Love Her Madly Read Online Free Page A

time. Agents used to feel free to use rubber stamps at whim without taking the trouble to explain to querying law officers the procedures for filling out the proper forms when seeking assistance from the FBI. Those seeking assistance who were not deemed worthy of response never followed up, since public defenders like the one assigned to Rona Leigh were either inexperienced, incompetent, or burdened by unrealistic workloads.
    I climbed out of bed, went back to my computer, and put case # 8037568-8233 at the top of my list. I would find out the answer Rona Leigh’s public defender didn’t get seventeen years ago from the FBI.
    Then I got back in with Joe. He mumbled something.
    â€œWhat, sweetie?”
    â€œI’ll bet you’re figurin’ the boyfriend maybe did it.”
    â€œWhy not? Tells her she did it, she believes him, and then the cops remove any doubts that might crop up in her pathetic head. That way they kill two birds with one stone. Worked. I imagine the boyfriend must have been executed at some point.”
    â€œI think I read he died in jail. Poppy, honey?”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œBefore you take this one on, see if there’s something else besides her weak physical condition. Just that won’t cut it.”
    He was right. “I’ve got Dr. Glee.”
    â€œOne more besides. Three is always a convincing number.”
    Three would happen the next day, when police dispatcher Melvin Hightower revealed a puppeteer.
    I gazed at my ceiling. Joe’s breathing had become regular. I dropped the papers on the floor, switched off the light, slid down under the sheet, burrowed into Joe, and closed my eyes. I fell into a deep sleep. Three seconds later I heard the click of my clock radio, followed by the voice of Don Imus telling me the President was a moron.

2
    After I had my chat with Melvin, the Houston police dispatcher, I went in to see my director. We meet fairly regularly and I keep him informed as to what I’m working on, while he counts on my assistant when he needs to reach me in the field. Once in a while he has a few ideas of his own as to who belongs on my list, and I respect that. Then there are the occasional favors we ask of each other.
    Not too long after I started my new job, he figured I owed him a little something. He called me in.
    â€œI need a week from you, Poppy.”
    â€œWhen?”
    â€œNow.”
    He described a “special concern” of his boss. That would be the President. The President had a very dear friend who needed help. From the FBI. The dear friend was a Catholic cardinal—someone was dipping into his till.
    I asked, “How come me? I don’t need to waste time swatting at gnats.”
    â€œI know. But I have to have someone who won’t make a mistake and who will know to step lightly, since lightly is what is so called for here.”
    â€œGive him Auerbach. He’s the best technician we’ve got. That anybody’s got. He’s never made a mistake in his life. Tell him to wear sneakers instead of those gunboats he’s always clumping around in, and I’m sure—”
    â€œYou can take a man out of his gunboats, but you can’t—”
    â€œShit.”
    â€œPoppy, we’re dealing with a powerful and prominent man here. One all politicians have utmost regard for. A household name, which makes things even stickier. Sometimes I have to balance all that in. Of course, you know that too. You’ll find the little Judas in their midst with no trouble.”
    â€œWhy don’t they handle Judas internally the way Jesus did?”
    â€œThey tried. They went to the Jesuits. The Jesuits suggested the FBI.”
    â€œToo busy cracking Vatican bank scandals.”
    â€œApparently.”
    He stood and handed me the report he’d received and called out to my back, “Thanks, Poppy.”
    The household name was Beltrán María Cardinal de la Cruz y García, the