Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Epilogue
The crisp autumn breeze of a clear, late September day kissed Julia Cooper’s cheeks as she exited the Marburg Law Firm. It still gave her a happy thrill to know she belonged here in this historic limestone building with the impeccable Philadelphia-proper address.
Once again, as she walked up the street toward the Liberty Bell Center to have her lunch, she startled passersby with her persistent smile. Despite her valiant efforts, the expression couldn’t be muted when she was out of the office. It was a side effect of being unexpectedly added to the major criminal case old man Marburg himself had just picked up.
State and federal authorities had been working for over a year to crack open a highly organized car-theft ring operating out of the docks on the Delaware River. The FBI had Danny Falk, a man purported to be one of the higher-ranking locals in the operation, in an undisclosed safe house. Julia hadn’t recognized the name, only that Falk apparently had enough clout or money—or the right connections—to have Marburg canceling two of his three weekly golf games.
She found an empty bench in a swath of sunshine and opened her lunch bag, pulling out her usual blend of fresh salad greens topped with shredded chicken and a light drizzle of dressing. Eating lean and healthy in law school might have made her a little boring, but it had given her an advantage over her boozing and pizza-loving peers. The advantage carried over to her demanding job. She dug into her meal while she skimmed local and regional headlines on her phone. At a prestigious firm like Marburg, it paid to stay on top of current events.
The chime sounded for a text message and she swiped her screen to check it. The number wasn’t familiar, though the area code was local. Her assumption about a wrong number evaporated instantly.
Hello, Julia. Are you having vinaigrette or ranch on today’s salad?
More than a little uncomfortable, Julia returned her fork to the bowl, glancing around for the person messing with her. None of her fellow associates at the firm cared how she dressed a salad enough to find out even for the sake of a prank. They all thought she was odd for leaving the building most days to eat outside. The true benefit of taking her lunch break in the park was the daily boost of sunshine, another rare commodity for a new hire at Marburg.
Ignoring the juvenile stunt, she resumed her lunch and headline search.
You look better in blue. And I prefer the skirt.
This text message arrived with a picture of her in yesterday’s charcoal skirt and white sweater.
A rush of nerves skated over her skin. Who had been watching her and how had she missed it? She forced herself to chew and swallow the peppery greens that had turned to tasteless mush in her mouth. Quickly she packed the remainder of her salad and prepared to head back to the office.
Don’t go. I’d like us to be friends.
Fat chance, starting off like this, she thought. Knowing better, she sent a reply. Who are you? What do you want?
Who I am is irrelevant. I want what most men want when they look at you: insider access.
What did that mean? Was that some sort of sick innuendo? Her hands trembled. She lowered them to her lap to hide her reflexive fear. Glancing around, she searched again for the jerk behind this ill-mannered trick.
Let’s take a walk, Julia.
She refused to play his game. Pulling her tote close to her side, she leaned back on the bench and stretched out her legs, pretending to watch a group of schoolkids having fun on their field trip to the Liberty Bell Center.
I said walk. You should cooperate with me. Your choices today will have long-term consequences.
She ignored those texts. Another arrived, this time a photo of her moments ago, sitting on the bench, eyes on her phone eating the salad that was now souring her stomach. She followed the angle of the picture, frustrated when no one seemed to have any undue interest in her.
I’m walking, Julia. Get up and join me.
Stubborn and feeling a modicum of safety among the numerous people in the park, she remained on her bench. The phone was blissfully quiet for several minutes. Maybe he’d moved on to someone willing to satisfy his bid for attention.
You don’t want to be late.
He might know about her lunch hour habits, but he couldn’t know anything about her wants. She spotted a policeman on patrol and gathered up her tote. Hoping she wasn’t being too obvious, she aimed that direction.
The cop is a mistake. Talk to him and he’ll die as quickly as the other witnesses.
She stutter-stepped at that message as her gaze raked wildly over the people in the park. There was only one local case with witnesses who had dropped dead within days of cooperating with the authorities: the Falk car-theft ring. She changed direction, pausing at the next trash can, making sure the cop moved by without any exchange with her. This time as she looked around, she saw a man in an orange ball cap with the city’s hockey team logo standing a few yards behind her. Her heart pounding, she raised her phone at him and pressed the camera icon.
The man in the cap didn’t react. Maybe she’d guessed wrong and he was unfortunate enough to be the object of her swelling paranoia. She crossed at the light with a group of pedestrians, picking up her pace as she neared her building, thankful she didn’t have far to go.
Relax, Julia. I need you alive.
She could hear the unwritten threat: for now. Almost to the front door, another text popped up on the screen.
Save my number, Julia, and keep me informed. I need to know the names your client is dropping.
She couldn’t divulge that information under any circumstances. Her personal and professional ethics wouldn’t allow it. Unsettled, telling herself it was a lousy attempt at intimidation, she hurried into the building, grateful for the sturdy shelter of limestone and the friendly, weathered face of the security guard standing by at the information desk. “How was lunch, Miss Cooper?”
“Great.” The word sounded too bright, too sharp, and it bounced off the marble columns and floor of the first-floor gallery. She forced her lips into a smile. “The fresh air always perks me up, Arthur,” she replied in a calmer tone. She caved to the mounting pressure to look over her shoulder. She hadn’t been mistaken at all. The man in the hockey cap was there, on the other side of Walnut Street, boldly aiming his camera at the Marburg building.
Just a gutsy reporter, she told herself, not believing it for a second as she hurried toward the elevators. Out of his sight at last, she took a deep breath and forced her racing thoughts to slow down. Her attachment to the case wasn’t yet in the public record. Reporters had no reason to fixate on her. A reporter wouldn’t threaten a cop’s life because she’d been tempted to seek help. Whoever had rigged this stunt wanted to scare her.
She was mildly ashamed it had worked so well. Upstairs at her desk, she took several minutes to document the text messages, a limited description of the man in the ball cap, and her gut feelings about the whole mess. She did save the number, to add it to a potential police report rather than out of any sense of obedience. The small, positive actions eased the tension in her shoulders and enabled her to sink into the Falk case, studying the raw statements the team had gathered so far.
When her phone chirped with an email alert from her personal account, she ignored it. She ignored the next two alerts, as well,