Sasha McCandless 02 - Inadvertent Disclosure

by Melissa F. Miller

Over dinner, she had gently probed to see if Gloria had any idea why someone would have come into her office and gone through her drawers after hours. The secretary claimed to have no idea what the searcher could have been looking for. She also had no thoughts as to who would have known when she left for the evening and said she hadn’t seen anyone on her way out.

  Her purported ignorance might have been believable, if she hadn’t stared unblinkingly at the table the entire time she spoke. And, if her hands hadn’t been shaking so hard that her china teacup clattered against the saucer when she reached for her after dinner coffee.

  Even her husband had noticed. While Connelly was helping Gloria clear the table, Jonas had pulled Sasha into the doorway near the servants’ stairs and whispered, “I’ll talk to her about the break in. She’s just scared. Maybe in shock.”

  Sasha had just nodded. She didn’t doubt that he was right, but she was going to need the woman to come clean. And soon.

  Now, she looked at Connelly. “Oh, she’s definitely holding something back,” she agreed. “Of course,” she added, sipping her wine, “she’s not the only one.”

  Connelly held her gaze but his right cheek twitched, just barely, under his eye. He was quiet for a long moment.

  Then he said, “You mean about Danny Trees, I take it?”

  She arched a brow in response.

  Connelly rested his glass on the side table and interlaced his fingers. “All I can tell you is . . . I can’t tell you anything.”

  Sasha put down her glass, too. “You can’t tell me what? Whether there was a hit in the database or what it said?”

  “Either.”

  She rubbed her temple with both handed. “Can you tell me that there wasn’t a hit?”

  “I cannot. The information came back with a classification level that requires me to demonstrate my need to know it. I don’t have a legitimate need to know. And you don’t have a security clearance. I’m sorry, Sasha, but you need to consider it a dead end.” His voice was firm.

  She felt her temper rising but exhaled and tamped it down. After all, he had taken a risk even running the account. She couldn’t ask him to divulge something the government had decided was top secret.

  “Okay, fine. I’m just going to say something, and you should feel free to comment on the wisdom of my plan, okay? My current operating theory is that either Jay, acting alone, or PORE is behind Judge Paulson’s murder.”

  If Danny Trees was involved in something bad enough that Connelly couldn’t even give her a hint, well, then, she’d make his organization her number one suspect until someone better came along.

  Connelly smiled. “Nice try. I have no views about your plan, Madam Special Prosecutor.”

  He said the title with deliberate emphasis, and she couldn’t help giggle.

  As much as she wanted to be back in Pittsburgh, back in her comfort zone, the Chief Justice of the Pennsylvania Supreme Court and the Attorney General had dropped an amazing opportunity in her lap. She had no intention of squandering it.

  CHAPTER 19

  The Hole in the Wall Bar

  Firetown, Pennsylvania

  10:30 p.m.

  Bob Griggs gulped his draft beer. He wanted to get this over with and get the hell out of town before any of the yokels lining the bar recognized him from television. For now, he’d settle for staying upwind of Stickley. Next to him, the sheriff was nursing his sweating bottle of Bud.

  “What were you thinking, Bob, appointing that girl as Special Prosecutor?”

  They’d been over this. He wasn't any happier about the appointment of a special prosecutor than the sheriff, but he had decided to look on the bright side. Bob believed in the power of positive thinking.

  "It was out of my hands. That old coot Bermann wasn't going to sit by and do nothing in the face of a murdered judge, much less one who was his friend. Look at it this way, that girl, as you call her, doesn’t know the local ropes. She’s not going to be able to identify the players, let alone piece together the action. If you’re smart, you’ll drop a few hints and lead her down a garden path.”

  Stickley chewed the inside of his cheek and thought it over. He reminded Bob of a cow working on some cud.

  Bob shook his head at himself for the image. He needed to start thinking in a more sophisticated manner, like an urbanite. That farmer shit might play around here, but he needed to move beyond the local voters and set his sights on the urban voters in Philly and Pittsburgh, who probably couldn’t tell a cow from a horse. After all, he had plans beyond the AG’s office. And, with enough money and well-placed friends, maybe even beyond the commonwealth.

  Finally, Stickley nodded, “I have an idea.”

  Bob cut him off before he could share his brilliant insight. “Great. Take care of it. After a respectable amount of time, I’ll shut down her investigation for lack of results. Bermann won’t dare interfere. He wouldn’t want to be accused of overstepping and meddling with an issue that’s solidly in the purview of the Attorney General’s Office.”

  “What about the other thing?”

  Bob resisted the urge to strangle the putrid law enforcement officer beside him. He counted to ten silently, then pasted on his politician smile.

  “You’re the sheriff, Carl. Surely you can take care of it.”

  Stickley stared at him. Bob stared back.

  He wasn’t about to explicitly tell the idiot to break the law. For all he knew, Stickley was playing both sides of this thing. Lord knew Shelly and Heather were working multiple angles.

  If those two airheaded bimbos had just listened to him and kept it simple, they wouldn’t have all these problems. There was plenty of money in shaking down the oil and gas companies. More than enough, as far as he was concerned. But, not for those two. No, they had to have a piece of all the action. And a brain-dead sheriff on the payroll.

  He drained his mug and slammed it down on the bar. He peeled a twenty off the roll in his money clip and tossed it down beside the mug.

  “I’ve got to get back to Harrisburg. Have another one on me.”

  He slapped the sheriff on the shoulder and hurried to the door.

  * * * * * * * * * *

  Carl watched the door swing shut behind Griggs. He was a piece of work, Carl thought. Typical politician; all he wanted to do was glad hand everyone and take all the credit. The actual work? That all fell to Carl.

  What had he been thinking, getting in bed with, not one, but two pols?

  The bartender came over to scoop up the twenty and wipe down the bar with his dirty rag. He gave a nod to the door, “That who I think it was, Sheriff?”

  “I dunno, Mikey. Do you think it was a dumbshit politician?”

  Mikey roared with laughter, then motioned toward the Bud. “You want another?”

  Carl nodded. Might as well.

  As he twisted off the cap, the bartender commented, “It’s a shame about Judge Paulson, huh?”

  “Sure is. God rest his soul.”

  They fell silent for a minute.

  Then, Mikey asked, “Got any leads? I heard it looked like a hunter picked him off. Maybe somebody riled up about the Shale?”

  Carl took his time answering. “Not exactly sure. But Danny Trees and his hippies have been getting violent lately. They attacked some lawyer lady last week. Might have a talk with them in the morning.”

  Mikey cocked his head, “That so? Doesn’t sound like Danny. He’s a squirrelly kid, but a lot of the guys think he’s right on about the drilling.”

  Carl nodded. Hunters didn’t much like running across the tanks and capped wells on their favorite spots. And fishermen swore the trout tasted off now. Danny had been smart to get them on his side.

  “Like I said, I’m not sure what’s going on. Now listen, that was just between us, right?”

  Mikey agreed right away.

  They both knew Mikey wouldn’t keep his trap shut. He manned a bar. He offered cold drinks and fresh gossip. That was fine by Carl. All part of the plan.r />
  CHAPTER 20

  Judge Paulson’s apartment

  Tuesday, 1:15 a.m.

  Sasha started awake.

  Her arm jerked out to her side and into a pile of warm fur. Sir Thomas More was curled into a ball next to her. He didn’t move.

  She lay still, listening to her heart pound. She turned her head to the side and saw Connelly, splayed across the bed on his stomach, with Atticus Finch perched on his back. Connelly breathed deeply, and the cat rose and fell in a hump with each breath.

  She squinted into the dark. Without her contact lenses, the numbers on Judge Paulson’s alarm clock on the dresser across the room were just a luminescent blur.

  She rolled on to her side and resettled into a comfortable position. Just as she was drifting off to sleep again, she heard the clang of metal hitting metal.

  That was the noise that had awakened her, she realized. She raised herself on her elbows and scanned the room. She couldn’t remember anything in the apartment that would make that sound.

  Clang.

  It was outside. Maybe a wind chime or a metal trash can banging around.

  Clang. Louder this time.

  Disoriented from sleep and wine and unfamiliar with her surroundings, it took another minute before she realized what she was hearing. The sound of shoes scraping across the metal stairs outside. Someone was coming.

  She reached over and shook Connelly. He moaned but didn’t wake. She shook him harder, dislodging the cat, who rewarded her with a hiss before settling in where he landed.

  “Connelly,” she whispered, “there’s someone outside on the stairs.”

  He was wide awake in an instant. He sat upright and reached for the lamp on the bedside table.

  “Wait,” Sasha said, putting a hand on his arm to stop him. “If you turn it on, we’re on display. We won’t be able to see out.”

  Connelly nodded. “Okay. I stowed my gun in the bathroom closet. You cover the door. I’ll be right back.”

  He swung his legs around and silently rose from the bed in boxers and a t-shirt. He stepped into the sweatpants lying on the floor and made his way down the darkened hallway.

  Sasha threw off the blanket and crept toward the door.

  Judging by the clanging, their visitor had neared the top of the stairs. Sasha pressed herself against the wall and peeked through heavy drapes that covered the window beside the door. She couldn’t see a thing.

  Her glasses were on the dresser, next to the alarm clock. Presumably, whoever was coming would break the glass in the door, which would slow him down for a minute or two.

  She raced over, grabbed the glasses, and jammed them onto her face. She blinked as her eyes adjusted and took up a position behind the door.

  But, she’d been wrong. The dark shape now stood on the other side of the door wasn’t intent on breaking the glass. He was jiggling a key in the doorknob.

  Connelly returned, his Glock in his hand.

  “Wait!” she hissed. “He has a key. What if it’s the judge’s son?”

  She had no idea how long it would it take for the military to notify him or if he would have been given leave to attend his father’s funeral. But if it was the son, shooting him seemed like a spectacularly bad idea.

  “What if it’s not?” Connelly whispered back, but he lowered the gun to his side.

  Sasha shrugged.

  The key turned in the lock.

  Curious about all the activity, Sir Thomas More picked that moment to lunge at the windowsill. He missed and hit the floor with a loud thump. His tail smacked against the cord to the drapes and the round plastic end piece swung wildly against the window, hammering out a loud rapping noise.

  The figure in the doorway had just twisted the knob to open the door. At the sound, he backed out and pulled the door shut.

  “Go!” Connelly yelled, but she was already going.

  She yanked the door open and raced out into the chilly night air.

  The man was already more than a third of the way down the stairs, not worrying about the noise, clattering in a hurry.

  She took off after him, the metal cold on her bare feet. She could hear Connelly running hard right behind her.

  At about the halfway point, the shadowy figure turned to see how close she was. Then he jumped to the bottom, landed in a heap on the concrete pad, and rolled. He got to his feet and took off into the alley.

  Sasha flew down the remaining stairs and through the yard. She lost sight of him as he passed through the high bushes that lined the alley, but she kept running. When she reached the end of the crushed stone alley, she stopped. He was gone.

  Leo came up behind her, gun drawn.

  “Did you see his face?”

  She shook her head. Then, she reached out and held his forearm to steady herself, while she picked the sharp stones out of first one bare foot and then the other. She shivered in her thin shirt and yoga pants.

  “We lost him. Let’s go back.”

  * * * * * * * * * *

  It was two in the morning, but trying to get back to sleep would be futile. Adrenaline rushed through both their bodies. Sasha made a pot of coffee, while Connelly rummaged around in the judge’s refrigerator.

  “I could do omelets,” he said over his shoulder.

  “I’m not really hungry, but feel free if you want one.”

  He closed the refrigerator and joined her at the counter. “No, I guess I’m just looking for something to do.”

  They spoke in low whispers.

  No lights had come on in the house below during the commotion. The Burkes, in their bedroom in the front of the house, had managed to sleep through the racket. There was no point in waking them now.

  They toyed with the idea of calling 911, but given that the Sheriff’s Office hadn’t turned over the investigation into the judge’s death, Sasha was pretty sure the state trooper on duty would take a report of an attempted break in at the judge’s residence and dump it right back on the Sheriff’s Office.

  They’d just end up with Stickley—or more likely, Russell—showing up and waking the Burkes.

  No, they agreed, it was better to just hold tight and deal with it in the morning. Whoever he was, he wouldn’t be coming back tonight.

  While the coffeemaker hissed and steamed and worked its magic, Sasha examined the set of keys that Connelly had taken from the doorknob. Their visitor had left them dangling from the lock in his hurry.

  There were five brass keys on the chain. No tag or charm. One key obviously fit the outside door. She tested them and found that another worked the lock on the door leading from the apartment to the third floor of the house. They agreed a third probably worked the front door of the house.

  Sasha retrieved from her bag the keys that Gloria had lent her. The two remaining keys matched the keys to Gloria’s office and to Judge Paulson’s chambers.

  “So, these have to be Judge Paulson’s keys, right?” she said, more to herself than to Connelly.

  “I don’t know who else’s they could be,” he agreed.

  He reached over her head and brought down two ceramic mugs from the cabinet. They drank their coffee in silence.

  * * * * * * * * * *

  Five hours later, after Sasha and Connelly had done a little sparring and had worked through Connelly’s morning asanas, they went out and stood on the small metal balcony to watch the sun rise.

  Sasha rested her head against Connelly’s chest and willed herself to focus on the moment: the pale orange sun, the pink streaks in the gray sky, the call of a bird. But her mind refused to be still.

  Not long after the sky lightened, the Burke household hummed to life. Doors banged shut and water burbled through the pipes.

  They hurried down to the kitchen, where they found Gloria making oatmeal. The running shower meant Jonas would be unavailable for at least several minutes.

  As Gloria turned from the stove to greet them and offer them breakfast, Sasha dangled the keychain directly in front of her surpr
ised face. “Do you recognize this?”

  She recoiled but took the key ring from Sasha's hand and held it between two fingers, keeping her arm rigid and away from her body, like she had a dead mouse by the tail. "Yes, this is the judge's. It used to have a silver doodad on the end, but it fell off and rolled under his desk over a month ago, way back by the wall where he couldn’t reach it. Where did you get this?"

  Her back was pressed against her kitchen counter, and Sasha could see her leaning into it. Maybe to keep her knees from buckling. Sasha glanced over at Connelly to try to read his face; as usual, it was impassive.

  "In the lock on Judge's Paulson's outside door," she said. "Someone tried to get in last night, after one a.m."

  She was watching Gloria's face, so she didn't see her sway.

  Connelly did, though, and he eased the woman into a kitchen chair before she could fall.

  "Are you okay? Can I get you a glass of water?" Connelly asked in a gentle voice.

  "Yes, please." She adjusted the collar of her blouse with trembling hands.

  Sasha walked over and crouched beside the chair. She looked up at the secretary for a minute before speaking.

  "I need you to tell me what you know."

  Gloria took the glass of water from Connelly without breaking eye contact with Sasha.

  She took a long, slow sip, then said, "Okay. Deputy Russell took the keys from the judge's office yesterday. I guess they were in the judge's pocket and when he . . . his body . . . they must have tumbled out. They were on the floor beside him. How? Why would . . .” Her voice trailed off.

  Sasha’s stomach seized. Russell? She had him pegged as an ally.

  “Gloria,” she said, careful about how she phrased the question. “Who knew I’d be staying at the judge’s apartment?”

  Gloria thought about it. “Well, there was no one else around when I told you about the apartment. We were in chambers, right?”

  “Right,” Sasha agreed. “And Deputy Russell had already left for the day.”