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to keep you away. You’re an eyewitness. If you know too much about the investigation, your testimony will be tainted.”
    â€œI’m not sitting still for this, Mark.”
    â€œIt’s not your decision.”
    â€œYou can’t do this.”
    â€œI can. I am. And there’s no reason for you to complain. The team is top-notch. Baker, Monahan, and Yee. They’ll locate the bomber in short order, and you know they will. You have other responsibilities. Nobody else can take your place on the Briggs trial.”
    â€œBut I have specialized knowledge about the bombing, too. Lester Poe told me things before he died that affect how the investigation should be conducted,” Melanie said.
    â€œThat makes you a witness, not an investigator. Witnesses can beinterviewed. Convey your information to Group Supervisor Lynch. He’s standing right beside you.”
    Melanie was furious, but she could see that Mark had no intention of backing down. She decided not to waste her energy fighting a battle she couldn’t win.
    â€œWhere’s that surveillance tape?” she snapped.
    â€œWe’ve got it cued up right here,” Lynch said. “But first, I should tell you that we have a report from our field forensics people supporting your account of what happened. They’re quite certain we’re looking at a VBIED.”
    â€œTranslation?” Melanie asked.
    â€œVehicle-borne improvised explosive device. They believe it was attached to the underside of Poe’s car using a magnet and exploded remotely, presumably by the gentleman you saw, the one with the dog. What’s more, the field tests indicate the presence of a chemical taggant in the explosive residue that’s identical to that found in residue from a nightclub bombing in Barcelona last year. If the lab confirms that, it’s big news, because a cell linked to Gamal Abdullah pulled off the Barcelona bombing.”
    â€œIf it all lays out like we’re thinking, we’ll be able to link the bombing of Poe’s car directly to Abdullah,” Mark added. “Which would be huge.”
    â€œOur top priority is to arrest the bomber and question him,” Lynch said. “Thanks to your information, we stand a decent chance of doing that. I wanted to apologize for being short with you earlier today. Your information was accurate. You’re our star witness. Now let’s cue the tape.”
    He nodded at one of his agents.
    â€œYou’ll see a man leading a dog into an alley. Let me know if you recognize him.”
    â€œOkay,” Melanie said.
    A grainy black-and-white image appeared on the TV screen,showing the concrete wall of a building and the busy intersection beyond it. Within seconds, the man in the dark jacket whom Melanie had seen on the sidewalk walked into the frame, leading the brown dog on a leash. The camera had a good angle, clear enough that she could make out the man’s sharp features, and see the dog wagging his tail. The dog had a shaggy coat and a friendly face. The pair walked far enough past the camera that they went out the opposite side of the frame. Several minutes later, the man passed by again—without the dog this time. He looked noticeably more rumpled, and he was wiping his hands on his pants.
    Everybody turned to look at Melanie. She felt something wet on her cheeks. Tears for the poor damn dog? Pull yourself together, she thought. She wanted to get this asshole, and she couldn’t do it if she was falling apart.
    â€œThat’s him,” she said.

8
    M elanie Vargas had been born and raised in the Bushwick section of Brooklyn, a largely Puerto Rican neighborhood that—at least when she was growing up there—had its share of problems with crime. When she was thirteen, her father had been shot before her eyes during a robbery in his furniture store. He’d survived, but he’d been a changed man, and he’d left them shortly