In return, Fiona shared some of the information she’d gotten from her other interviews. How Jameson and Nixon had gotten involved with the two Russian mobsters, they didn’t know yet. Somehow they had been in negotiations with both of them, teasing them with bits of information which had been apparently loaded onto not one, but two flash drives while they held onto the entire programs, trying to drive the price up; a tactic that had resulted in their deaths.
Fiona reported that Paul Dreier had retained a big-time criminal lawyer from the East Coast who was asserting that Dreier had been used by the Russians. The only thing Dreier was willing to admit was that he’d hit Margo. He claimed he had been trying to get her out of harm’s way because he feared what Vasily Orlov would do to her.
Sam, Fiona said, thought that wrapping her in duct tape and heading for Larch Mountain where dead bodies can be hidden for years was an odd way to get Margo out of harm’s way. But then, Sam had added, maybe he wasn’t headed for Larch Mountain. Maybe he’d asked Margo to lunch at the Multnomah Falls Lodge and wouldn’t take no for an answer.
• • •
Margo had this foolish idea that she would go into work on Monday and things would be back to normal as if the events of Friday had never happened. But everyone in the courthouse from the security guard to her colleagues had seen at least one version of her adventure on the front-page of the daily paper, online after her interview with Fiona or on one of the multiple local television newscasts.
The Portland Police Bureau, the FBI, and all the other law enforcement agencies involved had their share of coverage, too, but the success of the entire operation was laid at the feet of the “Golden Girl” DA, as one newscast called her.
So on Monday, fifteen minutes after she arrived at her office, the phone started ringing. And it kept on ringing non-stop. Then there were the colleagues who “just dropped in to see how you are” and stayed to ask questions. Not to mention the phone calls from Sam, also asking questions, his inquiries more in the official line.
If her phone calls were time-consuming, her email was overwhelming. People she hadn’t heard from in years, having seen the AP story that went out on the wire, sent messages. Even Celeste Alessandro sent a message after she’d seen the piece in the Inquirer.
Eventually Margo gave up the idea she’d get back to her caseload, sat back in her chair, drank innumerable lattes supplied by Kiki and answered the same questions over and over. Yes, she’d been scared. No, she didn’t think she would leave the DA’s office for a career in police work. Yes, she was happy to have played a pivotal role in such an important case. No, she wasn’t going to take time off to write a book. And GMA hadn’t called for an interview.
After a few hours, things settled down a little and she decided to find a scone or something to sop up all the coffee sloshing around in her stomach. As she headed for the elevator she saw Greer Payne burst out of Jeff’s office, obviously crying, after what was apparently a bad meeting.
Margo genuinely felt sorry for her colleague. For the first time, her judgment about men had been bad and probably career limiting.
• • •
Tuesday afternoon Kiki came into the office, her eyes dreamy, as if she’d just seen her high school crush. Instead, she’d seen Margo’s.
“Looks like Tony came to say arrivederci,” she said. “God, I’m going to miss seeing him around here.” Margo winced and Kiki immediately said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t think.”
“It’s okay. It’s true and I have to deal with it.”