Anthony DePaul Copyright  2005 by Anthony DePaul

Chapter Five

The tree-lined street was empty except for a lone man walking his dog on the opposite side of the street. No cars were parked within fifty yards of Linc’s home. A halogen light flooded the manicured lawn surrounded by azalea bushes that brushed against the front of the house. Its red light blinking, a patrol car guarded the sidewalk. Two officers, one black and one white, both with hands on their holstered firearms, approached Dorian as he parked his X series Jaguar behind them.

The police officers motioned him to stay put.

“Roll down your window,” ordered the white cop, a block of granite named Hennessey who Dorian knew was a protégé of ML’s. His roseate complexion signaled a man who likes his whiskey neat and plentiful.

The black cop approached Dorian’s car from the passenger side. His ample belly preceded him by a good two feet. The nametag hung on the read “Groome”. A cigar stuffed the right side of Groome’s mouth. The odor reeked of a cheap, drug store brand.

“I am Dorian Wilde. The Mayor is expecting me.”

“Show I D,” said Hennessey.

Dorian opened his wallet. “Here’s my drivers license. Can you read it in the dark?”

The policeman snatched the license, read it and flung it in Dorian’s face. “Step outside,” said Hennessey.

Groome circled the car and frisked him roughly. Dorian was surprised at Groome’s ability to reach down to ankle length and still get up in one motion.

“Don’t squeeze the Charmin,” said Dorian.

Groome blew a puff of smoke in his face. “No jokes, Wilde. I know all about you and I don’t like what I heard so shut up. He’s clean.”

Hennessey yanked Dorian’s arm and escorted him along a brick pathway to the front door. Hennessey looked like ML ten years ago. The light showered Dorian like a fluorescent overhead in a police interview room. Hennessey hulked over him like an ogre stalking a defenseless child.

He can probably bench press me.

Hennessey did not ring the doorbell. He used a cellular radio. “Mr. Miles. Wilde is here.”

The door swung open and Hennessey shoved Dorian through the doorway into an enclosed vestibule. A buzzer zapped and the inner door slid open. Lincoln sat in a lounge chair at the far end of the living room, opposite a stone fireplace that stretched to the corner of a vaulted ceiling. Pictures of Martin Luther King and John F. Kennedy book ended the mantle piece.

Linc looked sullen, annoyed at Dorian’s presence. The designer jeans clung to Linc’s long legs while the grey turtleneck hung loosely across his chest.

Estelle sat on a vintage Ethan Allen sofa across from Lincoln, her hands folded around a brandy snifter in the lap of her baggy slacks. Her breasts strained against a tight, v- neck blouse that showed far too much cleavage for a First Lady.

“Welcome, Dorian.” said Lincoln without rising.

“How’s Alice?” asked Estelle who also stayed seated.

Dorian did not shed his leather jacket. “She is well. How are you two?”

Estelle’s chin dipped. “Fine!”

“Sit down,” said Lincoln. “And tell me all about this supposed plot to do away with old Linc.”

The fire crackled as a log split and fell beneath the grate. Dorian sensed a whiff of marijuana from the fireplace. Their wedding picture centered the mantelpiece.

“Put another log on would you please, Baby,” said Linc.

“Sure,” said Estelle. ”I’ll do whatever the master of the house wants me to do.”

The lamps atop each end table cast a low, dim light that annoyed Dorian. The scene was set to show that the Miles home was a warm, comfortable nest. But Dorian knew Lincoln was as domestic as a Hollywood celebrity on a vacation. Dorian handed Lincoln the email from Spaventa.

“Read this memo. The man who sent it was a friend of mine and a top-notch police officer. He was murdered within the past twenty four hours.”

Lincoln read the email as did Estelle standing over his shoulder.

Linc set the memo on the coffee table. “Do you believe this?”

Dorian nodded. “I researched the key elements of the memo. I also knew Spaventa. He was a levelheaded cop who knew his business. I am a betting man so I’d say it is very likely true.”

Linc let out a low whistle. “Damn! Who the hell are the bad guys?”

Dorian was afraid of electronic bugs but he feared time was of the essence so he spoke in a clear voice like a stage actor trying to reach the back row of the balcony. “Maybe it is ML or Marian or Grace or Nate or all of them or someone else behind the scenes.”

Linc sat up. He rubbed his eyes like a man awakening from a hang over. “So you want me to believe that the top officials in the City are part of some conspiracy to take over the City? I know these people. I can’t believe it’s true.”

Estelle sat on the arm of Linc’s recliner. She patted his arm. “Dorian is an expert. Listen to him.”

Linc brushed her hand aside. “I do not need to be reminded about Dorian’s investigative ability. He hounded me enough. He tried to railroad my ass on a real estate deal so why do you come to me now? What is in it for you? A fat fee?”

Dorian took a deep breath to keep his temper. “Forget the past. If you want to stay alive, find a way to protect yourself and our City. Good-bye.”

Dorian turned but Linc called out, “Wait!”

Linc sat forward. “What do you suggest that I do?”

Dorian shouted as if they were listening and hoped they were tuned in. “Fire them all.”

Lincoln laughed aloud, “Ridiculous! I’d look like a fool. First I appoint them and then I fire them based on some half ass story from a dead dago cop.”

Estelle paced around the room. “My instincts tell me that you should listen to Dorian.”

Lincoln threw up his arms like a preacher delivering a sermon.

“Instinct! Feminine intuition! Uncorroborated facts! You want me to undo the management team of this City based on such nonsense. This has been a waste of time.”

Dorian fumed. He should have known Lincoln listens to no one. “Hey, it’s your call. Stand pat. If no one kills you in the next month, then I’m wrong. If you wind up dead, you won’t have to apologize to me and Estelle will be a widow.”

Lincoln twisted his lips into an ironic smile. “Wifey here may like that.”

Estelle exploded off the chair. Quivering, she looked at Dorian for understanding. “Lincoln! How dare you!” she said.

Dorian spread his arms wide. “I warned you. I am done!”

Lincoln buzzed the vestibule door open. “Don’t let the door hit you in your pompous ass,” said Lincoln.

Dorian froze in his tracks. “If I were you Estelle, I’d up his life insurance policy.”

Lincoln slapped the arms of his chair. “Yeah, Do that. Call Nate Stern. He handles the Insurance for the whole City. Go ahead. He’ll underwrite old Lincoln. In fact, I bet Nate has a policy on you with his name on the beneficiary line.”

Dorian closed the door to Lincoln’s derisive laughter.

So what else does Nate do for a living that the City pays for?
From the radio signal transmitted by the bugs implanted in the lampshade of each end table, Il Segreto listened intently to the conversation between Dorian, Linc and Estelle. Perhaps Lincoln’s arrogance will turn off Dorian. Estelle bore watching. Il Segreto did not like surprises. Alice, Estelle and Dorian were loose cannons. One cannot kill them all. There has to be a way to discredit them. Il Segreto settled into a reverie. A plan inched into conception. Thank the fates that Talarico was at hand to carry out the wishes of the Triangle of the Philadelphes.
The Atlantic City Casinos offered Alice a safe haven from Dorian who detested them and to her friends who would rather drive down the coast to Ocean City or Avalon and talk about how property values had soared during the past ten years. To Alice, winning money was far more entertaining than earning it. Though she loved blackjack, the IQ of amateurs who took a hit on sixteen when the dealer showed a five drove her to play three-card poker, a game in which your hand is not subject to outside influences. And it paid bonuses. On Sunday nights, the crowds thinned to hard-core players and locals who hated playing at the same tables as the “Shoobies”, people who took the bus to the shore and carried their lunch in shoeboxes.

She peeked at her first two cards and prayed the third was a third six. The dealer, a pretty oriental woman in her thirties, flipped over her cards. “Three sixes! The devil’s number.”

Alice laughed. “Six hundred my way! The devil made me do it!”

The rest of the table players cheered her. The cocktail waitress handed her a scotch and Alice slipped her a red five-dollar chip.

Ten minutes later, scotch in hand, she drifted onto the Boardwalk outside the Hilton. The ocean charged the beach so hard that the waves cracked against the boardwalk and on to the edges at her feet. The cold air cleared her mind. She’d sleep alone tonight in a bed as a cold as the winter air.

Just as a wave pounded the boards below, her cell phone rang. The caller ID read “E Miles.”

“Hello Estelle.”

Estelle was sobbing. “He hit me,” she said. “He was pissed at Dorian and high on weed. He hurt me. Oh, God. I could kill him!”

Alice shook the phone wishing she could strangle Linc. “File a complaint! Mayor or not, he has no right to assault you. I’ll personally serve the warrant.”

Estelle’s sobbing eased. “He is mad at you too! Linc is going to get Marian to fire you. God, what a mess! I hope nobody shoots the bastard before I do.”

An icy, seaward wind whipped across the boardwalk. Alice hunched her shoulders. She was afraid if she went inside, she’d lose Estelle. “Tell me about Dorian’s visit.”

When Estelle finished, Alice shook her fist. “He did it on purpose!”

“Did what? Try to get you fired?”

“No. He warned Lincoln and told him to can his staff to scare him.”

Estelle’s sobs fully abated. “Lincoln is mad not scared.”

Alice edged toward the shelter of the casino. The bright lights beckoned for one more hour of cards in a warm place where she could shut out the world. “I have to go now Estelle. If you want to bunk with me, I’ll be home in an hour and a half.”

“Where are you?”

“I’m on the AC boardwalk freezing my ass off. Come stay with me.”

Estelle’s voice cracked. “I can’t. If I leave him, he’ll come after me. The Press will stir up all the usual racial shit. I’ll be okay.”

Alice cringed whenever an abusive man victimized a woman, especially a wife. “If you change your mind, call me. If he hits you, I will come over and confront him. Oh, has he hit you before tonight?”

“Yes. A couple of times.”

Alarm bells rang in Alice’s head. “Did you ever report it?”

“Twice! Each time ML came to the house and persuaded me to not press charges.”

Alice added Estelle’s words as if they were blackjack cards. “No wonder ML got the Chief of Police job. Lock yourself in the spare bedroom.”

“I will take my gun. I’ll put it under my pillow. If he comes near me, I’ll kill him.”

Alice believed her. “Goodnight, Estelle.”

“Goodnight. Thanks for listening. Oh, you should get out of the night air, mother-to-be before you catch a cold. It’s not healthy.”

“Neither is living with Lincoln Miles. Again, good night,” said Alice.

She reentered the casino. The crowd at the craps table went wild as a young woman dressed to the nines in a black cocktail dress that showed R rated cleavage rolled the dice.

“Eleven! That’s a Yo,” said the croupier. “Pay the table fifteen to one!” The uproar drowned the buzz in her ear but only for a moment. It was time to go home.

Alice’s BMW sailed up the Atlantic City Expressway in the left lane at eighty with no State troopers on her radar screen. Estelle was once a proud and strong woman who led “NOW” marches. How did she become so cowed?

An hour later, the Philadelphia skyline shimmered in a haze. Alice always loved the view of the City from the Walt Whitman Bridge. Center City’s skyscrapers, etched in brilliant lights, cut into the night. Dorian’s penthouse towered on top of the eastern most of the three towers glimmering high above the east side of the City. He was probably asleep.

Alone, I hope.

The morning would bring a meeting with Marian to follow up on the call from Estelle. Better that she approach Marian before Lincoln. As she entered the empty, windswept streets, she thought of her father. He died at night on these streets when a drunk driver plowed into him. That was a random act. Or was it? Was there such a thing as a random murder? If so, no one lives according to a plan. No one.

He shifted from his hunched position in the bushes behind her house as she slowly made her way into the rear of the colonial style, brick town house. The alley was empty so he inched closer. Her upstairs lights went on. No doubt it was her bedroom, a room he’d share with her soon. The homes behind her home were dark so he scaled a spiked, wrought iron fence and stood on a patio table. Her drapes were parted a sliver. She undressed down to her panties. She combed her long hair. Each stroke quickened his pulse. Il Segreto had promised him a gem and Il Segreto never failed to keep a promise.

Domani mio amore.

Chapter Six

The cold, windowless, cinder block walls were sound proofed. A ventilator kept the air fresh and the room cool so the servers ran twenty four by seven and never needed maintenance. Lincoln’s words about Nate Stern insuring the City haunted him. How much influence did Nate have in the City? Too much money means too much power in one man’s hands.

During his days as head of the City’s elite surveillance unit, Dorian embedded himself as an authorized user in the City’s well-protected computer system. When he resigned to start his own PI firm, he logged out but not before he reprogrammed the security code to allow him full administrative access to all files and data bases under the user name “The Philadelphia Detective.” He ran a search of the insurance files. One Company came up consistently- the Maccabees. He’d never heard of the company though he was familiar with the history of the brave Jewish soldiers who fought the Romans. He did a google search. The Maccabees were a secret insurance society founded to protect Jews. They were founded in Philadelphia at the turn of the twentieth century. There was no mention of a local chapter or the name Stern. He shifted to a search of the City’s files of approved vendors and made a hit. The Maccabees were listed with the President as Nate Stern and the agent of record as Joseph Goodway. So that is how Goodway made his money!

The Maccabees insured all City employees for Life, Health and Accident. He ran a search of the property files on Licenses and Inspections. Stern owned over four hundred properties and the property insurance agent was Joseph Goodway.

He launched a search on the key words “Grace Lord” and “Maccabees” but struck out. He checked the marital records of Marian Hallberg and Joseph Goodway. They’d married in a civil ceremony in nineteen seventy-six. Marian had to file a tax return to run for DA. He accessed the file as a public record. The file did not show income from Goodway. Why? There was no conflict of interest especially if all of the business was awarded on an open bid. Or was it sole sourced? He had to search all of the City’s databases. He launched a search through his special “ferret” search engine on the key words “Maccabees,” “Goodway”, “Stern”, “Grace Lord” and “Hallberg”.

Dorian’s head spun. He called Alice’s cell phone but got the voice mailbox.

“Alice, please call me. I have a lot of new information I need to share with you about Stern and Goodway and Marian. It’s important. We also need to talk about our other problem. Please call me.”

In desperate need of coffee, Dorian reset the biometric lock for the cage and headed up the fire stairs to his office. The aroma of fresh brewed coffee signaled that his administrative helper, right arm and second best friend, Sophie was in.

He hired Sophie because he intuitively trusted her. And she and he both understood the kindness and evils of being reared by strangers.

“Hello, Boss”, she said as he opened the door. Sophie stood at his desk in the inner office. She was arranging the mail from Saturday and a pile of faxes from his field agents. She’d streaked her hair blonde, a sure sign that she’d found another younger boy friend. The red circles around her eyes and the glow of her face spoke volumes about her weekend.

“Hi Doll. Did you corrupt another nice Jewish boy this week?”

Sophie puffed out her ample chest. “God gave me tools. Who am I not to use them? How is Alice?”

Dorian poured a cup of coffee into an Eagles mug. “She left me!”

Sophie shook her head and shoulders like she’d been chilled by a cold wind. “What! Are you two nuts! You split up like it’s an act of faith. What happened? Better still, what did you do or say to piss her off?”

Dorian laced the coffee with half and half creamer. “I am going to be a father.”

Sophie clutched the Star of David that hung across her chest. “You’re shitting me! You got more surprises than a circus! Is this real or one of your not so funny jokes?”

Dorian eased into his swivel chair. “It’s real! I am going to be or not be a daddy.”

Sophie sat opposite him and studied the far wall for a moment.

“What does that mean?”

Dorian sipped the coffee and wished he hadn’t. The creamer tasted sour. “Maybe she keeps the baby, maybe she does not.”

Sophie sighed. “She’s confused, the poor thing, isn’t she? I’ve lived on the same street.”

Dorian set the coffee aside. He needed a brandy. “She is almost as confused as me. I need to change the topic or I will go crazy. Tell me what you know about a Jewish Insurance Company called the Maccabees.”

Sophie scratched her head. “That is a name out of the past. My father and all the old mensches called them the saviors. They protected us from the loony tunes that blamed us for killing Christ two thousand years ago. They were mainly insurance people but sometimes they got physical if one of us got pushed around.”

Dorian nodded. “I see. How physical?”

Sophie rocked her shoulders from side to side. “Not so they’d kill somebody but they’d send a message. Maybe they’d break a bone or two. Why are you asking?”

Dorian tapped his fingertip on the desktop as he tried to sort out the scramble in his brain. “Is my old friend Nate Stern a Maccabee?”

Sophie rubbed her nose. “Maybe. I can ask old lady Hersh. She’d know. She’s ninety six and still kicks ass at mah-jongg every Tuesday at the Jewish Center.”

Dorian wagged a finger at Sophie. “I thought you were the mah-jongg champion of the world. Imagine a fox like you losing to an old lady! Ask her what she knows about Joseph Goodway.”

Sophie folded her arms. “The old lady cheats and we let her. Who’s Goodway?”

Dorian feigned shock by clasping his hand over his heart. “Impossible! He’s Marian Hallberg’s goyim husband.”

Sophie shook her head. “He can be her Italian stallion but I never heard of him.”

Dorian poured the coffee into a planter.

“That causes fleas,” said Sophie.

Dorian tossed the cup. “Better in the plant than in my stomach. Okay. I’m working on a new case. A pro bono case for a man named Spaventa. He was murdered in Italy Friday. Set up a file so there is a record.”

Sophie’s eyes narrowed like a mother who is worried her child is keeping a secret. “What’s going on that you can tell me about Alice but not about a murder that happened five thousand miles away?”

Dorian handed her Spaventa’s email. “Read this and put it in the safety deposit box at the bank.”

Sophie turned white as she read the email. “Holy shit! Can this be true?”

“Yes. I want you to call Stern’s office. I need to see him today. Then call Goodway and Grace Lord. Here is a script I want you to quote to each of them. The message will convince them that I have important information that I cannot discuss over the phone.”

Sophie read the notes. “You don’t care who you piss off do you? I’ll call Mrs. Hersh too. She remembers Calvin Coolidge. She thought he was sexy.”

Dorian called up the server from his desktop PC. The search was still in progress. So he added the keywords “Lincoln Miles” to the search. He signed checks and approved bills for payment for an hour.

Sophie knocked on the door. “Stern will see you at two in his office. Goodway is booked for four in his office. Grace Lord is good to go at six in her office in City Hall. They all got your meaning loud and clear. If you had as much brains as you have balls, you’d be another Bill Gates. By the way, Mrs. Hersh knew Stern as a boy. Goodway too. Seems they both went to Penn on scholarships from the Maccabees. She remembered because her dumber than wood son Jacob did not get a scholarship while the two schmarter immigrants got a free pass to Penn. “

So did Hallberg and Lord.

“Great info. Anything else about their history?”

Sophie sat down. She leaned forward and whispered. “The old lady said that Goodway was a gentile and she could not understand how he got the approval from the Maccabees. I will dig into the Maccabees for you.”

Dorian felt a twinge of concern that Sophie might get caught in La Camorra’s sights. “Do it but be careful. These people run this City along with ML McLain.”

Sophie rubbed both arms. “That ogre scares me to my toes. He arrested my black friend Elsie for jay walking Broad Street. She spent a half hour in the back of a paddy wagon with two of his men. One was a real ghoul with holes in his face.”

Dorian whispered knowingly and scared, “Pocky! The other was probably Pugface.”

Sophie studied him as if to offer a silent warning. “Whoever. They belong in a horror movie.”

“Yes. One produced by the Philadelphes. Thanks.”

Sophie squeezed his wrist. “I know better than to tell you to back off but be careful. These bastards are crazy.”

Dorian patted her hand. “So am I. I can’t wait to see Stern.”

Sophie rose and straightened her skirt. “I can think of better ways to spend an afternoon.”

Dorian waved her to the door. “Get out of here you hotty.”

Dorian checked the search. A new linkage showed up. Lincoln Miles and Goodway and Stern shared Board of Director seats at a Bermuda based company he’d never heard of called, “The International Financial Group” He launched a new search on International Financial Group. The report came back. IFG was based in Bermuda but it had an office in Naples, Italy. Two hours from now, he and Nate were going to have a very interesting discussion.

Dorian downloaded listening probe and recording software to a half dozen microchips. He daubed each chip with a needle laced with adhesive and placed them in tiny, clear bags.

Never let the fox into the whorehouse.
Alice scurried through the front door of the four story Criminal Justice Building two minutes before her allotted time to present an argument before the Grand Jury to indict local drug kingpin Moses Powell on drug dealing charges and conspiracy to murder one of his mules who kept a half ounce of cocaine for herself. The woman’s body was found stuffed upside down in a trashcan. She’d been raped and sodomized with a tire iron that was still inside her when the cops found her. The crime scene pictures clung to her memory as though they were glued on. Moses could scare Superman.

Her heels clicked as she stomped up the stairs to the second floor. The court officer grimaced as he opened the door. “Judge Moon is pissed that you’re late.”

She rushed ahead mindful that Moon took no prisoners for either side of the law. “No shit!”

She made a beeline for the prosecutor’s table the courtroom, oblivious to the large crowd of observers and reporters. She plopped her briefcase on the table just as Judge Daniel Moon motioned her forward. The mahogany paneled walls echoed the murmurs of the onlookers. The high ceiling somehow seemed too low for the noisy room. The Jury sat stone faced probably feeling slighted by her tardiness. She was a step out of sync before she’d said a word. She pulled out her brief. “Yes Your Honor.”

Moon was a new appointee but the avowed born again former minister was a black Judge that black criminals feared.

“Did you come in late to blow this case?” he whispered.

“I am sorry, Judge. I am ready to proceed.”

The Judge adjusted his thick glasses below his thinning hair, streaked on each side with white, pointy lines. He snorted, “You better be ready.”

Alice caught her breath and began her evidentiary disclosure statement. She talked forcefully with conviction and logic and painted a vision of hell on the streets.

“Moses defaced an already disgraced and tortured child of nineteen. Imagine your own daughter or niece jammed head first into a filthy trashcan. Her family lives with the horror. Give the State a chance to make the monster pay. Indict him, please for all of our safety.”

No one appreciated her commanding performance more than the man wearing a black fedora hat and thin, European style sunglasses.

The hearing ended with an indictment. Judge Moon nodded to her, a sign that despite his legendary judicial fairness, he was happy with the indictment. The cameras flash bulbs popped. The victim’s family screamed, “Praise Jesus!”

Moses pounded the table. His fierce eyes fixed on Alice. “It ain’t over lady. It ain’t over!”

Alice hid her fear. “See you in Court, Moses,” she said.

Alice exited by a side door while the courtroom cleared.
Talarico elbowed his way to the door and rushed down the stairs. Talarico admired her intellect and spirit. Most women he’d enjoyed were simple-minded creatures, street urchins incapable of appreciating a man of his caliber. The black man on trial snarled at Alice as though he was a bear eager to feast on her bones. Talarico vowed to protect her from the bear. She was his quarry and no one would ruin his feast.

Outside, he scanned the mid morning street. There she was, her red hair flowing like a filly’s mane in the sunlight as she walked up Arch Street. He scampered after her until he was nearly upon her. His chest pounded as he gently tugged on her coat sleeve. “Pardon me, Miss Rowe.”

“Who are you?”

Talarico feigned a cough. “Excuse me. I am a citizen. I wanted to thank you for putting that savage away.”

Alice turned so her hazel green eyes caught his hidden by the sunglasses. His mouth dropped open. His groin stirred like he was a young boy chasing girls in the foothills of Italy. The whiff of her perfume tickled his nostrils wide.

“Moses is only going to trial not to jail. I have a job to do so excuse me while I go back to work.”

She wheeled away and disappeared into the office building.

Talarico turned up the collar of his coat, turned west and strode into the wind, anxious for Il Segreto’s plan to unfold.

“Pronto, Bella mio.”
Drained by dealing with Moses and a sleepless night, Alice collapsed in her chair. Her phone message light blinked but she needed ten minutes of peace before she answered any calls or the yellow post-it note on her desk from Marian that read, “See me! Urgent.”

She kicked off her shoes and rested her stocking feet on the open bottom desk drawer. Her mother’s legs swelled when she bore Alice so much that they never shrank to their normal size.

The funny old man on the street amused her. If Dorian ever spoke to her again, she’d have to tease him that the first time she was stalked was when she was pregnant.

The overhead light flickered above her desk piled high with manila folders, scraps of paper, yellow note pads and a PC full of unanswered emails. She nodded off, thankful for a moment of silence.

“Didn’t you get my message?” asked Marian framed in the door.

Alice snapped to as though she’d been splashed with cold water.

“Oh Marian. I’m sorry. I was up late preparing for the Grand Jury hearing. I dozed off.”

Marian closed the door behind her. Marian always wore a black, wrap around sweater in the office. Her ample girth was more menacing than matronly.

“We need to talk about Dorian.”

Alice wormed her shoes on without looking up.

“Okay. What did he do now?”

Marian folded her arms across her chest. She aimed a heavy finger at Alice. “First, if I find out that you are secretly involved in a criminal investigation, you may find yourself on the wrong side of the courtroom. Second, Dorian went to Lincoln Miles’s home and tried to convince him that Miles was about to be assassinated by a cabal that includes some of the most respectable people in this city. Who the hell does he think he is? Now, I want him to back off. My guess is that he needs a good psychiatrist. My advice to you is to get him under control.”

With each word Marian fired, Alice slinked a tad in her seat. Falling under the desk was not an option. But then she thought of Spaventa’s letter. Dorian must have pierced somebody’s balloon. Her first impulse was to fight back but she sensed Marian wanted a quarrel. “Oh my! I had no idea. I will speak to Dorian. Thanks for cluing me in.”

Marian studied Alice for a moment. Marian’s flabby cheeks tensed under her high cheekbones. “There will be changes around here. I will not allow insubordination or insolence to infect my team. Have you got that?”

Alice stifled a “fuck you.”

“Yes. You are the boss. The capo as they say on the street.”

Marian turned purple. “Never again refer to me in terms like I am a Mafioso. I am the District Attorney and your Superior.”

Alice feigned her best saintly look. “Okay. I must tell you that I received a phone call late last night from Estelle Miles. She claimed that Miles hit her. She was armed to protect herself. I just thought I should report it.”

Marian leaned both arms on Alice’s desk and got nose to nose. “What took you so long? Did that bitch actually say she’d kill Lincoln?”

The word “bitch” surprised Alice. The concern for Miles surprised her. But the anger towards Estelle shocked her.

“This is the first chance I had to tell you. Christ, did you want me to call the cops without first reporting to you? Give me a break.”

Marian pushed her bulk to a standing anger. “Write it up in a confidential memo. Seal it and place it on my desk in ten minutes. And keep your and your boyfriend’s mouth shut!”

Marian slammed the door so hard that the glass rattled.

Alice caught her breath. She longed for a drink but settled for a bottle of water from her small fridge. She typed the memo to a Word file. As she recorded every detail, the fury of Marian’s reaction against Estelle bugged her. They were sorority sisters and women’s rights advocates. Why didn’t Marian care about Estelle?

Finished, she carried the memo to Marian’s office. The door was shut. Alice peeked along the edge of the blinds and spied Marian on a heated phone call. She slid the memo under Marian’s closed door. Kneeling, she distinctly heard the name Talarico.

Alice tiptoed away. She closed her office and took the phone off the hook. If there was corruption in the City Government, one option would be to contact the Feds. They’d investigated the Mayor’s office before. She mulled over the option but decided that there was too little to go on. If nothing panned out, she’d look the fool and Marian would have plenty of reason to fire her.

A queasy feeling rolled through her stomach. She rubbed her belly slowly. She had too much at stake to make a wrong move.