“Morning, boss. Special delivery,” Olivia said, dropping the plastic evidence envelope full of drugs on the table in front of the woman.
“How’d you get that on the plane?”
“I have my ways.”
“Thanks, it’ll make a nice conversation starter. Miss Rivera, Brooke Lee. Department of Justice.”
Brooke Lee. Wallace had mentioned her.
“I work with AUSA Martin on this investigation. I’m sorry we’re meeting under such unfortunate circumstances. Not long ago, you would’ve been someone I’d love to hire. But now.”
Picking up the evidence, she clucked her tongue. Madison’s legs went weak, and she fell into the closest chair.
“You can’t possibly believe those are my drugs,” she said.
“I admit, Detective Wallace has been known to lie. On the other hand, your brother was arrested for selling Rocket heroin, so it would make sense that you’re involved in his operation. Despite the Harvard Law pedigree.”
“Danny is innocent. The drugs were never his.”
“Look, I get it. He’s your little brother. You probably have fond memories of reading him bedtime stories. That doesn’t make him innocent. There’s not a narcotics case in history where the defendant doesn’t claim they’re not his drugs.”
“This time, it’s true. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time. It was just bad luck.”
“I’ll say. He’s facing ten years. But if you’re willing to talk, and you give us hard evidence against Judge Conroy, you might be able to help Danny out. Help yourself too. Because the penalty for possession of these drugs here,” she said, holding up the plastic envelope, “is a minimum of five years in federal prison.”
Madison realized that her teeth were chattering. She’d been freezing since forgetting her coat in the judge’s office last night. The cold blast of air from the vents didn’t help. It was almost like an enhanced interrogation technique, the equivalent of bright lights or sleep deprivation. Brooke Lee was staring her down. The feds were sharks, as dangerous as Wallace in their own way. Desperate and exhausted, not knowing what to do, she did the thing they always said not to. She started talking.
“Wallace kidnapped me last night. He planted the drugs on me. Please, you have to believe me.”
“What I don’t understand is, if you’re just a humble law student, and so innocent, why would Wallace waste his time framing you?”
“To stop me from cooperating. He thought I was working for you and wanted to destroy my credibility. And you’re scaring me, because I’m afraid he succeeded.”
“Your credibility is yet to be determined. It really depends on you. On your willingness to answer questions truthfully.”
“Ask me anything. I’ll answer. The whole truth, I promise.”
“Okay. What exactly is the nature of your relationship with Kathryn Conroy?”
“I’m her student and an intern in her chambers.”
“Why are you living in her house?”
“I’m not living there. I just stayed over a couple of nights.”
“Why?”
“She hired me as a pet sitter.”
“Hmmm.” Brooke looked skeptical, shaking her head.
“I swear, that’s the truth. She’s my professor. I got an internship in her office. Then she asked me to watch her cat.”
“What were you doing at the Pro Bono League dinner?”
“The judge gave me a ticket. I was networking.”
“You were seen speaking with Douglas Kessler. Why were you talking to him?”
“Again, networking. I’ll be working at his law firm next summer.”
“What exactly did you talk about with him?”
Her mouth fell open. What the hell was she doing? She should ask for a lawyer before she incriminated herself.
“Brooke, may I?” Martin interrupted. “I think rather than focusing on Kessler, we need to get Conroy’s whereabouts. She’s been MIA for two days now, and we urgently need to speak with her. Madison, tell us where she is, and you’ll go a long way toward restoring your credibility. Hold back, and we’ll have reason to think you’re involved.”
“Involved in what?”
“Murder,” Lee said, and the word seemed to hang in the air.
Madison looked at the bulletin board in disbelief.
“How? That happened when I was a child.”
“No. It happened the night of the Pro Bono League reception.”
“What are you talking about? I’m really confused. That murder on your poster—McCarthy—wasn’t that years ago?”
“We’re talking about Douglas Kessler. He was murdered the night of the Pro Bono League reception, shortly after getting into a very public argument. With you.”
Madison reeled back in her chair, the breath forced from her body. The world went dark.
A moment later, Martin was pouring her a glass of water.
“Are you okay? Here, drink this.”
She picked up the glass with a shaking hand.
“I take it you were unaware of his death,” he said.
But Brooke leaned forward with a “gotcha” gleam in her eye.
“Stop it, Andrew. She’s just a good little actress. She was seen talking to him right before it happened. We need to know about that conversation, Madison. Kessler’s daughter claims that whatever you said to her father got him so upset that he ran from the event without giving his speech. By then, you’d already left, hadn’t you? And Kessler was found murdered not long after.”
Her teeth chattered so hard that she had to fight to get the words out.
“I-I—want a lawyer.”
Martin threw up his hands. “Great move, Brooke. You got her to invoke. Now we waste days with her consulting a lawyer, while Kathryn Conroy flees the country.”
For a moment, Madison thought they were playing good cop/bad cop. But then she realized—Andrew Martin was genuinely not on board with Brooke Lee’s approach. Because he believed Madison was innocent.
“I didn’t have anything to do with Mr. Kessler’s murder,” she said, looking into his eyes desperately. “I would never hurt anyone. Please believe me.”
“It’s okay, Madison. I do believe you.”
Lee sighed irritably.
“Well, I’m not so sure. I’d be willing to listen to your side of the story, if not for the fact that you invoked your right to counsel. Now we can’t talk to you unless you sign a waiver. You have to decide that of your own accord. I’m not going to pressure you and get accused of violating your rights.”
“What do you say, Madison? Will you sign a waiver?” Martin asked.
“I don’t know. I’m upset. I’m tired and hungry and cold. I can’t think straight.”
“Food can be arranged. Coffee. A warm sweater,” Andrew said.
“And if she wants to talk to someone,” Olivia said, “it doesn’t have to be a lawyer. Her brother’s down the hall. She could consult him. I bet he’d get her talking.”
“Danny? He’s here?”
The prosecutors glared at Olivia like she’d divulged a state secret. But it was the only good thing Madison had heard in days.
“Yes, let me talk to him. I need to. Now. Please,” she said, tears in her eyes.
“Can we consult?” Lee said, gesturing at the door.
The prosecutors and Olivia stepped out. Madison heard their voices in the hall, low and urgent. She couldn’t make out the words, but the sound was like white noise, lulling her. Her eyelids were heavy. She rested her head on the table. When the door opened a while later, she jerked up. Despite the tension, she was so exhausted that she’d dozed off.
“We’re all set. Come with me,” Olivia said.
“Where?”
“You’ll see. You’ll be happy, promise.”
She followed Olivia down a hallway that seemed to go on forever. High ceilings, marble floors, identical-looking doors, numbered but otherwise indistinguishable. It was like a bureaucracy conjured to life. As they walked, Olivia handed Madison a black puffer jacket.
“I got this from the lost and found. A bit large, but it’ll keep you warm.”
“Thanks.”
They stopped in front of a closed door. After the trauma of Brooke Lee’s interrogation, she braced herself for a letdown.
“It’s true? I’m really going to see my brother?” she asked, eyes welling.