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Authors: Michele Martinez
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appearance I’ve had before him for the past three years. People’ve been speculating about his retirement since the day I came on duty.”
“But it’s really happening this time. Seriously, I’m friends with his secretary. And the boss is applying for his seat,” Shekeya said.
“Shekeya, you don’t just apply to be an Article Three judge. It’s a whole big process. You need political connections. And you need, well, less baggage than Bernadette has.”
“I’m telling you, Vito got connections, and the boss is talking like this thing is a done deal. She’s practically over there measuring for drapes.”
The green light on the telephone went off. Melanie glanced at her watch. Time was slipping away, and she needed to end this discussion. “Okay, I believe you. But why leave? Why not go with her?”
“She asked me to go along, and I said yes, on one condition. I don’t want to be just a secretary no more. I got my degree in criminal justice administration. I want more action, more responsibility. I want to be her courtroom deputy. And she told me she don’t see me in that light, that I’d be rising above my skill level. Now, how’m I supposed to continue working for her after she say something like that?”
Just then, the door to Bernadette’s office swung open.
“Speak of the devil,” Shekeya said loudly.
“All right,” Melanie said under her breath, “I’ll do it.”
“Are you talking about me?” Bernadette demanded.
“Melanie needs to speak to you,” Shekeya said, turning toward Melanie so Bernadette couldn’t see, mouthing “thank you” and winking.
“Inside, girlfriend,” Bernadette said, jerking her head toward her office.
Melanie took a seat in one of the beige guest chairs. Bernadette’s office might be spacious and boast a corner view, but it was still no-frills government issue, with a linoleum floor and a gray metal desk. Bernadette herself was looking rather no-frills this morning. Her face was lined and tired and bare of makeup beneath the exuberant red hair of a much younger woman.
“I’m getting barraged with calls from the media on the Central Park Butcher case,” Bernadette said, settling into her swivel chair and picking up her coffee mug. “Fill me in. What’ve you got so far?”
“Unfortunately, the victim had a lot of enemies, so I have a lot of leads to sort through. One in particular is tricky, and I need some advice,” Melanie said.
“Give me the big picture first, then we’ll talk details.”
“Okay, let’s see. The victim received a telephone call at work at approximately six o’clock yesterday from an unknown source, and presumably went to meet that person last night in Central Park. That’s the most significant thing I’ve learned so far. I’ll subpoena all the relevant phone records to see if we can identify the originating number for that call. There was a burglary at the victim’s apartment approximately ten days ago. The intruder took files on two stories, one about a personal trainer at Flex Gym selling drugs to wealthy clients. The other had something to do with a prominent plastic surgeon. I’ll contact the assigned detective and see what I can find out, but that one looks quite promising. Target News is going to send over files on all the stories the victim covered recently. That’ll be a lot of boxes, so I’ll try to find somebody with a brain to wade through them and see if anything else leaps out.”
Bernadette reached into her desk drawer and pulled out a key with a tag attached to it. “Here, I’m assigning you a war room. You can have the files sent there. What’s your staffing like?”
“Better than any case I’ve ever worked. Because the homicide happened in the park, and because the victim was a celebrity, the FBI andthe PD are doing a full-court press. I’ve got Dan O’Reilly and a detective from Manhattan North Homicide as co–case agents, and they have lots of backup. Upward of twenty guys full-time,
“But it’s really happening this time. Seriously, I’m friends with his secretary. And the boss is applying for his seat,” Shekeya said.
“Shekeya, you don’t just apply to be an Article Three judge. It’s a whole big process. You need political connections. And you need, well, less baggage than Bernadette has.”
“I’m telling you, Vito got connections, and the boss is talking like this thing is a done deal. She’s practically over there measuring for drapes.”
The green light on the telephone went off. Melanie glanced at her watch. Time was slipping away, and she needed to end this discussion. “Okay, I believe you. But why leave? Why not go with her?”
“She asked me to go along, and I said yes, on one condition. I don’t want to be just a secretary no more. I got my degree in criminal justice administration. I want more action, more responsibility. I want to be her courtroom deputy. And she told me she don’t see me in that light, that I’d be rising above my skill level. Now, how’m I supposed to continue working for her after she say something like that?”
Just then, the door to Bernadette’s office swung open.
“Speak of the devil,” Shekeya said loudly.
“All right,” Melanie said under her breath, “I’ll do it.”
“Are you talking about me?” Bernadette demanded.
“Melanie needs to speak to you,” Shekeya said, turning toward Melanie so Bernadette couldn’t see, mouthing “thank you” and winking.
“Inside, girlfriend,” Bernadette said, jerking her head toward her office.
Melanie took a seat in one of the beige guest chairs. Bernadette’s office might be spacious and boast a corner view, but it was still no-frills government issue, with a linoleum floor and a gray metal desk. Bernadette herself was looking rather no-frills this morning. Her face was lined and tired and bare of makeup beneath the exuberant red hair of a much younger woman.
“I’m getting barraged with calls from the media on the Central Park Butcher case,” Bernadette said, settling into her swivel chair and picking up her coffee mug. “Fill me in. What’ve you got so far?”
“Unfortunately, the victim had a lot of enemies, so I have a lot of leads to sort through. One in particular is tricky, and I need some advice,” Melanie said.
“Give me the big picture first, then we’ll talk details.”
“Okay, let’s see. The victim received a telephone call at work at approximately six o’clock yesterday from an unknown source, and presumably went to meet that person last night in Central Park. That’s the most significant thing I’ve learned so far. I’ll subpoena all the relevant phone records to see if we can identify the originating number for that call. There was a burglary at the victim’s apartment approximately ten days ago. The intruder took files on two stories, one about a personal trainer at Flex Gym selling drugs to wealthy clients. The other had something to do with a prominent plastic surgeon. I’ll contact the assigned detective and see what I can find out, but that one looks quite promising. Target News is going to send over files on all the stories the victim covered recently. That’ll be a lot of boxes, so I’ll try to find somebody with a brain to wade through them and see if anything else leaps out.”
Bernadette reached into her desk drawer and pulled out a key with a tag attached to it. “Here, I’m assigning you a war room. You can have the files sent there. What’s your staffing like?”
“Better than any case I’ve ever worked. Because the homicide happened in the park, and because the victim was a celebrity, the FBI andthe PD are doing a full-court press. I’ve got Dan O’Reilly and a detective from Manhattan North Homicide as co–case agents, and they have lots of backup. Upward of twenty guys full-time,
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