Chapter Forty-five
Next morning, Judy emerged from her front door, reflexively raising her hand against the press stationed outside the row-house that held her apartment. Photographers aimed cameras with wide rubber lenses at Judy’s face, and TV reporters rushed forward, extending their black bubble microphones. She’d known they were there, having seen them from her window, so she plowed through them with her head down, ignoring their shouted questions.
“Ms. Carrier, was the car bomb intended for you?” “Why were you in Chester County?” “Did you know Carlos Ramiro and Roberto Rivera?” “How are you involved?” “Who are you representing?” “Is it true that Father Oscar Vega assaulted you?”
“No comment!” Judy called, hustling down the street, looking for a cab. Traffic clogged both lanes, and passersby stared at the scene, stopping on their way to work. It was a sunny day, and she knew she’d look like a freak in this light, with foundation hardly covering the tiny cuts on her face and lip gloss doing nothing to her split lip but making it look slicker. She’d dressed in a boring navy sweater and pants, with a trenchcoat on top, in case she had to go back to the FBI offices. Her trenchcoat flew behind her as she broke into a light run, but the reporters ran after her.
“Come on, Judy!” “Don’t you have a comment for us, Judy?” “Are you or Bennie Rosato stepping in for the defense of anyone? Do you know who the targets of the federal investigation will be?” “Can you comment on the murder of Domingo Gutierrez?”
Judy cringed at the sound of Domingo’s name. She’d thought of him all last night, hardly sleeping and replaying their meeting over and over in her mind. She spotted a cab and flagged it down, with reporters at her heels.
“Ms. Carrier, did you know the men who died at the treatment facility, Carlos Ramiro and Roberto Rivera? Were they conspirators with Domingo Gutierrez?” “How did you get involved?” “Are there any persons of interest? Any indictments coming down the pipeline?”
Judy ran to meet the cab as it pulled over to the curb, and when it stopped, she jumped inside and turned away from the reporters as camera flashes fired at her, inside the backseat.
“You somebody important?” the cabbie called over his shoulder, as the cab took off. He was young and African-American, in a mesh Sixers cap.
“Not in the least,” Judy answered, then told him where she needed to go.