Inadvertent Disclosure (13 page)

They sat sideways on the
judge’s loveseat, facing each other, with their backs against the armrests and
their knees bent. It was a cozy arrangement, but one that was sure to become
uncomfortable halfway through the first glass of wine.

Connelly said it. “You know
she’s lying, right?”

Sasha sighed and wrapped her
arms around her knees. She knew.

Over dinner, she had gently
probed to see if Gloria had any idea why someone would have come into her
office and gone through her drawers after hours. The secretary claimed to have
no idea what the searcher could have been looking for. She also had no thoughts
as to who would have known when she left for the evening and said she hadn’t
seen anyone on her way out.

Her purported ignorance might
have been believable, if she hadn’t stared unblinkingly at the table the entire
time she spoke. And, if her hands hadn’t been shaking so hard that her china
teacup clattered against the saucer when she reached for her after dinner
coffee.

Even her husband had noticed.
While Connelly was helping Gloria clear the table, Jonas had pulled Sasha into
the doorway near the servants’ stairs and whispered, “I’ll talk to her about
the break in. She’s just scared. Maybe in shock.”

Sasha had just nodded. She
didn’t doubt that he was right, but she was going to need the woman to come
clean. And soon.

Now, she looked at Connelly.
“Oh, she’s definitely holding something back,” she agreed. “Of course,” she
added, sipping her wine, “she’s not the only one.”

Connelly held her gaze but his
right cheek twitched, just barely, under his eye. He was quiet for a long
moment.

Then he said, “You mean about
Danny Trees, I take it?”

She arched a brow in response.

Connelly rested his glass on
the side table and interlaced his fingers. “All I can tell you is . . . I can’t
tell you anything.”

Sasha put down her glass, too.
“You can’t tell me what?  Whether there was a hit in the database or what it
said?”

“Either.”

She rubbed her temple with both
handed. “Can you tell me that there wasn’t a hit?”

“I cannot. The information came
back with a classification level that requires me to demonstrate my need to
know it. I don’t have a legitimate need to know. And you don’t have a security
clearance. I’m sorry, Sasha, but you need to consider it a dead end.” His voice
was firm.

She felt her temper rising but
exhaled and tamped it down. After all, he had taken a risk even running the
account. She couldn’t ask him to divulge something the government had decided
was top secret.

“Okay, fine. I’m just going to
say something, and you should feel free to comment on the wisdom of my plan,
okay?  My current operating theory is that either Jay, acting alone, or PORE is
behind Judge Paulson’s murder.”

If Danny Trees was involved in
something bad enough that Connelly couldn’t even give her a hint, well, then,
she’d make his organization her number one suspect until someone better came
along.

Connelly smiled. “Nice try. I
have no views about your plan, Madam Special Prosecutor.”

He said the title with
deliberate emphasis, and she couldn’t help giggle.

As much as she wanted to be
back in Pittsburgh, back in her comfort zone, the Chief Justice of the
Pennsylvania Supreme Court and the Attorney General had dropped an amazing
opportunity in her lap. She had no intention of squandering it.

CHAPTER 19

The Hole in the Wall Bar

Firetown, Pennsylvania

10:30 p.m.

Bob Griggs gulped his draft
beer. He wanted to get this over with and get the hell out of town before any
of the yokels lining the bar recognized him from television. For now, he’d
settle for staying upwind of Stickley. Next to him, the sheriff was nursing his
sweating bottle of Bud.

“What were you thinking, Bob,
appointing that girl as Special Prosecutor?”

They’d been over this. He
wasn't any happier about the appointment of a special prosecutor than the
sheriff, but he had decided to look on the bright side. Bob believed in the
power of positive thinking.

"It was out of my hands.
That old coot Bermann wasn't going to sit by and do nothing in the face of a
murdered judge, much less one who was his friend. Look at it this way, that
girl, as you call her, doesn’t know the local ropes. She’s not going to be able
to identify the players, let alone piece together the action. If you’re smart,
you’ll drop a few hints and lead her down a garden path.”

Stickley chewed the inside of
his cheek and thought it over. He reminded Bob of a cow working on some cud.

Bob shook his head at himself
for the image. He needed to start thinking in a more sophisticated manner, like
an urbanite. That farmer shit might play around here, but he needed to move
beyond the local voters and set his sights on the urban voters in Philly and
Pittsburgh, who probably couldn’t tell a cow from a horse. After all, he had
plans beyond the AG’s office. And, with enough money and well-placed friends,
maybe even beyond the commonwealth.

Finally, Stickley nodded, “I
have an idea.”

Bob cut him off before he could
share his brilliant insight. “Great. Take care of it. After a respectable
amount of time, I’ll shut down her investigation for lack of results. Bermann
won’t dare interfere. He wouldn’t want to be accused of overstepping and
meddling with an issue that’s solidly in the purview of the Attorney General’s
Office.”

“What about the other thing?”

Bob resisted the urge to strangle
the putrid law enforcement officer beside him. He counted to ten silently, then
pasted on his politician smile.

“You’re the sheriff, Carl.
Surely you can take care of it.”

Stickley stared at him. Bob
stared back.

He wasn’t about to explicitly
tell the idiot to break the law. For all he knew, Stickley was playing both
sides of this thing. Lord knew Shelly and Heather were working multiple angles.

If those two airheaded bimbos
had just listened to him and kept it simple, they wouldn’t have all these problems.
There was plenty of money in shaking down the oil and gas companies. More than
enough, as far as he was concerned. But, not for those two. No, they had to
have a piece of all the action. And a brain-dead sheriff on the payroll.

He drained his mug and slammed
it down on the bar. He peeled a twenty off the roll in his money clip and
tossed it down beside the mug.

“I’ve got to get back to Harrisburg.
Have another one on me.”

He slapped the sheriff on the
shoulder and hurried to the door.

* * * * * * * * * *

Carl watched the door swing
shut behind Griggs. He was a piece of work, Carl thought. Typical politician;
all he wanted to do was glad hand everyone and take all the credit. The actual
work? That all fell to Carl.

What had he been thinking,
getting in bed with, not one, but two pols?

The bartender came over to
scoop up the twenty and wipe down the bar with his dirty rag. He gave a nod to
the door, “That who I think it was, Sheriff?”

“I dunno, Mikey. Do you think
it was a dumbshit politician?”

Mikey roared with laughter,
then motioned toward the Bud. “You want another?”

Carl nodded. Might as well.

As he twisted off the cap, the
bartender commented, “It’s a shame about Judge Paulson, huh?”

“Sure is. God rest his soul.”

They fell silent for a minute.

Then, Mikey asked, “Got any
leads?  I heard it looked like a hunter picked him off. Maybe somebody riled up
about the Shale?”

Carl took his time answering.
“Not exactly sure. But Danny Trees and his hippies have been getting violent
lately. They attacked some lawyer lady last week. Might have a talk with them
in the morning.”

Mikey cocked his head, “That
so?  Doesn’t sound like Danny. He’s a squirrelly kid, but a lot of the guys
think he’s right on about the drilling.”

Carl nodded. Hunters didn’t much
like running across the tanks and capped wells on their favorite spots. And
fishermen swore the trout tasted off now. Danny had been smart to get them on
his side.

“Like I said, I’m not sure
what’s going on. Now listen, that was just between us, right?”

Mikey agreed right away.

They both knew Mikey wouldn’t
keep his trap shut. He manned a bar. He offered cold drinks and fresh gossip.
That was fine by Carl. All part of the plan.

CHAPTER 20

Judge Paulson’s apartment

Tuesday, 1:15 a.m.

Sasha started awake.

Her arm jerked out to her side
and into a pile of warm fur. Sir Thomas More was curled into a ball next to
her. He didn’t move.

She lay still, listening to her
heart pound. She turned her head to the side and saw Connelly, splayed across
the bed on his stomach, with Atticus Finch perched on his back. Connelly
breathed deeply, and the cat rose and fell in a hump with each breath.

She squinted into the dark.
Without her contact lenses, the numbers on Judge Paulson’s alarm clock on the
dresser across the room were just a luminescent blur.

She rolled on to her side and
resettled into a comfortable position. Just as she was drifting off to sleep
again, she heard the clang of metal hitting metal.

That was the noise that had
awakened her, she realized. She raised herself on her elbows and scanned the
room. She couldn’t remember anything in the apartment that would make that
sound.

Clang.

It was outside. Maybe a wind
chime or a metal trash can banging around.

Clang
. Louder this time.

Disoriented from sleep and wine
and unfamiliar with her surroundings, it took another minute before she
realized what she was hearing. The sound of shoes scraping across the metal
stairs outside. Someone was coming.

She reached over and shook
Connelly. He moaned but didn’t wake. She shook him harder, dislodging the cat,
who rewarded her with a hiss before settling in where he landed.

“Connelly,” she whispered,
“there’s someone outside on the stairs.”

He was wide awake in an
instant. He sat upright and reached for the lamp on the bedside table.

“Wait,” Sasha said, putting a
hand on his arm to stop him. “If you turn it on, we’re on display. We won’t be
able to see out.”

Connelly nodded. “Okay. I
stowed my gun in the bathroom closet. You cover the door. I’ll be right back.”

He swung his legs around and
silently rose from the bed in boxers and a t-shirt. He stepped into the
sweatpants lying on the floor and made his way down the darkened hallway.

Sasha threw off the blanket and
crept toward the door.

Judging by the clanging, their
visitor had neared the top of the stairs. Sasha pressed herself against the
wall and peeked through heavy drapes that covered the window beside the door.
She couldn’t see a thing.

Her glasses were on the
dresser, next to the alarm clock. Presumably, whoever was coming would break
the glass in the door, which would slow him down for a minute or two.

She raced over, grabbed the
glasses, and jammed them onto her face. She blinked as her eyes adjusted and
took up a position behind the door.

But, she’d been wrong. The dark
shape now stood on the other side of the door wasn’t intent on breaking the
glass. He was jiggling a key in the doorknob.

Connelly returned, his Glock in
his hand.

“Wait!” she hissed. “He has a
key. What if it’s the judge’s son?”

She had no idea how long it would
it take for the military to notify him or if he would have been given leave to
attend his father’s funeral. But if it was the son, shooting him seemed like a
spectacularly bad idea.

 “What if it’s not?” Connelly
whispered back, but he lowered the gun to his side.

Sasha shrugged.

The key turned in the lock.

Curious about all the activity,
Sir Thomas More picked that moment to lunge at the windowsill. He missed and
hit the floor with a loud thump. His tail smacked against the cord to the
drapes and the round plastic end piece swung wildly against the window,
hammering out a loud rapping noise.

The figure in the doorway had
just twisted the knob to open the door. At the sound, he backed out and pulled
the door shut.

“Go!” Connelly yelled, but she
was already going.

She yanked the door open and
raced out into the chilly night air.

The man was already more than a
third of the way down the stairs, not worrying about the noise, clattering in a
hurry.

She took off after him, the
metal cold on her bare feet. She could hear Connelly running hard right behind
her.

At about the halfway point, the
shadowy figure turned to see how close she was. Then he jumped to the bottom,
landed in a heap on the concrete pad, and rolled. He got to his feet and took
off into the alley.

Sasha flew down the remaining
stairs and through the yard. She lost sight of him as he passed through the
high bushes that lined the alley, but she kept running. When she reached the
end of the crushed stone alley, she stopped. He was gone.

Leo came up behind her, gun
drawn.

“Did you see his face?”

She shook her head. Then, she
reached out and held his forearm to steady herself, while she picked the sharp
stones out of first one bare foot and then the other. She shivered in her thin
shirt and yoga pants.

“We lost him. Let’s go back.”

* * * * * * * * * *

It was two in the morning, but
trying to get back to sleep would be futile. Adrenaline rushed through both
their bodies. Sasha made a pot of coffee, while Connelly rummaged around in the
judge’s refrigerator.

“I could do omelets,” he said
over his shoulder.

“I’m not really hungry, but
feel free if you want one.”

He closed the refrigerator and
joined her at the counter. “No, I guess I’m just looking for something to do.”

They spoke in low whispers.

No lights had come on in the
house below during the commotion. The Burkes, in their bedroom in the front of
the house, had managed to sleep through the racket. There was no point in
waking them now.

They toyed with the idea of
calling 911, but given that the Sheriff’s Office hadn’t turned over the
investigation into the judge’s death, Sasha was pretty sure the state trooper
on duty would take a report of an attempted break in at the judge’s residence
and dump it right back on the Sheriff’s Office.

They’d just end up with
Stickley—or more likely, Russell—showing up and waking the Burkes.

 No, they agreed, it was better
to just hold tight and deal with it in the morning. Whoever he was, he wouldn’t
be coming back tonight.

While the coffeemaker hissed
and steamed and worked its magic, Sasha examined the set of keys that Connelly
had taken from the doorknob. Their visitor had left them dangling from the lock
in his hurry.

There were five brass keys on
the chain. No tag or charm. One key obviously fit the outside door. She tested
them and found that another worked the lock on the door leading from the
apartment to the third floor of the house. They agreed a third probably worked
the front door of the house.

Sasha retrieved from her bag
the keys that Gloria had lent her. The two remaining keys matched the keys to
Gloria’s office and to Judge Paulson’s chambers.

“So, these have to be Judge
Paulson’s keys, right?” she said, more to herself than to Connelly.

“I don’t know who else’s they
could be,” he agreed.

He reached over her head and
brought down two ceramic mugs from the cabinet. They drank their coffee in
silence.

* * * * * * * * * *

Five hours later, after Sasha
and Connelly had done a little sparring and had worked through Connelly’s
morning asanas, they went out and stood on the small metal balcony to watch the
sun rise.

Sasha rested her head against
Connelly’s chest and willed herself to focus on the moment: the pale orange
sun, the pink streaks in the gray sky, the call of a bird. But her mind refused
to be still.

Not long after the sky
lightened, the Burke household hummed to life. Doors banged shut and water
burbled through the pipes.

They hurried down to the
kitchen, where they found Gloria making oatmeal. The running shower meant Jonas
would be unavailable for at least several minutes.

As Gloria turned from the stove
to greet them and offer them breakfast, Sasha dangled the keychain directly in
front of her surprised face. “Do you recognize this?”

She recoiled but took the key
ring from Sasha's hand and held it between two fingers, keeping her arm rigid
and away from her body, like she had a dead mouse by the tail. "Yes, this
is the judge's. It used to have a silver doodad on the end, but it fell off and
rolled under his desk over a month ago, way back by the wall where he couldn’t
reach it. Where did you get this?"

Her back was pressed against
her kitchen counter, and Sasha could see her leaning into it. Maybe to keep her
knees from buckling. Sasha glanced over at Connelly to try to read his face; as
usual, it was impassive.

"In the lock on Judge's
Paulson's outside door," she said. "Someone tried to get in last
night, after one a.m."

She was watching Gloria's face,
so she didn't see her sway.

Connelly did, though, and he
eased the woman into a kitchen chair before she could fall.

"Are you okay? Can I get
you a glass of water?" Connelly asked in a gentle voice.

"Yes, please." She
adjusted the collar of her blouse with trembling hands.

Sasha walked over and crouched
beside the chair. She looked up at the secretary for a minute before speaking.

"I need you to tell me
what you know."

Gloria took the glass of water
from Connelly without breaking eye contact with Sasha.

She took a long, slow sip, then
said, "Okay. Deputy Russell took the keys from the judge's office
yesterday. I guess they were in the judge's pocket and when he . . . his body .
. . they must have tumbled out. They were on the floor beside him. How?  Why
would . . .” Her voice trailed off.

Sasha’s stomach seized.
Russell? She had him pegged as an ally.

“Gloria,” she said, careful
about how she phrased the question. “Who knew I’d be staying at the judge’s
apartment?”

Gloria thought about it. “Well,
there was no one else around when I told you about the apartment. We were in
chambers, right?”

“Right,” Sasha agreed. “And
Deputy Russell had already left for the day.”

Gloria nodded. “That’s right,
Stinky—er, Sheriff Stickley—came by and sent him home not long after the
bigwigs left the courthouse.”

Connelly met Sasha’s eyes over
the secretary’s shoulder and jerked his thumb toward the door, then pantomimed
talking into a cell phone. Sasha gave him a curt nod, and he made his way out
of the kitchen silently. She turned her attention back to Gloria.

“Did you tell anyone?”

She started to shake her head,
then stopped and said, “Well, I called Jonas, of course, to let him know.”

“Anyone else?”

“I had called the kids earlier
in the day, to let them know about the judge. He was like a grandfather to
them—he’d lived upstairs ever since they were wee little ones. I caught Linnea
in her dorm room between classes, but I had to leave a message for Luke. He was
in a meeting, so he called back here at the house while you were still
finishing up at the courthouse yesterday evening. I believe I mentioned it to
him.”

“Did he happen to mention if
anyone at Big Sky had already heard the news?”

Tears threatened to spill over
Gloria’s eyes. “No. You don’t think Big Sky was involved, do you?” Her voice
quavered.

“I don’t know what to think, I
was just wondering. Even if they did know, it might not mean anything. They
have cases on his docket; their attorney could have called and told them.”

Sasha felt guilty about pushing
her. She seemed to be veering toward a breakdown.

* * * * * * * * * *

Leo sat on the Burkes' porch
swing and swayed back and forth, waiting for Sasha to finish interrogating
Gloria. His eyes burned from lack of sleep and his throat was tight with worry.
He considered his next step.

His policy was to always, if
possible, grant favors or requests for information, without regard to which
part of the governmental alphabet soup they’d come from. Such generosity was
rare in the federal agencies, where territorial directors vied with one another
for power and budget dollars. As a result, everyone owed Leo one. He had chits
spread throughout the federal government that he could call in when it was
time.