“Like unwanted rain,” I remarked and then, finally, sat down to begin my day in earnest.
“How’s Mimi?” Julie asked, her eyes having returned leaving the docket she held before her.
“As sassy as ever.”
Silence overtook the office until Mark Blomfeld arrived. He was another of the A.D.A.s that worked on my team.
“How’s it going, boss?” he asked as he situated himself at his desk directly across the room from mine. Mark was a young go-getter, as Oscar liked to say, and was a handsome devil to boot. He also managed to allow his self-confidence to outshine his ability on occasion. Still, he was a good attorney and truly cared about the people he represented.
“I told you not to call me that,” I said, although I barely contained my smile. The time would come when Mark, or someone like him, would be gunning for my job. If he wasn’t already. I figured I might as well enjoy the position of team lead for as long as I could. “You get that Harmon case closed out yesterday?” I asked him.
“Yes, ma’am. Signed, sealed and delivered. I’ll check my email in a second to see if Burke took the deal.”
“Thanks.”
As always, I had to swallow my own discontent over having to make a plea bargain in order to get a creep off the streets, if only for a short amount of time. Burke was an ass of a defense attorney but he knew what he was doing. Eighteen months wouldn’t even make a dent in the future record of his client, Hank Yeardley, a man who had beaten his neighbor nearly to death simply for playing his music too loud. Anger issues. Therapy. I’d had Mark take the deal, even though I hated it. For centuries, thugs like Yeardley had gotten away with murder. Sometimes, literally.
“Sorry, boss,” Mark said, not looking at me directly. The six other attorneys working on my team all knew my feelings on plea bargaining and they did their level best to nail each and every criminal with the maximum the law allowed. It was an unfortunate fact that, in the crimes against persons team, rarely was the defendant innocent. Still, I’d seen too many true criminals to not be able to spot one in a crowd. It was something in their eyes, usually, that gave it away. Most people either didn’t see it, or ignored it out of fear or self-preservation. Don’t get involved. Don’t risk your neck. The world had taken a darker turn than I once would have expected, back in the days of my youth. And, God knows, I had seen some terrible shit since then.
“It’s okay, Mark. Keep up the good work. We’ll get ‘em next time.” I smiled and was about to reach for another docket when my cell phone rang. “Van Demir.”
“Hello, Brianna.” The voice at the other end was not familiar. It was male and deep and carried with it an air of confidence that was unmistakable. The two words and the tone they carried immediately set my senses on high alert.
“Hello,” I said, keeping my voice strong, noncommittal. “I’m sorry. Who is this?”
“You’ll figure that out soon enough. For now, just listen.”
My eyes widened for a split second and then narrowed in concern. Even Oscar never told me what to do. He asked. The very fact that this asshole on the line would think to order me around pissed me off to the point that, without a further thought, I pulled the phone away from her ear and tapped the “End” command. Fuck that, I thought. I don’t have time for this.
The phone immediately rang again. The number was unknown or protected. It took a look from Marc before I hit the “Accept” button.
“Do not do that again. I do not take kindly to insolence.” The voice did not sound angry but the veil of threat was inescapable.
“One second,” I replied, standing and walking out into the hallway, ignoring the sideways glance from Mark. I made certain there was no one else around when I whispered into the receiver. “Who the fuck are you and what do you want. I’m in no mood—nor position—to brook assholes.”
“This is a good thing,” the man on the other end said. “And one of the many reasons I’ve contacted you.”
“I’m running out of patience. Who are you and what do you want?”
“Who I am will be revealed in time. As to what I want... I want you to do your job. Read up on your dockets. One in particular. John Sebastion Ross.”
“How do you know what cases I have?” I fought to control the rising tone of my voice. “I don’t know who you think you are, but you’re speaking to a government attorney. I can have you charged with obstruction if you—”
“Shut up, Brianna. Shut up and do your job. You will hear from me again tomorrow.” The line went dead.
I found myself fuming. Before I realized it, I’d squeezed the phone so tightly that the casing cracked. I released my grip and paced down the hall, trying to regain my equilibrium. A thousand thoughts pelted about inside my brain. The bastard could be anyone. It could be a relative of someone in my case files, or a more connected criminal trying to pull strings for a flunky. I had encountered just about every variation over the courses of my careers. At this point, I had no idea who the asshole was, but now my curiosity was piqued. I stopped in the lounge and poured myself a piping hot cup of coffee and strolled back to the office, allowing the irritation to ebb with the measured movements of my muscles.
“Everything cool?” Mark asked, as I sat back down at my desk and began flipping through the files on my desk. Then, I remembered the name. The boy crying murder.
“Yep,” I said, and let it go at that. I felt Mark’s eyes on me for a few long seconds but then he returned to his own cases.
I found the file I had been reading this morning. The People versus John Sebastion Ross. Time to find out what the hell’s going on, I thought.
MORE FROM C.L. STEGALL
The Waif's Tale Page 25
