Michael Baden - Skeleton justice

Jake eyed the total. "Surely the decimal point's in the wrong place?"

"I'm too law-abiding to buy cheap knockoffs." Manny kept digging. "Oh hell-I never mailed Aunt Joan's birthday card."

Jake shook his head as he poured his brother a cup of coffee. "You might want to scramble yourself some eggs. This could take a while."

"It must be in the side compartment," Manny said. Out came her makeup bag, the latest Vogue, a bag of dried apricots, and a hairbrush the size of a Ping-Pong paddle.

"Dried apricots?" Sam asked.

"I'm trying to snack healthy. They're loaded with antioxidants."

"They're also unopened."

"Ah! Here it is." Manny grinned with relief as she unfolded a bundle of white paper. Then the smile faded away as she read, "'You are cordially invited to attend a trunk show for Barry Kieselstein-Cord at Bergdorf Goodman.'"

"This is ridiculous. It has to be in here." Manny undid every zipper and snap on the huge purse, turned it upside down, and shook. Sam snatched up his coffee cup to protect it from the cascade of flotsam and jetsam.

When the dust had settled, the two men surveyed the kitchen table with the awe of archaeologists entering an unsealed tomb.

"A socket wrench?"

"A lacrosse ball?"

"I had to tighten the bolt on Kenneth's office chair. And that ball came this close to hitting Mycroft-twice. I wouldn't give it back to those girls in the park."

With every item in the purse spread out on the table, Manny searched systematically, her panic rising with each dry-cleaning receipt and Chinese take-out menu, none of these items proving to be the missing letter.

Finally, she grabbed the kitchen trash can and swept a pile of junk into it. "The letter's gone." She whirled on Jake. "And I did not lose it. What goes in the bag stays in the bag. Until it is moved to another bag. Someone stole it."

"Was the bag ever out of your sight yesterday?" Jake asked.

Manny paused to think. "It was beside me in the booth at the diner. I never set it down while I was in the apartment in Brooklyn. Then I talked to all those cops and lawyers and FBI agents." Manny twirled her hair around her fingers. "I don't think it was ever away from me, but there were times it was hooked on the back of my chair, or lying under the table. Someone could have slipped the letter out then."

"But who?" Jake protested. "I thought you left the part about the letter out of the story you told the cops and the feds. No one but Paco knew you had it."

Manny nodded slowly, trying to process the implications. "I intentionally kept the part about the letter to myself. I knew if I gave it up to them, I'd never find out what it said. I figured after I read it, I could always take it back to them if I thought it contained information I'd get in trouble for withholding. Say I forgot about it in all the excitement."

She locked eyes with Jake. "So that means whoever stole it from my bag was tipped off by Paco."

"That leaves out the authorities," Jake said.

"Does it?"

Jake developed a sudden interest in loading the dishwasher, something he never saw the need for until every dish in the house was dirty. Manny knew he was using the time to form a calm response. Always the scientist, always in control of himself.

"Jake, think about it." Manny stood up and started firing items back into her purse. "There's something very fishy about the way Paco has drawn Travis into his circle. And the government's hands-off attitude toward the Sandovals is stranger still. How do we know the Sandovals aren't cooperating with the FBI in some sort of terrorism sting?"

Jake slowly closed the dishwasher. "What empirical evidence do you have?"

"I just told you."

"You take two unexplained phenomena, put them together, and come up with a conspiracy. As a scientist, I look for the most likely explanation first. After that's been eliminated-and only after it's eliminated-I move on to consider the more remote possibilities. When you hear hoofbeats, think horses-"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, not zebras," Manny said, finishing the old adage. "Your problem is, you automatically trust authority unless you see overwhelming evidence that the system isn't working. I automatically question authority, unless the person wielding it has proven to me that he's above reproach. And frankly, federal prosecutor Brian Lisnek, Ambassador Sandoval, and the merry crew of FBI agents questioning me last night have not cleared the bar."

Sam had been watching the exchange like a fan with center court seats at the U.S. Open. Now he intervened before his brother could respond. "I don't think Manny's totally out in left field. But, but"-Sam held up his hand for silence as Jake opened his mouth to protest-"you can't fault Jake's methodology. Assume the most plausible explanation until it's proven wrong.

"So, Manny," Sam continued. "Let's run through the possibilities of when the letter could have been lifted from your purse. Paco knew you'd head for Rosamond Street, but he couldn't know who you'd encounter there. You're sure you initiated the contact with the neighbor and the super?"

"Of course I'm sure. And I wasn't close to anyone else that whole time… except-" She broke off, thinking about the way she had entered the apartment building.

"Except what?"

"When I got there, before I could ring the bell, a man came out of the building and held the door open for me. At the time, I thought he was just a friendly neighbor, but maybe he'd been waiting for me."

"And you think he could've reached into your bag and taken the letter in the few seconds that you walked past him through the door?" Sam rose and refilled his coffee cup. "If they really wanted to get the letter back, it would be too risky to put all their hope on that brief encounter. Pickpocketing is most successful on a crowded elevator, a street corner, a subway-somewhere where the victim expects to be jostled, and the perp can disappear into a crowd."

Manny appraised him suspiciously. "You seem to know quite a bit about the subject. If we searched your room, would we find a collection of wallets?"

"Nah." Sam grinned. "I take the cash and ditch the leather. Seriously, though, can you think of a time during the day when you were surrounded by people?"

Manny chewed her lower lip, replaying every scene of the long action-packed day. "When I went to my parking garage to get my car, there were four or five people waiting for their cars to be driven down. There's not much space, so we were crammed together."

"That's a more likely spot for the grab," Sam said. "So, it may be that the person Paco tipped off is familiar enough with your routine to know where you garage your car."

"And that you'd be driving it to Brooklyn," Jake added, "not taking the subway."

"You mean it's someone I know?"

"Or someone who's been keeping an eye on you for a while," Jake said. "Which brings us back to the matter of how you got involved in this case in the first place." He handed Manny the phone again. "You've warmed up on me. I think you're ready to handle Maureen Heaton."

Manny took a deep breath and dialed. As anticipated, the first five minutes of the call passed in a storm of Maureen's panicky speculations. Eventually, Manny was able to bring the conversation around to the matter at hand. "Maureen, refresh my memory: Who was it who recommended that you hire me to represent Travis?"

"Her name is Tracy. I don't know her last name. She's a nurse at the Chelsea Extended Care Center. I was working private duty there the night I got the call that Travis had been arrested. I was in a panic. I needed to leave right away, but I couldn't abandon my patient. Tracy was so understanding. She told me to leave, that it was slow that night and she could spend extra time with my patient.

"And then she showed me your card, said she'd call and have you get in touch with me in case Travis needed a lawyer. You helped her nephew… or was it her cousin? Anyway, you called while I was at the jail, and by then I really knew I needed you. And people say New Yorkers are cold, but you know, I've never found that to be true."