Courting Trouble

investigations all the time, parallel to whatever the cops are doing. This is nothing new, not to us.”

Whoa. Anne glanced over in surprise, but said nothing. Judy’s words clearly carried weight with Bennie, who was looking at the three associates with exasperation.

“But what do I tell the cops, girls? How would I know that Kevin has escaped if Murphy’s really dead? She’s the one who got the call from the shrink, not me.”

“You’ll figure it out,” Anne answered. “You found my mother, didn’t you? Go ahead, call the cops, but let me stay dead at least until Tuesday morning.”

“Why Tuesday morning?”

“Tuesday morning I try Chipster.”

Bennie looked at Anne like she was crazy. “You can’t think you’re trying that case! No way will you be ready for trial with what’s going on, and God knows it would be a miracle if the cops find Satorno that quick. Murphy, staging a full civil trial is a complicated thing. You have to postpone.”

“I can’t. Gil wanted to go forward, to stay on track with his IPO. In this climate, everybody wants funding and it’s a coup to get it. If there’s a hiccup of any type, the funding will take a pass. That’s why we didn’t settle the case in the first place—Gil wanted to be completely vindicated for his Board and the venture capital guys. If we derail the case now, he loses the IPO. End of Chipster.”

“So don’t postpone, but don’t you try the case. Not with what’s going on with Satorno. Be practical, Murphy!” Bennie slid off the credenza and onto her running shoes. “Look, I’ll reshuffle some deps and try it for you.”

“Thank you, but I want to try it myself.” Anne felt surprised at the strength of her feelings, until she understood their source. “Kevin Satorno has taken quite enough from me. A new friend. My new home. My feeling of safety. My peace of mind. He’s not going to take my job, too. It’s my case and my client.” She folded her arms again, at least mentally. “I call these shots.”

Bennie sighed. “Okay, fair enough. You brought the client in, you make the decisions.” She checked her watch. “Let’s rock and roll. I have to call the cops. DiNunzio, you gotta take the dep. The court reporter must be threatening to leave by now. Murphy, you stay here, so no one can see you.”

“Thanks.” Relieved, Anne turned to Mary, who was already getting up from her desk. “Mary, you know what to do, right? Get Bonnard to talk about the incident last May. You know, she claims Gil Martin hit on her, at a seminar they went to at the Wyndham. Gil says she’s pissed because she didn’t get a raise, and we can document that with the e-mails she wrote. Pin her down on the details, so we can try to predict her testimony at trial.”

“Got it. It shouldn’t take long.” Mary went around her desk, collecting her notes and exhibits. “Feel free to use anything in the office, but stay inside, at least until the dep’s over.”

“Right.” Bennie paused at the doorway, her hand on the knob. “And one last thing. You should know that I spoke with Gil last night. He was obviously upset about your murder, and so was his wife. How are you going to handle that? Are you going to tell them you’re alive?”

“I was going to. I trust Gil. He’ll keep it confidential.” Anne felt Judy’s eyes boring into her back. What was it she had said? Gil Martin would never have hired Anne if she hadn’t looked the way she did.

“Can I make a suggestion?” Bennie asked. “Why don’t you hold off on telling the client for now? You have to lay low, and with Gil thinking that I’m handling the case, just let it be for now. Think about it.” Bennie opened the door and let Mary out. “And find out more about Willa, okay? We have to talk to her family. And I’m not convinced she wasn’t the target. Get on it. Humor me.”

Damn. So she hadn’t convinced Bennie. Anne felt vaguely defeated as the office door closed, leaving her and Judy alone in the small, clean office. They looked at each other, then looked away. They didn’t like each other. Anne didn’t know what to say. If I can’t talk about lipstick, I’m fresh out of conversation.

“Thanks for the support, with Bennie,” Anne said finally, because that needed saying.

“No problem.”

Okay, now go. “You don’t have to hang with me or anything, Judy. I’m fine, and you probably have work to do.”

“Nope, I’m good. My cases are nice and quiet. It’s summertime.”

“Then why stick around the office? You probably have something better to do, for the holiday. You have a boyfriend, don’t you?”

“Yes, Frank Lucia, from the Lucia case. You met him, remember?”

No. “Sure.”

“He went fishing for the weekend. I was just painting at home, when this happened. I’ll stick around and keep you company.”

GO AWAY! “Whatever.”

The office fell quiet except for the crowd of media outside. The window overlooked Locust Street, and Judy turned toward it, gesturing. “Noisy out there,” she said.

“Reporters.”

“Let’s go drop water balloons.” Judy went to the window, but Anne hung back. It drove her nuts that Judy was trying to be nice to her. Mental note: Some feelings make no sense.

Judy turned and waved her over. “Come here, look at this. It’s a zoo!”

Anne went to the window, of smoked glass, and looked out. A sea of people shifted and moved in front of the building, bigger than before. Reporters with microphones, tape machines, and notepads, and photographers with videocameras, print cameras, and klieg lights. A hot-dog vendor with a red-striped umbrella peddled lunch, and a young black kid handed out advertising flyers. Anne counted three Uncle Sams and one uniformed cop.

She squinted against the sun, scanning for Kevin. She wished she could start looking for him right now. He could be down there. It would make sense. The day was slipping away. The weekend was slipping away. She had lost enough of her life to that asshole. And he had killed Willa. Anne had to find him. To make him pay and to make herself, finally, safe.

“You’re looking for him, aren’t you?” Judy asked, reading Anne’s thoughts, which annoyed her.

“Yes.”

“What does he look like?”

“Why?”

“I can look, too. Two pairs of eyes are better than one. It’s four eyes altogether. It’s a lot of eyes.” Judy grinned, and Anne was pretty sure she was kidding.

“Well, he’s good-looking, for a psycho. He has pale blond hair and blue eyes, close together. His nose is long and sort of beaked, a little—”

“Wait.” Judy held up a palm, turned from the window, and began ransacking Mary’s desk. She stopped when she found a small pad of white paper and a sharpened pencil. “Start over, with his eyes.”

“What are you doing?”

“I’m going to draw him.”

“Why?”

“I understand things better when I draw them.”

This chick is crazy, too. Maybe I wasn’t missing anything.

“Start again, with the eyes—”

“They’re blue.” Anne went into a detailed description, surprised that she remembered as much as she did about Kevin’s face. She had read that many stalking victims become obsessed with their stalkers, but she thought it was simply impossible to forget the face of someone who had looked at you with intent to kill. “Light blue, scary blue. And he has a weak chin, by the way. It goes back a little.”

“Recedes.”

“Totally.”

“Got it.” Judy sketched some more, asked a few more questions, then, after ten minutes, flipped the pad over and held it up. “How’s this?”

My God. The likeness was almost dead-on. It looked like Kevin’s face emerging from the sketch. Right in front of Anne.

“You hate it.” Judy’s face fell.