The Intern(67)

Fiamma’s attorney, Raymond F. Logue, Esq., denied that his client played a role in the killing.

“Any suggestion that Mr. Fiamma was involved in this tragic incident is a lie. It’s impossible. My client has been under constant surveillance for months. He’s as disturbed by the violence as anybody and sends condolences to the family,” Logue said.

Deputy Chief Douglas Kessler was appointed Acting Chief of the Organized Crime Section upon McCarthy’s death. The Fiamma case will now be handled by Assistant U.S. Attorney Kathryn Conroy, formerly second chair on the case.



How the hell had she missed this case? That night she stayed up till dawn, researching Logue and Wallace, her head on fire from the sake, there had been a hundred news articles. This one was so old it would have been at the end of a long queue of results that she was too tired to wade through.

She’d pay a terrible price for that moment of weakness.

A photograph of McCarthy and the rest of the prosecution team accompanied the article. She clicked to enlarge it. Doug Kessler stood at McCarthy’s right hand, his silver hair still dark back then. Next to him was an exquisite young woman, the only female in the group of stone-faced men—Kathryn Conroy. And in the very back row, with the Organized Crime Task Force, another familiar face—Detective Charles Wallace.

And Ray Logue was the mobster’s defense attorney.

They’re all in on it.

And now Kessler and the judge were both MIA.

Madison was shaking. This was worse than she could ever have imagined. An influence-peddling conspiracy stretching back decades, involving the murder of a federal prosecutor with a car bomb. Possibly connected to the murder of the judge’s husband. And now, years later, the disappearance of Judge Conroy and Douglas Kessler.

The message she’d delivered was enough to implicate her. Or put her in danger. If Conroy and Kessler were missing, Madison was probably next. Between Wallace on the one hand, and the feds on the other, she knew which scared her more. Her only hope was to go to the feds. But they could decide to lock her up. Unless she had evidence to trade.

Based on what she’d learned in Crim Pro, the bar for immunity from prosecution was high. The evidence she offered had to be valuable enough to outweigh her own culpability for passing that message. She could testify about what she’d seen in the judge’s house. The cash in the toilet tank. The photos of Ray Logue with Judge Conroy at her high-school recital, dancing at her wedding. Wallace pounding on the door in the middle of the night. But she feared that wouldn’t be enough. It was too vague. They’d want documents. Phone records. Evidence of money changing hands. Files on specific cases that the judge had thrown. She’d searched the town house high and low, and that stuff just wasn’t there. Where could it be?

In chambers, probably.

She would wait until later tonight, after the courthouse closed. Then she’d go and search the judge’s office. Wherever she was, Judge Conroy would not be riding to the rescue. Madison had to look out for herself.





25


The lights were off in chambers, but ambient light from the city lent a bright glow to the reception area. She decided it was wise to leave the lights off. She could search the drawers and filing cabinets using her phone flashlight if necessary.

Out of an excess of caution, she checked the law clerks’ office, the break room, and the restroom. All were deserted.

Back in the reception area, no light showed beneath the door to Judge Conroy’s private office. She tried the handle. Locked. She went back to the reception desk. In addition to answering phones, Kelsey handled things like travel vouchers and expense accounts. She kept files. Maybe there would be something revealing in them. Madison sat down and methodically searched the desk drawers. The top drawer held pens, pencils, office supplies, and a large stash of gummy candy. The second was where the files were kept. Thumbing through, she found a folder labeled “Employee Background Forms” and got a rush. She could shred hers. On closer inspection, the folder proved to be empty. Of course—Judge Conroy had it somewhere.

Madison went through page after page of copies, finding nothing at all incriminating. At the very back of Kelsey’s files, a hanging folder felt heavier than it should. She plucked it out. Voilà! A Patriots key ring with a bunch of keys. Of course. Kelsey had keys to the entire office. She tried them in the lock on the judge’s door until she found one that fit.

The office was bathed in cool blue light reflected from the skyline, bright enough that she didn’t need her flashlight. She sat down at the judge’s desk, perspiring with nerves and shrugging out of her heavy coat. The drawers were unlocked. She took a deep breath and opened the top one, the whisper of rose perfume in the air reminding her of that first interview. Judge Conroy sitting with her feet tucked under her, chatty and welcoming. She’d wanted the internship bad enough to ignore the warning voices in her head. If only she’d listened, she wouldn’t be here now, a burglar in the night, rifling through the judge’s desk. She went through the drawers methodically. A stash of official stationery with a gold seal. The judge’s favorite Uniball pens in dark blue. Some Kleenex, a tin of mints, lip balm, a nail file. In the drawer that would normally hold hanging files, there was a stash of Manolo Blahnik heels in different colors. The woman had good taste in shoes, you had to give her that.

The desk was a bust.