Lisa Scottoline - Mistaken Identity

Star snapped his head around and his eyes bored into Judy. He wasn’t Tyson, so he didn’t tag her, but he thought about it. “I talk if I want to talk.”

Mary tugged at Judy’s dress for a warning. Antagonizing a prizefighter didn’t seem like a good idea, but Judy was from California, where they did self-destructive things all the time.

“Fine,” Judy said. “I’ll ask a question, and you answer if you want to answer. Did you know Alice Connolly?”

“I know she killed Anthony, tha’s all I have to know,” Star said matter-of-factly, and Judy hid her alarm at his response.

“How do you know that?”

“I jus’ know.”

“Did Della Porta tell you anything that would make you think that?”

Star shook his head. He didn’t like the chick calling Anthony by his last name.

“What makes you say Connolly did it?”

Star didn’t say anything. Bitch was givin’ him attitude. He watched the kid in the ring stagger back to his corner.

“Did you tell the cops what you think?”

Star shook his head, no.

“Why not?”

“Didn’t ax.”

Judy thought for sure the cops would have interviewed Star. His manager had been killed and the police didn’t question him about it? “The D.A. didn’t ask you to testify? Will you testify?”

Star shook his head again. Testify, go to court. Shit. He had the situation under control. He hadn’t got the word it got done yet, but he knew it would be. Without another word, Star turned his back on the lawyer and walked away, into the throng.

Judy moved to follow him, but Mary held her in place with a fistful of shirt. “This is me, saving your life.”

“But he’s getting away.”

“That’s because he’s bigger and faster than you.”

Judy watched Star disappear into the locker room. “He can run but he can’t hide.”

“He can do what he wants. That’s why they call him a heavyweight. Now let’s go,” Mary said, and pushed Judy safely toward the exit.

Bennie had squandered an hour wrangling on the telephone with functionaries from the bar’s licensing authority before she reached the aforementioned Mr. Hutchins. “Look, Mr. Hutchins,” she said, “you require twelve credit hours a year, is that right? Ten hours of substantive courses and two of ethics.”

“Yes, that’s correct,” said Mr. Hutchins, a nice man if you liked those just-following-orders types.

“And I’m in Group Four, so I should have had my credits completed by August.”

“Last August.”

“Okay, last August.” Whatever. Nit-picker. “I paid the hundred dollars for the extension. So what’s the problem?”

“The problem, Ms. Rosato, is that the extension brought you only to October of last year. We have received no notice since that time that you have fulfilled your remaining two ethics requirements. Therefore you were placed on inactive status.”

“I didn’t receive notice of this action. You can’t take my license without notice.”

An official click-click-clicking of computer keys came over the line, and Mr. Hutchins said, “Our records show you were sent notices of your delinquency in November, March, and June.”

Bennie took a slug of coffee, but it didn’t work. Life was tough when you were totally in the wrong. “So what do I have to do to get my license back?”

“You have to take the required courses immediately, then apply for reinstatement.”

“I can’t do that. I’m kind of busy right now.” Bennie rubbed her forehead. “Why me, that’s what I want to know. I can’t be the only lawyer behind in her ethics credits. Can you check that?”

“Yes, I suppose I could. If I wished to.”

“Don’t you wish to? Procedures are important, Mr. Hutchins. Rules are important.” Bennie almost gagged. “Don’t you want to make sure your agency is following its own rules? It’s a question of administrative integrity.” There was silence on the other end of the line except for clicking. “I bet I’m not even the only one as far behind as a year, am I?”

“Well, no, you’re not.”

“That’s a shocker.”

“My, this is terrible. There are quite a number of attorneys in Philadelphia County who are at least a year behind in their ethics credits.”

Bennie’s sense of humor vanished. Connolly’s conspiracy theory gained a notch of credibility. “Why was I singled out, Mr. Hutchins? Does the computer show how that came about?”

“No, it’s irregular. The computer usually runs down the alphabet and kicks out the delinquencies in alphabetical order.”

“Did I go before the A’s or not?”

“Yes, you did. That isn’t the way the program is supposed to work, I’m afraid.”

“I’m afraid, too. Why was this information about my license released to the media? Is that standard procedure as well?”

“I wasn’t responsible for that.”

“Who was?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Get sure. It had to be someone from your organization who released that information to the public. No one else knew it.”

Click, click, click, went the keys.

“I used to teach libel law, Mr. Hutchins, on one of your dumb panels. You want some free legal advice? The statements your organization made are damaging to my reputation as an attorney and you’ve exceeded any privilege if you made them to the press.”

“What did you say?”

“I said I could sue you blind.”

“No. About teaching.”

“I said, I’ve taught libel law, on one of your… panels.” Bennie omitted the “dumb” as a goodwill gesture.

“Did you apply for your credits from the panel, for teaching?”

“I get credits for teaching? I didn’t know that.”

“It’s often overlooked.”

Bennie’s heart leapt up. “I overlooked it!”

“If you can let me have the course name and number, I can determine how many credits are due you and apply them to your delinquency.”

“Hang on.” She was already tearing backward through her Week-At-A-Glance and stopped in February. “On February eleventh, at two o’clock. The course title was Prior Restraints: Harness or Handcuffs? Who names these courses anyway?”

Click, click, click. “I’m showing that that seminar was substantive and also encompassed an ethics session. You were entitled to two credits as a result of teaching that course. If you can prove you taught it, you will be entitled to the credits, bringing your licensing requirements current.”

“I taught it, I swear, Mr. Hutchins. I’ll fax you an affidavit right away. In the meantime, you’ll reinstate my license, right? I need that license.”

“Reinstatement should take some time.”

“Not in this case it shouldn’t. Somebody screwed up, big-time, and it stinks. Unless you want me to make a very high-profile inquiry, you’ll reinstate me effective immediately.”

“Did you retain your course materials?”

“My course materials?” Bennie scanned her office bookshelves for the characteristic yellow binders. She didn’t see them anywhere, but they had to be there. “Yes, I have them right in front of me.”

“Does it show your name as a speaker?”

She rustled some papers on her desk. “Yes, absolutely.”

“Then Xerox the title page and fax it to this office, to my attention.” Click, click, click. “I’ll temporarily reinstate you pending receipt of those materials.”

“Bless you,” Bennie said, and hung up the phone with relief. Now all she had to do was find the course book. She hit the white intercom button on her phone for salvation, and Marshall picked up.

“Back in business?”

“Only if I find some course materials. They’re in my office somewhere. Rescue me, would you?”