Most Wanted by Michele Martinez Page B

reputation for killing witnesses. I agreed to wait for Amanda’s psychiatrist, but if I wait too long, Amanda could end up dead. I have no intention of having a witness killed on my watch. If you have a better way to handle it, please, tell me.”
    “I better, or we’re all in trouble,” Bernadette said. “First off, you need to calm down. The girl has a twenty-four-hour guard posted at her door, so cut the hysterics about witness killing. She’s perfectly safe. Second, you need to handle the family better. It’s all PR. Make a big show of backing off, giving Amanda a chance to get some strength back, so on and so forth. Like you’re doing them a huge favor. Then, in a day or two, try again. If Nell Benson still gives you a problem,
that’s
when you threaten the subpoena.”
    “Whatever you say, Bernadette. As long as we both know that the delay was your decision. A day or two can be a long time in an investigation like this. I don’t want to be accountable for the consequences.”
    Melanie’s frankness read like insubordination to Bernadette. She flushed an apoplectic red. “You’re obviously missing the point,” Bernadette hissed. “These complaints about your performance are very awkward for me. I better not hear any others, or you won’t like the consequences. So do like I said.”
    “Okay.” The fight suddenly drained out of Melanie. Some battles couldn’t be won, she realized—like any battle with Bernadette.
    Satisfied, Bernadette turned on her heel and marched out of the room.
    Melanie slumped on her desk, pillowing her head on folded arms. She wanted to cry, but she was afraid if she started, she might never stop. She closed her eyes, breathing rhythmically, trying to calm herself, but a loud rapping on the open door shattered her attempt at a Zen moment. She jerked her head up. Maurice Dawson, the custodian, stood in her doorway supporting a large handcart loaded with boxes.
    “Yo, Melanie, I got a big delivery here for y’all. This ain’t even half of it. I got, like, twenty boxes.”
    “What is it?”
    “Don’t know. Come over from 26 Federal.”
    FBI headquarters. It had to be the files from the old wiretap Dan and Randall had done on the C-Trout Blades. Just as well. Work was her best refuge, she reminded herself again.
    “Okay, thanks, Maurice. Just put ’em down on the floor wherever you can find space.”
    “If I do that, you won’t be able to get out the door.”
    “It doesn’t matter. The way things are going, I’m not getting out of here tonight anyway.”
    Maurice laughed, but she hadn’t been joking.
     
     
    AFTER MAURICE FINISHED STACKING THE BOXES and left, Melanie checked her watch. It was a quarter to six, almost time for Elsie to go home. Even if Melanie left that minute, she’d still be late. She picked up the telephone and dialed.
    “Hanson residence,” Elsie answered.
    “Hey, Elsie, it’s me.”
    “Now, why you calling me at this hour? Aren’t you supposed to be in the subway? I don’t like the sound of this.”
    “I’m really sorry, but I’m running late. I’m caught at work. There’s nothing I can do about it. Steve’s in L.A. until tomorrow, so I was hoping you could stay a little late.”
    “Well, I can’t tonight. I need more notice than that. Who’s gonna give my kids dinner?” Three of Elsie’s kids still lived at home. The youngest was twenty-one.
    “I feel terrible asking this, but could they possibly order a pizza?” she asked.
    “They like
my
cooking.”
    “Please, Elsie. I’ll make it up to you. And I’ll pay you overtime.”
    “I should
think
so. But I still can’t stay. I’m not used to this. If Mrs. Hanson ever had a social engagement, she told me at least a week in advance.”
    “This isn’t a social engagement. I have to work. My boss is on my back. It’s not my fault.”
    “What kind of treatment is this, now? Mrs. Hanson never treated me this way.”
    “Look, Elsie, I’m really sorry. It’s not my choice,