Lisa Scottoline - Mistaken Identity

“Thinking back to the night of May nineteenth, recall that you’re trying to get Molly to calm down, you’re working on three hours of sleep and you hear a gunshot. Then you run to the door, come back, and read the clock. How can you be sure you read the clock right?”

Lambertsen looked away, apparently reconsidering. “I think I did.”

“You’re sure your perceptions were correct that night, even though you were working on three hours’ sleep?”

“I am.”

Bennie slipped her hands into her pockets. Maybe she was pushing it, but she couldn’t help herself. She wanted to know what had happened that night. “But other perceptions of yours were off that night, weren’t they, Mrs. Lambertsen?”

“Like what?” the witness asked thoughtfully, and Bennie could feel the jurors faces as they turned toward her. If she could come through, she sensed they’d shift to her side. Bennie felt it like an undertow tugging at her ankles, threatening to drown her if she didn’t swim hard.

“Well, Mrs. Lambertsen, when you looked out your front door, you didn’t perceive what Alice Connolly was wearing for a shirt, did you?”

“Uh, no.”

“And you didn’t perceive what Alice Connolly was wearing on the bottom, jeans or shorts, did you?”

“Well, no,” she answered, a tremor of doubt in her tone, and Bennie felt the tide begin to turn. Mrs. Lambertsen was an intelligent, reasonable person, bending over backward to be honest in her testimony. In Bennie’s experience, they made the worst witnesses ever.

“So isn’t it possible, Mrs. Lambertsen, given how tired you were and all that was going on, that you’re not exactly sure what the clock said when you read it? Police records show you didn’t call 911 until 8:07.”

Mrs. Lambertsen straightened in her chair. Bennie held her breath, and Hilliard his objection. Judge Guthrie craned his neck over his papers as the silence lengthened. The jury focused completely on the young mother, waiting for her answer.

Finally Mrs. Lambertsen said, “I guess I can’t really be sure if it said eight o’clock.”

Bennie’s body sagged suddenly with the release of tension. “I have no further questions,” she said, and returned to her chair behind counsel table.

“Your Honor, I have redirect,” Hilliard said, rising and holding up a finger, but Bennie relaxed in her chair. She knew he couldn’t erase Lambertsen’s testimony.

Connolly leaned over and tapped Bennie’s sleeve. “Way to go, counselor. There’s not many lawyers who could kill a cop, then kick ass in court the next day.”

Bennie’s face flushed with shame. She looked over, stung, but Connolly had turned away, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

It was the lunch break at trial, and Bennie faced Connolly in the courthouse interview room. Bennie was so angry she couldn’t feel her assorted aches and pains. “How did you know about Lenihan?” she demanded.

“How could I not know?”

“You’re incarcerated, for one thing.”

“That never stopped me before. Impressed?”

Bennie folded her arms. “Who are you in contact with on the outside? Is it Bullock?”

“Relax.” Connolly sat back and smiled. Her wrists lay handcuffed in her lap, incongruous with her suit and pearls. “One of the guards showed me the newspaper. I told you the cops were behind it. Lenihan, McShea, Reston, they’re all out to get me. Now do you think I’m telling the truth?”

“About them, yes.”

“So you know I’m innocent.”

“You didn’t kill Della Porta. We’ll leave it at that. Did you know Lenihan or not?”

“No, I told you that.”

“You never heard anyone mention him? He almost killed me last night. What’s his connection to you, or them?”

“No idea.”

Bennie grew only more determined. “Why does the judge want me disabled on this case? Do you know?”

“So I’ll get railroaded.”

“Why? How’s he connected to this conspiracy?”

“I don’t know how, I told you.”

“What about the D.A., Hilliard? What about him?”

“I don’t know what the connection is, I said.”

“You don’t know anything that can help us out?”

“Us? I’m touched.”

“Us is me and my associates.”

Connolly laughed. “Can’t help you, girlie. It’s your show.”

“Show’s over. See you in court.” Bennie reached for the doorknob and walked out. But it wasn’t as easy to turn away as it should have been.

Bennie left Connolly upset and walked into the courthouse conference room while DiNunzio and Carrier finished eating. The associates were seated in the same chairs as at the last break, like a family at a dinner table. Mary was having her customary Greek salad, and the crust of an impossibly large sandwich lay in waxed paper in front of Judy. The scene almost managed to soothe Bennie’s spirit.

“We got you some chicken soup,” Judy said, pushing a plastic container across the table. Her eyes were bright, her hair shiny, and her large frame jittery with energy in a loose-fitting navy smock. “Mary thought you could use it, for medicinal purposes.”

“I’m fine.”

“Nobody’s fine after a night like last night.”

Bennie slipped into her seat and didn’t move to uncap the soup container. “How’d we do with Lambertsen?”

“Awesome.”

“That a term of art? How’d the jury take it?”

“They got it, I think.”

“Good. You guys figured out the next witness? Another neighbor, to shore up Lambertsen? What are their names?” Bennie struggled to remember, but Mary jumped in.

“There’s Ray Munoz, Mary Vidas, and Ryan Murray,” she said, her answer firm. “Also a Frederick Sharp. All of them saw Connolly running by that night.”

Bennie nodded, pleased. “Good for you, DiNunzio.”

“I studied,” Mary said with a wry smile. “Munoz is the main neighbor we have to worry about. But something tells me Hilliard won’t put up another neighbor after Lambertsen.”

“I agree,” Judy said. “Hilliard just put up a girl and got killed. Babies, pacifiers, neighbors-it’s girl testimony. Also, he doesn’t have anybody to address the time issue. He needs something objective, harder to impeach. Boy testimony.”

Bennie thought it was an odd way of looking at the world. “So who is it? The coroner? A blood expert?”

“That’s my bet. Can you handle it? You feel okay?”

“I’m fine,” Bennie said, but she had hardly finished the sentence when Mary began clearing her throat, loudly.

“I could take a witness,” the associate said. “If you want.”

Judy’s mouth dropped open. “Mare?”

“You would?” Bennie asked with a smile.

Mary nodded. “I could try. I’m good on boy stuff, whatever that means. Math, science, bicycles with bars down the middle. I think I could do it.”

Bennie shook her head. “Before last night, I would have let you, but not now. I don’t want you on the firing line.” A soft knock sounded on the conference room door, and Bennie looked over. “We expecting anybody?”

“Mike and Ike?” Mary offered.

“Ooh, I feel safer already,” Judy said. “Big, strong men protecting me.”

Mary smiled. “They’re gay, you know. Ike told me.”

“For real?” Judy asked.

“If I’m lyin’, I’m dyin’.”

Judy laughed. “What did you say? You never say things like that.”

“Sometimes I do.”

Bennie was opening the door onto a short, elderly couple, standing close enough to each other to be huddling against a blizzard. They smelled faintly of mothballs in their cloth coats and looked vaguely familiar. “I’m sorry, this is the attorney’s conference room,” Bennie told them.