Judge & Jury - James Patterson [42]
That’s when the door opened. And I was facing Andie.
Chapter 49
SHE WAS STANDING THERE in a powder-blue sweater over jeans, barefoot, holding a black trash bag in her hand. When she saw me she did a double take. “Hey.”
I tried to act just as surprised—because I was. “I was dropping something off,” I said, holding out the book I’d brought along. “I read this book. I was going to give it to you. I mean, I am giving it to you.”
“The Four Agreements.” She removed it from the manila envelope, nodding. “‘Don’t take anything personally,’ ‘be impeccable with your word.’ My sister gave it to me. Good choice, Agent Pellisante.”
“I’m evolving. And it’s Nick.” I shrugged.
“Which is it?” she asked. “Evolving, or Nick?”
I smiled. “So, how’s it going?”
“I went to an audition today. A Cialis commercial. You know, when the moment hits.”
“And how’d it go?”
She smiled. “Dunno, exactly. All I had to do was look fortyish and sexy. Right up my alley, right? But I read the part. It’s the first time. . . . Have to pay the bills, right?”
I gave her a knowing look. Sometimes, I just wanted to reach out and hold her, hoping she would rest her head on my chest awhile. I just wanted to show I cared.
“I don’t know—for forty, I think you look great. Honestly.”
“Forty-ish.” She raised an eye with a sharp smile. “Come back in eight years and I’ll give you credit for a compliment. In the meantime . . .” Andie leaned against the door frame. “So how’s the class you’re teaching?”
A couple months back, I had written to her to let her know I’d left the Bureau and started teaching again. I just stood there with my hands in my coat and shrugged. “The highs aren’t quite the same as my old job. So far, no one’s shooting at me, though.”
Andie smiled again. “How about I give you a choice, Nick? You can take the trash down behind the staircase on your way out. Or, if you want, you can come in.”
“I’d like to,” I said.
“You’d like to which?”
I stayed where I was. “You know, the retrial’s starting. Jury selection’s coming up. Next week.”
“I read the papers,” Andie said.
“I’m still a witness. The case is strong. They’re going to put him away this time.”
She stared at me awhile. Her mouth was full and her eyes sharp. Brown. “That’s what you came by to tell me?”
“No.” What promises could I make that I hadn’t already broken? We’d never caught the men who killed her son. We had nothing to tie it to Cavello. “I thought maybe you’d want to come to the trial with me.”
She took a step back. “I don’t know. I don’t know if I can be close to that man.”
“I understand.” I lifted the trash bag out of her hand. I guess that was a decision. She smiled as if she could see right through me.
“Still the public servant, huh, Nick?”
I gave her a self-deprecating smile. “Evolving.”
She smiled.
“Hey, Pellisante,” she called, catching me halfway down the stairs. “Next time, you really should think about coming in.”
Chapter 50
THE FOLLOWING MORNING I was at my desk. In my office. At home.
I was doing what I always did on the days I didn’t teach. What I’d been doing every free day for the past five months: sifting through every piece of information I could find on the case. Every document. Every sliver of evidence.
Looking for some way I could tie the bus blast to Dominic Cavello.
If anyone saw my study, my disheveled desk, they’d probably think they’d stepped into the lair of some obsessive, pathological nutcase. Good God, I had photos taped everywhere. The blast site. The van. The juror bus. Thick binders of FBI reports on the explosive device stacked high. Interviews with people on the street who might’ve seen the two men in work clothes running away.
More than once I thought I had caught a break. Like when the stolen New Jersey plates led back to some horse trainer in Freehold who had links to the Lucchese crime family. But that turned out to be coincidence. None of it led anywhere. None of it directly tied to Dominic Cavello or his people.
I was sipping my morning coffee, having to admit that my mind was drifting back to