Lisa Scottoline - Mistaken Identity

“Wait a minute.” Grady handed Bennie the photo with a frown. “This is a photo of your mother with two young women. The photo could have come from anywhere. Connolly could be the child of one of the other women.”

“But it says ‘For Bill’ on the back, in my mother’s writing.”

“Maybe Connolly forged it.”

“Yeah, but how?” Bennie turned. “And what about the tufts of paper on the back of the photos? It looks like they were all taken from the same photo album.”

“I don’t know, but I don’t like you being manipulated by some con.” Grady folded his arms and his T-shirt edged up over slim, ropy biceps. Golden hair covered his forearms, and his wrists were narrow, so his Swiss Army watch seemed crudely oversized. “Does Connolly look like you?”

“There is a resemblance, a definite resemblance.”

“A resemblance doesn’t cut it for identical twins.” Grady pursed his lips. “Identical twins look identical. They come from a single egg, fertilized by a single sperm that splits. The DNA in identical twins is the same, and I’m sure you can test for it. Why don’t you ask Connolly for a blood sample and we’ll find a lab?”

“That’s bizarre, don’t you think?”

“No. Not if you’re even considering representing this woman, which I hope you’re not, by the way.”

“You don’t think I should represent her?”

Grady laughed softly. “Under no circumstances should you represent her.”

“Why not?” Bennie didn’t necessarily want to represent Connolly, but she didn’t like being told she shouldn’t. “Because she could be my twin?”

“Not exactly.” Grady shook his head. “Whether she’s your twin or not, you shouldn’t represent her. You don’t know who she is.”

“How well do I have to know someone before I take their case? My God, Grady, I’ve represented people I barely knew, even barely liked.”

“But this one may be your twin, and that makes you emotionally involved. You’ll get all bollixed up. How can you prepare a defense and maintain your objectivity?”

Bennie laughed abruptly. “You represented me once, remember? You were in love with me and you represented me.”

“That was different,” Grady said, maintaining an even tone. If they were going to fight, he wasn’t going to let fly with the first round. A Civil War buff, Grady was never as quick into battle as Bennie. His study of war had only reinforced its futility. “We weren’t that involved then, it was the beginning. Besides, it’s not your field anymore. Connolly’s case is at bottom a murder case, not a police brutality case.”

“It’s still cops. Who better to investigate cops than me?” Bennie plucked the photo from the table and held it protectively to her chest. “Not everybody can handle a case like this, and Connolly has a lousy lawyer.”

“If you’re concerned, get her a good lawyer. The lawyer you’d hire for me.”

Bennie considered, then rejected, the suggestion. “If there’s even a remote chance that we’re related, I wouldn’t want another lawyer to represent her.”

“Why not? It doesn’t follow that because Connolly may be your twin, you have to be her lawyer. On the contrary.”

Bennie felt momentarily stumped. Grady, a former Supreme Court clerk, was making complete sense as usual. He forced her to think; it was one of the things she loved best about him. But this issue was about feeling, not thinking, and she couldn’t help the way she felt inside, even as she knew her feelings wouldn’t stand to reason. At her core, Bennie believed that blood was everything. Blood mattered. If Connolly were her blood, then Connolly mattered. And if Bennie walked away now, she’d never know the truth.

Grady sighed. “You’re gonna represent her, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Bennie said, and the answer surprised even her.

“You comin’ to bed?” Grady asked. He stood in the door to Bennie’s home office, the hall light silhouetting the leanness of his form. Grady was a full six feet, the only man Bennie had met who wasn’t threatened by her height, and his limbs were long and sleek. He was naked except for a pair of boxers. Bennie knew from his not-so-subtle display that he was inviting her to make love, but she couldn’t accept tonight.

“Can I get a rain check?” she asked, sitting at the computer keyboard. She was researching articles about the Della Porta murder, which she needed before she met with Connolly again. Resting at her feet was an overweight golden retriever, Bear. The dog was the exact color of pumpkin pie and his feathered tail started beating against the floor as soon as Grady crossed the threshold and walked over.

“You can’t get a rain check, babe.” Grady put warm hands on Bennie’s shoulders and gave them a gentle massage. He smelled of Ivory soap and mint toothpaste. “It’s not like a lunch date. It’s spontaneous.”

“Spontaneity is overrated. Have your girl call my girl.”

“As long as we’re negotiating, I’ll settle for the morning.”

“But I hate the morning.”

“Don’t whine. You have to pretend you like it.”

“So what else is new?”

Grady laughed and read the monitor over Bennie’s shoulder. “You on NEXIS? That’s a good idea. What’s your search request?”

“I plugged in ‘Alice Connolly’ and limited it to a two-year period.” She punched the ENTER key to retrieve the articles.

“Use ‘w/15 Della Porta.’ That’ll get you only the articles about the murder.”

Bennie took the suggestion. “You’re helping, even though you think I shouldn’t take the case?”

“I support all the stupid things you do.”

“What a guy.”

“So you do appreciate me.” Grady leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Good night. You’re off the hook, for now. I made you a pot of coffee. Don’t work too hard.” He scratched Bear’s head. “Take care of her, boy,” he said, and left the room, padding out in bare feet.

Bennie bade him good night, then hit the keys to learn what she could about Alice Connolly.

Star glanced at the squirrelly dude in the passenger seat. Dude all but disappeared in the bucket seat, he was so fuckin’ short. Flabby even for a white guy and he had those hair plugs. Brown hairs sprouting out of his head like rows of tomato plants. To look at him, Star couldn’t believe the dude had juice, but T-Boy said he did. “T-Boy think your friend can help me out,” Star said.

“T-Boy’s right. My friend knows everybody.” The dude nodded. “Everybody. He’ll help you out, no problem.”

“Your friend know somebody in the house, is what I’m axin’.”

“He knows everybody in the house. Everybody who matters anyways.”

“Gotta be somebody who can do the job.” Star steered the Caddy up the street, past boarded-up crackhouses. Nobody was on the street, but Star still flipped up the collar of his Starter jacket. He couldn’t afford to be recognized and he was too big a man to hide. He used to be too good a man to be doing shit like this. “Nothin’ can go wrong, you hear?”

“Nothin’s gonna go wrong.”

Star hesitated. Not because he was scared, the deal wasn’t even illegal. The Champ used to say it all the time, Frazier in ten. No, the problem was that Star felt like such a fuckin’ pussy, payin’ somebody to do it for him. Man should do his own killing, but Star had his future to think about.

“You know the bitch, right? Connolly, Alice Connolly.”

“I know her name.”

“He gotta do her by the weekend. That’s it, a week. You only got ’til the trial.”

“My friend will get it done. You make sure you get it done.”

“Shit, motherfucker!” Star shouted, twisting toward him in the seat. “Don’t be usin’ that tone with me. I don’t need no asshole tellin’ me. I got the deal. I carry Harris ’til the seventh, then he goes down. It’ll be the farthes’ he get with me. Tell your friend to put his money down. Harris gets knocked out in the seventh.”