Thanks, dad. Appreciate it. Whenever I don’t want advice, you’re more than ready to give it to me; the one time I ask for it and you’re silent?
She decided that she’d simply go to the Capitol and ask to talk to Hart. See if the police had any leads. That felt right to her, something she might have done even if Matt hadn’t asked her to get close to Hart. She’d listen, ask questions, see what was going on. Her father reminded her to invite Hart over for drinks that evening—every Tuesday night, he and a few judges socialized after work, usually at her dad’s house. If the invitation came from the Judge himself, it might seem too formal, and because Andrew Morgan didn’t generally get involved in politics, it might seem suspicious. But if it came from Alex, it would be casual, something her father said in passing, that he was having a few judges over who were considering getting involved in the gubernatorial campaign, and hoped to talk to Hart about his ideas for criminal justice reform, the court system, and prison overcrowding.
Alex wrinkled her nose. She was completely disinterested in politics. But she could make the situation work—the one thing she was good at was reading people. Well, strangers. She wasn’t good at reading the people closest to her. She’d completely missed Jim’s jealousy; she didn’t know what her father thought she should do about Matt Elliott’s offer; and then there was Matt Elliott himself.
Yet ... she’d known that there was something off about her partner, Tommy Cordell, almost from when she’d first been assigned to him.
She shook her head and left the ladies room. Time to do this.
Her cell phone rang before she stepped into Hart’s office. She stepped into a corner and answered the call.
“Alex? It’s Steve Jefferson.”
“Hey. What’s up? Any news?”
“I stopped by your apartment, but you’re not here.”
“Why?”
“I have your statement from yesterday. I need to have you sign it, make sure we didn’t forget anything.”
Odd that Jim would have Steve do it. Or, maybe not so odd considering how awkward it was between them yesterday.
“I can meet you in an hour or so.”
“Can you come down to the station?”
She hesitated. “I’d rather not.”
“Oh. Yeah, sorry.”
She’d prefer neutral ground. “I’m meeting my dad at the courthouse for lunch today,” she said. When had she learned to lie so easily?
Working undercover for the feds.
She continued. “Can you meet at the fountain outside the main entrance at quarter to twelve?”
“I’ll be there.”
She hung up and sent her dad a quick text message. Might as well have lunch with him, since she’d be over there. Maybe if she trapped him for thirty minutes he’d give her some actual advice, rather than philosophical non-answers.
It was nearly ten by the time she walked into Hart’s office. His entry was big enough to comfortably fit a couch and several chairs. A receptionist or secretary sat in an alcove off the waiting area with a clear line of sight to the door. She enjoyed a narrow window that looked out at Capitol Park.
She said, “May I help you?”
“Is Mr. Hart here?”
“Do you have an appointment?”
“No. I wanted to see how he was after yesterday.”
“We’ve issued a statement to the press.”
“I’m not with the press. I’m Alexandra Morgan.”
The receptionist recognized the name. She straightened in her seat and said in a much more hospitable voice, “Mr. Hart is in a meeting right now, but I’m sure he’ll want to see you. I’ll let him know that you’re here.” She motioned for Alex to sit. “May I get you some coffee or water?”
“I’m good, thanks.”
She didn’t sit, but instead looked at the myriad of pictures on the walls. Travis Hart with the governor, with other elected officials, with three presidents in both political parties, with actors and singers and even a major league baseball pitcher. She was jealous of that photo op. The pictures covered the walls. A quick glance around the corner to view the rest of the office revealed more photos of Travis Hart and celebrities. Staff sat in cubicles, and four offices lined the far wall.
“Alex.”
She turned around at the familiar voice, startled to see Jim Perry. He had come out of Hart’s double doors with Travis Hart right behind him. Jim looked both baffled and angry that she was here. Hart had a smile on his face. He walked over and shook her hand. “I’m so glad you stopped by, Ms. Morgan.”
“Thank you for the flowers,” she said, feeling awkward and uncomfortable. “Completely unnecessary, but they’re beautiful.” She’d learned that she was a good actress while working undercover—she called upon those skills to keep her focused on her goal.
Only, she wasn’t positive she understood the goal.
“Any news?” she asked, looking at Jim.
He hesitated just a fraction. Then said, “I can’t discuss the case with you, Alex.”
“Really,” she said flatly. That was a standard line for the public and press—not for friends or fellow cops. Except, she was neither. Not anymore.