"I'm Vicki Allegretti," she said, liking Melendez immediately, despite the fact that he was technically the enemy.

"Boy, you look too young to be an AUSA." Melendez smiled.

"No, I'm twenty-eight. I'm just short."

"Ha! You're short and young." Melendez laughed. "Though I gotta admit, I don't know many AUSAs, I'm court appointed on this case." He wriggled out of his topcoat, releasing the scent of a strongly spicy aftershave.

"Thanks for coming on such short notice."

"Not at all, glad you called. Trial's just around the corner."

Eek. Not anymore. "Did you get my proffer letter?" This morning, Vicki had re-sent Melendez the proffer letter that the first AUSA had sent, since it had the necessary signature, namely Strauss's. The letter was a formality, setting forth the govern-ment's request for information and the ground rules for the meeting off the record. She'd had it in the Bristow file and faxed it from home.

"My secretary confirmed that we got it, thanks." Melendez opened a scratched-up leather briefcase, extracted an accordion file, and closed it again.

"Think Ms. Bristow feels chatty this morning?"

"Reheema? Honestly, no." Melendez smiled. "You'll see, Reheema's not the talkative type, but maybe she'll listen to reason. I'll be honest with you, I want her to cooperate, and I told her so." He pushed his briefcase across the dusty Formica table and eased his girth into his bucket chair. "The first AUSA had no luck with her, but he lacked your youthful enthusiasm. Maybe with you being a woman, too, that'll help. You're the same age."

"Good."

"Like I told you, I'm court-appointed, so I don't meet a lot of people like her. She's a tough nut. But she has a good heart, and I think she's innocent."

Vicki knew he'd learn soon enough that Bristow could be behind the murders of three people.

"And five years is five years. I hate to see her get set up for this."

"What do you mean? You think someone's setting her up?"

"Somebody's letting her twist, aren't they? Whoever she bought those guns for, and like you say, anything is possible." Melendez shrugged his heavy shoulders. "I don't know, she won't talk to me. Like I said, I don't usually do this kinda work, but I've never had a client who was so close-mouthed."

"Is she frightened?" Vicki was considering the possibilities. "Intimidated by someone?"

"Ha! No way. Reheema doesn't scare easy." Melendez mulled it over, looking idly at Vicki. Suddenly, his dark eyes seemed to sharpen and he focused on her face. "You know, you look a lot like that woman on TV last night. With that murder, on the news?"

"Uh, yes, that was me." Vicki told herself to act natural. It would have been only a matter of time before he recognized her. The story was all over the papers, TV, and radio this morning.

"That was you? An FBI agent killed and a pregnant woman?"

"He was ATF." Vicki's chest felt tight.

"Je-sus." Melendez looked shocked, his lips parting. "That must have been horrible. What the hell happened?"

"I can't really say," Vicki answered in her official voice, as a burly ATF agent in a tie and gray blazer appeared at the door to the proffer room.

"Special delivery," the agent said dryly. Usually, the federal marshals brought up the prisoners, but Vicki had asked the ATF on duty as a favor. He had to know it was related to Morty's death, but she didn't tell, to give him deniability.

"Thanks," Vicki said, and when the agent stepped aside, Vicki did a double take at the sight of the shackled prisoner.

Reheema Bristow didn't look at all the way Vicki had expected.

Vicki had been expecting a street tough, but Reheema Bristow looked like a black model, albeit on steroids. She had stunning features; large almond eyes of an unusual caramel-brown, a longish nose, and a broad mouth, which was sensual, if unsmiling. She wore her dark hair back in a short, stiff ponytail and had a strong, killer body, even in the olive green jumpsuit worn by FDC prisoners. Her manner made the handcuffs seem oddly like sex toys.

Bristow was seated, cuffed and shackled, in the chair next to Melendez, and her lawyer had gone positively goofy in her presence. Suddenly Vicki understood why he'd been suckered into believing in her innocence. And also why he'd worn his cardamom aftershave.

"Reheema, how are you today?" Melendez boomed, grinning.

"I'm fine, thanks," Bristow answered, and Vicki reacted viscerally to the sound of her voice, soft, but hardly ingratiating. Streetwise, but not street. Sonorous, if it hadn't come out of the mouth of a criminal. Vicki couldn't forget that Bristow could know who killed Morty and Jackson. She could know Teeg and Jay-Boy. She could even have hired them, or maybe whoever she was buying the guns for had hired them.

"Ms. Bristow." Vicki introduced herself and explained, "I'm the new AUSA on this case. I'm replacing Jim Cavanaugh, whom you met with before. I believe that was the only proffer conference you had with my office, correct?"

Bristow nodded, and if she recognized Vicki from the TV, she didn't let it show, which proved she was one great liar. News of the triple homicide had to be all over the FDC, learned from TV or the "bowl," the way prisoners communicated after lights-out; each inmate flushed the toilet a few times to evacuate the water, enabling the plumbing to carry voices as efficiently as Nextel. The Bureau of Prisons couldn't do anything about it, short of replacing the plumbing at taxpayer expense, but nobody was funding better johns for felons.

Vicki continued, "I called you here today for a conference, and we'll start by asking you a few questions. As you know, you've been charged with two counts of a straw purchase, in violation of 18 U.S.C. Section 922." Vicki glanced at her file as she read. "The indictment charges that you purchased two Colt.45-caliber handguns and illegally resold them. As you may know, when such a multiple weapons purchase is made, Pennsylvania gun dealers are required automatically to send a report to the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms, and Explosives. Would you like to see the report concerning your purchases, or the indictment against you? I have both."

"No. I told the first lawyer, Cavanaugh, I don't want to plead guilty."

"Is that because you didn't do it?"

Bristow's lovely gaze shifted sideways to Melendez. "Do I have to answer?"

"Not if you don't want to."

"No comment," Bristow answered, which gave Vicki pause. Most felons knew that "no comment" was for reporters, not government lawyers.

"Reheema, may I call you Reheema?"

"Yes."

"Reheema, you do realize that if you are convicted in this case, and you will be, you'll spend five years in federal prison, a chunk of the prime of your life?"

Bristow didn't say anything.

"I see from your file you have no priors, so you may not know that federal prison isn't as nice as the FDC, new and clean. It isn't like on TV, either."

Bristow didn't blink, which set Vicki's blood simmering. She had given this speech in three other straw cases and had never gotten this far. Unlike state jail time, federal sentencing guidelines removed the judge's discretion, so cooperating was the only thing defendants could do to help themselves. The guidelines were a huge hammer for federal law enforcement, but coming from the D.A.'s office, Vicki secretly thought they also took the sport out of the contest. They'd created a culture of snitches, and after most indictments, crooks raced to flip on their friends. Last month, Vicki even got a confession on her answering machine.

"Reheema, prison is ugly, brutal, nasty. Women beat each other up, some of them daily. Think. Five years of that."

Bristow said nothing, her expression as impassive as if she were posing for a Vogue cover, and Vicki guessed she had to know that Jackson had been killed and there would be no trial on the charges.