Wallace’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah, so? I need it for a warrant.”
“You’re kidding me. You walk off with evidence, I take the hit for the lost item. They’ll dock my pay for an iPhone. You need to log it in and submit a requisition.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Fine. I’ll be back with the form,” he said, slapping Madison’s phone down on the counter.
About to leave, he turned back.
“And I’m requesting a body cavity search on her, you hear? Probably got drugs up her cooch.”
Wallace stalked away. He knew that wasn’t true. It was sheer harassment.
The officer waved Madison toward a bench along one wall. “Have a seat and don’t move.”
Sitting there, reality hit, and she started hyperventilating. Body cavity search. Jesus. She’d be stripped naked. They’d take her clothes, make her wear an orange jumpsuit. Fingerprint her, take a mug shot. Tell the law school. She’d get expelled. And then what? Go to jail. Not just for one night, but every night for a long time, for a crime she didn’t commit. Her life would be over. Just like Danny’s. She used to think they were so different. But they weren’t. They were the same. Equally at the mercy of that criminal with a badge. Her mother would have two children in jail.
Oh, shit. Mom.
More than an hour had passed since their phone call. Mom didn’t know where she was. She’d be in agony worrying. Just like with Danny. Argh, Danny. Madison finally, truly understood how her brother felt, and it was unbearable.
She had to get out of this situation. Not just for herself, but for him. And for Mom.
She put her head between her knees to get her breathing under control. By the time she raised it again, she knew what she had to do.
“Excuse me, Officer. Can I have my phone call now, please?”
“What d’you think this is, a hotel?” the woman said.
“I’m entitled to one phone call. I’m a law student, and I know that’s the law. I’d like it now, please.”
“Well, too bad. I’m swamped with paperwork because of you. You’ll get your call when I’m done. Now be quiet.”
“I can make all that paperwork go away. Let me have the call, and I guarantee the feds will come pick me up. They’ll take the case over before you lift a finger.”
“I got news for you, honey. The feds aren’t about to come pick you up at this hour when they could wait for us to bring you to them tomorrow. I’ll have to book you anyway.”
No. Getting booked would create a criminal record. She had to head it off.
“I promise they will, because they’re looking for me, and they’re really anxious.”
“I just entered you in the database. There’s no federal warrant out for you.”
“They want me as a witness. That’s why there’s no warrant. They don’t want it getting out, or I won’t be valuable. I’m telling the truth, I swear. The U.S. attorney is Andrew Martin. Call him yourself if you don’t believe me.”
The officer was wavering. Madison went with her gut, hoping this time, it would work.
“Just, whatever you do, ma’am, don’t tell Wallace that you called the feds,” she said. “That would piss him off so much, because he’s in a competition with them to make this case.”
“Me calling the feds would piss off Charlie?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Guy’s an ass.” The officer picked up the desk phone. “What’s that U.S. attorney’s name again?”
A couple of hours later, Madison was dozing on the bench when a dark-haired woman in a gray pantsuit walked up to the desk officer and flashed a badge.
“I’m here for the prisoner transfer on Madison Rivera. Special Agent Olivia Chase, Federal Bureau of Investigation.”
Olivia.
Madison’s head snapped up.
“That’s her,” the officer said. “I’ll need chain-of-custody on both prisoner and evidence.”
“Just show me where to sign.”
Agent Chase took custody of Madison’s wallet, phone, and the bag of drugs. Hauling her to her feet, she marched her out to an SUV in the parking lot.
“Let me see those cuffs.”
Taking a key from her pocket, she unlocked the handcuffs. As Madison shook out her hands, tears glazed her eyes. She was free.
Or was she?
“I’m no longer under arrest?” she asked.
“I’m tasked with bringing you to DC for an interview, and I want you to be comfortable. Doesn’t mean your status has changed, so don’t try anything.”
“Oh,” Madison said, not bothering to hide her disappointment.
Olivia’s face softened. “So you understand, no charges have been filed yet. Who knows, maybe they won’t be. That’s above my pay grade. The prosecutors will decide.”
She opened the passenger door. “Hop in, we’re booked on the first flight. There’s folks at Main Justice who are dying to talk to you.”
27
The plane came in for a landing as the sun was rising over the Washington Monument. The view would’ve been thrilling under better circumstances, but she just felt sad. Outside, the air was soft and balmy, like a different country in a different season. A car waited to whisk them to the Justice Department. She recognized the building from photos she’d seen, the trapezoidal hulk of it looming over the block, its white marble glowing pink in the morning light. She’d imagined arriving there in glory as an attorney on a high-profile case. Instead, she was being escorted in custody, to give evidence against a woman she’d once revered.
How the mighty have fallen.
They passed through heavy metal doors that belonged on a bank vault, into a dark, imposing hallway where they presented identification, through a metal detector, up in a secure elevator to an entry floor with a plexiglass window, where they were given visitor passes and told to wait for their escort.
“I understand why I have to go through this,” Madison said to Olivia as they took seats in uncomfortable chairs lined up against a sterile, white wall. “Why do you? You’re FBI.”
“They’re careful. Have to be, when the targets have been known to assassinate prosecutors,” Olivia said, quirking an eyebrow.
That reference—to the car bombing of that prosecutor years ago—caused the bottom to fall out of her stomach. She wasn’t in the clear yet. Even if the feds believed that Wallace had lied about finding drugs on her, there was still the matter of conspiring with Judge Conroy. Did they know she’d delivered that warning to Doug Kessler at the reception? With Kessler and the judge missing, would they care that she did it out of fear for her brother’s life?
Andrew Martin came out to get them.
“Madison, nice to see you again. Come on in.”
He smiled like an unusually handsome dentist, reassuring her before he drilled her teeth. The conference room he took them to was out of central casting. The long table, the whine of the HVAC, a smell of burnt coffee, and—as she’d feared—an enormous bulletin board marked “McCarthy Assassination.” So, the focus of their investigation really was this crime Madison hadn’t known about until yesterday. Not something bloodless like bribery or corruption, but the murder of a prosecutor, with graphic photos of a burned-out car and bloody bits of flesh that made her stomach heave. And that wasn’t the worst part. She took a step closer, her mouth falling open. Among dozens of photos of suspects, most of whom she didn’t recognize, she saw Judge Conroy, Detective Wallace, Ray Logue, and Nancy. But Danny’s mug shot was also there. And next to it, Madison herself, her Harvard Law School ID photo with “The Intern” written under it.
She was on a bulletin board for assassinating a prosecutor.
“Madison, so glad you could join us.”
She turned, noticing for the first time the petite, pretty female prosecutor at the head of the table. With a sleek, black bob and immaculate clothing, she looked ready to address a jury. Meanwhile Madison hadn’t slept, showered, or combed her hair since yesterday.