Lisa Scottoline: Devil's corner

Hoo boy.

"She gets it from me," her mother said, her smile relaxing, and Vicki laughed, surprised.

But her father didn't reply and kept looking at the garden. Reheema seemed to run out of steam, uncharacteristically speechless. The moment was so awkward that Vicki stepped in to fill the silence.

"Thanks for the tour," she said. "We should probably get going. Congratulations on the garden."

"Thanks, take care."

"Yes, congratulations," her mother said, hugging Reheema briefly. Then she looped an arm around Vicki and they walked onto the sidewalk.

Her father didn't join them but lingered at the entrance to the garden.

"Dear?" her mother asked, and Vicki turned.

"In a minute," her father said quietly, then looked at Reheema. "I'd like to help you with the playground."

"I don't understand," Reheema said, and neither did Vicki.

"I'd like to send you a check, for the playground. I'll make it out for three thousand dollars, to cover the cost of the playset and the mulch. If you need more, you'll let me know."

"You don't have to do that, Mr. Allegretti," Reheema said, with a puzzled smile. "You don't have any responsibility for the garden. You don't even live here."

"I did once, and Victoria's right, part of me always will."

Whoa ! Vicki thought, astounded. She would have hugged him but she wasn't sure he'd taken his Pravachol.

"Well. Okay." Reheema broke into a grin. "Mr. Allegretti, thank you so much, from the whole neighborhood."

"You're welcome," her father said, turning to Vicki with a new smile. "Come on, Devon. I'm taking my girls out to dinner."

"You got it," Vicki said, happily surprised, and the three of them turned to walk up Cater Street.

"That was a wonderful gesture, Victor," her mother whispered, taking her father's hand, and he gave her a quick kiss on the cheek.

Vicki felt her spirits lift, walking behind the two of them. Maybe Dan had been right that night in the hospital. Maybe she just had to accept her father the way he was. And think out loud at every opportunity. Like now:

"Dad, I can't get over it. You said I was right. In front of witnesses."

Her father turned, smiling. "I won't make a habit of it."

"I hope not." Then Vicki got an idea. "Hey, now that we're all in the love mood, can we go to an Olive Garden for dinner?"

"No," her parents answered, in unison.

And Vicki laughed.

I don't know what other authors do for fun, but I eat saturated fats, ride Buddy the Pony, and watch trials at the federal courthouse, where, in my ex-life, I worked as a lawyer. Not long ago I wandered into a courtroom and found myself watching a jury trial for crack-cocaine trafficking against members of one of the most violent gangs in Philadelphia history. I had seen only five minutes of the testimony before ideas and characters started to flow, and I knew I had a novel. In fact, the next morning I woke up with the first line of Devil's Corner . That has never happened before, and I'm hoping it happens again. Every year for the next ten years.

The case was United States v. Williams, and it was a piece of a much larger prosecution, United States v. Carter, et al . The 135-count indictment in United States v. Carter, et al., is almost as thick as this book, and names thirty-seven defendants, charging, inter alia, conspiracy to distribute crack cocaine, use of a firearm during commission of drug crime, and employing children to distribute drugs near schools and playgrounds. For the next few weeks at trial, I had an eye-opening lesson in crime and justice in a major American city, which happens to be my hometown.

You may recall that the crack cocaine trade reached peak levels in cities in the late 1980s, when it got more media attention than any narcotic deserves. But now that the spotlight has departed, crack trafficking has become business as usual, and unfortunately for all of us, stabilized at very high levels in major American cities, becoming a fixture in the urban landscape and bringing with it a continuous supply of crime and violence, tearing apart neighborhoods and families. As part of its Pulse Check program, the Office of National Drug Control Policy monitors crack cocaine trafficking and its effects in twenty-five major American cities: Atlanta, Baltimore, Boston, Chicago, Cincinnati, Cleveland, Dallas, Denver, Detroit, Houston, Los Angeles, Miami, Minneapolis/St. Paul, New York, Philadelphia, Phoenix, Pittsburgh, Portland, Sacramento, St. Louis, San Diego, San Francisco, Seattle, Tampa/St. Petersburg, and Washington, D.C. According to the most recent Pulse Check, of January 2004, crack abuse and trafficking are now infecting formerly "nice" neighborhoods in these cities and, inevitably, moving beyond the city into the suburbs. Also, crack is more frequently being traded for guns, stolen merchandise, drug-buying services, and sex than during the past ten years, though cash remains eternal. The effects on the quality of life, and of death, are profound, and they affect our country as a whole.

I wanted to deal with those themes in Devil's Corner , and I picked the brains of many experts, most of them involved in some way with U.S. v. Williams , to give this story its verisimilitude. Of course, any and all mistakes or misinterpretations are mine. The prosecution in U.S. v. Williams was steered by the experienced, able, and remarkably kind Rich Lloret Esq., of the U.S. Attorney's Office, working with his colleague AUSA Kathy Stark Esq., and super-dedicated them Special Agent Anthony Tropea, Special Agent Steve Bartholomew, and as luck would have it, Special Agent Mike Morrone, whose wife, Marcelle, is an old friend of mine. I should make the obvious clear before I go further: I admire these people, not only for their intelligence and skill, but for their dedication and service to the public. I don't think we know enough about the amazing job they do, or the many sacrifices they make for all of us. But the characters in this book are not them, or "real" in any sense whatsoever, and this story isn't based on U.S. v. Williams or U.S. v. Carter . No truly original novel duplicates court cases or is "ripped from" today's headlines. Any fiction worth reading (or writing) comes from the imagination, and heart.

Having said that, this is me thanking every one of the people named above, who took the time to answer my endless questions, permitted me to watch them in action, and took me on office tours. Special thanks to Special Agent Mike Morrone, who lent encouragement, read a draft of the manuscript, and made corrections. Likewise, I am indebted to Nancy Beam Winter of the U.S. Attorney's Office, a brilliant and gorgeous prosecutor who read two early drafts of this novel; I owe you forever, girl, and admire you more than I can say.

Thanks, too, to my old friend Joan Markman Esq., of the

U.S. Attorney's Office, who put me on to the right track at the outset. For background information about criminal defense lawyering, many thanks to Joe Mancano Esq., who was court-appointed in U.S. v. Williams and was equally generous with his time and expertise to help me, and to David Nenner Esq. And a special thanks to Judge Stewart Dalzell, of the Eastern District of Pennsylvania, who is one of the smartest, fairest, and finest jurists ever to serve on our local, or any other, bench. His integrity, literacy, and humanity epitomize what a judge should be.

Thanks again to Glenn Gilman Esq., public defender extraordinaire, and Art Mee, retired detective extraordinaire.

And thanks to another special group. As is my custom, character names in this novel have been auctioned off to wonderful people who supported a number of worthwhile causes, and thanks are due to those generous people; first to the Durham family, who contributed to the Literacy Council of Miami Valley, Ohio, in honor of their beloved mother, Marilyn Durham. Marilyn was a book lover and a devoted reader of mine, but sadly, she passed away before she could see her name in print. I think of Marilyn and her daughters often, and this book is in her memory.