The Intern(26)

“Ow. Not nice.”

She hurried up to the attic room where she’d been sleeping, dousing the light and creeping over to the dormered window. Tugging the blinds aside, she peered down. From this angle, the front steps were obscured by the jutting facade. He was probably still down there, biding his time, planning to make another attempt to get inside. He’d tried to break in. That was what triggered the alarm. Not Madison getting the code wrong. Not the cat on a midnight prowl. It was him, the man at the door. If he tried once, he could try again. She either needed to leave this crazy house or call the cops. But how could she leave when he was down there? He would see her come out. She should call the cops, then. But she should give Judge Conroy a heads-up before bringing the police to her home.

She dialed the judge’s phone.

Judge Conroy picked up on the first ring.

“I’m worried he’s still out there,” Madison said breathlessly.

“Can you see him?”

“No, I just feel it.”

“Did you turn off the lights?”

“Yes.”

“Where are you?”

“Up in the au pair room. I’m going to call nine-one-one.”

“No. Madison, it’s not necessary. I’m sure he’s gone.”

“What if he isn’t? He had a gun. I saw the holster.”

“Don’t worry. He was giving me a hard time, but I read him the riot act. You heard.”

“What if he doesn’t listen?”

“He will. Trust me, I know him.”

Her mouth fell open. Until that moment, she’d been too preoccupied to focus on the nature of the judge’s relationship with the man at the door, but there it was. They were close. He’d called her Kathy. And she’d called him— Charlie.

Wait a minute. The gun, the windbreaker. The reference to “real police.” She knew suddenly who he was, who he had to be. And it made her sick to her stomach.

“He’s a cop, isn’t he?” she said. The cop from my brother’s case.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“I’m in your house, alone, and an armed man comes to the door? It matters to me.”

“I can’t get into it. It’s personal. But I promise, he doesn’t want anything from you.”

“Is he your boyfriend?”

“No.”

“Then what?”

“It’s complicated. Look, I’m sorry for the confusion. I’ll pay extra for the hardship, okay?”

“This is not about money. I agreed to take care of your cat. A man trying to break in—it’s more than I signed up for. I don’t feel safe.”

“That’s understandable. But you’re completely fine. Just stay inside, and when you order in food, check the camera to make sure that—”

“If I’m safe, why check the camera?”

“That’s just a smart thing to do in a city. I’m getting another call, and I need to take it. Okay? Get some rest.”

The call dropped.

Madison snorted. Another call. Right. The judge didn’t want to answer questions, that was all. A cop tried to break into her house. Someone she knew well, who seemed to be tracking her whereabouts. Their entire interaction had an air of impending violence. Yet the judge instructed her not to call 911, because it was personal. Was he a jealous ex-boyfriend?

A cop named Charlie. Charles.

Madison sat down cross-legged on the floor with her phone flashlight and flipped through the documents from Danny’s case, just to be sure she was remembering correctly. Yes. There it was, the very first line in the affidavit: “Detective Charles E. Wallace affirms and says…”

Coincidence? Maybe, maybe not. She should try to figure out if he was the same guy.

She opened her laptop and googled the name “Charles Wallace” together with “Boston PD.” Several stories popped up, all from the Globe. One of them looked familiar. “Case Closed in Drive-By Shooting.” She’d read that just the other night, after Ty’s party, while researching the judge’s husband’s murder. Studying the accompanying photo and its caption, her stomach sank as she realized it was definitely him. The man at the door just now was pictured in a group photo of the team investigating Matthew Latham’s murder. It was all him. The man at the door, the lead investigator in the judge’s husband’s murder, and the detective on Danny’s case. One and the same. Detective Charles Wallace. She couldn’t wrap her head around it. The woman she’d admired since high school, and connected with so powerfully tonight, was mixed up with a dirty cop who’d failed to solve the murder of her own husband.

Danny claimed the judge was in on the corruption. My lawyer goes way back with this judge. Has her in his pocket. She’s dirty, too. Madison had refused to believe that. What if it was true? She needed to finish the research on that lawyer that the judge had interrupted earlier tonight. She already knew that Logue had numerous disciplinary complaints and had been suspended from the bar, then reinstated. Now, she looked into his cases—at least, what she could find on Google. There was an avalanche of results. Over forty years, he’d represented literally hundreds of mobsters, extortionists, murderers, drug dealers. She went cross-eyed reading the old news articles, yet learned little about his relationship to Judge Conroy. She’d been the judge on some cases where Logue was the defense lawyer, and—going back years—the prosecutor on others. Knowing that didn’t tell Madison much. She needed court records, but couldn’t access them from here.