Last to die

“None.”

“How many witnesses have been interviewed in the last three years?”

“None.”

“Are there any suspects whom you are currently pursuing?”

“Not at this time.”

“Not in the last three years, isn’t that right, sir?”

“That’s correct.”

“When will a grand jury be convened?”

“I don’t know.”

“And yet, you maintain that this is an active file, and that I have no right to see it.”

“The case is still open.”

“As open as it ever was?”

“Yes. As open as it ever was.”

“No wonder you never caught the killer.”

“Objection.”

“Withdrawn. Mr. Rudsky, do you know a woman named Deirdre Meadows?”

He hesitated, as if the name alone made him nervous. “Yes. She’s a reporter for the Miami Tribune.”

“Did you ever have any discussions with Deirdre Meadows about the murder of Sally Fe

“Yes. I’ve had general discussions with a number of reporters about the case.”

“To your knowledge, how many of those reporters have written a book about the murder of Sally Fe

He squirmed nervously. “Just one.”

“That would be Ms. Meadows, correct?”

“Correct.”

“Did you provide any assistance to her in the writing of her book?”

“That depends on what you mean by assistance.”

“Ms. Meadows claims that she had your full cooperation. Would you call that assistance?”

“Objection.”

“On what grounds?” asked the judge.

Compton was silent, stalling, as if the testimony of her own client was news to her. “Relevance,” she stammered.

“Overruled.”

Jack said, “Did Ms. Meadows have your full cooperation, Mr. Rudsky?”

“That depends on what you mean by full cooperation.”

“Did she interview you?”

“Yes.”

“Did she let you read her manuscript?”

“Yes.”

“Did you share any investigative materials with her?”

He paused. Jack waited. The government’s lawyer waited. Finally, Rudsky answered, “I might have.”

Compton went white. She sprang to her feet and asked, “Could we have a short recess, Your Honor?”

“Not now,” said the judge. “This is just getting interesting. Mr. Swyteck, continue.”

Jack walked to the lectern and checked his notes, not because he had to, but only to make the witness stew in the uncomfortable silence. “Sir, are you aware that Sally Fe

“I’d heard that, yes.”

“Are you also aware that a libel suit ca

“I don’t understand what you’re asking.”

“It’s a straightforward question. Are you aware that once a person is dead, you can say whatever you want about them? There is no liability for libel.”

“Yes. I learned that in law school.”

“So the death of Sally Fe

“I suppose that’s correct.”

“And anyone who gave Ms. Meadows his full cooperation in the writing of that book would have the same protection, would he not?”

Rudsky narrowed his eyes. “What are you implying?”

Jack took a half step closer, tightening his figurative grasp. “Sir, do you have a financial interest of any kind in Ms. Meadows’s book?”

Compton shot from her seat. “Judge, please.”

“You’d better not be asking again for a recess.”

“No,” she said. “But I do have a proposal.”

“There’s a question pending,” said Jack.

“Then I object,” said Compton. “There’s no foundation for any of these questions, and the inquiry is totally irrelevant. Before we waste an entire day on this fishing expedition, I would at least ask the court to entertain my suggestion.”

“What is it?” asked the judge.

“In a good faith effort to streamline this process, the government agrees to provide to Mr. Swyteck all of the materials and information that Mr. Rudsky shared with this reporter, Deirdre Meadows. Perhaps that will satisfy Mr. Swyteck’s needs.”

“Perhaps it won’t,” said Jack.

Compton continued, “If it doesn’t, then Mr. Swyteck is free to renew his claim under the Sunshine Act for the production of the entire investigative file.”

“Why not let Mr. Swyteck finish with this witness and see if we can’t resolve the entire matter here and now?” asked the judge.

“Because there is some overlap between the murder of Sally Fe

The judge looked at Jack and asked, “Is that acceptable to you?”

“I’d really like Mr. Rudsky to answer my question.”

“Mr. Swyteck,” the judge said, “I asked if that was acceptable to you.”

Jack wanted to push, but the judge seemed to be leaning in his favor, and he didn’t want to lose that advantage by overreaching. “For now,” said Jack. “But if I don’t get everything I need, I will be back.”

“Very well,” said the judge. “The government has two days to produce the investigative materials to Mr. Swyteck. And I’m warning you: no game playing. I’m not going to be happy if this matter comes back to me.”

With the crack of the gavel, the hearing was over. Rudsky stepped down from the witness stand, not so much as looking at Jack. As Jack packed his briefcase, Patricia Compton walked over to his table and said, “Congratulations.”

“Thanks.”

“It’s a sad thing that no one was ever indicted for the murder of Sally’s daughter.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

“I don’t intend to have the same problem for the murder of Sally Fe

Jack didn’t blink. “Sure thing. Just as soon as I see your file. Call me when it’s ready,” he said, then turned and headed for the exit.

Twenty-four

It was 2 A.M., and Deirdre Meadows was at the scene of a crime. A white van had been parked outside the grocery store for almost a week. The doors were locked, but a security guard detected the putrid odor of something like spoiled meat and rotten eggs. Deirdre heard the call on the police radio-she always kept it playing in her car, just in case something broke-and she arrived just minutes after the police had cordoned off the area. One of the officers on the scene confirmed off the record that a body was inside, which got Deirdre’s heart pumping. Foul play was the rhythm that Miami crime reporters danced to, and homicide was enough to make Deirdre bailar la bamba.

“Man or a woman?” asked Deirdre. She was standing just on the other side of the yellow police tape, talking to a uniformed officer.

“Don’t know yet,” he said.

She rattled off a string of questions, gathering facts, writing the story in her head as she assimilated information. This was what she did day after day, night after night, for surprisingly little pay and even less recognition. She hoped that would change soon, with a little luck from Sally Fe

Her cell phone rang. She tucked her notepad into her purse and took the call.

“Hello, Deirdre,” said the man on the line.

It seemed like a contradiction, but she recognized the disguised voice immediately. It was that same distorted, mechanical sound as the last call. “What are you doing awake at this hour?” she asked.

“None of your business.”

She reached into her purse, pulled out her Dictaphone, and held it up to the phone.

“Put the recorder away,” he said a moment before she clicked the Record button.

She froze, not sure how he knew.

“I can see you,” he said.

She looked around. Two media vans had pulled into the lot and were setting up for videotaping. Three police cars and the medical examiner’s van were parked on the other side of the crime scene. The large parking lot was otherwise empty, a flat acre of asphalt bathed in the yellowish cast of security lights.