Lisa Scottoline - Mistaken Identity

But right now, Bennie couldn’t even remember what happiness felt like.

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 clichés. 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.”

“You can’t really be serious about this drug corruption theory, can you?” Hilliard scoffed, and Bennie permitted herself a tight smile.

“The defense will do its theorizing in court.”

“But you don’t have a shred of evidence.”

Judge Guthrie picked up his reading glasses and unfolded them. “Let’s not argue, counsel. The question for us is, what effect should this terrible occurrence have on the trial? I surmise, Ms. Rosato, that you will be requesting a few days’ time to recover from your injuries and distress. In view of the recent loss in your immediate family, the Court will grant you a reasonable continuance. I gather, Mr. Prosecutor, that you would agree.”

“Within reason, of course,” Hilliard said quickly, but Bennie had anticipated the move.

“Thank you, both of you, but I won’t be needing any continuance, Your Honor. I’d like to keep the case on track. I expect that Mr. Hilliard will call his next witness”-she checked her watch-“in one hour.”

The court reporter looked up in surprise, her mouth a perfectly lipsticked circle. There was no way Bennie wanted an extension now. She had the conspirators in disarray and she had to keep the heat on. She was closer than ever to bringing to justice whoever was behind the conspiracy. Besides, nothing pissed her off like attempted murder, especially her own.

“My, this is unexpected,” Judge Guthrie remarked, easing his glasses onto his nose. “Surely you will be needing some time to collect yourself and prepare your case. A day or two, perhaps?”

Hilliard’s dark brow furrowed in confusion. “Bennie, don’t push yourself like this. Nobody could live through what you’re living through and still try a case.”

Bennie smiled politely. “Thanks for your concern, but I’m perfectly able to go forward. We have a sequestered jury, and I’d hate to keep them from their families any longer than necessary.”

Judge Guthrie made a familiar tent of his fingers. “The Court doesn’t quite understand, Ms. Rosato. Before this tragic event, an extension of time was your most fervent desire.”

“That’s true, Your Honor. But since what happened last night, I think it’s more important than ever to conclude this case. Delay makes it more likely that the jury may be tainted by the publicity, precluding the defendant’s ability to receive a fair trial. In fact, the defense finds itself in the position of opposing any extension at this critical point.”

Judge Guthrie’s finger tent collapsed. “Well, then. The Court will see both of you next door at the previously scheduled hour, counsel.”

“Thank you, Your Honor,” Bennie said. She picked up her briefcase, hiding the discomfort that shot through her ribs, then left chambers ahead of Hilliard.

Sitting in Judge Guthrie’s waiting room was Judy Carrier, flanked by two extraordinarily muscular young men. Lou had made sure the guards were at Bennie’s house when she left for court that morning. He’d called them “Mike” and “Ike” because they looked so much alike: brown hair buzz-cut into oblivion, navy polyester suits, and regulation Ray-Ban aviators. Yet it wasn’t their presence that surprised Bennie, it was Mary DiNunzio’s, at the near end of the sofa. She rose to her feet with Carrier and the bodyguards.