“Take a seat, Ms. Rosato,” said one of the detectives, though Bennie had been here many times. The room was tiny, its institutional green walls unscrubbed, and she sat down in the steel Windsor chair that was bolted to the ground, reserved for murder suspects. The room smelled faintly of stale smoke, and flush against the grimy wall was a rickety wooden table, half the size of a card table. Scattered across its uneven surface were blank statement forms and an ancient Smith-Corona.
Bennie wasn’t worried for herself. She knew the police couldn’t charge her in Lenihan’s death; they hadn’t even cuffed her on the drive to the Roundhouse. The museum guard would tell what happened, there’d be 911 transcripts to support Bennie’s story, and Lenihan’s baton was in plain sight. God knew if his original plan was to make Bennie’s death look like a mugging or a carjacking, but neither ruse would work now. The attack was proof positive of a police conspiracy, one ruthless enough to kill to protect itself. The gloves were off. The war was on and had claimed its first casualty.
“Your lawyers are here, Rosato,” the detective said, and Bennie looked up.
Judy and Mary stood in the doorway behind Grady, their expressions strained with fear. Grady rushed forward and gathered Bennie in his arms, lifting her almost bodily out of the chair. Pain arced through her ribs. “I’m all right,” she said, but Grady turned to the detective.
“Leave us alone, please. We need five minutes.”
“Five minutes, counselor,” the detective said. He had a runner’s build and a trim haircut. He opened the door and left.
“Grady, wait,” Bennie said, holding up a palm. “There’s something I have to do. DiNunzio, Carrier, sit down.” Grady stepped aside as the associates, in jackets over their street clothes, sank into chairs. Judy looked worried, and Mary positively stricken, the three wrinkles across her young forehead now permanent as the earth’s strata. “Are you okay?” Bennie asked her.
“Are you okay?” Mary answered, her voice hushed. “Your lip is all bloody.”
“I’m fine.” Bennie ran her tongue over a sore bottom lip. “But listen, what happened tonight is no joke. You guys are off this case. No more court appearances, no more signing any papers that get filed.”
“Bennie, no,” Judy protested, but Mary remained silent, which Bennie noted.
“Carrier, you have no choice. First thing tomorrow, you file a withdrawal of your and Mary’s appearance. I want it as high-profile as possible. Tell Marshall to send a press release about it, too. I want you two off this case and I want everybody to know it.”
“How’s that gonna look?” Judy raked her tousled hair with her hand. She was wearing jeans and a football jersey that stuck out under a short Patagonia jacket. “It’ll look like we quit, like we got scared.”
“You can’t worry about what people think. Your safety is more important.”
“Than my reputation as a lawyer? Than my responsibility to you?” Judy shook her head and her hair swung around her ears. “I’m not quitting. I’m showing up tomorrow in court. That’s my choice.”
“No, it isn’t. It’s my law firm, I make the case assignments. We need an associate on the Burkett case. You’re it. Both of you.”
“I won’t do it,” Judy insisted, and Bennie rubbed her forehead. Her head throbbed from the bump she’d taken in the back. Her cheek had stopped bleeding but her jaw ached, and all this arguing didn’t help.
“Carrier, just once, could you do what I say? Just once, could you listen?”
“I’m listening, I’m just not obeying. What would my getting off the case solve? What about you? You’re the one they’re after. This cop tried to kill—”
“Yes, what about you, Bennie?” Grady chimed in, and Bennie looked up from her chair to see the fear on his face. His skin, fair to start with, was an unhappy shade of pale, and his eyes red from work and worry. Blond nubs dotted his chin and his old DUKE T-shirt was on inside out, tugged on in a hurry. “I know you won’t quit, but you can’t go on without some security. Either I’m in that courtroom or you hire protection.”
“Protection? You mean a bodyguard?”
“I mean three bodyguards.”
“We can’t afford three.”
“I’ll settle for two, but that’s my final offer.” Grady turned to the associates and managed a smile. “Is that agreeable to you, counsel? Two bodyguards?”
“Yep,” Judy said. “That means I’m still in. Okay, boss?”
“No, not okay.”
Grady touched Bennie’s shoulder. “It should be her choice. Look at all the stupid choices you make, and nobody stops you.”
Bennie smiled. “Stop. It hurts to laugh.”
Judy laughed. “It’s a settlement, then. I’m still on the case.”
Bennie sighed, too shaken to fight. “All right, I’ll settle for Carrier, but, DiNunzio, you’re on Burkett starting tomorrow. File your withdrawal of appearance in the morning, then take the rest of the day off. Got it?”
Three heads suddenly turned, and all of a sudden Mary felt as if she were the one in the chair for prime suspects. “I don’t know,” she said.
“It’s not up to you,” Bennie told her. “You did wonderful work on this case, with the neighbors, and now it’s over.”
“But the neighbors haven’t been called yet, as witnesses. How will you cross them? I haven’t prepared you.”
“I’ll be fine. I have your notes. I know what to do.”
There was a sharp rap on the door and Bennie stiffened, wincing as her ribs protested the change in posture.
“Rosato?” said a man’s voice, and the door to the interview room opened.
But it wasn’t one of the detectives. Standing at the threshold, his grizzled face lined with regret, his familiar khaki pants and navy blazer a wrinkled mess, stood Lou Jacobs.
It had gone as Bennie had expected at the Roundhouse, with Grady acting as her attorney, though he was barely needed. The detectives listened to Bennie’s account of Lenihan’s death with civility and professionalism, and credited it almost immediately. They had no alternative, given the supporting evidence. DiNunzio and Carrier perched on folding chairs and managed to keep their tears in check, but it was Lou who surprised Bennie.
He hovered at her shoulder opposite Grady during the entire questioning, taking her side against the police without having to say a word. When she was finished, he rested a warm hand on her shoulder, which she found more comforting than she could rightly account for. Bennie hardly knew the man, but she sensed something benevolent in him. A goodness not found in the young; a tenderness that came only with years. Lou would be her bodyguard. In a way, he already was.
Bennie remained quiet in the car ride home with Grady, who was as kind and as solicitous as he could be. At the house, he made her fresh coffee, understanding that Bennie didn’t feel like talking. He put an ice pack on her head, which remained sore in the back, and gave her a tablespoon of honey to make her throat feel better. It helped, even though it was less than scientific. Her lip had swelled where she’d cut it and her jaw was shaky from being bounced around, and for that Grady prescribed a night’s rest. Beside him.
Bennie was grateful to him, but oddly found herself unable to say so. She lay sleepless, awake until dawn. She couldn’t think, but could only feel. If she had met death firsthand with her mother’s passing, Bennie was on an intimate basis with it now. She couldn’t help but feel partly responsible for Lenihan’s death. She kept replaying the fight on the wall in her mind. If she had just closed her fingers around the windbreaker a second earlier.
Bennie closed her eyes in the dark bedroom. Her thoughts wandered to the prison murders. Connolly had driven a screwdriver into Leonia Page’s throat, almost the same spot where Bennie had stabbed Lenihan with the pen. Was there such a thing as the killer instinct? Did Bennie have it, too? Tears slipped from beneath her eyes, one after the other, coming as uncontrollably as her questions. Was her heart as dark as Connolly’s? Did she have that level of hate
in her nature, subsisting deep in her bone and fiber, residing within her very cells?
The bedroom remained still. The night was deep and silent. The only sound was the low electrical hum of the alarm clock, its squared-off face glowing a fraudulent orange. Grady’s breathing came soft and even. The dog snored from a curl on the plywood subfloor at the foot of the bed. This room, this man, and even this animal used to make Bennie feel safe, used to fill her with love. She used to think of her mother, sleeping as peacefully as she could, in the hospital, watched over by the best doctors money could buy. The thought would comfort her, complete her somehow. Bennie’s life was full then, and sweet. She was happy.
But right now, Bennie couldn’t even remember what happiness felt like.
66
The early rays of the morning sun fought their way through the skyscrapers into chambers, and Judge Guthrie sat almost slumped behind his elegant mahogany desk. His reading glasses lay folded beside a hunter green blotter, and he gazed at Bennie with hooded eyes, sloping downwards. “I was so terribly sorry to hear of what befell you last night, Ms. Rosato.”
“Thank you, Your Honor,” Bennie said. Freshly showered and dressed in her standard navy suit, she crossed her legs in the leather chair across from the judge’s desk. She and Hilliard had received an early morning call from Judge Guthrie, in inevitable response to the media accounts of Lenihan’s death. KILLER TWINS, read the worst of the tabloid headlines, along with the subtler DOUBLE JEOPARDY.
“How are your injuries, my dear?” Judge Guthrie asked. He sounded sincere and almost looked it, in a red paisley bow tie with a white oxford shirt that hadn’t been on long enough to wrinkle.
“I’m alive, thank you.” Bennie’s lip remained sore and her shoulder and side ached. Her jaw still felt rattled, though the scrape on her cheek had been concealed by foundation. Nevertheless, she was determined to put last night behind her. Letting it get to her was letting them win.
“It’s terrible,” Hilliard chimed in, his voice grave. His beefy frame looked as if it had been clothed hastily, in a tan pinstriped suit and a cream-colored shirt that contrasted with the darkness of his skin. His gray tie had been knotted sloppily, unusual for Hilliard. “I spent most of the night trying to get to the bottom of it.”
Judge Guthrie turned. “What did you learn, Mr. Hilliard?”
“We understand that Officer Lenihan was very upset by Bennie’s cross-examination in court the other day, when she mentioned his name in connection with official corruption. They tell our office that Lenihan reacted badly, thought it was an embarrassment, a disgrace. We believe he went to talk with Bennie, perhaps confront her about what she’d said, but he lost control. Our office will be issuing a statement this morning. We regret deeply what happened, of course.”
Bennie said nothing. Behind Judge Guthrie’s frail shoulder, his court reporter tapped on the long black keys of the steno machine. This conference would be on the record, and Bennie was mindful that any transcript could find its way into the news, COURT-TV, or even the Internet. She wouldn’t say a word that wouldn’t be for public consumption.
Hilliard shook his head. “Frankly, Officer Lenihan was a renegade, a loose cannon. You might as well know, both of you, that we understand he went drinking last night. His blood alcohol level was double the legal limit.”
Bennie listened, her face impassive though her thoughts were in tumult. She hadn’t smelled alcohol on Lenihan’s breath last night and she would have if there had been any. Somebody either injected him with alcohol postmortem or falsified the lab results. She wondered who had signed off on the blood work.
“My, my,” Judge Guthrie said quietly. “That’s quite a shame, quite a shame.”
“It certainly is,” Hilliard agreed. “You never think anything like this happens, then it does.”
“Such a young man, too,” the judge mused. “So sad, so sad.”
Hilliard nodded. “Lenihan had so much going for him. Was on his way up. Except for his personality problems, he was a good cop. His personnel record was clean as a whistle.”
Bennie thought their conversation stilted, as programmed as a dialogue in a high school language lab. She could read between the clichés. Lenihan’s personnel record had been altered. Any infraction had been magnified to a personality problem, to support their “loose cannon” spin. She looked at the prosecutor and wondered again if he was in on the conspiracy.
Hilliard turned to Bennie, shifting his weight with difficulty in the chair. Beside him on the floor lay his crutches. “The police department is also going to issue you a formal apology for what happened. I know it doesn’t sound like much, but it’s the best we can do under the circumstances.”
“Thank you very much,” Bennie said, choosing her words carefully. “I’m very sorry about Officer Lenihan’s death myself. No apology by the department is necessary.”
“On a personal note, I don’t hold you responsible for the questions you asked in court. I understand that you had to cross-examine on something. I’ve been in your position, Bennie, when you don’t have a case.”
Bennie bristled. “My cross-examination was entirely appropriate.”
“You can’t really be serious about this drug corruption theory, can you?” Hilliard scoffed, and Bennie permitted herself a tight smile.
“The defense will do its theorizing in court.”
“But you don’t have a shred of evidence.”
Judge Guthrie picked up his reading glasses and unfolded them. “Let’s not argue, counsel. The question for us is, what effect should this terrible occurrence have on the trial? I surmise, Ms. Rosato, that you will be requesting a few days’ time to recover from your injuries and distress. In view of the recent loss in your immediate family, the Court will grant you a reasonable continuance. I gather, Mr. Prosecutor, that you would agree.”
“Within reason, of course,” Hilliard said quickly, but Bennie had anticipated the move.
“Thank you, both of you, but I won’t be needing any continuance, Your Honor. I’d like to keep the case on track. I expect that Mr. Hilliard will call his next witness” — she checked her watch — “in one hour.”
The court reporter looked up in surprise, her mouth a perfectly lipsticked circle. There was no way Bennie wanted an extension now. She had the conspirators in disarray and she had to keep the heat on. She was closer than ever to bringing to justice whoever was behind the conspiracy. Besides, nothing pissed her off like attempted murder, especially her own.
“My, this is unexpected,” Judge Guthrie remarked, easing his glasses onto his nose. “Surely you will be needing some time to collect yourself and prepare your case. A day or two, perhaps?”
Hilliard’s dark brow furrowed in confusion. “Bennie, don’t push yourself like this. Nobody could live through what you’re living through and still try a case.”
Bennie smiled politely. “Thanks for your concern, but I’m perfectly able to go forward. We have a sequestered jury, and I’d hate to keep them from their families any longer than necessary.”
Judge Guthrie made a familiar tent of his fingers. “The Court doesn’t quite understand, Ms. Rosato. Before this tragic event, an extension of time was your most fervent desire.”
“That’s true, Your Honor. But since what happened last night, I think it’s more important than ever to conclude this case. Delay makes it more likely that the jury may be tainted by the publicity, precluding the defendant’s ability to receive a fair trial. In fact, the defense finds itself in the position of opposing any extension at this critical point.”
Judge Guthrie’s finger tent collapsed. “Well, then. The Court will see both of you next door at the previously scheduled hour, counsel.”
“Thank you, Your Honor,” Bennie said. She picked up her briefcase, hiding the discomfort that shot through her ribs, then left chambers ahead of Hilliard.
Sitting in Judge Guthrie’s waiting room was Judy Carrier, flanked by two extraordinarily muscular young men.
Lou had made sure the guards were at Bennie’s house when she left for court that morning. He’d called them “Mike” and “Ike” because they looked so much alike: brown hair buzz-cut into oblivion, navy polyester suits, and regulation Ray-Ban aviators. Yet it wasn’t their presence that surprised Bennie, it was Mary DiNunzio’s, at the near end of the sofa. She rose to her feet with Carrier and the bodyguards.
“How’d it go?” Mary asked as they left chambers and entered the corridor. The floor was of black-and-white marble and the white vaulted ceiling towered over their heads. The press was momentarily at bay, obeying orders not to come within fifty feet of the judge’s chambers.
“What are you doing here?” Bennie looked at Mary, whose brown suit hung on her form, as if she’d lost weight. “Why aren’t you back at the office, withdrawing from this case?”
“I want to stay on,” Mary answered. She had thought about it all night. “I have to. You need me.”
Bennie smiled. “I have tried cases without you.”
“I’m not a quitter.” Mary hustled to keep pace down the corridor. “I thought about this and I’ve made a decision. It’s firm. If I’m a lawyer, I’m going to lawyer.”
Bennie frowned. “If you’re a lawyer? You are a lawyer, and a far better one than you know.”
“Thank you.” Mary felt blood rush to her face. She’d never heard Bennie praise anyone.
“But I still want you off this case.”
“No. I’m going to court with you.”
“Take a compromise, then. It’s a research mission on this case, purely factual. Do it from your desk, and out of trouble.”
“Sure, what?”
“Find out if our friend Dorsey Hilliard has any connection to Judge Guthrie or Henry Burden, or both.”
“Both Burden and Hilliard were in the D.A.’s office, obviously.”