Sasha McCandless 02 - Inadvertent Disclosure Read online

  Stickley looked like he smelled something bad. Maybe himself, she thought.

  She went on, “I was just explaining to the sheriff that, despite the terrible news of Judge Paulson’s death, I need to be getting back to Pittsburgh.”

  Griggs frowned. “I’m sorry, Ms. McCandless, but we really do need to speak with you. You aren’t being detained, of course. But, the Chief Justice and I would like to impose on just a few more minutes of your time. Consider it a personal favor.”

  Justice Bermann nodded along like a metronome to the flat voice.

  She didn’t have a choice, of course. Not unless she wanted to set her bar license on fire and find a new line of work. And everyone in the room knew it, but at least the two power hitters had the decency to give it the appearance of free will. Not like old Stinky, she thought.

  “Of course.”

  Griggs rewarded her with a bright white smile. “Thank you.”

  He turned to the sheriff and tilted his head in the direction of the door. “Carl, we need to speak to Ms. McCandless in private.”

  Stickley’s face clouded. His started to speak, then his mouth clamped shut. Open. Shut. Like a fish.

  After he'd swallowed whatever he'd been planning to say, he managed a strangled, "Yes sir," and headed for the door, motioning Russell to follow him. “C’mon, Russell.”

  Justice Bermann stopped him with a raised hand. “Actually, Sheriff, we’d like you to post your deputy at the door. To secure the scene, you know. Deputy, if you’ll just stand guard outside.”

  “Yes, sir,” Russell said, trailing his boss out of the room with a grin he couldn’t quite hide.

  The chief justice claimed the seat behind Judge Paulson’s desk and the attorney general perched on a straight-backed chair tucked into the corner behind the desk and a bookcase lining the far wall. That left a choice between two leather guest chairs in front of the desk for Sasha. She sat in the closer of the two and watched as the two men passed a series of meaningful looks back and forth.

  They put her in mind of her older brothers trying to decide who was going to tell their mother the details of one of their childhood misdeeds. You tell her. No, you tell her. It was your baseball. You’re the one who threw it. Sasha just waited. It was what her mother had always done. Sasha saw no reason why the tactic wouldn’t work on senior public officials just as it did on a pack of unruly Irish-Russian-American troublemakers.

  Justice Bermann weakened first. He leaned forward, elbows on Judge Paulson’s polished desk, and said, “We’d like your help, Ms. McCandless.”

  “My help?” she repeated, cringing at how stupid she sounded. “Please, your honor, call me Sasha.”

  “Yes. We’d like you to help out with the investigation into Judge Paulson’s horrific murder.”

  “Help out?”

  “We understand you had a case pending in front of Judge Paulson.” Griggs horned in.

  “Yes. Well, actually, two. I was here arguing a motion last week for a client and the judge appointed me to represent a gentleman at his incapacitation hearing, which is also pending. That’s why I’m in town today, to meet with the allegedly incapacitated man.”

  She didn’t care if they were the chief justice and the attorney general—her clients’ identities were confidential unless they chose to reveal that she represented them. She realized, of course, that both men could access the identity of each client she’d ever represented in less time than she could order a pizza, but she saw no upside in volunteering the information.

  What Griggs said next made her wonder if they’d done just that.

  “No good deed goes unpunished, eh? I’m sure when you were at Prescott & Talbott you never imagined you’d be representing someone like Mr. Craybill.”

  Justice Bermann got out in front of her next question.

  “We called some of our friends at your former firm when we learned that you had spoken to the judge this morning. I must say, they spoke quite highly of you,” he said, then nodded to Griggs.

  Griggs added, “So highly, in fact, that we would like to appoint you special prosecutor to oversee the investigation into Judge Paulson’s murder.”

  Sasha would have been set back on her heels if she weren’t sitting.

  “I have no prosecutorial experience, sir. I have, at best, a glancing understanding of how things work in the county. I don’t know anything about Judge Paulson, other than he liked pie.”

  “All true,” the justice agreed. “But, you’re obviously bright and not easily intimidated, as evidenced by that mess with Hemisphere Air last year. We need someone who’s not going to be cowed. Someone who isn’t tied in to the local scene. The handful of attorneys who practice up here have dozens of cases on the judge’s docket. And, you may not know this, but Judge Paulson was being threatened. That’s not to say that the threats were coming from a local lawyer, but they did relate to his docket. The attorneys who practice here have their own agendas. You have no agenda.”

  Everyone has an agenda, she thought. Hers was to grow her fledgling solo practice. Would devoting the time and resources required to serve as special prosecutor in a county four hours away further that agenda?

  She wasn’t sure. She started to ask for some time to think about it, but she caught herself before the words were out.

  An opportunity like this could make her career. Why was she even entertaining the idea of passing it by?

  While the judge and the attorney general waited for her answer, she examined her reaction. To her disgust and surprise, she realized she was afraid. Afraid she’d fail.

  Fear could be an important survival mechanism. It alerted a person to danger. Fear of failure was just an unproductive emotion, an excuse for the weak.

  “I’d be honored,” she said.

  CHAPTER 15

  Sasha could hear Gloria’s stomach growling. It was well past quitting time, but the secretary refused to leave.

  After Chief Justice Bermann and Attorney General Griggs had gone off in search of the sheriff, she joined Sasha in the judge’s chambers.

  “I’m told you’ll be working out of the judge’s office?” she said.

  Sasha searched the woman’s tone to get a sense of how she felt about that development, but found nothing.

  “Only for a day or two. My understanding is the chief justice will be appointing one of the retired judges to finish out Judge Paulson’s term. Once those arrangements have been made, I’ll be kicked out. I guess they’ll find me a desk somewhere.”

  “There are plenty of empty offices in this building. Where are you planning to stay?”

  Sasha hadn’t thought about it. “Can you recommend a nearby hotel?”

  Gloria chuckled. “No chance. The oil and gas people have booked every room within one hundred and twenty miles of the courthouse through next year and then some. We’re talking every hotel, motel, bed and breakfast, and inn. Big Sky even brought in some trailer homes and set people up in the motor court out on past Herr’s run. There’s no room at the inn, honey.”

  It figured.

  The thought of driving home to sleep and then turning around to drive back before the sun rose in the morning did not appeal to her. She contemplated sleeping in her car.

  “You can stay in the judge’s apartment, I guess.”

  “Oh, I don’t think . . .”

  “No, it’s okay. I’m his landlord.”

  “You are?”

  “I was. He’s been renting the top floor of our home since 1994, when his wife died. It has its own entrance, a kitchen, and a private bath. Really, it’ll be fine. We won’t even know you’re there.”

  Sasha was about to decline but, considering her options, simply said, “I appreciate that. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” The secretary smiled. “You don’t mind cats, do you?”

  “The judge had cats?”

  “Two of them. Poor things, they’re not going to understand what happened.”

  Tears filled Gloria�
��s eyes. Sasha could see her mind racing—who was going to pack up the judge’s things, take care of the cats, cancel his appointments? Her days were going to be filled with the sad business of wrapping up a life.

  Sasha asked, more to distract the woman than anything, “Did you know the judge was being threatened?”

  Gloria swallowed hard but answered the question. “Of course. I’m the one who told the sheriff. Judge Paulson kept saying he could handle it, but it was weighing on him, I could tell.”

  “What kind of threats?”

  “Someone, a man, kept calling. He wouldn’t give his name but he his voice sounded familiar, I just couldn’t place it. Anyhow, he’d ask for the judge and, of course, I’d say he wasn’t available. Then, every time, he’d say the same thing. ‘Give the judge this message: A lawyer with his briefcase can steal more than a hundred men with guns.’”

  Sasha looked at her closely. “That was the threat?” It sounded more like a warning to her.

  She nodded. “It’s from The Godfather. The judge just laughed it off, but it was creepy. He’d call once a week, like clockwork.”

  “Did Judge Paulson know what it was a reference to? Aside from the movie, I mean. Was there a particular case or litigant?”

  “No. But, almost his entire docket is somehow related to the Marcellus Shale now. Except for criminal stuff, but the criminal matters are always drunk driving or petty theft. Once in a blue moon, there’s a domestic matter or a small drug bust. Nothing that anyone would get worked up over.”

  “Oh. Well, there were also cases like Mr. Craybill’s incapacitation hearing. That has nothing to do with the shale.”

  “That’s what you think.”

  Sasha arched a brow. “Pardon?”

  The older woman sighed, like she wished she hadn’t said anything, but now that she had, she plowed ahead.

  “Jed Craybill is sitting on 160 acres of land. All of his neighbors have signed leases with the oil and gas people. All of them. He’s an island in a sea of drilling and he refuses to sign. He’s been fighting with his neighbors over it since before Marla died.”

  “But, what difference does it make to them what he does with his land?”

  The secretary shook her head. “I’m not sure. We live here in town, so there’s no drilling near us. But, as I understand it, they—the oil and gas people—can’t really use all the mineral rights on the adjacent property because they can’t do anything that impacts Jed’s land. And, even if they are toeing the line, they have to deal with old Jed out there, shaking his shotgun at them and cursing a blue streak. Big Sky already told him if he doesn’t knock it off, they’re going to get a restraining order.”

  Clients, Sasha thought. It didn’t matter if the client was the CEO of a publicly traded company or an angry old man trying to stay in his home; they never told you the whole story.

  “I see. Listen, why don’t you head on home? I’m just going to make a few calls and check my e-mail. I’ll lock up.”

  Sheriff Stickley had sent Russell on his way hours ago.

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m positive. You have to be exhausted. If you’ll just give me directions, I’ll come over to your house when I’ve finished up here.”

  Gloria leaned across the judge’s desk and scrawled her address on the notepad by the phone. She handed it to Sasha along with two brass keys that she removed from a key ring. “This key with the red fingernail polish dot locks his office. The other one is to the door to my office. My house is literally around the corner. You can walk there. Turn right at the light on the corner. That’s Primrose Street. My house is on the left, four houses in—it’s the red brick house. I’ll leave the porch light on for you. When you get there, I’ll show you around the judge’s apartment and introduce you to Atticus Finch and Sir Thomas More.”

  Sasha stared at her for a moment before it dawned on her.

  “The cats?”

  “The cats,” she confirmed.

  After Gloria put on her coat and fetched her handbag from her desk drawer, Sasha closed the exterior door and called Connelly to let him know that she wouldn’t be coming back to Pittsburgh after all.

  CHAPTER 16

  Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

  Monday evening

  Leo held the phone away from his ear with one hand and carefully slid the chicken and noodles into a storage container with the other. On the other end of the phone, Sasha was rattling off a list of instructions that she’d started in on as soon as he’d offered to drive up to Springport.

  She was talking much too fast for him to actually follow what she was saying, so he put the phone down on the counter to have both hands available to pour the spicy peanut sauce into a separate container. When he picked it back up, she hadn’t yet taken a breath, but from her cadence, he thought she’d need to pause soon.

  She did, and he jumped in. “So, you need me to bring your laptop, your VitaMight files, and an overnight bag. Got it. Does the judge’s apartment have a microwave?”

  “I don’t know, Connelly. I haven’t been there yet. Probably? Call me when you’re fifteen minutes away and I’ll meet you there.”

  “Okay. Hang in there, Mac. I’ll be there as fast as I can.”

  His eyes fell on the coffeemaker sitting in the exact middle of the recycled glass countertop. “Oh, should I bring the coffeemaker along?”

  It would be one thing if Judge Paulson’s bachelor pad lacked a microwave. It would be quite another if there was no caffeine-delivery device. Leo’d learned that during a romantic weekend at a secluded bed and breakfast that turned out to serve herbal tea with breakfast. Deprived of her coffee, Sasha had been drowsy and slow all morning. And maybe just the tiniest bit irritable.

  “Oh, good idea.”

  A hint of a smile slipped into her voice and Leo smiled himself. She claimed to be high maintenance, but it was just a matter of paying attention to the details, which was a skill Leo had in spades.

  “Done. See you—,” he paused to check the time, “—probably around nine thirty, maybe a little after.”

  “Thanks.” She hung up in a hurry. Before he had a chance to tell her he loved her.

  He unplugged the coffeemaker and its matching grinder and found a reusable cloth grocery bag in the pantry. Before putting them in the bag, he wiped the appliances with a dish towel. Then he took the container of coffee beans from the freezer, wrapped it in the towel, and added that to the bag. He stacked the food containers holding dinner in the bag and tested the handle to confirm the load wasn’t too heavy. The bag was plenty strong.

  That task completed, he left the bag at the bottom of the steps leading to the loft bedroom and methodically searched through Sasha’s closet to find her a comfortable outfit to change into for the rest of the evening, pajamas, a suit for the next day, and all the attendant accessories. He gathered up her bathroom supplies and quickly, but neatly, packed everything away in her small red roller board bag, taking care not to wrinkle the clothes.

  At the bottom of the stairs, he bent to retrieve the kitchen bag, slung the strap of his own overnight bag over his chest like a messenger bag, wheeling the red bag behind him.

  At the door, he checked the time. Three minutes from the end of the call to completion of his first task. An acceptable pace, he thought.

  He stepped out into the hallway and locked the condo door behind him. Next stop, Sasha’s office to retrieve her computer and files.

  * * * * * * * * * *

  He found a spot on the street just two doors down from the office and eased the car in to the snug parking space. It was that limbo time between evening and night; the storefronts were closed for the day and the restaurants had emptied of their dinner rushes, but it was too early for the bar scene to be in full swing.

  Leo punched Sasha's code into the keyless lock at the entrance to the tall, narrow building where she had a second floor office. The vacant retail space on the first floor was illuminated only by the red glow of an emerge
ncy exit light and the streetlights that filtered through the front window. He took the stairs by twos. The building was on a busy commercial strip in an upscale neighborhood, but the lack of a ground floor tenant gave it a desolate air.

  At the door to the office, he keyed a second code into a second keypad and swung the door open. He flipped the switch on the wall near the door and blinked as the overhead lights came to life. The desk was piled with papers, but they had been separated into neat stacks. He swept the stack nearest the computer into a redweld labeled “VitaMight.”

  Sasha had left her laptop running when she’d left the office that morning. He brought the screen to life and typed in her password so he could shut it down properly.

  It occurred to him he might not have e-mail access in Springport. He pulled out the desk chair and opened his account to send a message to the Field Office that he’d be working remotely for a few days. Although he worked out of the Pittsburgh Field Office, it was just a place with a desk. He was part of the Internal Affairs Department and, at least for now, they seemed happy to let him set up shop wherever he wanted.

  His inbox was brimming with messages. He scanned them and stopped on an automated message from the Guardian database. His search request on Daniel McAlister’s bank account had been completed. He opened the attachment and stared at the words: The information you have requested has been designated SECRET and poses a grave danger to national security if disseminated. Demonstrate need to know.

  Leo massaged his forehead. That message could mean one of a handful of things: Not one of them was good.

  He deleted the e-mail and powered down the computer.

  CHAPTER 17

  Springport, Pennsylvania

  Knowing Leo was on his way helped Sasha quiet her mind, which had been firing off in about a dozen directions. She found a fresh legal pad and shut herself up in Judge Paulson’s office to write up some notes and see what the process of reviewing the day would yield. She hesitated for a minute before deciding to sit in the leather chair behind his desk, but it was the best spot to spread out her papers.