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 cliches. 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.”
