The Mole in His Bed novel · Chapter 1 of 24
Chapter 1: The Dead Woman's Oath
Cora takes the stand as a witness the city thought was dead, Crane laughs and names the mole, and Neil stands to swear she sold out a hundred and twelve officers.
The first witness in the Crane trial was a woman the whole city believed had been dead for five years.
That woman was me.
I waited for my name in a windowless room behind courtroom four, in a gray suit and flat shoes.
My hair was dyed black and cut to my jaw. I wore glasses I didn't need.
The door opened without a knock.
"Oh, sorry. Wrong room."
I knew the voice before I understood I was listening to it.
I kept my face turned to the blank wall.
"First time on the stand?" the woman asked. "Don't look at the jury. Pick one spot on the back wall and talk to that."
She waited, kindly, for an answer.
"Thank you," I said, low.
"You'll be fine, honey. Everyone is."
The door clicked shut.
I laid both hands flat on the table and made them stay there.
That was Paula, my partner for six years and the maid of honor at my wedding.
I had taught her the back wall trick myself, in her first trial. She was still handing it out.
Five years ago I died in a car fire on a shore road, so that the man I was investigating would stop watching me.
Twenty-three days later a raid team walked into a trap at Pier Nine, and a hundred and twelve officers did not come home.
By then I couldn't speak for myself, and somebody had already filled my name with two million dollars of Crane's money.
The department buried an empty coffin and a traitor's reputation in the same week.
The bailiff opened the door. "Detective Tallant. They're ready for you."
Nobody had said that name out loud in five years.
I walked into the courtroom through the side door.
Elias Crane sat at the defense table in a blue suit with his hands folded. He had been my employer for five years and he did not look up.
On the left, behind the prosecutors, sat the families in black coats.
Many of them held photographs in their laps.
In the front row, on the aisle, sat Neil Garrick.
He had cut his hair, and there was gray at his temples that I hadn't put there.
Neil was my husband for four years.
At my memorial he told the whole department I was a disgrace to the badge.
Two years after that he married Paula Crowe, and she became Paula Garrick.
She slid into the seat beside him now and took his hand.
He had a small black notebook open on his knee.
When Paula leaned over to whisper to him, he wrote something in it.
He had always logged everything. Some habits don't change.
I raised my right hand in front of a judge and swore to tell the truth.
"State your name for the record," the clerk said.
"Cora Tallant. Detective, Baltimore Police Department."
The families came out of their seats all at once.
The bailiff shouted for order and the judge's gavel came down three times.
Somewhere on the left a woman was crying, and somewhere a man said, "Traitor," loud enough for the stenographer.
From the defense table, Elias Crane began to laugh.
It started small. His lawyer touched his sleeve, and Crane shook him off.
"Tallant," he said, and wiped his eye. "Of course. Five years I paid a dead cop to count my money."
"Mr. Crane," the judge said. "Sit down."
Crane stayed on his feet and turned his whole chair toward the front row.
He pointed at Paula.
"You've been chasing the wrong woman, Lieutenant. Go ahead and ask your wife who sold Pier Nine. She was paid on the first of every month."
Nobody in the room made a sound.
Paula didn't let go of Neil's hand. Her face stayed kind and a little puzzled.
Neil looked up from the notebook, and for one second he looked only at me.
I picked a spot on the back wall, the way I'd been told.
I stayed in the chair.
Then Neil stood.
"Your Honor, I'm Lieutenant Neil Garrick. I led the Pier Nine investigation," he said. "That man is lying to save himself."
He turned to face the stand.
"And I'll swear in this court that the woman sitting there sold out a hundred and twelve officers."
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