Ice Fire: A Jock Boucher Thriller Read Online Free PDF Page A

too must have planned her future. Working for Dexter Jessup was no fluke, and her disappearance was not an act of caprice.
    While in law school and thinking about his own future, Boucher had briefly considered the FBI as a career path. He’d had two interviews with a young agent named Ted Neely. They’d even gotten together a couple of times to play handball during the courtship before Boucher decided neither was for him: neither the Bureau nor handball. But he’d run into Neely over the years and greetings were always cordial and on a first-name basis. None of which was sufficient reason for Boucher to be calling him late that afternoon with a question ofa sensitive nature. Neely replied with a tone of bonhomie that they revive their old friendship, even suggesting they meet that same afternoon, why waste time. He’d not acknowledged his question, Boucher noted as he hung up, which in itself was some sort of answer. Neely had proposed they meet halfway between the district court and the FBI building. His choice of venue was odd, a Baskin-Robbins near 610 and Elysian Fields Avenue.
    The FBI man was already there when Boucher arrived, their two cars the only ones in the parking lot. Not a lot of call for ice cream on a chilly, cloudy late afternoon. He bought a single scoop of Rocky Road and joined the agent at one of the small tables away from the window.
    “What’d you get?” Boucher asked by way of greeting.
    “Pralines and cream. Means I have to add a half hour to my run tomorrow.”
    “You picked the place.”
    The man did not offer a handshake as Boucher sat down—strange for one renewing a friendship—and he barely looked up. His hairline was receding, Boucher noticed as he engaged in the universal and irresistible assessment of one not seen in a while. Other than that, it seemed that here was another FBI agent with whom it was impossible to avoid clichés and stereotypes, from clothes and shoes (which he had seen coming in) to haircut. Neely was older than when he had last seen him of course, but these people didn’t age, they hardened.
    “You have something to ask me,” Neely said. “Ask away before I’m tempted to go back for seconds.”
    “This is about something that happened twenty years ago. You had recently joined the Bureau, I think.”
    Neely dipped a taste from the tiny plastic spoon and studied his frozen confection as if he were reading tea leaves. A frown of concentration turned to a wry smile.
    “I heard you’d taken over for Judge Epson after his heart attack. This is about that lawyer’s murder, right?”
    “Partly. The lawyer had a case before Judge Epson at the time he was killed. I heard there was some sort of inquiry into Judge Epson’s conduct. Did you know anything about that?”
    “I wasn’t involved.” Neely took another spoonful of pralines and cream. Boucher shrugged as if to say, Well, that’s that. “But I heard things,” Neely added. “Even the new kid hears things. The buzz was that Judge Epson had taken bribes. A report was written up, you know, justifying time spent and requesting further direction—asses are covered in these kinds of situations by asking higher-ups to call the shots—and word came back from D.C. to lay off. Let it go. Something like that could only have come from the director, but I’m just guessing. All of it was way above my station.”
    “But there was a report,” Boucher said.
    “To my knowledge, yes. There was a report. But D.C. buried it. I can’t swear to this, but I think they told Epson what they’d found. He was told to clean up his act. Given a reprieve.”
    “Given a reprieve for accepting bribes?”
    Neely bent forward. His voice was lowered. “At the time, Epson was presiding judge over a very important racketeering trial. Years of preparation. We couldn’t afford to have him compromised in the middle of that. It would have done much more harm than good. The scales were weighed, the bribery business was buried. He was