Lisa Scottoline - Mistaken Identity

“It was very damaging testimony.” Bennie reached the blank white wall and turned around. “I have to cross her with something.”

“You want to put me up? I’ll sell it, believe me.”

Bennie glared at her. “It was true, what Harting said about the pictures and the computer. You researched my life, my clothes. The twin story, it was all bullshit.”

“I told you, she’s lying.”

“Then how did she know it?”

Connolly’s eyelids fluttered. “Okay, okay. Some of it’s true. I did research you on the Web. Your clothes and shit. Your website. She musta spied on me. Bitch has spies everywhere. Half the gang sells for her.”

“She runs a drug business, in prison? How is that possible? How is any of it possible?”

“Money,” Connolly said with a grim smile. “You know how much money is in drugs? You can buy girls, boys, guards, and cops. Judges and lawyers. Police and deputy mayors. Anything and anybody, tax-free. How you think the cops bought Hilliard and Guthrie?”

Bennie’s heart sank, and for the first time since the trial started, she saw that the defense was going to lose. Connolly would go onto death row for a crime she didn’t commit. Bennie would be invited to witness the execution. As much as she loathed Connolly, she couldn’t bear that sight. “I have to get to the office,” she said, ashamed at the thickness in her throat, and left the interview room.

“All we got is this?” Bennie said, reading the documents back at the office. The conference room table was blanketed with sheets of Shetrell Harting’s prior convictions. It was after hours, so the office was empty except for the three lawyers working on Connolly. The air smelled faintly of hazelnut coffee and leftover pizza. Bennie would have felt good to be back on her own turf if her case hadn’t been sliding down the tubes. “But drugs, prostitution, it’s not enough. It’s standard cross of a jailhouse snitch.”

“It’s the best I could do,” Mary said, and Bennie waved her off, her hand reflected in the dark windows.

“I’m not criticizing you. We need something more. Something better.”

Judy came around and read over Bennie’s shoulder. “Don’t underestimate its impact on a jury. You think those old ladies are gonna like that Harting sold herself for money? You just gotta play it up.”

“I agree,” Mary said, reaching for the jury diagrams. “The librarian, she wears a crucifix. The Asian woman in the back row, Ms. Hiu, she was frowning the whole time Harting testified. They don’t like her.”

“Christ.” Bennie gulped coffee but couldn’t wait for it to kick in. “We have to go forward. We were in decent shape until Harting, we have to get back on track. We’ll counter Harting with a good defense case.”

Ping! went the elevator, and they all looked through the glass wall of the conference room to the elevator bank. In the other conference room across the hall, Mike and Ike came to attention over their dinners and newspapers. The elevator doors opened and out came Lou, stepping nimbly toward the conference room, waving his hand like he was hailing a cab.

“Hey, Rosato!” he shouted, so loud they could hear him though the glass.

“Somebody’s excited,” Bennie said, hopeful. She’d been worried about him, too, though she hadn’t realized it until he burst grinning through the conference room door.

“Go ahead, ask me how was work.” Lou flung his arms wide. He couldn’t remember when he’d felt this good.

“You were supposed to be canvassing the neighbors. You went to see Citrone.”

“You could say that.” Lou yanked out a chair and told them the whole story, about seeing Citrone and the Popeye in the precinct parking lot. “Then I went home, had myself a beer, and waited.”

“For what?” Bennie asked, nervous.

“For a phone call.”

“Did you get one?”

“Naturally,” Lou answered, obviously enjoying the suspense.

“From who?”

“From a cop who says he has the goods on Citrone. We arranged a meet.”

“Wow!” Judy hooted, and Mary looked astounded. Only Bennie’s expression showed dismay.

“You’re gonna meet him, Lou? How do you know he’s for real? What did he say?”

“I know what you’re worried about, and you don’t have to worry.” Lou patted her hand, but Bennie wasn’t comforted.

“What’s his name?”

“He wouldn’t tell me, he was afraid. Said he couldn’t trust me yet, and I don’t blame him. He’s from the Eleventh, though. He saw me having conniptions in the lot.”

Judy leaned over. “So we gonna meet him?”

Lou smiled. “Not you, sailor man. Me. He wants me alone.”

Bennie shook her head. “I don’t like this, Lou. If he has evidence of police corruption, he should go to the D.A., to the FBI. We can meet him there, even take him there.”

“He ain’t goin’ to the D.A. or the feds. He doesn’t want to be a crusader, he just wants to get it done. He trusts me because I’m a cop. He gives me the skinny, I’ll take it forward.”

“He told you all this?”

“No, but I can tell.”

Bennie shuddered. “If this guy was setting you up, that’s just what he’d say. You made yourself a target today, Lou. You declared open season on yourself. These cops are killers.”

“It’s not a setup. He’s a cop, sounds my age. He wants to meet with me, and I’m going to do it. You don’t have to worry, I can handle myself.” Lou stood and smoothed down his jacket. “I know the mentality better than you do. You do the courtroom bit. I’ll handle the cops.”

“Where’s the meeting? I’m going with you.”

Lou’s lips set firmly, his grizzled jowls soft. “The hell you are.”

Bennie stood up. “I’m going. If I don’t go, I’ll follow you. I’ll take Mike and Ike with me.”

“We’ll be right behind her, Lou,” Mary said, and found herself standing up. She wasn’t about to let Lou get hurt. She’d grown to like him when they canvassed together. “I’ll bring my parents, too. My mother, Lou.”

Judy rose, too, beside Mary. “I’m standing up only because everybody else is. I don’t have anybody to bring, but I can box.”

“You can’t box,” Mary said.

“I can, kind of. I watched people boxing. I know how to stand while someone else is boxing.”

Lou shook his head. “I knew I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“But you did,” Bennie said, “so we make a deal. You and I meet the cop, and Mike and Ike back us up in a car. The associates stay here in case we get killed, so there’s somebody left to try the case.”

“Damn!” Mary said, and Judy looked over with a surprised smile.

The night got blacker outside Mary’s office window, but the associates huddled at the computer. Mary sat the keyboard, chewing Doublemint like a demon. It was the only time she treated herself to sugared gum, at trial. A lawyer’s is a fast and dangerous life. “See, Jude? Nothing.” She hit the ENTER key and a message appeared. The search yielded NO MATCHES.

“Let me think about this.” Judy squeezed her eyes shut. “You searched cases that Hilliard tried before Guthrie and you got six. Henry Burden, most recently vacationing in Timbuktu, was in none of those cases.”

“Yes.”

Judy opened her eyes. “Any cases at all that Burden had with Hilliard, whether they were before Guthrie or not?”

“No, I tried that. I checked their birthdates in Martindale-Hubbell. Hilliard is thirty-five and Burden is fifty-five. That’s twenty years’ difference, for you math-phobes. Burden and Hilliard didn’t even overlap at the D.A.’s office, much less try cases together.”

“Rats.” Judy thought harder. “You’re searching cases with Hilliard as a lawyer. Try cases with Hilliard as a party.”