Devil's Corner by Lisa Scottoline Page B
Authors: Lisa Scottoline
Tags: Fiction, General, LEGAL, Suspense, Thrillers, Mystery, Mystery & Detective - Women Sleuths, Large Type Books, Fiction - Psychological Suspense, General & Literary Fiction, Fiction & related items
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change her life?"
"Maybe. Yes." Mrs. Bott nodded.
But she didn't get the chance.
"I know she was lookin' forward to that baby. She always did want children."
Vicki suppressed the image of Jackson, slain in her bedroom. "Did you ever hear the nicknames Jay and Teeg?"
"No, I surely didn't."
"I think they were involved with drugs, too."
"I don't know anything about that."
"There seemed to be a lot of money in her life. She had nice jewelry, for example."
"Shay did like nice things," Mrs. Bott answered. "When she was little, she always had to have matching bows. And braids. And dresses."
Mrs. Greenwood added. "Mmm-mh. Those little white socks, with the lace on top. The ruffle. All around."
"I made those."
"I know you did, Tillie." Mrs. Greenwood's speech fell into a soft cadence that matched Mrs. Bott's, a reassuring call and response between old friends. "I know you did."
"And shiny black shoes."
"Oh, how she loved those black shoes."
"She was such a pretty child, a pretty little girl."
"She was."
"She surely was." Mrs. Bott smiled happily with Mrs. Greenwood, the two of them forgetting for a minute how it would all turn out, and Vicki let them be, left them to slip into a reverie of what might have been, what could have been, thinking of pretty babies in ruffled socks with shiny patent shoes. Vicki wished for one minute that she could replace the scenes from the medical examiner with those frilly, happy, pastel images. Women like these shouldn't have to see sights like that. Vicki felt terrible she'd brought up the drug thing and raised questions about Jackson's memory.
"I am so sorry for your loss," Vicki said, and Mrs. Bott seemed resigned, and overwhelmingly sad.
"Thank you very much. You know, I told her, if she comes to the city, things happen. Things like this."
And it made Vicki sad, too, that she couldn't deny it. Even in her hometown.
In time, she packed Mrs. Bott and Mrs. Greenwood into a Yellow cab bound for the bus station. She offered to buy them an airplane ticket, but they wouldn't hear of it, and she had to promise if she ever went to north Florida she'd stop in for pecan cookies. She stayed on the corner in the cold, waving to them as the cab drove off, already formulating her next step.
She hadn't learned enough about Shay Jackson, and there was someone else who might know more. Cars and SEPTA buses rumbled down the cobblestone patches of Spruce Street, spewing chalky exhaust into the frigid air, and Vicki looked for another cab. She wouldn't be doing police work, exactly. It was more like an errand.
She wasn't suspended from errands, was she?
TEN
The sun burned cold in the cold clear sky, but Vicki stayed warm by keeping up, stride for stride, with Jim Cavanaugh. Cavanaugh was tall, thin, and superbly tailored in a gray wool coat he'd undoubtedly bought with his signing bonus. Former AUSAs earned $150,000 to start when they joined the big Philly law firms, so they upgraded their wardrobes, bought a car with excessive horsepower, and demoted the Jetta to "station car." Vicki experienced paycheck envy. Working for Justice paid one-third of that amount, which proved there was no justice.
"I need to ask you about one of your old cases," she said, hurrying alongside Cavanaugh down the busy sidewalk. His tie flew to the side, catching a bracing breeze as they strode down the street. He'd been too busy to meet with her in his office, but she'd insisted, so he'd agreed to let her walk him to his deposition. "The defendant's named Reheema Bristow, indicted for a straw purchase. You had the case just before you left our office."
"A straw case?" Cavanaugh wore hip rimless glasses, and his dark bangs flipped up as he barreled along. Businessmen in topcoats, workers in down jackets, and well-dressed women streamed past them on the sidewalk, laughing and talking, going back to work after lunch. "I picked up a straw case? I thought I was cooler than that."
"Two guns purchased, a CI named Shayla
"Maybe. Yes." Mrs. Bott nodded.
But she didn't get the chance.
"I know she was lookin' forward to that baby. She always did want children."
Vicki suppressed the image of Jackson, slain in her bedroom. "Did you ever hear the nicknames Jay and Teeg?"
"No, I surely didn't."
"I think they were involved with drugs, too."
"I don't know anything about that."
"There seemed to be a lot of money in her life. She had nice jewelry, for example."
"Shay did like nice things," Mrs. Bott answered. "When she was little, she always had to have matching bows. And braids. And dresses."
Mrs. Greenwood added. "Mmm-mh. Those little white socks, with the lace on top. The ruffle. All around."
"I made those."
"I know you did, Tillie." Mrs. Greenwood's speech fell into a soft cadence that matched Mrs. Bott's, a reassuring call and response between old friends. "I know you did."
"And shiny black shoes."
"Oh, how she loved those black shoes."
"She was such a pretty child, a pretty little girl."
"She was."
"She surely was." Mrs. Bott smiled happily with Mrs. Greenwood, the two of them forgetting for a minute how it would all turn out, and Vicki let them be, left them to slip into a reverie of what might have been, what could have been, thinking of pretty babies in ruffled socks with shiny patent shoes. Vicki wished for one minute that she could replace the scenes from the medical examiner with those frilly, happy, pastel images. Women like these shouldn't have to see sights like that. Vicki felt terrible she'd brought up the drug thing and raised questions about Jackson's memory.
"I am so sorry for your loss," Vicki said, and Mrs. Bott seemed resigned, and overwhelmingly sad.
"Thank you very much. You know, I told her, if she comes to the city, things happen. Things like this."
And it made Vicki sad, too, that she couldn't deny it. Even in her hometown.
In time, she packed Mrs. Bott and Mrs. Greenwood into a Yellow cab bound for the bus station. She offered to buy them an airplane ticket, but they wouldn't hear of it, and she had to promise if she ever went to north Florida she'd stop in for pecan cookies. She stayed on the corner in the cold, waving to them as the cab drove off, already formulating her next step.
She hadn't learned enough about Shay Jackson, and there was someone else who might know more. Cars and SEPTA buses rumbled down the cobblestone patches of Spruce Street, spewing chalky exhaust into the frigid air, and Vicki looked for another cab. She wouldn't be doing police work, exactly. It was more like an errand.
She wasn't suspended from errands, was she?
TEN
The sun burned cold in the cold clear sky, but Vicki stayed warm by keeping up, stride for stride, with Jim Cavanaugh. Cavanaugh was tall, thin, and superbly tailored in a gray wool coat he'd undoubtedly bought with his signing bonus. Former AUSAs earned $150,000 to start when they joined the big Philly law firms, so they upgraded their wardrobes, bought a car with excessive horsepower, and demoted the Jetta to "station car." Vicki experienced paycheck envy. Working for Justice paid one-third of that amount, which proved there was no justice.
"I need to ask you about one of your old cases," she said, hurrying alongside Cavanaugh down the busy sidewalk. His tie flew to the side, catching a bracing breeze as they strode down the street. He'd been too busy to meet with her in his office, but she'd insisted, so he'd agreed to let her walk him to his deposition. "The defendant's named Reheema Bristow, indicted for a straw purchase. You had the case just before you left our office."
"A straw case?" Cavanaugh wore hip rimless glasses, and his dark bangs flipped up as he barreled along. Businessmen in topcoats, workers in down jackets, and well-dressed women streamed past them on the sidewalk, laughing and talking, going back to work after lunch. "I picked up a straw case? I thought I was cooler than that."
"Two guns purchased, a CI named Shayla
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