Ten high-backed leather chairs sat around the table, reflected in fuzzy shadow on its shiny surface, and Anne, Bennie, Mary, and Judy took seats in the ones on the left, across from Deputy Commissioner Joseph Parker, Detective Sam Rafferty, his partner, and a young black man in a suit, who introduced himself as a lawyer from the city solicitor’s office. The city lawyer shook hands all around and began taking notes on a fresh legal pad as soon as he returned to his seat. Anne reminded herself it wasn’t a war, despite the battle lines on opposing sides of the table, the lawyer making notes in anticipation of litigation, and the woman entering the room and quietly taking a seat at the head of the table, the putative plaintiff, one Terry Murphy. Anne’s mother.
No doubt it was her, though Anne hadn’t seen her in so long. She seemed shorter than Anne remembered, perhaps five two, and years of pills and alcohol had destroyed a woman once lovely enough to attract dozens of men and entertain fantasies of movie stardom. Her cheeks looked sunken, her skin withered, and the blue of her eyes seemed watered down, especially in contrast with too-thick liquid eyeliner. Her mouth was enlarged by coral lipstick, and she wore a matching melon-colored T-shirt with a scoop neck and white cotton Capri pants, with white Tod knock-offs. Something about the shoes made Anne sad.
She watched her mother shake hands with the police brass, extending a small hand with frosted fingernails. Her mother nodded in a wobbly way, as if she’d gotten out of her umpteenth stint at rehab, and her shoulder-length hair had been newly colored jet-black to hide the graying of its dark red. She shook Bennie’s, Judy’s, and Mary’s hand, not looking at Anne until the last.
“Hello, Anne,” her mother said, her voice thin, but Anne didn’t reply, because she didn’t know where to begin, and once begun, would never end.
The deputy commissioner cleared his throat. “Ladies and gentlemen, let me first welcome our guests, and thank them for coming down here on the holiday to discuss this subject, which I know is important to all of us.” He was black and heavyset, balding, with dark, kind eyes and a soft smile. An unfortunate neck wattle hung over the tight collar of his stiff white shirt, which Anne gathered was worn by top cop brass, if his stripes, gold-eagle pin, and police-shield tie tack were any indication. The deputy commissioner continued, “The commissioner wishes he could be here, but, as you may know, he is out of the country.”
“In Ireland, I had heard that,” Bennie said, and Anne sat back against the cold leather. She was happy to let Bennie run the show, because it was clear from the jump that nothing meaningful was going to take place here, and for all of her newfound self-control, Anne was embarrassed at being in the same room as her mother.
“Most important,” he continued, “permit me to apologize to Mrs. Murphy, here and now, for the judgment exercised by Detectives Rafferty and Tomasso. After an investigation, which I assure you is ongoing, it has come to my attention that these detectives may have permitted certain false information about your daughter’s whereabouts to persist uncorrected. For that, and for any undue pain this may have called you, Mrs. Murphy, we, as a department, are heartily sorry.”
Terry Murphy nodded graciously, but that didn’t stop the apologies, which Anne knew were for the record and rendered solely on the advice of counsel, undoubtedly higher up than the one taking notes at the table. They knew that under the circumstances, Anne’s mother could sue the city and department for emotional distress and collect big-time. Only Anne knew that her death didn’t cause her mother any distress at all.
“I assure you, Mrs. Murphy, that these detectives have excellent records of service to the department, Homicide Squad, and city. Their actions were taken not only at your daughter’s request, but also in the sincere and reasonable belief that they were protecting her from further harm. You do understand that, I hope, Ms. Murphy.”
“Yes, of course,” her mother said, nodding again, and Anne detected a trace of a pseudo-English accent as bad as Madonna’s. Nice touch, Ma. Is that the acting part?
The deputy commissioner smiled his nice smile. “However, it remains true that the detectives’ actions were unorthodox, certainly, and also against police procedure, though they were undertaken in all good faith. We will be meeting with the press later today, to make clear our position in this matter. You should be aware, Mrs. Murphy, and we will tell the press, that we as a department are considering taking disciplinary action against the detectives for their actions.”
Detective Rafferty bowed his head slightly, a gesture that showed the sincerity that her mother lacked, and Anne was moved to speak.
“If I may, Deputy Commissioner Parker,” she said, raising an index finger. “As you correctly point out, Detective Rafferty and his partner took the actions—” she shook off the police speak and started over—“they kept quiet about the fact that I was alive because I begged them to, and to help me protect myself. I think it showed excellent judgment on their part, in addition to a really good heart.”
“Thank you,” the deputy commissioner said, and the city lawyer scribbled furiously. Rafferty looked up, a slight smile creasing his face, and Anne smiled back.
“I would hope that the police department would take no disciplinary action against either of these detectives. If the department would like me to submit a statement to that effect, for your purposes or for submission to the press, I would be happy to do so.”
“Excellent, that would be most appreciated,” the deputy commissioner said, and the city lawyer thought it was Christmas. Anne knew he’d send a follow-up letter as soon as he got back to his office, bearing the computer-generated signature of the City Solicitor and confirming her offer. The city and the department had just gotten a free release, but that was fine with Anne. She’d be damned if her mother would make a penny off of her alleged death, when she hadn’t bothered to show up for her alleged life.
Bennie was nodding in agreement. “Anne’s analysis is exactly correct, and my firm would be happy to state as much in a separate letter, if you wish.”
“A letter from Bennie Rosato, supporting the police?” The deputy commissioner chuckled softly, his heavy chest moving up and down.
“Credit where credit is due, sir.” Bennie smiled and leaned over the glossy table. “Now that we’re done with that, tell me what the department is going to do to catch Kevin Satorno.”
“We have assigned every available man to the search, and coordinated with the FBI and authorities in New Jersey. We remain staked out at the Daytimer. How did you find Satorno, by the way?”
“It doesn’t matter now,” Bennie said dismissively. The deputy commissioner didn’t press her, evidently in return for the nice letter she’d offered to write, like a referee’s compensatory call. “But can you offer Ms. Murphy any protection at all? We’re sure that Satorno will be stalking her, to finish what he started, both on the West Coast and here.”
“At this point, there’s not much we can do. As a policy matter, we don’t usually assign personnel to an individual victim of crime, and we’re severely short-handed today, because of the Fourth.” The deputy commissioner paused. “But when we free up somebody after the holiday, maybe we can put a car at her house or office.”
“That may be too late. She needs protection now. Don’t you have anybody, in a department this size? I can’t believe there’s nobody. What if a VIP came into town?”
“Unfortunately, there are already plenty of VIPs in town. We do have a Dignitary Protection Squad, but they’re already deployed. The Secretary-General of the U.N. is getting an award today, and half of Hollywood is arriving for the fireworks ceremony at the Art Museum tonight. There’s not a soul to spare.” He turned to Anne. “Ms. Murphy, if you want my advice, the best thing for you to do is to take a vacation out of town, until we apprehend Mr. Satorno.”
Anne had expected as much. “Thanks, but no. I have to work, I have to live. I’m trying a case tomorrow. I can’t go hide out, and I wouldn’t anyway.”
The deputy commissioner looked sympathe
tic. “Then use your common sense, which I think you have in abundant supply. Leave the police work to us, Ms. Murphy.”
“I understand, sir.” Anne rose slowly, her hands leaving fingerprints on the table, and Bennie and the others took their cue from her, rising from their seats. “Then, if there’s nothing more, we should probably get to work.”
The other side of the table rose, too, led by the deputy commissioner, who eased his girth from his chair. “We won’t keep you. Thank you for coming and we’ll call you the moment we have Mr. Satorno in custody. If you want an escort through the media outside in the parking lot, I can have my driver accompany you.”
Anne looked at Bennie, who answered, “That’s okay, thanks. What time is your press conference?” She headed for the door with the other lawyers, and Anne trailed behind.
The deputy commissioner hustled to open the heavy, paneled door. “In two hours, and we’re taking the same tack. I’m telling them what I just told you. With your permission, I will restate your position.” He waited for Bennie’s nod, then glanced at Terry Murphy, who remained seated at the table. “Mrs. Murphy isn’t yet sure of her position, but she has kindly agreed to attend the press conference with us.”
Cameras, lights, attention? “Why am I not surprised?” Anne muttered, but her mother heard it and turned in her seat, her face an almost-professional mask of pain.
“Honey?” she called out. “Can we talk, for a minute?”
But Anne was already gone, walking out the door without looking back. Just as her mother had, a decade earlier. Returning the favor felt good, and bad, but Anne had something better to do. Like save herself.
The women trooped down an empty hall to the elevator, piled into the cab and rode down without a word, at first. Anne felt everybody’s eyes on her, and appreciated it. They cared about her. They worried about her safety; they worried about her emotional state. Bennie, Mary, and even Judy were her true friends now, and she was theirs. But that meant they wouldn’t be able to go with her any longer. She couldn’t endanger them.
The elevator doors opened onto the ground floor, and they got out. Anne could see the media mob thronging in the parking lot, through the glass double-doors of the entrance. They extended all the way to the sidewalk, but she wasn’t unhappy to see them anymore. They were going to help now. But not with flyers, with something better.
“Get in wedge formation, girls,” Bennie said, taking the lead and gathering the associates behind her like baby chicks. Then she looked back and frowned. “Murphy, where’s your hat and sunglasses?”
“In my pocket.” Anne patted the hat and sunglasses, rolled up together. “I’ve worn my last disguise. I’m going as myself from now on.”
“No, you’re not. Put them on. Now.”
Mary touched Anne’s arm. “Anne, you should get in disguise. Otherwise you’ll be all over the TV and the news. The way you look now, your new haircut and color.”
But Anne had already broken formation. She hurried to the double door before anybody could stop her, and on the other side, the reporters were already clamoring for her. Shouting questions. Shooting pictures.
“Murphy, no!” Bennie shouted, but she was too late.
Anne was heading out into the sunlight.
Alone, except for a really good idea.
26
I DO NOT BELIEVE YOU DID THAT!” Bennie was yelling at Anne from the passenger seat of Judy’s Beetle, and her voice reverberated in the well-advertised dome of its interior. Judy was driving and they zoomed up the Parkway, heading uptown to the office, on Bennie’s orders. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done, Murphy?” she kept yelling. “Now Satorno will know what you look like!”
“I’m sorry, I guess I wasn’t thinking,” Anne said and hoped Bennie believed it. She’d have to sell it better. She shot for a bad impression of herself. “I’m so tired of letting Kevin run my life. I wanted to be myself for once.”
“THAT WASN’T VERY SMART, WAS IT?” Bennie was hollering so loudly that Mary and Judy cringed in stereo, but that didn’t stop her. “You wanted to be YOURSELF? News flash—YOURSELF is the girl he wants to kill, and he knows he’s gotta find you before the holiday’s over and the cops get more than three people on it! YOURSELF is gonna get dead, if you keep this up! Are you nuts, Murphy?”
“Can we stop somewhere?” Anne wiped her bangs back with a fraudulent weakness. “I feel kind of carsick.”
Mary offered her a half-bottle of water. “You want something to drink?”
“No, thanks, but I’m really queasy. My head feels so light.” Anne listed to the left, channeling Lucy’s fake illness in “Lucy Gets a Paris Gown.” Episode No. 147, March 19, 1956. “Can we just stop a minute?”
Bennie twisted around, her hair blowing in her face. “You have to stop, Murphy? We’ll find you a place to stop, so I can get out and yell at you better!” A minivan full of kids waving tiny American flags went by, and their mother was screaming at them from the passenger’s seat, too. “I have had it with you! Pull over, Carrier! Now!”
“Bennie, take it easy,” Judy said. “She’s sick.”
“Now!” Bennie ordered. The Beetle lurched to the next light, then swerved to the curb, where Judy pulled up, braked with a jolt, and cut the ignition. She opened her door and got out, and Bennie flung open her door and climbed out. “Everybody outta the pool! Now!”
“Thanks, guys,” Anne said faintly. She climbed out of the car slowly, giving herself time to scope out the scene. They had parked near a small triangle of sparse city grass, next to the street. A grimy wooden bench sat in the middle of the patch of land, which was littered with cigarette butts, broken bottles, and torn bits of red-white-and-blue-striped streamer. Bennie was standing by the door, fuming.
Excellent. Anne would have to act quickly. It was a corny plan, but it worked for Lucy in more episodes that she could count. Anne screwed up all the red-headed courage she could muster, walked over to Judy, and stopped dead in her tracks, pointing in mock horror over her friend’s shoulder. “Oh, my God! Judy, that’s Kevin!” Anne yelled out. “Right there!”
“Kevin? Where?” Judy wheeled around instantly, and Mary and Bennie did, too.
In the next second, Anne grabbed the car keys from Judy’s hand, scrambled back into the Beetle, slammed the key in the ignition and twisted it on, then hit the gas and took off. The Beetle fishtailed wildly, the driver’s door banging against the hinges, but Anne managed not to fall out as she took off and zoomed away, toward the Expressway to the Parkway. She checked the rearview mirror. Bennie was already a receding figure on the green patch in the distance, and Mary and Judy stood with her. It worked! Mental note: Lucy Ricardo would have been a great lawyer.
Anne hit the gas, hoping they’d understand. She cared too much about them to bring them any further. She had already gotten Willa killed. She couldn’t bear it if anything happened to one of them. She steered the Beetle uptown.
An older man in a station wagon glanced over at her, obviously annoyed that she was speeding, but she gave him a carefree wave. She intended to draw as much attention as she could today, to be as public as possible. To be noticed, seen. The newspapers had her picture and they’d run it soon, footage from outside the Roundhouse. People would start recognizing her. They would report more sightings than Elvis, ask her questions, create a buzz. Her whereabouts throughout the day would become known, which was all according to plan.
Anne intended to celebrate the Fourth of July in the City of Brotherly Love in the most public and obvious fashion ever, because she had no doubt that, at some point during the day, Kevin would find her. She was tired of running away from him and refused to do it even for one more day. She would let Kevin catch her. Then she’d catch him back.
She switched lanes, breathing easier. She was doing the right thing. It was the only way to bring this nightmare to an end. She would use herself as bait. If she didn’t, she’d be running for the rest of her life. Scared, and in danger. She wouldn’
t move again. She would stand her ground, flush Kevin out, and nail him herself. Bennie and the girls would never have let her do it, that’s why she had to do it alone. Well, not completely alone.
She took a turn toward Arch Street, heading up to her house, slowing in the increased traffic. It grew more congested the closer to City Hall she got, clustering around the Tourist Center and the Party on the Parkway. She made her way west, took a right onto Twenty-second Street, then a left, joining the line of traffic to her neighborhood and eventually turning onto Waltin Street.
Police sawhorses sat at the curb of the street, bearing a white sign that read BLOCK PARTY TODAY 3–5 P.M. Anne vaguely remembered a form she’d gotten for the block party, but she hadn’t bothered to send in the money. The party must be today. Odd that they’d be holding it despite her murder. Mental note: If people celebrate when you get killed, it’s time to make a few changes.
She fell into line behind slow-moving cars and SUVs, taking the time to look out the window and let people see her. She reached the top of her block and proceeded onto it, remembering when she’d walked it in the Uncle Sam stovepipe. Was that only two days ago? It hardly seemed possible. When she was five houses from her own, then four, she could see the yellow crime-scene tape still flapping in the breeze. People passed by on the sidewalk, stopping curiously, then moving on, not letting the ugly notion ruin their holiday.
She double-parked in front of her door, blocking traffic. How better to get some attention? She hoped all her neighbors would look out their windows and see her. Kevin could be in the area, betting she’d come back to the house. She had to get inside. She flung open her door and jumped out of the truck, causing a man in a white TransAm behind her to lean on his horn.