Dead Ringer

by Lisa Scottoline

  “One thing to note,” David said. “If you see me, don’t acknowledge me. No matter what. If you do, you’ll blow it, and I’ll be useless to you.”

  “Pretend I don’t know you? That’s not hard. I don’t.”

  David smiled. “From now on, we can’t be seen together, ever. I don’t want her to be able to connect us in any way. Anything you have to tell me, call me on the cell. Do you have a back way out of here?”

  “Yes, through the alley. There’s a freight entrance.”

  “Good. I’ll use it when I leave. I don’t think I was followed on the way here, I was checking. Also, you have to keep me informed at all times, of everything you do and everywhere you go. What’s your cell number?”

  She told him.

  “And you have mine, right?”

  “On the message slip.” Bennie eyed the curled phone messages scattered across her desk. “Somewhere.”

  “Last point. On the off-chance that I have on some kind of cover, don’t remark it.”

  “You mean like camouflage? Or a disguise?”

  “Yes.” David nodded, and Bennie burst into laughter.

  “Like leaves and berries? Or devil’s horns? Or a G.I. Joe outfit?”

  David grinned. “You think you’re pretty funny, don’t you?”

  “Hoo-Ah!” Bennie answered. But she was laughing too hard to pronounce it in French.

  Just then the intercom buzzer beeped loudly on the telephone on her desk, which was Marshall’s signal for Bennie to pick up the intercom. Bennie excused herself and got out of the chair, with possibilities flashing through her mind. It could be Mort Abrams on the phone, her new best friend. Or Sam, her old best friend. She reached the desk, but there was no flashing light on line one, so there was no incoming call. She pressed the intercom button and picked up the receiver.

  “Talk to me, Marsh,” Bennie said, and the receptionist snorted.

  “Another guest for you. He’s on his way back.”

  “I can’t see anyone now. I’m still with—”

  “You don’t have a choice, and neither did I.”

  23

  Detective Needleman!” Bennie said in surprise, hanging up the phone. She straightened up behind her desk, and David stood up as if coming to attention. Maybe there had been a development in Robert’s murder. His mouth had a grim set to it, grimmer than last night at the crime scene. Bennie’s stomach tensed. “Find out anything new?”

  “Yes. Definitely. Absolutely, I did find out something new.” His bright blue eyes pierced into Bennie, even from behind his glasses. Oddly, the detective seemed not to notice David towering like a lighthouse in the middle of the room. “I found out that you went and harassed Herman Mayer, a material witness, after I told you to stay out of police business.”

  Oh. That. “Does this mean there are no new leads?” Bennie asked, and David glanced over. Oops. She had forgotten to fill him in on that point because of her estrogen haze.

  “You went to Mayer’s house last night after you left me, and you accused him of murder. You had no business doing that.” His silver Phil Donahue hair looked clean and feathery, and his grayish suit caught the sunlight coming in from the office window, bringing out the houndstooth pattern. He pointed at her with a finger like the barrel of a Luger. “You are a private citizen, and you interfered with an ongoing investigation.”

  “I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist. I know Mayer, and I knew Robert.”

  “You interfered with my investigation. My interview of a material witness is an integral part of my investigation.”

  “Well, you didn’t think Mayer was material last night.”

  “Herman Mayer was the last person to see St. Amien alive.”

  “There you go! That’s why I went over.” Bennie opened her palms, but Needleman’s mouth looked carved in granite.

  “Rosato, I’m not going to argue with you. Your friend Brinkley, he’s a lot nicer guy than I am. If you pull anything like that again, I’m going to charge you with obstruction of justice, and I swear, I’ll make it stick.”

  David shifted on his feet, and given his size, it got their attention. “She didn’t mean to interfere, Detective. She was just trying to help.”

  “Who are you?” Needleman snapped, but Bennie didn’t miss a beat.

  “My secretary,” she answered, and David almost gasped audibly. Well, she didn’t want to say his name, since they might match it from the night before with Officer Banneman, and David was supposed to be undercover anyway. What a unique camouflage. The SEAL as secretary. It was positively chameleonlike.

  Detective Needleman raised a skeptical eyebrow but was too politically correct to say anything. He aimed his finger gun again. “The very next time, Rosato. You hear me?”

  “Got it. Sorry. So you talked to Mayer?”

  “Just now, at his office.”

  “What did he say?”

  Needleman snorted. “None of your business.”

  “Did you learn anything?”

  “That I shouldn’t have trusted you last night.”

  Bennie took it on the chin. “Are there any new leads, though? I do have a right to ask that.”

  “No, you don’t, and the answer is no. You have no rights. You’re not even victim’s family. You’re just his lawyer. You have no greater rights than his dentist.”

  Ouch. The truth hurts. “Okay, I hear you. I’m sorry, I gave in, it was a moment of weakness and bad judgment. Come on, let’s be friends again. I said nice things about you to the family.”

  “What are you talking about?” His icy gaze shifted from Bennie to David and back again.

  “I called the brother to express my condolences, and he asked me what I thought of you. I told him you were wonderful in every way. Now, will you tell me, out of common courtesy, if you have any leads? They invited me over tonight. I’ll say more nice things. How cute you look today, for example.”

  Needleman scoffed. “We have none. The prime suspect is the John Doe who killed the Belgian banker. Tell the family we are actively pursuing that theory.”

  Bennie nodded. “Now, did the autopsy yield anything?”

  “No.”

  “Type of knife?”

  “Common.”

  She thought of the Palm. “Steak knife?”

  “I said common.”

  “Any prints at the scene?”

  “No.”

  “Blood, fibers, or other evidence?”

  “Not yet.”

  “I would think so, there had to be some sort of struggle.”

  “We’re working on it.”

  “Any witnesses?”

  “No.”

  “You talk to anybody at the Palm?” Bennie was going to keep asking questions until he stopped her, which he did, turning to the office door.

  “No. Don’t undermine us with the family. The department doesn’t need more of that.” The detective paused on the threshold. “The very next time you step out of line, you’re in trouble, Rosato. Fool me once, but don’t fool me twice. Good-bye.” He turned and walked away.

  “Got it, Detective!” Bennie called after him. “Sorry, and thanks for coming by.” She gave his back a little wave of friendship and farewell.

  As soon as he was gone, David turned to her with an incredulous grin. “I’m your secretary?”

  “My really big secretary. Why not? I love secretaries. After mothers, they’re the unsung heroes of the world.”

  “But me?”

  “Can’t a woman lawyer have a male secretary?”

  “Not this male,” David said, then shook it off. “Did you really do what that detective said you did?”

  “Guilty.” Bennie was already reaching for her phone messages. She needed to pick a lunch partner. “You gonna yell at me too?”

  “Hell no. I’m just mad you didn’t take me with you.”

  “Really?” Bennie looked up with the same warm rush she’d felt before, and David was smiling at her. “Thank you.”

  �
�You’re welcome. Now what are you doing there?”

  “Picking a lunch partner. It’s either my friend Sam or a potential client, Mort Abrams.” Bennie found the message slips, so she had both numbers. “It’s almost noon, and I can’t decide who to eat with.”

  “Oh, you lawyers have big problems.”

  “Hey, it matters. At least today it does.”

  “I’m just the undercover bodyguard. All I care about is where you’re gonna eat.”

  “That’s all I care about too. And that, I already know.”

  “Aha, I see,” David said, catching up, and Bennie smiled.

  “You’re learning, sailor.”

  Silverware jingled as busboys cleared empty tables, ice cubes clinked in scotch glasses carried on round trays, and waiters in white coats rustled as they moved professionally between the tables packed with lunchtime patrons, who were buzzing with laughter and conversation. The Palm was one of the most popular restaurants in the city because of location, not decor. The design was early steakhouse, and the walls were blanketed with hand-painted head shots of local celebrities, like TV weathermen. But with City Hall, the Criminal Justice Center, and major hotels within a three-block radius, politicians, lawyers, and tourists flocked to the place, gobbling down grilled New York strip steaks and humongous Gulf shrimp.

  Bennie plucked one of her huge shrimp from its orangy sea of cocktail sauce. “This qualifies as a lethal weapon in most jurisdictions.”

  “I am above size jokes, honey.” Sam scooped a cherrystone into his mouth and leaned over his plate of tiny clamshells, with a pool of gritty water at the bottom. “So tell me what progress the cops have made.”

  “None. And thanks for the check, by the way. I did cash it, you devil.”

  “Ain’t I a stinker?” They shared a table by the window, overlooking Broad Street. Indirect light brightened the spot, and Sam used it to examine his fingernails after he’d wiped his hands on the thick cloth napkin. “I’m so sorry about your client.”

  “Me, too. Robert was a wonderful man. You would have loved him.”

  “I’m sure. I love anybody who talks like Pepé Le Pew.” Sam sipped his ice water and eyed the traffic out the window, on Broad. “You think it was this tourist thing?”

  “It’s a possibility.” Bennie stopped herself before she filled him in on her other suspicions, especially about Alice. Sam would just yell at her, or worry about her, which was worse. “I’m leaving this one to the cops.”

  Sam set down his water in disbelief. “You are?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re staying out of it?”

  “Absolutely.” Bennie nodded in a way she hoped was convincing. Of course, this act could put a damper on her plan to interrogate whoever had waited on Mayer and Robert last night. She’d have to be clever and deceitful, neither of which came naturally to her. “I have too much to deal with right now, what with Alice and the firm’s finances, or lack thereof.”

  “I quite agree.” Sam’s expression turned grave, the corners of his reddish mustache turning down. “I wouldn’t be so quick to dismiss that somebody is out there targeting foreigners. The way the mood has been in this country lately, there’s a lot more xenophobia. It’s just another form of hate crime, and believe me, you don’t have to convince a gay man that hate crimes exist. I have a friend who’s gay and Iranian. He shaved his beard and went drag.”

  “Maybe you’re right.” Bennie was drawing her own parallels, to the Brandolini case and the internment camps. She’d said good-bye to Mary before she’d left for lunch and felt proud of her. “Strange things happen when people feel threatened, don’t they?”

  “Sure do.” Sam sighed. “Anyway, I have to tell you, as bad as I felt for your client, I felt worse for you. I don’t want to think about what losing his case means for you, Bennie. It’s a financial disaster. You have to let me give you some more money, at least lend it to you, with your house in play—”

  “Not so fast,” Bennie interrupted him. “Robert’s murder may not drop me from the class action, if whoever succeeds him wants to continue the suit. I already have a call in to the vice president, who should know. And I’m getting phone calls from the other class members. I even had one invite me to lunch, but I chose you because you’re way more fun.”

  “Also I’d pick up the tab.”

  “Okay, that, too. Sorry. Also, guess what? I was offered two million bucks for my firm this morning.”

  “What?” Sam dropped his clam fork. “Why didn’t you tell me right away?” So Bennie filled him in on the meeting with Linette. Sam’s thin, fair skin colored with excitement as she spoke, so brightly that she thought his navy-patterned bow tie was cutting off his oxygen. When she got to the part about the company Porsche, he got so hot and bothered that he had to take off his blazer. When she was finished, he reached over and put his fine, if clammy, hand over hers. “Bennie, I have one word for you. Sell.”

  “Why?”

  “No, three words. Sell, sell, sell.” Sam wet his lips “Or how about, sell right now. Or, sell it, honey.”

  “I built that firm. I saw it through everything. I grew it to full staff. I worked my ass off. Why should I sell out?”

  “It’s not selling out, it’s selling, and are you seriously asking me why? Why? You’re bankrupt, you idiot! Did you forget?” Sam rolled his eyes behind his hip glasses. “Bennie, listen up. Some money is better than no money. This is an essential financial principle, and even you can understand it. Take the money. Also three words.”

  “But Linette’s only buying us to keep the class. He doesn’t care about Rosato & Associates.”

  “So what?”

  “I don’t want to practice class-action law.”

  “Who cares? If you’re right, Linette doesn’t want you to, either. Be a consultant. Show up and say hi. Put your name on the papers.”

  “That’s not lawyering.”

  “So quit after a respectable time period and go lawyer somewhere else. With that kind of money, you can start another firm.” Sam’s eyes flared with urgency as a waiter came over with their lunch entrées. The waiter’s pristine white jacket read Westley and he was an older man, and balding. With an efficient air, he set a salmon filet in front of Sam and a strip steak in front of Bennie.

  “Thank you,” Bennie said. She faced the waiter, arranging her face into a casual mask for Sam’s benefit. “Westley, you didn’t happen to work last night, did you?”

  “No, miss,” the waiter answered matter-of-factly. “Yesterday was my day off.”

  “Thank you,” Bennie repeated, watching the waiter remove her butter knife with some ceremony and replace it with a wooden-handled steak knife with a sharp serrated edge. Was this the kind of knife that had killed Robert? The thought nauseated her, but she made herself pick up the knife and turn it over. It was why she had ordered the steak, after all.

  “Is anything the matter, miss?” the waiter asked, and Bennie shook her head.

  “No, thanks. Everything’s fine. I was just curious, is this the knife you give with every steak?”

  “Yes.”

  “There aren’t bigger ones?”

  “No, I’m sure this will be fine for your purposes. We use it for the prime rib and the filet mignon. Though if you wish another, perhaps I could ask around in the kitchen.”

  “No. No, thanks.” The waiter left, and Sam eyed her warily.

  “Don’t tell me, lemme guess. St. Amien ate here last night, before he was knifed to death.”

  Ouch. “I’m just curious, okay?”

  “Stay out of it, Bennie.”

  “I am. I will. I was just asking.”

  “Right. Sure.” Sam picked up his fork and separated an end flake of his salmon, encrusted with dill and coarse pink peppercorn. “I’ll eat while you go over and depose the maitre d’.”

  It made Bennie laugh, which was a good thing, because she was already hating the heft of the knife in her hand. The blade was about six inches, and sh
e would have described it as a common knife. Without the autopsy report, she had no way of knowing whether the blade matched the depth of the wounds, and right now she didn’t want to think about it.

  “I know you care about your client, your friend, but you are too busy to get involved. You have a business to sell.” Sam ate a forkful of moist salmon. “Besides, you have Alice to worry about. I was thinking you should call a security agency. I’ll spring for it. I want you to hire a bodyguard.”

  “Don’t need one.” Bennie took the knife in hand and, when Sam wasn’t looking, slipped it inside her purse, which was sitting on the seat beside her. She couldn’t bring herself to eat the steak anyway. Her appetite had vanished. “You know why I don’t need one?”

  “Because you think you’re invincible and you’re stubborn as a mule?”

  “No, because I have one already.”

  “You’re kidding.” Sam stopped chasing skinny string beans with his fork. “How’d you pay for a bodyguard?”

  “I didn’t. He’s free.”

  “Oh, please.” Sam zeroed in on a string bean, annoyed. “Stop lying.”

  “It’s true. Look.” Bennie lowered her voice, not that anyone was listening to them in the noisy restaurant, and pointed discreetly out the window with her soda glass. A white SEPTA bus blocked their view, and she waited for it to pass. Then it did, revealing a noontime Broad Street bustling with traffic and businesspeople. But across the street, leaning against the sign for the subway stop, stood a very tall SEAL in sort of a disguise. “See that tall guy across the street, in the baseball cap with the Sixers logo?”

  “No.” Sam squinted. “Everybody out there has on a Sixers cap. It isn’t a Ralph Lauren kind of town.”

  “The real tall man, near the subway stop. He’s reading a paper.”

  Sam’s eyes found David, Bennie could see it. They actually lit up. “Oh my God, is he big and hot or what? I thought he was a good-looking tree.”