chain of custody. Can you do it while I watch?”
Matthew nodded and took out a jeweler’s loupe. “Every stone has unique features,” he said as he examined the ring. “Like fingerprints.” He jotted some notes on a paper. “I’ll run this information through the Gemological Institute of America database. We should be able to identify the stone and the buyer.”
“How long will that take?” Anna asked.
“Twenty-four hours.”
They thanked the owner and left. The whole conversation took less than fifteen minutes. She and Jack didn’t have to go to the jewelry store, Anna thought. McGee could have easily handled this on his own. Jack had just wanted to show her the engagement rings.