nightstick under her chin, cutting off her windpipe. Her throat exploded in pain. Her eyes filled with tears. She clawed the nightstick, struggling to wrench it off.
“You’re dead, bitch!” Lenihan dragged her to the edge of the stone wall. A panel of lights at the foot of the wall blinded her. She gasped for breath. She tore at his hands, then his nylon windbreaker.
“Get over there!” Lenihan shouted, then slammed Bennie onto the hard edge of the stone wall. The rough stone scraped her cheek. Her ribs seared in agony. She dangled over the wall. She could barely see for the pain and the darkness. It was fifty feet down to a concrete delivery ramp. “Get over the wall!”
Bennie forced herself to think, but she was losing consciousness. She couldn’t breathe. Lenihan shoved her higher onto the wide wall and tried to push her over the side.
With her last breath, Bennie grabbed the pen and stabbed blindly backward. Lenihan’s surprised gurgle told her that she had hit something. The nightstick eased at her throat. Her body shuddered as her lungs gulped air. There was no time to lose.
“Aaargh!” Lenihan cried. He dropped his nightstick and it clattered to the asphalt.
Bennie torqued in his grasp. The ballpoint hung from the base of Lenihan’s neck and he yanked it out. Blood spurted from the wound. His eyes blazed with renewed fury. He grabbed Bennie by the throat and slammed her back against the wall, banging her head against hard rock. She fought back on the edge of consciousness, hanging on his shirt so as not to fall over the side.
They struggled up and onto the wall, their shadows commingling in a grotesque lover’s dance, their silhouettes magnified in the lights. Lenihan’s blood drenched them both. Bennie felt its hot spray on her cheek. Its primal smell filled her nostrils. Her nails raked Lenihan’s windbreaker as he rolled her to the edge of the wall. The sky went black around her.
“Hey, you! Hey, cut that out!” came a shout, and Bennie felt Lenihan’s grip release her throat. She coughed for breath and opened her eyes long enough to see a museum security guard running toward them both. “Cut that out, you two!” the guard yelled.
Lenihan startled at the sight, then wobbled, losing his balance at the wall’s edge.
“No!” Bennie cried, and reached for him. His wind-breaker brushed her fingertips, but she closed her fist too late. Lenihan slipped from her fingers, his eyes sick with terror as he dropped over the side of the wall. The last sound Bennie heard before she collapsed was Lenihan’s final shriek, joined by the screams of approaching police sirens.
65
Bennie hadn’t realized how much the police hated her until she walked into Two Squad that night, after Lenihan’s death. The squad room was a dirty light blue, crammed with battered gray desks, lined with dented file cabinets, and encircled by water-stained curtains. It seemed to Bennie that everyone was on the night tour as she walked through their silent ranks and was led into the interview room for questioning. It wouldn’t help to tell them that she was sorry. It wouldn’t help to tell them she felt worse than they did. Nor would it help to tell them that Lenihan was trying to kill her. Bennie Rosato, who had built a career suing the department, had now killed one of their own. That was all that mattered to them.
“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
“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.”
