Dead Ringer

“I see. In any event, so you’re not going to prison.”

“Not at all. They’ll be some fussing later, but I can clear that up, too,” Bennie answered with a light laugh. Then it occurred to her. Alice could make trouble for St. Amien, as well. “Though, just to be on the safe side, you should know that this twin looks exactly like me and has been running around posing as me. There’s even an outside chance she may approach you-as me-at some point. She’s taken to dressing like me too. We’re completely identical.”

“Ah, so she is lovely too.”

“Picture me with a criminal record,” she said, deflecting the compliment. She flashed on that kiss of the other day. St. Amien was the Pepe Le Pew of clients. “Her name is Alice Connelly and she’s a bold sort, Robert. So if I drop by your office unexpectedly, call here to double-check if it’s really me. I know this sounds awkward, but it needs saying.”

“You’re joking.”

“Wish I were.”

St. Amien blew out some smoke. “Benedetta, if you are in trouble, perhaps I can help you.”

Bennie felt touched, but worried. No client would keep that attitude for long. In three days St. Amien would be looking for a lawyer he didn’t have to help. She channeled reassurance and caffeine. “Robert, I think you have that backward. Thank you for your very kind offer, but I am here to help you. You stay the client and I’ll stay the lawyer, okay?”

“?a va.”

“And that, too.”

“Also, I did have a surprise visitor this morning, though it wasn’t your twin. Herman Mayer came to see me, without an appointment. It was Mayer who told me about you, on the TV. I was dealing with my son and hadn’t turned it on.”

Bennie felt mortified. “Mayer? What did he want?” she asked, but she was already guessing.

“To speak with me about switching lawyers, from you to Mr. Linette.”

Whoa. “Full-court press.”

“What means this?”

“It means they’re really pressuring you.”

“Herman Mayer cannot pressure me to do anything,” St. Amien said, his tone changing on a franc. “His opinions are of no moment to me. He and I have history, as you say.”

“How so?”

“We have been competitors for some time, he and I. I was going to tell you this when we went back to your office, but the police intervened, unfortunately. Mayer and I were both bidding on the Hospcare contract, the one which eventually fell through, as you know. He wanted it very badly, but they awarded it to us.”

Bennie raised an eyebrow, even over the phone. “I didn’t know that.”

“There you have it. I suspect that Herman is increasing his damages estimate in some artificial way, inflating the revenue from the contract I got. There can be no way his damages are greater than mine. None. He has seventy-five employees only and not even ten million in sales, and he didn’t build an entire plant on the strength of certain contracts. Perhaps he is smarter than I.” St. Amien laughed.

“Or maybe he just has less faith.”

“Perhaps. My company is much older than his, founded by my grandfather. Herman and I expanded our European facilities at the same time. He came to the States first, however. Moved here and gained a small foothold on the market two years before I saw the opportunity. As such he feels as if he were my superior, which is not the case, needless to say.”

But it’s cute that you said it anyway. Bennie liked this client. He seemed more human to her than when they had first met. Though the kiss by the elevator bank may have had something to do with it. Everybody needs positive reinforcement.

“So Herman and I had a brief, unpleasant meeting. I told him I was quite pleased with my counsel and wouldn’t switch.”

“Even with me getting arrested? And my wacky sister?”

“Ha! Wait until you meet my wacky brother, then we shall talk again. Ah, he does not work ten hours a week, but for play, his horses, he has much energy. Riding around and around a ring of twenty meters.” St Amien chuckled. “Don’t worry, Bennie. I stay with you, wacky family and all.”

This guy is loyal. Bennie flushed with gratitude. Maybe she could learn to smoke. She knew how to eat, and it was basically the same thing. But back to business. “You think that Linette put Mayer up to seeing you? Linette can’t contact you directly at this point, but parties to a lawsuit can always talk to one another.”

“I doubt it came from Linette. Mayer is too stubborn to listen to anyone, least of all a blowhard.”

Bennie smiled. “Blowhard! Who taught you that word? It sounds like a bad translation of asshole.”

“Benedetta, don’t be an asshole,” St. Amien said with a soft chuckle, and Bennie laughed.

“Okay, wise guy. You got my letter, you know what’s going on this afternoon. Meet me there at one. I’m doing it to shore up your position as lead plaintiff.”

“I understand, and I’ll see you at one o’clock. But tell me, how will I know you’re you and not your twin?”

“I’ll be the one you kissed,” Bennie said, and hung up with a smile. Touche. Then she caught herself. What the hell was she thinking? St. Amien was way too old for her, and he was a client. Was she that desperate? Of course not, right? Bennie rested a hand on the phone and couldn’t help but wonder: Can I get him to stop smoking?

Then she came to her senses. She had a master plan to set in motion, and kisses didn’t figure into it.

14

Bennie felt the familiar whoosh of chilly air rush at her as soon as she opened the door to the courtroom and ushered St. Amien inside. In the federal courthouse in Philadelphia, the government conserves money by air- conditioning only the courtrooms, clerks’ offices, and judges’ chambers, and saving it in the many hallways of the twenty-odd-floor building, so the refrigerated blast of the courtroom welcomed Bennie as surely as coffee smells did at the office and a golden retriever did at her house. It signaled to her that she was on her turf, even that she was home.

St. Amien was looking around. “No one’s here yet, we’re so early,” he said, his tone hushed by the spaciousness and grandeur of the courtroom. Bennie had noted that the room usually had that effect on clients and witnesses; it was why she always brought witnesses in for a look-see. St. Amien wouldn’t have to testify today, but he stopped at the door, uncertain. “Benedetta, may we enter?”

“Of course. It’s a courtroom. It’s public. It belongs to us.”

“It is so different from Paris,” St. Amien whispered, eyeing the place, his mouth taut. “Our courtrooms are much smaller. Darker, and much older.”

Sounds great. She led him up the carpeted center aisle, and his silvery head swiveled left and right, taking in the huge wood-paneled courtroom, which empty seemed even bigger. An immense modern dais dominated the room, flanked by paneled boxes for the witnesses and jury, and it bore the flag of the United States before a rich maroon backdrop meant to absorb sound. Above the dais, a heavy golden medal of the United States Courts hung like a gilded sun in the sky. Okay, maybe Bennie was idealizing the place, but if a lawyer didn’t get a charge in a courtroom, she should get out of the business.

The flag, the dais, the seal, and the jury box-all of these fixtures reassured and thrilled Bennie. They were the stuff of the law, the emblems, accoutrements, and tools used every day to hammer out justice, case by case, verdict after verdict. Bennie wasn’t so naive that she thought justice was always perfect, blind, or evenly administered; she knew from bitter experience that judges and juries made mistakes, were bamboozled, or simply went the wrong way, every day. But she also believed that in the main, judges, juries, and lawyers strove together for justice, and that the courthouse remained a citizen’s best hope for a truly level playing field. Which was why she had come here today.