Praise Her, Praise Diana

by Anne Rothman-Hicks

  He tried to continue, but the path through the women had closed around him now.

  “Officer Torres,” Rosita said again, louder than before and more insistently. “Where ... is ... my ... sister?”

  The words were echoed again by the women, much louder as their voices rose in unison and they pressed in closer to Jose.

  “Women of the 24th Precinct!” Judith cried, her shrill voice clear above all of the others. “Arrest this man!”

  Suddenly, the gathered women shoved in toward Jose, whose face had lost its arrogant smile. He began to push back against those closest to him but was unable to break away. Jostling bodies held his arms fast to his side.

  “Crazy bitches!” he screamed. “Let me go! Fucking bitches!”

  “Officer Torres, where’s my sister?” Rosita screamed now at the top of her voice, energized by the sense of power she felt over her adversary. “Where’s my sister? Where’s my sister?”

  “Diana!” A voice called. And another repeated the name. “Diana! Diana!

  “Where’s our sister!”

  Rosita leapt forward, reaching for Torres, clawing at the air.

  “I’ll get you, bitch!” he yelled, but his voice was full of panic now as the women closed in on him. Jane and Maggie grabbed Rosita and pulled her away.

  “Officer down!” Jose screamed. “Code 10-00. Officer down!”

  Police officers who were leaving the building raced toward the crowd. Soon, there were a dozen officers pulling women away from Jose and being attacked themselves. Within a few minutes, however, they were able to clear the women from around him. His clothes were rumpled, his shirt was ripped and there was a scratch on one cheek, but otherwise he was unharmed.

  He was shaking as they led him inside. He looked back at the women who were now dispersing, pushing strollers, talking quietly with each other as though nothing unusual had happened. Throughout, David’s camera had never stopped taking pictures.

  Across the street were Judith and the other members of the Eumenides.

  “Five more minutes,” she said grimly. “Five more minutes and he would have been dead.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Once the crowd had dispersed, Jane and Maggie left together, heading south on Columbus, Jane to the cross-town bus home on 96th Street and Maggie to her own apartment further south. They were silent as they walked along, both absorbed in their own thoughts. They had gone a short distance when a cab slowed beside them and then came to a stop. David’s face appeared at the open window. “Can I give you two ladies a ride somewhere?” he asked. “Not me, thanks,” Jane said. “Maybe Maggie would like one.”

  “No, thank you,” Maggie said.

  They set off again. The cab kept pace with them.

  “You’re going to have to sit down and listen to me sometime, Jane,” David said finally. “You know that.”

  Jane glanced at Maggie, rolling her eyes.

  “Actually, I didn’t know that at all,” Jane said.

  “You’re too fair a person,” David continued. “At some point you’re going to realize that after all the time we’ve been together, I deserve better than this.”

  She shook her head, smiling broadly, incredulously.

  “What’s funny?” he asked.

  “Nothing really,” she said. “Just that I was thinking I deserved better. Odd coincidence, huh David?”

  They came to a light. The cab stopped and so did Jane and Maggie.

  “Maybe I should leave at this point,” Maggie said.

  “Please don’t,” Jane said quietly. She put her hand on Maggie’s and squeezed it quickly. She wanted to add, ‘I need you,’ but it was too difficult for her to express that thought and admit the concept of need.

  A half block or so behind Jane and Maggie, Judith Frazier followed with two of the young women who had been at the demonstration, one on either side of her, both still dressed in the Diana uniform despite the heat.

  “It’s not what you think, damn it!” David shouted.

  “You have no idea what I think!” Jane shouted back.

  The light changed, and they crossed. David signaled the cab to follow again. As it caught up to Jane and Maggie, he leaned out of the window, one arm hanging over the side of the door, the palm of his hand banging softly against the surface.

  “I was with a model, Jane—someone I was paying to photograph for a book project! I can prove that to you, for Christ’s sake, if you’ll just take two fucking minutes to listen to me!”

  At the next corner, Jane stopped. The cab did also. She turned to him.

  “Listen to me, David,” she said. “I don’t—”

  Judith came up beside Jane.

  “Is this guy bothering you?” she asked. The two women who were with her stayed back a step with their arms crossed over their chests.

  “Yes,” Jane said, managing another smile. “But I can handle it, thank you.”

  “Why don’t you go mind your own fucking business?” David said.

  “If it involves a sister of mine, it’s my business,” Judith answered. Behind her, two heads nodded in agreement.

  “You got sisters now, Jane?” David asked sarcastically.

  “I think you should go, David,” Jane said.

  “I will, but not because those three want me to.” He cast a look of disgust in their direction, which was met by cold stares. “You know what they are, don’t you? They’re fucking Nazis. They’re like the members of the fucking American Nazi Party, standing there in formation. And like the fucking American Nazis, there’s no one with them.” Again, he stared directly at them. “You’re all alone, you fucking losers!”

  David spat on the sidewalk, and this time he got the response he was hoping for as the two young women started toward him, only to be held back by Judith signaling them with a lifted hand.

  “Not now,” she said softly.

  David turned his attention toward Jane.

  “The model’s name is Germaine. I’m going to send you her address and phone number, Jane. You can ask her yourself about what went on last Sunday.”

  “You goddamned bastard!” Jane said. “You always try to make it my fault. It’s not my fault this time.”

  An expression of pain flickered across David’s face. It was soon replaced by his confident smile.

  “We’ll talk,” he said simply. “See you later.” He told the cab to drive on and as he did, David leaned out the window one last time and tipped an imaginary hat to Judith and those with her, using the extended finger of his right hand. “And good-bye to you, too, you fucking losers!”

  * * * *

  An hour later, Jane was back in her office staring at her computer screen, trying to read a case that she had downloaded from Lexis, forcing her mind to be occupied with the work at hand and to forget the ugliness of the morning. The e-mail had arrived from David as promised, giving the woman’s address and a phone number, and attaching a copy of a check that he had written to her “for modeling services”.

  He knew Jane well after their time together, especially her weaknesses. More than once they had argued, and he had successfully made it seem that the conflict was all the result of some flaw in her personality—a jealous streak that she inherited from Martha, an inordinate fear of being tricked by a guy, of not being the one in control, and, of course, her desire to be successful in her career.

  Earlier, as she and Maggie had continued walking after David had left, Jane had poured out her feelings, telling Maggie how it was between her and David. There were good times at first, surely, until the nights alone and the manipulation of her feelings by him. Maggie understood, it had seemed, almost without being told and had added one point that especially troubled Jane.

  “I think the biggest problem right now is that you still love the guy,” she had said, just as they were parting at 96th Street to go their separate ways.

  “No, Maggie,” Jane had protested. “I don’t. I really, really don’t.”

  Maggie j
ust smiled at her, her emerald eyes dancing in the sunshine.

  “Only you know for sure,” Maggie said. “But I think that the day you are completely sure, nothing he can do or say will bother you ever again.”

  And even now she found it difficult to forget that pained look on his face. What had that meant? Had she finally somehow gotten through to him? Did he regret the fact that he was losing her? Or had he simply realized that she no longer loved him more than he loved her, depriving him of his advantage.

  That was a question she would like to have answered. The rest of what he had said was sheer nonsense. David knew that Jane would never demean herself to call that model and ask her for the ‘truth’.

  What would she say? ‘Hello, I’m Jane, David’s crazy-jealous girlfriend. Can you swear to me, maybe on a stack of Bibles, that you were the one who perfumed up my sheets and left a used condom package? And that you didn’t have any sex with him, even if it was just recreational fucking and it means nothing? Thanks, it’s sort of important.’”

  Ridiculous.

  Jane was interrupted by the sound of a soft rapping on the door of her office. She glanced up to see Detective Smalley and his partner. For a moment she was embarrassed, as though they somehow saw her thoughts reflected clearly in her face while her guard was down.

  She indicated that the door was open and they came in, Smalley first, Glaser behind him. They both seemed interested in everything in the room; Smalley was just a bit more unobtrusive about it. It struck her that Glaser would have started rifling through her desk drawers if she took her eyes off of him. As it was, he was more than willing to read anything left exposed on top.

  “We never got the chance to talk with you,” Detective Smalley said.

  “I didn’t know you wanted to talk to me, Detective,” Jane said. “Just my client.”

  Smalley frowned.

  “Just to set the record straight. Ms. Edwards called me and said that she was not represented by you on this matter.”

  “I was there when she said it,” Glaser added. His small perfect lips hinted at a smile.

  “I’m sure you were,” said Jane.

  “I don’t mean to make too big a deal of this,” Smalley said. “I just like to talk to everyone connected in any way with a crime.”

  “I understand.” She shrugged. “I got that delivery of the severed penis. But I thought we talked about that.”

  “It’s part of a kind of cost/benefit analysis,” Glaser said. “Detective Smalley looks at a person who is dead and asks who is better off because of it. Kind of boring. But you’d be surprised how many times the one who had the most to gain is the perp.”

  “Fascinating,” Jane said. ‘But I still don’t see how that fits me.”

  “Well, you’ve certainly gotten a measure of publicity from your representation of Maggie Edwards and your involvement with WPW. Granted, it’s not as big a benefit as Maggie received, for example, or the gallery owner. What’s her name? Ellen Briars? But, hey, if you don’t turn over every rock, you miss a few slugs.”

  Glaser smiled at her again with his too-small mouth, obviously enjoying himself. Her dislike for him was growing with every word he spoke.

  “Detective Smalley, why don’t you just ask your questions,” she said. “I’m very busy, and I don’t need all the commentary.”

  “Of course,” he said politely. “Could you tell me where you were on the two nights that the victims were killed?”

  “I don’t even know what nights you’re talking about,” she said. Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she could see Glaser’s little doll’s mouth twist into a sneer. “If the first guy was killed the night before Maggie and I saw the photo at The Portal’s offices, I was with a guy.”

  “Will he remember you?” Glaser asked.

  “That’s enough!” Smalley said angrily to Glaser.

  Glaser’s expression was of a person who had been unexpectedly slapped across the face.

  “His name is David Hancock. He was living with me up until this past Sunday when he moved out.”

  “Thank you,” Smalley said, making a note. “May I ask the same question about last Saturday night?”

  “As I am sure you already know, I spent the weekend at Maggie Edwards’ house in the country. We came back Sunday.”

  “Do you drive?” he asked.

  “Yes, but she brought me in her car. It’s a stick shift. I can only drive an automatic.”

  Smalley nodded.

  “And is it safe to say that you would have known if Maggie left in the middle of the night?”

  She hesitated, remembering her fitful sleep that first night and the sound of a car turning around in the driveway.

  “Yes, that is certainly safe to say,” she replied.

  “So, Maggie’s off the hook,” Glaser said with a single clap of his hands. “I’m glad. I like Maggie. And I really like her books. You feel like you’re right there, you know? It’s so damned real.”

  “It’s an art,” Jane said.

  “An art,” Glaser echoed. “Exactly. I don’t know how she comes up with that stuff!”

  His cell phone rang. He checked the number.

  “I’ll take this outside,” he said.

  “Anything else, Detective Smalley?” Jane asked once the door had closed behind Glaser. Much of the tension seemed to have left with him, but Jane still wanted the interview to be over.

  “I’m sorry about that unpleasantness,” Smalley said. “It’s not the way I like to do things.”

  Jane shrugged. “And what way would that be?”

  “Methodically. Rationally. I think most people realize that crime is not a good thing. It’s an assault on society. A kind of anarchy. It’s in everyone’s interest to see that it’s punished.”

  “Are you forgetting I’m a lawyer? I may have my own set of rules to obey.”

  “I’m not forgetting. In fact, that’s one of the reasons I wanted to talk to you. You are counsel for WPW and some of the members of the WPW board. It seems that your mother, Martha Larson, represented all of them at one time or another.”

  “You’re aware of the privilege rules, Detective? And the rule against disclosing confidences?”

  “I am,” he said. “And I’m aware that none of those rules stop you from preventing a crime from occurring in the future.”

  “That’s true.”

  “And I think it’s also true that you are the type of lawyer that has the best interests of her clients in mind, and sometimes it is in the best interest of a client to cooperate with the police.”

  Jane paused for a moment, considering the statement.

  “I thought you said Maggie already talked to you.”

  “She did. But you might want to go over with her some of the things she told me. For accuracy. Maybe there’s something she would like to change.”

  “Care to be more specific?”

  “I’m sorry but I can’t, at least at this point.”

  Jane nodded. “Anything else?”

  “We’re having a great deal of trouble scheduling an interview with Judith Frazier.”

  “I’m not surprised. But I can’t help you. I don’t represent her.”

  “I thought you did. I’m sure I heard that your mother represented Judith.”

  Jane noticed that Glaser had come back into her office, hovering near the door, soundless as a snake.

  “It’s a new one on me,” Jane said. “But I certainly didn’t know all of Martha’s clients. My mother and I weren’t even that close until the last year or so of her life.”

  She immediately regretted the last gratuitous sentence. She had meant it only for Smalley, to help him understand, but not for Glaser who took a stride or two across the small room.

  “So I guess you didn’t know that Judith was sexually abused as a child?” he asked coolly.

  Jane felt a sudden rage at the thought of this man rummaging through Judith’s life and the lives of all of them.

  “Yeah,
” Glaser continued. “Her mother’s brother. Uncle Buddy. Everybody’s favorite. Loved to tickle the kids ...”

  “Wait for me outside,” Smalley said sharply, interrupting his partner.

  Glaser raised and lowered his eyebrows quickly, gazing at Jane, trying unsuccessfully to hide his displeasure at being reprimanded. Then he turned and left.

  “That uncle was a retired cop,” Smalley said then. “It may explain why she doesn’t want to talk to us.”

  Jane hesitated, feeling the rush of her blood subside slowly.

  “I wouldn’t know, Detective,” she said. “Is there anything else?”

  Smalley closed his notepad and put it in his pocket.

  “Yes. I’d like you to just go through some of your mother’s old files. I’m not asking you to tell me what’s in them.”

  “That’s good, because it ain’t happening.”

  “But it can’t hurt for you to know as much as possible. To help your client—or even a potential client—avoid even a bigger problem in the future.”

  Jane smiled.

  “Well, here’s the problem. I couldn’t learn anything from Martha’s old files, even if I wanted to. She had a unique way of filing sensitive matters and, frankly, most of her matters were sensitive. She gave a person a nickname that was associated with them in some way, so she would remember the file, but it would not have the person’s name on it or in it. Like for you, she might label the file ‘Sherlock’, or Glaser could have been “asshole”. She never created a cross-index. She told me she wanted to, but she died before she had the chance.”

  “Did the client know the name she put on the file?”

  “Sometimes. I’ve had people tell me what they were, especially if they thought it was funny. But the fact remains, I don’t think I would do that. The files are privileged. I’m not the lawyer for those clients.”

  “You’ve taken over her firm.”

  Jane made a face, considering his words.

  “That’s a stretch, I think.”

  Smalley nodded, somewhat sadly it seemed, and then turned. Near the door, he stopped. “I want to apologize for Detective Glaser,” he said. “He’s a good detective but he gets carried away. He’s not a bad person when you get to know him.”