Dorsey Hilliard walked through the glass door, then approached Bennie. He balanced on his crutches as he offered her a hand. “Whatever happens, Bennie, you’ve been a worthy adversary,” he said.
Bennie’s throat caught. Her twin’s life was on the line, she had almost been killed, and Lou lay wounded in a hospital. “Go straight to hell, asshole,” she said, and Hilliard withdrew his hand as if bitten. The exchange was gaped at by spectators, captured by sketch artists, and noted by the reporters, to be the subject of a hundred questions later. Bennie put it all from her mind and sat down to wait for Connolly. It wasn’t long.
Connolly came through the paneled door of the courtroom, led by the guard, and Bennie felt a painful tug inside. What the tug was, she wasn’t sure. Sympathy? Affection? Loathing? She didn’t know, but the connection was there, undeniable. They had both chosen the gray suit, for God’s sake. But if Connolly felt any connection, it didn’t show. Her eyes were slightly sunken, her face drawn, and she walked in a stilted fashion toward her seat at defense table. She sat beside Bennie without looking over, so Bennie stared straight ahead.
“Mr. Deputy,” Judge Guthrie said, his lined features tense. “Please call the jury.”
The deputy retrieved the jury, and everyone in the courtroom craned their necks to see them as they filed in, searching their faces for clues as to the verdict. But the jury entered the courtroom on the final day as they had on the first, with their heads lowered and their eyes avoiding contact with anyone. The videographer looked grave and the librarian remained businesslike, her lips pressed together.
Bennie took it as a bad sign. Jurors looked solemn when they were about to deliver bad news. A hush fell over the room, even the jaded courtroom personnel grew still, and Hilliard shifted forward in his seat. Bennie didn’t miss the gesture. He was eager. He thought he had won a conviction. Bennie felt sick to her stomach.
“Madam Foreperson,” Judge Guthrie said, reading from a slip of paper on his desk. “I have received a note indicating the jury has reached a verdict. Is that correct?”
The librarian stood up, resting a hand on the jury rail. “It is true, Your Honor.”
“Is this a unanimous verdict, Madam Foreperson?”
“Yes, it is, Your Honor.”
“May I have the verdict slip, Mr. Deputy?”
Bennie watched almost breathlessly as the deputy walked to the librarian, took the slip of paper, and handed it up to the judge on the dais. Judge Guthrie opened the paper without betraying its verdict, his actions prescribed by law and tradition. Then, wordlessly, the judge handed the paper back to the deputy, who returned it to the librarian. “Will the defendant please stand?” Judge Guthrie said, his voice echoing in the stillness of the courtroom.
Connolly rose in tandem with Bennie. Bennie couldn’t breathe and couldn’t see. The courtroom, the judge, and the world seemed to fall away. She imagined she could hear the pounding of her own heart, then of Connolly’s, beating in time with hers.
“Madam Foreperson, will you please read the verdict?”
“Yes, Your Honor.” The librarian cleared her throat and read from the sheet. “We, the jury in the matter of The Commonwealth of Pennsylvania vs. Connolly, find the defendant, Ms. Alice Connolly, not guilty of murder.”
Bennie’s knees buckled at the words and at first she couldn’t believe her ears. What had they said? Had they said not guilty? A shout went up behind her, then a whoop she recognized as Mary’s but which sounded far away. Bennie saw Hilliard’s face drop into his hands. Only then did it hit her.
They won.
They won. Connolly was acquitted. It hit Bennie like a wave, flooding her heart with relief. But not happiness. Happiness was reserved for the truly innocent, and Bennie knew it when she felt it. She couldn’t bring herself to face Connolly. She wasn’t completely sure why.
Hilliard was rising to his feet. “I request that the jurors be polled, Your Honor.”
“Certainly, Mr. Prosecutor.” Judge Guthrie faced the jury, as did Hilliard and everyone else in the courtroom, including Bennie, who sat down at counsel table. Polling was more than a formality, she’d seen it disturb jury verdicts before. “Juror Number One, is the verdict the Court just read your verdict?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“Juror Number Two, is the verdict the Court just read your verdict?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
Judge Guthrie asked each juror in turn, and as each answered in the affirmative, Bennie began to relax into her chair. Her breathing returned to normal and the courtroom came back into focus. She looked at Connolly, who looked pale and shaken as they locked eyes. Bennie imagined the expression mirrored her own, this time not by contrivance. Finally Judge Guthrie polled the last juror. “Juror Number Twelve, is the verdict the Court just read your verdict?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
Judge Guthrie nodded quickly. “The Court accepts the verdict of this jury, it having been duly impaneled, having heard the testimony and the evidence, and having duly deliberated. It is hereby the Order, Judgment, and Decree of this Court that the defendant is found not guilty of the crime of capital murder, as charged. Ms. Connolly, you are released from custody, effective immediately.”
Connolly nodded, but said nothing, even after a year in custody for a crime she didn’t commit. Bennie could understand it, somehow. She felt her eyes brimming and blinked the wetness away.
Judge Guthrie finished the formalities. “Members of the jury, the Court thanks you very much for your service to the Commonwealth. Please leave your plastic ID holders on the jury rail. You are hereby discharged from your secrecy and you may discuss this matter with anyone, including its particulars. Likewise, you are free not to discuss this matter and may decline any requests for interviews that will undoubtedly come your way.” Judge Guthrie picked up his gavel and struck it down lightly. Crack! “Court is now adjourned.”
Bennie stood up, watching in a daze as Judge Guthrie left the courtroom, then Hilliard. Both of the associates rushed up, hugging her and shaking Connolly’s hand stiffly.
“Get me out of here,” Connolly said, speaking finally to Bennie, who was already opening the door in the bulletproof shield, preparing for the media as it surged forward to meet them.
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Bennie had no comment for the excited press and managed to get through them and into the backseat of a cab with Connolly. She put Mike up front with the driver to intimidate the reporters banging on the cab doors and filming through the windows. The cab could barely inch forward in the crush. “You have my permission to run them over,” Bennie said, and the cabbie grinned.
“I read all about you in the papers, Miss Rosato. You, too, Miss Connolly. Congratulations, you all must be real happy.” The cabbie hit the gas and the cab took off. “So where you ladies goin’ to celebrate?”
“The train station,” Connolly answered quickly, and Bennie looked at her in surprise.
“Are you serious?”
“Absolutely.”
“You’re leaving right now?”
“I told you I wouldn’t be hanging around.”
“I didn’t think you’d leave right away.” Bennie felt confused, her emotions bollixed up. She didn’t know what to say, she felt too full to say anything, somehow. The cab left the throng at the Criminal Justice Center and stopped at the traffic light. Ahead stretched the wide avenue that was John F. Kennedy Boulevard, which ended in Thirtieth Street Station, a massive edifice in Grecian style. It loomed so close. Only five minutes from the courthouse, with no traffic. Bennie found her voice. “I thought you’d want to … come by the office.”
“I think I should get outta town. I heard about what happened to your investigator last night.”
“But you’re safe with me. I’ve got Mike here, under contract.” Bennie gestured at the front seat. “We even have insurance companies on our side.”
“No, I have to go.” Connolly looked out the open window as the cab traveled s
moothly up the boulevard, her blond hair blowing willy-nilly in the humid air.
“But we didn’t get time to talk.”
“There’s nothing to talk about,” Connolly said as the cab approached the train station.
“How can you say that? I mean” — Bennie glanced, embarrassed, at the cabbie and Mike, who were pretending not to listen — “we haven’t even gotten the blood test back yet. Don’t you want to wait until that comes back?”
“Will you give it up?” Connolly turned on Bennie, her brow knotted with contempt. “I told you, I don’t want a twin, I don’t want a sister. Thanks for getting me off, but don’t act like I owe you. I don’t. I have to go.”
“Where?” Bennie asked, stung.
“None of your business.” The cab entered the drop-off area and braked, and Connolly opened the cab door and climbed out. “Bye,” she said abruptly, slamming the door closed.
“Should I walk you—”
“No, go!” Connolly waved without missing a beat, she then turned away, jogged across the drop-off island, and disappeared through the entrance to the station.
Bennie sat in the cab, frozen despite the heat, watching the doors of the train station swing closed. It was so strange and sudden; Connolly’s departure was as unexpected as her arrival. She didn’t have money; she didn’t have her effects. How would she get a train? And Bennie didn’t know exactly why, but she wasn’t ready for Connolly to go just yet. She flung open the cab door. “I’ll be back,” she called out.
“What?” Mike said, surprised. Then he got out of the car and went after her, but Bennie was already flying into the station.
Bennie spun around in the cavernous concourse, her pumps pivoting on the marble. The walls extended almost a hundred feet high, ending in a ceiling patterned with squares of carefully restored molding. Elongated frosted windows cast muted lighting on the lobby floor. The concourse was almost completely empty. The line at the information desk held only two students with backpacks; there was no business travel on Saturday afternoons and few tourists arrived by rail. Connolly wasn’t anywhere in sight.
Where could she be? The ticket counter, of course. Connolly would need to buy a ticket, first thing. Maybe she’d had it planned? Reserved, somehow?
Bennie ran across a floor polished to a high sheen and hurried to the ticket windows. NEXT AGENT AVAILABLE, read the lighted sign over the bank of windows. The white-shirted agents were helping customers. Connolly wasn’t among them. Maybe she was using a ticket machine. Bennie scanned the machines in the area, then the telephones. Connolly wasn’t in sight. How could she have gone so fast? Then Bennie thought of it. The ladies’ room! She took off for the bathroom, behind the ticket counters.
Bennie chugged inside the rank washroom, her pumps clattering over the black tile floor. She looked under each closed stall door but didn’t see any familiar gray pumps. She went back to the mirrors at the bathroom entrance. “Excuse me,” she said to a businesswoman applying blusher. “I’m looking for a woman, my twin. She looks exactly like me. Did she come in here?”
“Not that I saw.”
“Thanks,” Bennie said, and took off. Maybe Connolly was in one of the stores ringing the main concourse. She could be buying coffee, a snack, a magazine, gum even. With what money? Bennie hustled across the lobby, noticing that she’d picked up Mike after the ladies’ room.
The large bodyguard jogged to Bennie’s side, his jacket open and his tie flapping. “Are we having fun yet?” he asked.
“I’ll check McDonald’s, you check the bookstore.”
“Can’t do that. Have to stay with you. The contract.”
“Then put on the afterburners.” Bennie scooted into McDonald’s, but Connolly wasn’t there. She checked the bathroom, then hustled through a large bookstore, a video store, a food market area, even a flower shop, all with a barely winded Mike in tow. Connolly wasn’t in any of them. Bennie double-checked the gates that went to New York, Washington, and Boston. Even the suburban lines running west and north. No Connolly.
Bennie ended up, exhausted and panting, in the center of the concourse in front of a marble statue. Her suit was damp with sweat and she raked hair from her eyes. She whirled around one final time. The lobby was completely empty. Connolly wasn’t up, down, or around. Maybe she had simply run through the station and been picked up by someone. “I can’t believe it,” Bennie said, as Mike came jogging up on the other side.
“She’s gone,” he said, finally panting.
“She can’t be.”
“She is. We looked everywhere.”
“We’ll wait. She’ll show up. She has to.”
“No, she doesn’t.” Mike laid a heavy hand on Bennie’s shoulder. “Listen, I’ve been in security a long time. Before that I did private detective work. I can tell you, if somebody don’t want to be found, they won’t be.”
“We could wait.”
“She won’t show up.”
“Shouldn’t we wait?” Bennie’s eyes stung. Inside she felt a sort of panic. “Mike?”
“Time for you to go home,” the bodyguard said. He looped a strong arm around Bennie’s shoulder and guided her out of the train station.
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Bennie opened her front door and was greeted by an exuberant dog and the aroma of fresh coffee. “No jumping, no jumping,” she said to the golden clawing her suit, but her heart wasn’t in it. In her hand was the day’s mail, which she had retrieved from the slot when she unlocked the front door. There were the usual catalogs, bills, and a People magazine, but it was the last business letter that made her breath catch in her throat. The envelope was business white and it had the name of a lab printed in the upper left corner. The lab in Virginia. It was the DNA test results. They’d come in today’s mail. After Connolly had vanished.
“Bennie?” Grady’s voice came from the dining room, over the whine of an orbital sander losing power. He appeared after a minute in a gray T-shirt and jeans, with a coffee mug in hand. He set it down the moment he saw Bennie’s face. “Honey, you okay?”
Bennie faced him, uncertain. She hadn’t seen Grady in so long she’d almost forgotten what he looked like. Mostly he looked appealing. Curly fair hair, round gold glasses, an intelligent smile. A puzzled expression, but distant. “I think I’m okay,” she said, and he cocked his head.
“You won the case. Congratulations.” Grady’s arms flopped at his sides, but he didn’t move to kiss her. “I was thinking maybe we could go out. Celebrate. Get reacquainted.”
“Look.” Bennie held up the mail. It was hard to speak. The dog danced at her feet, then plopped his butt sloppily on the plywood floor, his tail thumping hard. “The DNA test.”
“You’re kidding.” Grady brushed his hand on his jeans, leaving sawdust handprints on his thighs. “You want me to open it for you?”
“No.”
“You sure you want to know?”
“Sure.” Bennie looked at the envelope in her hands. “I didn’t go through all this not to know. Right?”
Grady nodded. “Sit down, then.”
Bennie looked around. The room was a dark shell of lath and plaster. Tile for the new kitchen was stacked in boxes in the center of the plywood floor. “We don’t have a chair.”
“An excellent point.” Grady pulled over a box of tile, and Bennie sat down. “Okay?”
“Okay.” Bennie tore open the envelope. A single sheet of paper was inside, reminding her of the verdict sheet earlier in the day. In court she had known what she wanted the verdict to be. This time she was less certain. Bennie extracted it from the envelope and opened it up.
“Well?” Grady asked, standing apart from her, his hands resting on his hips.
“I can’t tell.” Bennie squinted at the paper, which contained a large table. Twin Analysis, said the title. There were five entries of what looked to Bennie like gobbledygook, in columns on the left. CRI-pS194, CRI-pL427-4, CRI-pL159-2, CRI-pR365-1, CRI-pL355-8, p144-D6. The numbers swam before her eyes. At th
e bottom of the page was a doctor’s hasty signature, over a line that read MOLECULAR DIAGNOSTICS LABORATORY. “Christ! I can’t understand it.”
“Let me see.” Grady stood behind her and scrutinized the paper over her shoulder. “It isn’t very clear, is it?”
“You’d think they could make it easier.” Bennie read across the columns of four-digit numbers, under Sample A and Sample B, and noticed something striking. The numbers matched. She read them again, her heart pounding.
Grady looked up from the paper. “You’re twins. Lord, you’re really twins.”
Bennie swallowed hard. She had known it inside, but confirming it boggled the mind. “I couldn’t get this yesterday?” she said, her voice almost a cry. “Why didn’t I tell them to fax it? She’s gone now. Connolly’s gone.”
“What?” Grady asked, and Bennie told him the whole story, while he settled onto the plywood floor, Indian style, and listened quietly. He fetched coffee for her, and Grady interrupted with only a few questions, managing to learn more than she wanted and even more than she understood. By the end of the conversation, Bennie felt better, but restless. “So, do you think I should try to find her?”
“Connolly? No.”
“But she’s my twin. I know it now, for sure. She should know that, too.”
“It doesn’t sound like she cares, hon. She treated you terribly. You almost got killed because of her, and she dumped you at the station. Why would you want to seek her out?”
“Because she’s my sister.”
“And what of it?” Grady asked softly.
“She’s my family, my blood, and right now, she’s the sum total of it.” She gulped her coffee, not wanting to cry.
“You know what I think, Ben? I’m not like you, with this blood thing and all. Maybe it’s because I’m not Italian, I don’t know.” Grady pulled his legs up to his chest, looping long arms around his knees. Bear slept soundly next to him, curled into a cinnamon-colored doughnut on the plywood. “I have a different view of family than you do.”
Mistaken Identity Page 43
