Lisa Scottoline - Mistaken Identity

“He did sound young.” Marshall gathered a stack of correspondence, creased in thirds. “You’ve got mail. You won a motion to dismiss in Sharpless. You didn’t get an extension on the brief in Isley. Also, the bar association says you’re behind on your ethic credits. You need to take two continuing-education courses.”

“What a waste of time.” Bennie hugged the mail to her suit, a plain cut of tan gabardine. “I’m too busy being a lawyer to learn how to be a lawyer. Anything else happening?”

“I’m not letting you go that easy.” Marshall produced a brochure paper-clipped to correspondence. “This is from the bar. If you don’t fulfill your credits, they can put you on inactive status.”

“They say that every year. I’ll pay the late fee.”

“You did that already. You’re Group Four and you’re out of the extension zone.”

“Out of the extension zone? That sounds scary. I don’t want to be out of the extension zone. I live in the extension zone.” Bennie picked up her briefcase and hurried to her office, nodding to the secretaries and one of the young lawyers, Mary DiNunzio, who glanced up from a casebook when Bennie charged past. “I’ll need you in fifteen minutes,” she said to DiNunzio.

“Sure thing,” Mary called back, swallowing visibly, and Bennie pretended not to notice. She had to keep a professional distance from her employees, even her colleagues, since she was solely responsible for their performance evaluation, hiring, and firing. Bennie hated firing people. It was why she dreaded her first phone call of the day.

“Warren Miller, please,” she said, after she’d set down her briefcase, slipped into her chair, and called one of the city’s most prestigious law firms, Jemison, Crabbe amp; Wolcott. She guessed Miller was an associate there, a caste she knew well from her days as a serf at the equally medieval Grun amp; Chase. Knowing the significance the big firms placed on pro bono work, Bennie figured the kid would love to off-load the Connolly case. God knew what screwup had sent it to him in the first place.

“Miller here,” said a young man’s tenor. Bennie visualized him in corporate peasant garb, three pieces and pinstripes.

“Warren, this is Bennie Rosato. How are you?” Bennie stalled.

“ The Bennie Rosato? I know all about you. I admire the work you’ve done in civil rights. I saw you speak last year at the Public Interest Law Center. You were amazing. In fact, I help out at the moot court program at Penn and we were hoping you’d judge it this year. The committee is sending you the invitation.”

“I’d be honored,” Bennie said, then took a deep breath. “That’s not what I’m calling about, Warren. A client of yours, Alice Connolly, has contacted me and asked me to represent her.”

“We know that. We’re objecting.”

“What? You can’t object.”

“We’re opposing, then.”

“You can’t do that either.”

“Well, we… intend to continue our representation.”

“Who’s ‘we’? And why?” Confounded, Bennie reached for her coffee, but there wasn’t any. “And how do you know she contacted me?”

“Jemison has represented Ms. Connolly for a year. She’s our client.”

“Warren, I don’t get it. You want to keep this case? Are you even a criminal lawyer?”

“I attended Yale Law School, where I was a member of the Law Review. My comment, a review of current search and seizure law, was the most requested reprint last year.”

“Last year? Are you a first-year associate?”

“I’ve already taken several depositions and I’ve had an arbitration. Ms. Connolly is a client of Jemison, Crabbe, and we’re retaining the representation.”

“We’re talking about someone’s life here, Warren.” Bennie’s bewilderment turned to anger. “You’ve had two consultations with the client in one year on a capital murder case. That’s ineffectiveness per se. Have you notified the malpractice carrier? You’re an insurance lawyer, aren’t you?”

“That’s just my specialty, one of the services offered by Jemison, Crabbe,” Miller said, but Bennie could hear his tone stiffen. She imagined him sitting as straight as anybody without a backbone could.

“How did you get on the homicide list anyway, child?”

“There’s no need for that. The captain of our trial team is a former district attorney, Henry Burden. He receives many court appointments. I’ll be trying the case with his guidance.”

“Aha, so Burden is the one on the homicide list and he’s delegated this case to you, is that it?” Still, Bennie couldn’t understand it. Henry Burden was going to prop the kid up in a major trial, but she couldn’t see why. “Look, Warren, I don’t know what your problem is and I don’t care. I’ve already asked Judge Guthrie for an emergency hearing on the continuance. We’ll slug it out in court. You up?”

“I… guess so.”

“Lock and load. I’m looking forward to it.” Bennie hung up the phone and didn’t wait a beat before getting up. Now she had one more battle on her hands and no time for any of it. She left her office, strode to Mary DiNunzio’s, and slipped into the cloth chair across from the associate’s pristine desk. Bennie needed a bright, resourceful lawyer, and it didn’t hurt that Mary had an identical twin, whom Bennie had met last year.

“Bennie!” DiNunzio said, startled, sitting at her computer keyboard. She was on the short side, well built, with dirty blond hair. Her makeup was simple, and her navy-blue suit modest and smart. Despite her professional appearance, DiNunzio always looked vaguely nervous to Bennie, who tried to put her at ease.

“I thought I’d visit you, instead of having you in my office.” Bennie scanned the small office. The desk was clean, devoid of pictures or stand-up calendars. Leather-bound hornbooks stood in a straight-edged row on the bookshelves. Red accordion files were arranged alphabetically on the top of the credenza. An antique quilt hung on the wall, its patchwork colors the only disorder in the room. “Nice quilt,” Bennie said.

“Thanks.”

“Enough small talk?”

DiNunzio smiled. “Yes.”

“Good. How busy are you?”

“I’m in the middle of a Third Circuit brief in Samels. It’s due on Friday, and I have another motion due to Judge Dalzell in Marvell. ”

“They’re writing assignments. You got any trials?”

“No.”

“Arbitrations or hearings? Any stand-up time at all?”

“Not recently.”

“You’re starting to sound like a big-firm lawyer. You want trial experience, don’t you? I thought that was the reason you and Carrier came here.”

“It was. I just haven’t felt… ready.” DiNunzio colored slightly, and Bennie felt a guilty pang. The associate had been lying low after the Steere case. Not that Bennie blamed her, but it was time to get back on the horse.

“You’re ready, Mary. I wouldn’t ask you to do more than you could. You want to be a trial lawyer, don’t you?”

“Yes,” DiNunzio answered quickly, though she had spent most of the morning thinking of new careers. She could be a cat-sitter, a pastry chef, a teacher. Daydreaming about other jobs had become her full-time job. Somebody had to do it. “Sure, I want to be a trial lawyer.”

“Then you can’t keep doing clerk work, can you?”

“No,” Mary answered, though clerk work sounded fine to her. Law clerks never left the library, which cut down significantly on the opportunities for them to sleuth around or get shot at. Clerk work sounded great, even without dental. “I’d love a new case.”

So Bennie began to explain the case, and Mary tried not to panic.