Chapter 4: Tocsin

Goren read through the records of Judge Yap's cases with bleary eyes. There were a lot of people who had motive to kill the judge, but there was no reason to believe any of them had. If anyone had threatened his life, he hadn't reported it. He set aside some files to look into more deeply later, but so far nothing was jumping out at him.

Officer Bonitez arrived. "Hey Goren, I brought my notes from my interviews with the judge's neighbors. I don't think you'll find anything; no one knows their neighbors anymore." He dropped the copied notes on Eames' desk, since Goren's was already covered in stacks of papers, then he sat in the chair across from him. "I'm sorry if I came across as callous to the judge's wife the other day, but I gotta admit, I think that gunshot was self-inflicted. The guy had a stressful job: seeing criminals come through his courtroom every day, being powerless to stop it if the jury lets off someone he knows is guilty. It's has to get to you after a while. And suicides are more common than homicides."

"That is true," Goren conceded. He slid the notes to his desk and put them to the side. "But with someone who had as many enemies as a judge, we have to...make sure. Do you have to sit there?"

Bonitez looked confused.

"I'm sorry, it's just...that's my partner's chair."

"Right." He stood up. "I'll talk to you later Goren. Let me know if you get a suspect."

After Bonitez left, Captain Ross walked up to him. He'd watched the exchange with mild amusement. "You know, Eames did the same thing when you were on leave. She wouldn't let anyone touch your desk."

"Have you heard from her?" Goren inquired quietly.

"No, but sometimes no news is good news."

"Sometimes it seems like no news is ever good news."

Ross chuckled. "Don't worry, Goren. She'll be back."

Goren nodded, and went back to reading the court records.

Hours later, he was drinking his fifth coffee of the day while going over Judge Yap's phone records and comparing his calls with the names from his court cases when he noticed one number that the judge had called frequently up until three weeks previous, when the calls suddenly stopped. It was an extension at a consulting firm. He dialed the number.

A woman answered after the third ring. "Hello?"

"Hi, this is Detective Goren from the NYPD. Can I ask who I'm speaking to?"

"I'm Laura Szekely. What's this about?"

"Did you know Harold Yap?"

"Yes," she said hesitantly. "Did something happen to him?"

"Miss Szekely, I'd like you to come in to answer some questions."

"Goodnight Lily."

"Night Bob."

Eames left the casino out a back door. The night was lit by the dull orange glow of the city lights reflecting off the clouds. It had rained earlier, but now it was still, and as quiet as Atlantic City at three a.m. ever got.

She was just about to round the corner when she paused. Something about the way the light from the street lamp was shifting on the walls gave her the impression there was someone behind her. She fought the temptation to reach for her gun-the one she of course couldn't carry with her on a risky undercover assignment. She glanced behind her.

"Victor, you scared me half to death," she said, smiling with feigned relief.

He walked toward her, then pulled out a gun and shoved the barrel into her face. "Who are you?" he demanded.

"Wh...what?"

"Your name! What's your name?"

"Lily Corvino."

"You're a cop, aren't you?"

She looked at him with panic in her eyes, and refrained from knocking aside the gun and twisting his arm behind his back, as her instinct and training were screaming for her to do; she had to maintain cover. "No! I swear, I'm not a cop. Why are you doing this to me, Vic?"

"You expect me to believe that you just happen to drop in now?"

"I don't know what you're talking about. Please don't kill me...I've got a son!"

He glared at her for a long minute, then started backing away, but kept the gun on her. "I'm watching you," he warned before turning and entering the building.

Eames stood watching after him for a moment until her heart stopped pounding in her chest, then she turned and walked away. That had been almost too close.

The pool was empty except for one man swimming laps. When he saw someone standing next to the pool, he swam toward her and pulled himself out. Water streamed off his muscular body. On his left chest was a tattoo of a tiger batting at an orange and black butterfly.

"You're early," King noted.

Eames handed him a towel. "Interesting tattoo. Is there a story behind it?"

"No." He wrapped the towel around his shoulders. "What have you found?"

"I like the way you cut the small talk and get straight to business."

He looked at her impatiently. "The less time we spend together, the less likely someone will see us and recognize us, the safer you'll be, the better chance we have to find out what Dwight's up to."

"I get the impression he's planning to leave town soon," Eames said. "He's been going through files at the casino like he's making sure there's nothing incriminating out in the open, like he plans to be leaving it with someone else for a while. I don't know how much Dwight really trusts me, but his guy Victor doesn't at all. He threatened me last night. He had a gun."

"Could be the same gun that killed Margo."

"I wouldn't be surprised. Victor seems like the type of guy who likes to play fast and loose."

"Do you want to be pulled out?"

"No," Eames said quickly. "I don't think Victor's that suspicious yet. When should we meet next?"

"Friday morning at six, Starbucks on North Michigan Avenue."

"If the gangsters don't kill me, these early mornings will. Do you know how late Dwight has me working?"

"No one you work with is likely to be awake then, either. Makes it less likely that someone who knows you will see you."

"Is it true what they say about the FBI not having a sense of humor that you're aware of?" Eames asked.

King didn't smile. "I can't speak for other agents. But the way I see it, you can question my humanity, but never question my dedication to my job."

"Got it," she said.

"I'll see you Friday." He walked out.