Dead Ringer

by Lisa Scottoline

  “That’s David, my undercover bodyguard.”

  “You’re shitting me.”

  “I shit you not.” Bennie caught herself. “And that’s my last curse.”

  Sam couldn’t tear his eyes from David. “What’s his name? David what?”

  “Holland.”

  “I like it. Holland. Mrs. Sam Holland. How’s it sound? Wow, I’m a country!” Sam was getting carried away. “I hear Vermont is very nice this time of year. Does he like lawyers?”

  “No.”

  “Who does? I’ll quit. Who needs it anyway? I’ll work for Ben and Jerry’s. I can be his Chubby Hubby.”

  “Sam, relax. He’s kind of macho.”

  “Macho works for me. I can be macho. I have a cowboy hat I got in Steamboat. It has a silver medallion in the front and a feather in the hatband. Turquoise, with a hint of sienna.”

  Bennie laughed. “You’re not macho. You like Looney Tunes. You have stuffed animals on your windowsill.”

  “I’ll douse them with lighter fluid and set them afire. Isn’t that macho?” Sam turned away from the window momentarily. “So how’d you find him, and more important, will he come over to the dark side?”

  “You mean is he gay?” Bennie smiled. “I doubt it.”

  “He doesn’t have to be gay. He could just have gay potential. Can he spell ‘gay’? We’ll bend the rules in his case. We need to recruit men like him. Manly men.” Sam grunted, and Bennie laughed.

  “He’s a SEAL.”

  “I can swim. I can bark, too. Tell me about him. Everything. Tell me, tell me, tell me.” Sam leaned over in high-dish mode, and Bennie filled him in on last night, going easy on the part about her almost drowning in the river. But the happiness evaporated from Sam’s expression like champagne from a flute. “Bennie, this is terrible! Alice is a freak!”

  “I know, that’s why I need David,” she said as the waiter came over. He scanned their plates with tacit disapproval. Sam had stopped eating, and she had never started. Bennie looked up. “Can you wrap these up for us to take home? I have a golden with caviar taste.”

  “No problem,” answered the waiter, clearing the plates and arranging them miraculously along the length of his arm. If he noticed that she’d purloined the steak knife, he’d been taught not to say so. “Coffee?”

  “Sure,” Bennie answered for both of them, but Sam was grim.

  “You don’t really know who David is, and he follows you everywhere.”

  “Sure I know who he is. I told you what I know.”

  “That’s not very much. He’s just a random guy, and you’re supposed to tell him everything you do. Why did he quit the SEALs?”

  “He didn’t quit, he—”

  “What did he do before that? When did he graduate from the Naval Academy? And above all, why would he do this for you? Are you sleeping with him?”

  “No!” Bennie blushed.

  “But you’re thinking about it.”

  “So are you,” Bennie shot back, and they both laughed. “He’s safe, Sam. He’s fine. He’s just a nice guy.”

  “You’re letting a stranger protect you.”

  “He saved Bear’s life, and he risked his own to do it. He’s a Good Samaritan.” Bennie tried to explain it, because truth to tell, she wondered about it too. “Sam, did you ever think that maybe we’ve been lawyers too long? Maybe we’ve become so inherently suspicious of everything and everyone, always questioning their motives, always imagining what will go wrong in the end, that we just can’t recognize it when somebody does a selflessly good thing. Isn’t that possible?”

  “No. You been watching Oprah again?” Sam’s eyes narrowed as a busboy materialized, put two empty coffee cups in front of them, and poured coffee with his other hand. He didn’t have a name on his white jacket, which didn’t look as surgical as the waiter’s.

  Bennie didn’t wait for him to stop pouring. “Excuse me, did you work last night?’

  “No, I don’t work dinner,” he said, and gestured toward the wall, where the painted faces of a local bank president and an Eagles cheerleader smiled down at the sugar caddy. “Sugar’s over there, and I’ll bring your cream. The dessert tray will be over shortly.”

  “No dessert for me, thanks,” Bennie said, taking her napkin from her lap and getting up from the table. “Be right back, Sam.”

  “Is this where you pretend you’re going to the bathroom, but you take a detour on the way to the front desk?”

  Bennie smiled. “Gimme five minutes.”

  “I’ll order the key lime pie and enjoy the view.” Sam looked crankily out the window at David, then back at Bennie. “Just remember, ‘Who guards the guards?’”

  But Bennie didn’t have the time to answer.

  She had to conduct the cross-examination du jour.

  24

  Sir, may I speak to you a minute?” Bennie gestured from the back of the crowd to the busy maitre d’, who stood behind the paneled lectern like a hyperactive law professor. Dressed in a dark suit and tie, he was gesturing simultaneously to three hungry groups complaining to be seated.

  “Steingard party, we’ll be right with you. Just five minutes.” The maitre d’ snapped his head to the left, then smoothed his hair back into its moussed helmet. “Ms. Pecora, Lorraine Pecora, please, it’s only five minutes, I promise. Mr. Kranyak, Joe Kranyak, your table is ready. Please follow James, right over there.”

  “Sir, please!” Bennie said again, threading through the restless crowd to the lectern, where she grabbed the wooden lip and hung like a little kid over the large reservations book. “I just have a quick question.”

  “Do you have a reservation?” The maitre d’ looked at her with a pat smile.

  “No, I mean, yes, I’ve already eaten. I was just wondering, were you on duty last night for dinner?”

  “Yes, I was.” The maitre d’s attention was immediately distracted by a man behind her. “Mr. Toomey, how wonderful to see you again. And how is your lovely wife? Recuperating, I hope?”

  “Sends her love,” boomed the man. Bennie could feel him try to press past her to the lectern, but she sidestepped and blocked him.

  “Excuse me, sir, this is important.” Bennie got right in the maitre d’s face, which was easy because they were the same height and she could be incredibly pushy. “Do you recall seeing two men at dinner last night, named Robert St. Amien and Herman Mayer?”

  “Please, in one minute.” The maitre d’ flashed her the one-minute sign, then waved hello over her shoulder. “Lustig, Gail Lustig, your table is ready. Please, follow Adriana, she’ll take you.”

  “What about me?” said another woman, flanking Bennie. “My name is Deb Haggerty, and I had a reservation.”

  “Ms. Haggerty, your table is being set as we speak.” The maitre d’ hurried around the side of the lectern to speak to the woman while Bennie eavesdropped. “I’ll escort you there myself right now, and dessert is on the house.”

  “Thanks, I accept,” the woman said, but Bennie couldn’t be bought with mere saturated fats, not that anybody was trying. She had bigger game in mind than cheesecake.

  She gave up on the maitre d’ for the moment and took advantage of his absence to peek over the lectern at the reservation book. The book was as huge as the lectern top itself, and glowed like gold under a dim yellow lamp that curved over its pages. Names filled the lines on the page, and next to them was a row of circled numbers, presumably indicating the number in each party. Beside that were all sorts of scribbled notations in pen and pencil. But the page showed reservations for tonight, not last night.

  Bennie reached over quickly and turned the page back to last night, then began reading upside down, which was a special skill she’d honed at Grun & Chase. No young associate survived in a large firm unless she learned to read upside down, most useful during evaluation time or whenever sheer nosiness struck. She skipped down to seven o’clock and read the names, going backward and upside down. It made her dizzy, but when she reached 6:
45, the entry read: Mayer, 2.

  “May I help you?” the maitre d’ asked, clearing his throat the way only maitre d’s can.

  “Yes, please. I see that Herman Mayer was here last night for dinner.”

  “I don’t know Mr. Mayer,” the maitre d’ said, but his brow was furrowed and he took Bennie by the arm, away from the crowd at the lectern. “I’d be happy to briefly talk with you here,” he said, his voice low. “I have already discussed this matter with the police.”

  “Good. So Detective Needleman did speak with you?”

  “Yes, he verified that the Mayer party dined with us last night. Mr. Mayer, and Mr. St. Amien.”

  “Did he talk with the waiter who waited on the Mayer party?” Bennie didn’t exactly represent that she was with the police department, and he was too eager to get back to the lectern anyway. Cranky people were beginning to wave him over.

  “He asked to, but Dante was the waiter and he came in late today. A doctor’s appointment.”

  “Which one is Dante? I need to speak with him.”

  “Please, don’t keep him long. That’s him.” The maitre d’ pointed at a short young man darting among the tables with a huge tray of full plates balanced high above his shoulder.

  “Thank you, I’ll be quick,” Bennie said, and the maitre d’ returned to his post while she took off after Dante. Even with a tray of porterhouse steaks, three-pound lobsters, and chateaubriand beef for two, the energetic waiter threaded his way through the crowded tables, past the bathrooms to the stuffed booths lining the far side of the room. Bennie waited for him to unload the lunches and make his move toward the kitchen, to block his return. He could serve, but he couldn’t hide.

  Dante finished at the booth, stopped to chat up an older man at one of the other tables, then hustled toward the kitchen with his empty tray. When he realized that Bennie stood directly in his path, he said, “The ladies’ room is right behind you.”

  “Excuse me, Dante, this is police business,” Bennie said in a low tone. Well, it is police business. It’s just that a lawyer is doing it. “I understand you waited on Herman Mayer and Robert St. Amien last night.”

  “Yeah, I did.” Dante straightened up. He couldn’t have been twenty-one, and he had the thick neck and polite manner of a high school wrestler. “I mean, yes. Yes, sir. Ma’am.”

  “Do you recall the dinner?”

  “Yeah, yes. Too bad about that Belgium guy, who got stabbed.”

  “St. Amien was French,” Bennie corrected automatically. A waiter scurried around them to the kitchen, and she took Dante’s arm and edged him out of the way, toward the wall. “Anyway, what do you recall about it? Anything weird?”

  “No.”

  “Did they fight at all. Argue?”

  “No.”

  “How did they act?”

  “Normal, no fighting. Just talked, you know, quietly. Sounded like business every time I went over. Nothing special, that way.” Dante flipped his tray under his arm like a notebook. “What I remember is the tip. The dude who paid, Mayer? He only left ten percent. They didn’t even drink much. Only the other guy, the dude who got killed, he had wine. Knew his wines, too.”

  Oh, Robert. “Do you recall what they ordered for dinner?”

  Dante thought a minute. “The one, Mayer, had the strip steak, and the other guy had the spaghetti and clams.”

  Bennie felt her heart skip. “So you gave Mayer a steak knife.”

  “Probably.” Dante’s dark eyes widened. “You think—”

  “Can’t discuss it,” she interrupted. “Just answer the questions and I’ll let you get back to work. Who cleared the table, you or the busboy?”

  “I did. . . . He was catching a smoke.”

  “Do you remember if the steak knife was there when you cleared?”

  Dante thought longer. “Nah, I don’t know. Sorry.”

  “You sure? It’s very important.” Bennie waited for his answer as a busboy hurried past them to the kitchen with a clinking tray of empty plates. She edged farther against the wall, so they were standing next to the painted portraits above the wainscoting. Bennie felt eyes on her and looked over. On the wall, at eye level, floated a very familiar head with a name painted underneath. WILLIAM LINETTE. Bennie did a double take. “That’s Bill Linette,” she blurted out, startled.

  “Sure. Mr. Linette, he’s a regular. Comes in all the time.”

  “He does?” Bennie thought about it. “Of course he does. He’s a big-time lawyer.”

  “Real big. Tips awesome. He wasn’t in my station last night, though. We gotta rotate.” Dante snapped his fingers in disappointment. Bennie couldn’t believe her ears.

  “Did you say Bill Linette ate here last night?”

  “Sure.”

  “But I didn’t see his name in the reservation book.”

  “He doesn’t have to call for reservations anymore. He comes in every Tuesday and Thursday for dinner, same time. Around seven.”

  Bennie’s heart began to hammer. Did everybody but her eat at the Palm? “Did you see him last night?”

  “Sure. He even said hi. Always does. Friendly dude.”

  “Who’d he eat with?”

  “Some guys he knows, I think. Suits. Two.”

  “Quinones, Kerpov?”

  “Don’t know them, only Mr. Linette.” Dante shrugged as another waiter hurried by. He shifted his feet. “Will this take a lot longer, sir? Miss?”

  “I’ll make it fast.” Bennie tried to think through her excitement. “Was Linette here the same time as Mayer and St. Amien?”

  “Wait. I want to get this right.” Dante paused, thinking. “Yes. Definitely. Mr. Linette came in later and he left later, I think. Mr. Linette likes to have his after-dinner drinks. Always picks a nice malt.”

  “He drink a lot last night?”

  “Well, yeah. Always. But he doesn’t get sloppy, he’s a classy guy. He holds it pretty good. He’s big.”

  Bennie eyed the restaurant layout. “Where did Mayer sit and where did Linette sit? Tell me the exact tables.”

  “Like I said, Mr. Mayer was in seven, I mean, that’s the table in my station against the front wall, in the window. In the middle, see?” He pointed.

  In the window. So anyone coming into the Palm through the main entrance would see Mayer and St. Amien. Linette had come in later, so he could have seen them in the window.

  “And Mr. Linette was at his table in the back,” Dante continued. “Right here.”

  Of course. “Near his picture.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “Now for a hard question. Do you know if they saw each other? For example, did you see Mayer or St. Amien stop by and say hello to Linette, maybe on their way to the men’s room?”

  Dante shook his head. “Men never use the bathroom, only ladies. They’re in there all the time.” He chuckled, then caught himself. “I didn’t see them get together, no. I don’t know if they saw each other, but you can tell the way it is, with the tables.”

  Bingo. Bennie eyeballed the location of the tables. “There’s even a divider, that bank of booths that screens the front of the room from the back. You can’t see over that. So if Mayer and St. Amien didn’t go to the bathroom, they probably didn’t see Linette.”

  “Right. They’re like separate dining rooms. If you’re sitting at Mr. Linette’s table back here, you don’t see to the front. Mr. Linette likes his table private. He does a lotta his business here. When he wants to party, he hangs at the bar.”

  Bennie could barely suppress her excitement. So it was possible that Linette had seen Mayer and Robert last night when he came in. But they hadn’t seen him, because of the booth divider. “How can we find out what Linette ordered last night? Who was the waiter back here?”

  “I know what he ordered.” Dante looked anxiously toward the kitchen, but Bennie hadn’t learned everything she needed to know.

  “How do you know? You didn’t wait on him. He wasn’t in your station.”


  “Don’t matter, he always orders the same thing, every Tuesday and every Thursday. He always says it’s doctor’s orders.”

  Bennie’s hopes sank. “What, a salad?”

  “No, the prime rib. He likes to joke around, Mr. Linette does.”

  So Linette had a knife too.

  “You’re not thinkin’ that Mr. Linette killed that dude, because Mr. Linette would never—”

  “Shhh.” Bennie put a finger to her lips. “Don’t speculate. Leave these matters to the police.” Not that she would. “Who was the busboy at Linette’s table?”

  “Think it was Marky, but he isn’t on tonight. And if you’re gonna ask him if he picked up a knife, he won’t remember. The kid likes the ganja, he don’t remember his name.” Dante’s hand flew to cover his mouth. “Oh, shit. Did I just get him in—”

  “No, I’ll keep it to myself. You do the same.” Bennie placed an ersatz-official arm on his shoulder. “Don’t tell anyone we spoke, and say no to drugs. Thanks for the help, and sorry to have kept you. You can get back to work now.”

  “Thanks, Officer,” Dante said, and he practically bolted toward the kitchen, leaving Bennie with a promotion.

  And a painted picture of a toothy Bill Linette.

  Bennie and Sam chugged along, walking down the crowded sidewalk toward her office. She slipped her Ray-Bans on in case any stray reporter was out there, and also to continue her strategy of differentiating her appearance from Alice’s. Also she was carrying her doggie bag. Take that, Alice!

  “So he’s behind us?” Sam asked as they walked. He had his navy blazer hooked on his index finger and thrown over his shoulder. “He’s following us? David Hottie?”

  Bennie smiled. “Holland. Keep your eyes front and don’t look back.”

  “This feels strange. Having him following us.”

  “No stranger than having her follow us.”

  “She’s following us, too? Christ, we’re a parade!”

  “Really.” They turned onto Locust, toward Bennie’s office. Sam was going to drop her off, then go on to Grun. She checked her watch. Half past one. She had her meeting at two. She scanned the bypassers reflexively for Alice, then breathed a relieved sigh. She didn’t have to be so worried anymore with every step. “I feel better knowing that he’s watching.”