him at all, which was somehow creepier than if she could. Tellingherself she was being foolish, Melanie nevertheless picked up her pace and almost jogged through the tunnel. Before she knew it she was outside, sprinting across the plaza toward her building. She reached the glass doors and saw the guard at his desk in the lobby, reading the newspaper. A number of people stood at the elevator bank, clutching briefcases and coffee cups.
Melanie did a quick about-face, thinking she’d summon the guard if Hooded Sweatshirt had actually pursued her. But behind her, the plaza where the subway let out was deserted, save for an elderly woman feeding a horde of pigeons in the dappled sunlight.
10
T here was so much to do that Melanie hardly knew where to begin, so she started with the thing that troubled her most. Before she did anything else—before she checked her e-mail or voice mail or typed a single subpoena—she marched straight to her boss’s office to get some guidance on this tricky situation with Clyde Williams.
The chief’s suite occupied prime corner real estate at the intersection of the two hallways that housed the Major Crimes Unit. Bernadette’s secretary, Shekeya Jenkins, sat at her desk in the small ante-room filling out a form on the computer as she chomped on a bagel. Shekeya was a big woman with braids dyed bright orange and an often poisonous tongue. She’d been Bernadette’s secretary for years, taken a heap of abuse, and given back plenty, too. Their dysfunctional relationship provided much entertainment for the junior prosecutors.
“What’s good, girl? You famous!” Shekeya greeted Melanie.
“You saw me on TV?”
“Yes, I did. Melanie Vargas taking on the Central Park Butcher. I was jumping up and down in my bedroom screaming at the screen.”
“I didn’t get to see it. How did I look?”
“Very photogenic.” Shekeya lowered her voice and leaned toward Melanie conspiratorially. “The boss is so jealous. She asked me if I thought you looked better than her on TV.”
“What did you say?”
“I lied, naturally. Mama didn’t raise no foolish children.”
Melanie laughed, turning toward Bernadette’s door.
“Wait a minute, girl. She’s on the phone anyway, and I got a favor to ask you,” Shekeya said.
“Anything for you, Shekeya.”
“You better find out what it is before you say yes. This one got some downsides.”
“Is something wrong?” Melanie asked, concerned.
“No, something’s finally right. I’m applying for the paralegal slot that come open in narcotics. They say you need references from three attorneys in the office who know your work, so I was hoping maybe I could count on you for one?”
Melanie’s eyes widened. “You mean, leave Bernadette?”
“What is she, my mother, that I can’t walk? You have any idea what it’s like putting up with that woman in my face all day, every day? I can’t wait to see the back of her.”
“But, Shekeya, you handle her better than anybody.”
“I can handle her, but that doesn’t mean I like to. It ain’t worth what it’s doing to my health. Besides, paralegal is a raise, and I got my kids to think about. The extra money could pay for Khadija’s braces.”
“I hear that.” Melanie paused. “Does she know?”
Shekeya glanced at the closed door to Bernadette’s inner sanctum and then down at her telephone, where a green light indicated Bernadette was still on the line. “Look, I’ma tell you a secret, so you understand where I’m coming from with this. But you can’t breathe a word.”
“Of course not.”
“The boss wants to be a judge.”
“That’s no secret, Shekeya. Everybody who’s ever met her knows that. But getting appointed to the bench is a one-in-a-million shot.”
“Not this time, it ain’t. The fix is in. Word is that Judge Cordell is announcing his retirement next week on his eightieth birthday.”
“That’s not a secret, either. Cordell’s slept through every afternoon
Melanie did a quick about-face, thinking she’d summon the guard if Hooded Sweatshirt had actually pursued her. But behind her, the plaza where the subway let out was deserted, save for an elderly woman feeding a horde of pigeons in the dappled sunlight.
10
T here was so much to do that Melanie hardly knew where to begin, so she started with the thing that troubled her most. Before she did anything else—before she checked her e-mail or voice mail or typed a single subpoena—she marched straight to her boss’s office to get some guidance on this tricky situation with Clyde Williams.
The chief’s suite occupied prime corner real estate at the intersection of the two hallways that housed the Major Crimes Unit. Bernadette’s secretary, Shekeya Jenkins, sat at her desk in the small ante-room filling out a form on the computer as she chomped on a bagel. Shekeya was a big woman with braids dyed bright orange and an often poisonous tongue. She’d been Bernadette’s secretary for years, taken a heap of abuse, and given back plenty, too. Their dysfunctional relationship provided much entertainment for the junior prosecutors.
“What’s good, girl? You famous!” Shekeya greeted Melanie.
“You saw me on TV?”
“Yes, I did. Melanie Vargas taking on the Central Park Butcher. I was jumping up and down in my bedroom screaming at the screen.”
“I didn’t get to see it. How did I look?”
“Very photogenic.” Shekeya lowered her voice and leaned toward Melanie conspiratorially. “The boss is so jealous. She asked me if I thought you looked better than her on TV.”
“What did you say?”
“I lied, naturally. Mama didn’t raise no foolish children.”
Melanie laughed, turning toward Bernadette’s door.
“Wait a minute, girl. She’s on the phone anyway, and I got a favor to ask you,” Shekeya said.
“Anything for you, Shekeya.”
“You better find out what it is before you say yes. This one got some downsides.”
“Is something wrong?” Melanie asked, concerned.
“No, something’s finally right. I’m applying for the paralegal slot that come open in narcotics. They say you need references from three attorneys in the office who know your work, so I was hoping maybe I could count on you for one?”
Melanie’s eyes widened. “You mean, leave Bernadette?”
“What is she, my mother, that I can’t walk? You have any idea what it’s like putting up with that woman in my face all day, every day? I can’t wait to see the back of her.”
“But, Shekeya, you handle her better than anybody.”
“I can handle her, but that doesn’t mean I like to. It ain’t worth what it’s doing to my health. Besides, paralegal is a raise, and I got my kids to think about. The extra money could pay for Khadija’s braces.”
“I hear that.” Melanie paused. “Does she know?”
Shekeya glanced at the closed door to Bernadette’s inner sanctum and then down at her telephone, where a green light indicated Bernadette was still on the line. “Look, I’ma tell you a secret, so you understand where I’m coming from with this. But you can’t breathe a word.”
“Of course not.”
“The boss wants to be a judge.”
“That’s no secret, Shekeya. Everybody who’s ever met her knows that. But getting appointed to the bench is a one-in-a-million shot.”
“Not this time, it ain’t. The fix is in. Word is that Judge Cordell is announcing his retirement next week on his eightieth birthday.”
“That’s not a secret, either. Cordell’s slept through every afternoon
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