“You didn’t know any better, Maddy. But now you do. You’re mixed up in some dirty business. Two prominent people are missing. If you won’t tell me what the message was, then go to the authorities. Talk to them, before it’s too late.”
She pulled away, a mist in her eyes.
“Thank you. I appreciate the heads-up. Now, I should go.”
“That’s it? Thank you and goodbye?”
“No. Of course not. You’re a good friend. I’ll think very seriously about what you said. And I promise to be careful. See you later.”
She stood on tiptoe and kissed him on the cheek, then hurried away, leaving him gazing after her.
Upstairs, at the far end of the reading room, were computers with Wi-Fi that any student could use. They didn’t require entering your ID and so would leave no trace. That’s what she needed—to act like a criminal, cover her tracks. She remembered the case name. Fiamma. Holding her breath, she typed it into the database and watched as the result loaded. A headline from years earlier hit her like a Mack truck.
Bomb Blast Kills Mob Prosecutor
Boston, April 21—A car bomb exploded in the North End late last night, claiming the life of Bradley McCarthy, Chief of the Organized Crime Section in the Boston U.S. Attorney’s Office. McCarthy, an experienced and highly regarded prosecutor, had recently indicted alleged mafia boss Salvatore Fiamma on racketeering and murder charges.
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.