Inadvertent Disclosure (12 page)

CHAPTER 16

Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

Monday evening

Leo held the phone away from
his ear with one hand and carefully slid the chicken and noodles into a storage
container with the other. On the other end of the phone, Sasha was rattling off
a list of instructions that she’d started in on as soon as he’d offered to
drive up to Springport.

She was talking much too fast
for him to actually follow what she was saying, so he put the phone down on the
counter to have both hands available to pour the spicy peanut sauce into a
separate container. When he picked it back up, she hadn’t yet taken a breath,
but from her cadence, he thought she’d need to pause soon.

She did, and he jumped in. “So,
you need me to bring your laptop, your VitaMight files, and an overnight bag.
Got it. Does the judge’s apartment have a microwave?”

“I don’t know, Connelly. I
haven’t been there yet. Probably? Call me when you’re fifteen minutes away and
I’ll meet you there.”

“Okay. Hang in there, Mac. I’ll
be there as fast as I can.”

His eyes fell on the
coffeemaker sitting in the exact middle of the recycled glass countertop. “Oh,
should I bring the coffeemaker along?”

It would be one thing if Judge
Paulson’s bachelor pad lacked a microwave. It would be quite another if there
was no caffeine-delivery device. Leo’d learned that during a romantic weekend
at a secluded bed and breakfast that turned out to serve herbal tea with
breakfast. Deprived of her coffee, Sasha had been drowsy and slow all morning.
And maybe just the tiniest bit irritable.

“Oh, good idea.”

A hint of a smile slipped into
her voice and Leo smiled himself. She claimed to be high maintenance, but it
was just a matter of paying attention to the details, which was a skill Leo had
in spades.

“Done. See you—,” he paused to
check the time, “—probably around nine thirty, maybe a little after.”

“Thanks.” She hung up in a
hurry. Before he had a chance to tell her he loved her.

He unplugged the coffeemaker
and its matching grinder and found a reusable cloth grocery bag in the pantry.
Before putting them in the bag, he wiped the appliances with a dish towel. Then
he took the container of coffee beans from the freezer, wrapped it in the
towel, and added that to the bag. He stacked the food containers holding dinner
in the bag and tested the handle to confirm the load wasn’t too heavy. The bag
was plenty strong.

That task completed, he left
the bag at the bottom of the steps leading to the loft bedroom and methodically
searched through Sasha’s closet to find her a comfortable outfit to change into
for the rest of the evening, pajamas, a suit for the next day, and all the
attendant accessories. He gathered up her bathroom supplies and quickly, but
neatly, packed everything away in her small red roller board bag, taking care
not to wrinkle the clothes.

At the bottom of the stairs, he
bent to retrieve the kitchen bag, slung the strap of his own overnight bag over
his chest like a messenger bag, wheeling the red bag behind him.

At the door, he checked the
time. Three minutes from the end of the call to completion of his first task.
An acceptable pace, he thought.

He stepped out into the hallway
and locked the condo door behind him. Next stop, Sasha’s office to retrieve her
computer and files.

* * * * * * * * * *

He found a spot on the street
just two doors down from the office and eased the car in to the snug parking
space. It was that limbo time between evening and night; the storefronts were
closed for the day and the restaurants had emptied of their dinner rushes, but
it was too early for the bar scene to be in full swing.

Leo punched Sasha's code into
the keyless lock at the entrance to the tall, narrow building where she had a
second floor office. The vacant retail space on the first floor was illuminated
only by the red glow of an emergency exit light and the streetlights that
filtered through the front window. He took the stairs by twos. The building was
on a busy commercial strip in an upscale neighborhood, but the lack of a ground
floor tenant gave it a desolate air.

At the door to the office, he
keyed a second code into a second keypad and swung the door open. He flipped
the switch on the wall near the door and blinked as the overhead lights came to
life. The desk was piled with papers, but they had been separated into neat
stacks. He swept the stack nearest the computer into a redweld labeled
“VitaMight.”

Sasha had left her laptop
running when she’d left the office that morning. He brought the screen to life
and typed in her password so he could shut it down properly.

It occurred to him he might not
have e-mail access in Springport. He pulled out the desk chair and opened his
account to send a message to the Field Office that he’d be working remotely for
a few days. Although he worked out of the Pittsburgh Field Office, it was just
a place with a desk. He was part of the Internal Affairs Department and, at
least for now, they seemed happy to let him set up shop wherever he wanted.

His inbox was brimming with
messages. He scanned them and stopped on an automated message from the Guardian
database. His search request on Daniel McAlister’s bank account had been
completed. He opened the attachment and stared at the words:
The information
you have requested has been designated SECRET and poses a grave danger to
national security if disseminated. Demonstrate need to know.

Leo massaged his forehead. That
message could mean one of a handful of things: Not one of them was good.

He deleted the e-mail and powered
down the computer.

CHAPTER 17

Springport, Pennsylvania

Knowing Leo was on his way
helped Sasha quiet her mind, which had been firing off in about a dozen
directions. She found a fresh legal pad and shut herself up in Judge Paulson’s
office to write up some notes and see what the process of reviewing the day
would yield. She hesitated for a minute before deciding to sit in the leather
chair behind his desk, but it was the best spot to spread out her papers.

From behind his desk, she
switched on Judge Paulson’s green-shaded banker’s lamp and surveyed the room by
its soft light. The furniture was masculine and well made. The colors were all
dark purples and reds. It was dignified but understated, like the judge.

Someone, probably Russell, had
covered the bullet hole in the window behind with a square of cardboard secured
by a silver X of duct tape and had removed the oval rug where the judge had
fallen along with his body. Those were the only two discordant notes in the
room. She never would have guessed the judge had been murdered right there just
hours earlier.

Why Stickley hadn’t sealed
chambers as a crime scene was beyond her.

Sasha shook thoughts of the
judge’s death from her mind and picked up her pen. She started to free write,
as quickly as she could, jotting down her impressions from the day first, and
then worked backward to create a history of all of her interactions with anyone
in Springport from the time of the discovery hearing.

She would label the notes
“privileged and confidential attorney work product” on each page, so she
scrawled everything that came to mind onto the paper. In the past, through this
exercise, her subconscious mind had given her the tools to solve more legal
problems than she could count. Now, she hoped it could solve a murder.

She’d written more than a dozen
pages when a muffled thud interrupted her train of thought. She stopped writing
and sat motionless. She listened hard for a minute. Heard nothing but the hum
of an old building after hours.

She resumed her writing. Then
she heard the jangle of a brass handle being jiggled and a desk drawer rolling
smoothly on its track.

Someone was in the outside
office opening one of Gloria’s desk drawers.

If it had been the secretary
coming back for something she’d forgotten, she’d have called out to Sasha. This
was someone else. Someone who didn’t know Sasha was behind the door in the
judge’s chambers.

She silently laid the pen on
the pad. Then she reached over and slowly turned the knob on the lamp to shut
out the light, cringing when it gave an audible click.

She waited.

Outside a drawer bumped shut
and a second one rolled open. She had to decide. Stick it out in chambers and
hope whoever was outside left without checking the interior office or open the
door and confront the intruder.

Krav Maga theory said never go
to the fight. But she wasn’t interested in being the second person to die in
Judge Paulson’s chambers. If the intruder opened the door, she’d have nowhere
to go. If she opened the door, she’d have options. And the element of surprise.

Her heart thrummed in her ears.

Another drawer banged closed in
Gloria’s desk.

She stood and kicked off her
heels. She prowled the room. Her bare toes sunk into the thick, plush carpet,
which swallowed any noise her footsteps might have made.

She scanned all visible
surfaces for an improvised weapon. The best option would have been the coat
rack if she were taller, but it would be too unwieldy for someone her height.
She didn’t want to risk the noise of opening the judge’s desk drawers to search
for a letter opener or a pair of scissors. Her eyes fell on the bookcase. On a
shelf three-quarters of the way up, nestled between a leather-bound law copy of
Black’s Law Dictionary and a set of law review journals sat a ceremonial gavel.

She crept over and stretched to
reach it. Couldn’t. She swore under her breath. Stretched again, straining to
gain an eighth of an inch more height, but it was still out of reach.

She couldn’t drag a chair over.
Too noisy. She eyed the bookcase again and considered climbing up on the
shelves. The problem was she had no idea how sturdy they were. If she pulled
the whole thing down on herself it would make a racket and she’d be trapped
underneath when the intruder came to investigate. No good.

Outside, on the other side of
the substantial walnut door, the person had moved from Gloria’s desk to the row
of filing cabinets that lined the wall beside the door to chambers. When she
opened the door, he might have his head down looking through the drawers, but
he’d be facing her. It was always better to assume one’s opponent was a male
when gender was unknown. That way you wouldn’t underestimate your foe’s
strength.

If she could just reach that
gavel. She walked through it in her mind. She could pull the door open and
swing the gavel all in one motion. She’d have an excellent shot at the top of
his head.

Let it go. You can’t reach the
gavel.

Time for a plan B. If he was
bent over the filing cabinet, he’d be low enough: she could burst through the
door, rear back, and smash him with a head butt. The human forehead made an
excellent blunt weapon, if a person could force herself to literally rush
headlong into a collision with someone else’s head.

Her mind made up, she moved
toward the door.

As she put her hand on the
knob, she heard the outside door ease open and shut softly. Whoever had been
out there had left.

She ran back to the desk and
scooped up her notes with shaking hands. It was time to go.

CHAPTER 18

Sasha walked the block and a
half to the Burkes’ home at a good clip. She didn’t run, but she moved with
purpose and paid close attention to her surroundings. She passed one couple
walking a puppy that hadn’t yet grown into its paws, and, at the traffic light,
Sheriff Stickley rolled through the intersection in his black and white and
gave her a half wave.

That was it. No one else was
out and about in Springport.

She reached the red brick
house. Low hedges edged the walkway to the porch. They were too short to
provide cover to an assailant, but Sasha remained alert anyway. A man had died
today. It was no time to be complacent about personal safety.

With that thought front and
center, Sasha darted up the stairs to the porch and rang the bell. Then she
turned around and faced the street while she waited for Gloria to answer the
door. As the sound of footsteps grew louder inside the house, Sasha turned
around to see a heavyset man peering through the glass at the top of the door.
He smiled at her as he opened it.

“Well,” he said, “Gloria said
you were a wee thing. You must be Sasha. I’m Jonas Burke. C’mon in.”

He reached out to shake her
hand and led her into the foyer. While he shut and locked the door, an antique
gun cabinet in the front room caught her eye. One door hung open, and there was
an empty space in the collection. Her gaze fell to Jonas’s waistband. A
telltale lump poked out from under his sweater.

He followed her gaze and gave
her a sheepish smile; then he hurried over and closed the display cabinet door,
checking to confirm it had locked.

“Jonas,” Gloria called from the
back of the house, “you bring Sasha in here, now.”

“Oh, boy,” he chuckled.
“Gloria’s been cooking up a storm ever since she got home. Since our kids flew
the coop for college, she hasn’t had anyone to mother. Consider yourself warned.”

“How many children do you
have?” Sasha asked as she trailed him along a hallway. She figured the answer
was two, judging by the portraits that lined the hall on both walls, tracing
the growth of a towheaded boy and a serious-looking, freckled girl, but it was
easy conversation.

“Two. Our Linnea is at
Bucknell, studying history. Her older brother, Luke, graduated last year. Got
his degree in geoengineering. Didn’t know what the devil he’d do with that, but
it turns out all those oil and gas companies were knocking on his door before
the ink on his diploma was dry.”

Even without being able to see
his face, Sasha could tell the proud father was beaming.

“Does he work here in town,
then?”

“Nope, afraid not. Much to
Gloria’s eternal dismay, he’s at the corporate headquarters in Texas, rotating
through some management training program they’ve got. Right now, he’s attached
to the public relations department but he’s itching to finish that up and get
some mud on his boots. I keep tellin’ him, management is the way to go.
Especially at a place like Big Sky. But, you know kids, he just wants to be out
in the field.”

Sasha was surprised Gloria
hadn’t mentioned that her son worked at Big Sky earlier.

They entered the brightly lit
kitchen. Gloria was standing at the stove, stirring something in a copper pot.
A loaf pan was cooling on the counter and the smell of freshly baked bread met
Sasha at the doorway.

“I’m just finishing this up. It
seemed like the sort of day that called for stew. Jonas’ll show you the judge’s
apartment. I already fed the cats. Why don’t you settle in and then come down
and eat?”

“That’s really too kind of you.
It smells wonderful.”

Ordinarily, Sasha would’ve
begged off, but she wanted to talk to the woman about the intruder in the
office.

“Oh, my, uh, friend from
Pittsburgh is driving up with some things I need. My computer, a change of
clothes. Is it okay if he stays the night?”  Her cheeks burned.

She was a grown woman, but here
she was, asking someone else’s mother for permission to have her boyfriend
sleep over. And, to top it off, she couldn’t even bring herself to call
Connelly her boyfriend. It sounded ridiculous to her; she was in her thirties,
after all.

Gloria just chuckled. “I never
inquired about the judge’s overnight guests. I don’t suppose I’ll be inquiring
about yours. Will your friend be joining us for supper?”

“Oh, he’s going to be awhile.”

“That’s no problem. This’ll
keep just fine. We’ll hold dinner until your friend gets here.” She said it in
a tone that didn’t invite discussion.

Jonas motioned for Sasha to
follow him.

At the other end of the
kitchen, a door led to a narrow stairway. As they mounted the stairs, he
explained the layout of the house.

“So, this house is very old. It
was built in the 1920s or so. There’s this back stairway. I guess the staff
used this back in the day. Then, there’s the formal stairs in the front. Now,
we’ll give you the key to the judge’s private outside entrance, though truth be
told, he quit using that a few years back. It’s a metal staircase attached to
the side of the house. I think the climb, especially in the dark, was getting
to be a bit much for him. He mainly used this staircase instead.”

On the second floor, the
stairway ended, and they turned a tight corner in the hallway and ended up in
another stairway to the third floor.

As they wound their way up,
Jonas continued, “Our bedroom’s in the front of the house on the second floor.
There’s a guest room up front, too, but Gloria uses that for her scrapbooking.
Down that hallway we just went through, in the back, are the kids’ old rooms
and their shared bathroom.”

At the top of the stairs, the
doorway opened up to a small square space, lit by a dim ceiling light. “Now,
this light’s on a timer. It’ll come on at sunset and go off at eleven. That’s
when the judge retired for the night. If you want to override it, go right
ahead.”

“Great. Thanks.”

He took a key ring with a green
rubberized tag advertising a locksmith’s service from his shirt pocket, eased a
key into the lock on the white wooden door, and jangled it until it turned.

“Here you go.” He handed the
keys to Sasha and flipped on the lights. Two calico cats—one fat, one
thin—darted into the entryway from somewhere in the apartment and wrapped
themselves around his legs, mewling and purring. He bent to pet them.

“Poor things,” he said, looking
at the cats, not at her. “I guess we’ll keep them. The judge’s son is active
duty military. He can’t take ‘em.”

The fat cat collapsed on its
side and rolled over to show its belly. Jonas rubbed it and the cat arched in
joy. Its thinner friend pranced over to Sasha and sniffed her outstretched
hand.

“Who are you?” Sasha asked,
“Atticus Finch or Sir Thomas More?”

The cat butted against her hand
with its head.

“That there’s Atticus Finch.
This plump fella is Sir Thomas More.” Jonas gave the cat a scratch under its
chin and stood.

He walked into a spotless
galley kitchen to the right of the door and flicked the light on. The cats
trailed behind.

“Help yourself to any food or
anything, I guess.” He gestured toward the refrigerator and the cabinets beside
it.

Sasha saw a small countertop
microwave. No dishwasher, so Connelly would have to show some restraint. His
cooking was the stuff of her dreams, but it apparently required him to dirty
every pot, pan, and utensil she owned. There was a tea kettle on the stovetop
but no coffeemaker on the counter. She mentally awarded Connelly a gold star
for thinking to bring hers.

Jonas turned and walked out of
the kitchen.

“Bath’s over there,” he said,
pointing to a short hallway on the left. “Bedroom is behind it. Gloria stripped
the bed and put on a set of our guest sheets. Towels are in the bathroom.”

He stood in the middle of the
main living space and turned in a slow circle. “So, uh, I guess that’s it.”

“I really can’t thank you and
Gloria enough.”

He waved off her gratitude.
“We’re glad someone from outside is going to be looking into the judge’s death.
He was a good man,” he said with a catch in his voice. “He didn’t deserve . . .
this.”

He cleared his throat. “You go
ahead and get settled. Come on down whenever you’re ready. Like Gloria said,
the stew’ll keep till your friend arrives.”

He bent to pet Atticus Finch
and then walked through the door, closing it behind him.

Sasha walked through the tidy
apartment. It was decorated in the same spare style as the judge’s chambers.
The living area housed a chocolate brown leather loveseat and a matching
oversized chair and ottoman. A red and blue area rug anchored the room. One
wall was lined with books. A low sofa table held framed pictures of a
serious-looking man in a military dress uniform, a yellowing black and white
wedding portrait of a much younger Judge Paulson and his bride, and a recent
color photograph of the judge with Chief Justice Bermann. They were both in suits,
sitting at a table covered with a white tablecloth, smiling up at the
photographer. They appeared to be at some kind of reception or benefit dinner
judging by the uninspired centerpiece and uneaten chicken dinners on the table.

She poked her head into the
narrow bathroom. A clawfoot tub with a shower head hanging from a bar above it
took up most of the floor space.

She continued down the hallway
to the bedroom. A king bed with a dark wood headboard faced a matching dresser.
Gloria must have used her daughter’s bedding to make up the bed, because the
pale yellow and pink striped sheets and white eyelet blanket looked wildly out
of place in the masculine room. In the corner, a tan armchair sat next to a
small table piled high with a neat stack of papers and legal journals.

Burgundy drapes covered most of
the far wall. She tugged on the rope to pull them back, revealing a large
square window. It looked out over the Burkes’ backyard and the alley running
behind their wooden fence. Next to the window was a glass door. She peered out
through the glass. Metal steps led from a cement pad in the backyard, up the
side of the house, and stopped at the door. She could see why Judge Paulson had
abandoned his private entrance.

She twisted the knob to confirm
the door was locked. There was no deadbolt. She stood with her hand pressed
against the cold glass and stared out into the yard, unseeing and lost in
thought, until an insistent meowing shook her out of her musing.

Sir Thomas More took a running
start and hefted himself up onto the judge’s bed. Atticus Finch followed close
behind and with a good deal more grace.

“You guys are looking for the
judge, aren’t you?” Sasha said, going over to sit on the edge of the bed beside
them. “He’s not going to be coming back.”

Atticus Finch meowed at her.

She stroked his back.

“The Burkes are going to take
good care of you,” she told them.

Sir Thomas More purred his
agreement and rolled himself into a ball. She sat there, petting the cats,
while she pulled out her phone to call Connelly.

He answered on the second ring.
“Hey, I’m still about a half hour away. Are you at the judge’s?”

“I am. When you get to town,
drive straight through on Main, turn right at the light at Primrose Street. The
Burkes live in the fourth house down on the left. I guess you can just park on
the street.”

“Great. Have you had dinner?  I
have the Thai chicken. I can assemble it there.”

“I haven’t eaten and that
sounds divine, but we’ll have to save it for tomorrow. The Burkes are holding
dinner for us. Or supper, they call it. Stew and homemade bread. It’d be rude
not to eat with them. Plus . . ..” She trailed off and rubbed Sir Thomas More’s
head.

“Plus?”

“Plus, I need to talk to them.
Someone was rifling around in Gloria’s desk and filing cabinets after she left
the courthouse. Someone’s looking for something. If they think she has it . . ..”
Her voice trailed off again, but this time Connelly didn’t need to ask.

“Understood.”

“Hey,” she said, just
remembering. “Did anything pop in the Guardian database when you ran Danny
Trees’s account number?”

There was silence on the line.

For a minute she thought she’d
lost the call, but then he said, “Not exactly. Let’s talk about it later.”

* * * * * * * * * *

After a rib-sticking dinner
with the Burkes, Sasha and Connelly returned to Judge Paulson’s apartment and
opened a bottle of his wine. It was strange and awkward to sit in a dead man’s
apartment, drinking his pinot noir out of his wine glasses, but Jonas and
Gloria had repeatedly urged them to make themselves at home.