your house.” But Bennie didn’t want to go there. “Just do me one favor. Don’t send in your pink slip before you even get the dress, okay?”
“It won’t work, Bennie. I’m out of there as soon as I graduate. I want to make my own way in this world. Be free, and do what my heart says.”
Bennie wondered which Hallmark card that came from. They were in the lobby of the building, tricked out in a traditional Olde Philadelphia motif. A wafer-thin Kirman with a worn tasseled trim, a few dark wing chairs, and mahogany end tables bearing glowing lamps with oriental jelly jars. Well-dressed people were entering the lobby, and Bennie didn’t want them or guards at the security dais to hear this conversation. And Julien, in his youth and emotion, didn’t realize how loud his voice had gotten.
“Take a minute and come outside with me, okay?”
“Sure.” Julien shoved his hands in the pockets of his Abercrombie jeans, and he and Bennie walked past the people, the desk, and onto the sunny sidewalk, which faced Rittenhouse Square. Traffic around the square was increasing; it was just before five o’clock rush.
Bennie glanced into Rittenhouse Square, verdant and lovely, a working city park encircled by a slightly pebbled pavement and people walking city dogs. But she wasn’t sight-seeing today. Her gaze roamed the park until she found a very tall Sixers fan on one of the green benches to the left, his long legs crossed as he read a newspaper. Poor David. He’d have the sports page memorized by now. Bennie turned to Julien and tried to soften her tone. “Julien, let me ask you one question. Why did you tell me this, about your plans?”
“I didn’t want you to think I was some type of corporate shill. I respect you. What you do, who you are.”
“And I appreciate that.” Bennie had sensed as much. He wanted her approval. “And I respect you too. What you do, and who you are. So could you do me just this one favor, based on our mutual admiration society?”
“Yes.”
“Wait a year to make this decision. Accept my invitation about coming to the office and seeing my friends. If you still feel the same way in a year, and you decide to chuck it all and save the world, I’ll think it will be the smartest thing you ever did.”
“I don’t know, Bennie.” Julien pursed his lips. “A year?”
“I’ll settle for nine months.”
“How about three?”
Suddenly Bennie’s cell phone rang in her purse, and she flipped open the leather flap and reached inside. She checked the bench to see if it was David calling, but he had lowered the paper and was watching her with interest. “Excuse me just one minute,” she said, and Julien nodded. She flipped open the phone and turned away. “Hello.”
“Boss.” It was Carrier, excited as usual. “News update. I’m right, once again. It’s all Linette, all the time. I talked to the coroner and he said that Robert’s wounds were consistent with the knife from the Palm. He made a point of saying that it wasn’t
“That’s okay. Good work.” Behind her back, Bennie heard the ringing of another cell phone. Julien’s. Dueling Motorolas; it was truly a modern moment. Julien slid his cell from his back pocket and answered it, and Bennie put a finger in her free ear to hear Carrier better.
The associate was saying, “Also, Murphy drafted the papers for your restraining order, it’s ready to go. But you have to appear in person and answer questions under oath.”
“I figured. Wonder how soon I can get that done.”
“Next week, she called the clerk. And she found out that Linette didn’t sign back in at his office last night. She got a copy of the sign-in log and a marriage proposal.”
But he stood stunned, cell phone in hand, with his handsome features frozen into a shocked expression. He closed the phone numbly. “That was my uncle. The police just called.”
“What happened?”
“They have a suspect in my father’s murder,” he said shakily.
And Bennie’s mouth went dry.
28
Bennie pushed through the POLICE ONLY sign on the swinging half door that led to the cramped, cluttered squad room at the Homicide Division. The phones rang constantly and detectives conferred in small groups, clustered around messy desks of battleship gray, or searched file cabinets covered with Eagles bumper stickers, yellowed memos, and a stick-on decal of an Irish flag. The shirtsleeved detective manning the front desk was on the phone, and Bennie took advantage of the chaos to barrel past him.
“Stop! You can’t go back there,” he barked, covering the receiver, but Bennie caught sight of Detective Needleman coming out of interrogation room C.
“I’m a friend of Detective Needleman,” she said, and met him as he was closing the dark blue door behind him. The suspect had to be in the interrogation room, handcuffed to a chair, just as she had been. “Long time, no see, Bob. I hear you got a suspect in St. Amien. He in there?”
“We didn’t release that information yet.” Needleman frowned. To his right stood a cabinet with skinny drawers labeled BODY CHARTS, SUBPOENA BLANKS, and INJURY FORMS. He was wearing his suit, and tie, and a grayish five o’clock shadow. “How’d you hear that?”
“I was with the family when you told them.” Bennie put a hand on the knob of the interrogation room. “Can’t I see him?”
“It’s not a zoo.”
“It’s not?” Bennie sidestepped him, yanked on the knob, and stole a glimpse of the suspect before Detective Needleman closed the door.
“Hey!”
“Sorry,” she said, but she’d gotten her mental picture. A young white man slumped in the chair, smoking a cigarette. Dressed in a T-shirt and jeans, with tall combat boots, and his hair had been shaved into a fade that hinted at a militaristic bent. “So who was that fine citizen?”
“Did you put the brother up to calling me?” Needleman pressed her away from the door, his eyes flinty behind his glasses. Two detectives bustled past, putting on their jackets with a backward glance.
“No, I didn’t. He called on his own. I gave you good press, but I guess he had a few questions. He’s upset.”
“Whatever. You’re not supposed to be here.”
“Why not? I haven’t interfered with the police all day. All I did was visit the family, which you knew I was going to do. You even said it was okay.”
“Like it matters what I say.”
“On the contrary, I crave your approval.” Bennie smiled. She was trying to lighten the mood, and failing. “Of course, I had to come down when I heard. I wanted to see the suspect. Find out what you have on him. Who is he? What’s the story?”
“What do you want to know?”
Bennie groaned. “Needleman, can you give me a break? I’m not the enemy, I’m just a lady who cares about this case. Is that so terrible? It’s gonna be in the papers anyway.”
“Okay, fine.” Needleman pursed his lips. “The story is, his name is Ronald Johnson. Twenty-six years old. Unemployed. Record of three ag assaults in the nineties.”
“What weapon did he use for the aggravated assaults?”
“Knife, all three times. A onetime member of a militia group, white supremacists, out in western PA. The FBI got a file on him. Fits the serial-killer profile to a T.”
