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  “Why, I want to—”

  “Carrier, that wouldn’t be smart. We know that the police were called to the scene around eleven thirty, so time of death was before then. The medical examiner can’t always fix time of death with certainty, usually there is a window, maybe an hour, maybe two.” Bennie squeezed Judy’s hand. “Do you understand what I’m telling you? You could have been in the apartment around the time of death, as far as we know.”

  “So what are you saying, Bennie?” Judy’s eyes flared, wetly.

  “I’m saying that you could be a suspect.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous!” Judy recoiled, aghast, but Mary was in agreement, though she didn’t interrupt Bennie.

  “Carrier. You were there at the time, so that’s opportunity. We don’t know how he was killed, so we can’t speculate about that, but you have motive.”

  “What motive? Why would I kill John? That’s crazy!”

  “Think like a lawyer, not like yourself. You were seeing each other for eight months and you were fighting. You could have been overheard by anyone. Neighbors, anybody with an open window.”

  “But I would never kill anybody, much less John! I loved him!” Judy’s voice broke with agony.

  “Think about it from the police perspective. They don’t know that, they don’t know you. You get in a fight, maybe you lash out, violently. That’s motive.”

  Mary interjected, “Even the lawsuit can be motive. John’s statements in the Complaint, and what happened at the press conference—they’ll find out that we weren’t happy with him. Our fight was in public. Judy, the police could think that you went over to talk to him about the lawsuit, you got in a fight, and you killed him.”

  “But I would never!”

  Bennie turned to Mary. “DiNunzio, where were you at the time of death?”

  “I was home with Anthony.” Mary realized that Bennie was checking if she had an alibi, which, thank God, she did. “Where were you, Bennie?”

  “I was at a Town Watch meeting from eight o’clock on. That’s where I was when I got the call. Eight witnesses can attest to that.” Bennie returned her attention to Judy, who was trying to regain her composure. “Carrier, you’re the only one of us without an alibi. You can’t walk into that interview unrepresented. It’s too risky. And we can’t represent you because we’re fact witnesses.”

  Mary chimed in, “Judy, she’s right, you should let Anthony take you to our house. You shouldn’t be alone this weekend. I’ll go with Bennie, we’ll give our statements, and find out everything we can about what happened to John.”

  Bennie nodded, tense. “That’s what I was thinking. The cops don’t expect the entire firm to show up. Two is a good showing. It’ll take time until the cops discover you guys were dating. Hopefully they—or we—find the killer before you become a suspect.”

  Judy sagged, lost in her poncho. “Okay, I get it.”

  “I’m in.” Mary grabbed her purse and turned to Anthony. “Thanks so much, babe.”

  “Sure thing.” Anthony pursed his lips. “You really feel up to this?”

  “I’ll be fine,” Mary answered, meaning it. “It won’t take long.”

  “Let’s do this.” Bennie reached for the door handle.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Mary and Bennie rode up in the elevator of the Roundhouse, having run the gauntlet of press. Mary hadn’t been here as many times as Bennie, so it was unfamiliar, and she felt vaguely nervous. There was a lot at stake, and they had to get as much information possible without giving any, which would be a neat trick. She smoothed down her jacket, trying to look professional in her maternity jeans, which was mission impossible for girls.

  The elevator doors rattled open, and Bennie stepped off into a narrow, grimy hallway. “Man, this place never gets any prettier, does it?”

  “No,” Mary answered, following Bennie around a hall that curved to the right, following the shape of the building. The walls were scuffed, the fluorescent light flickered, and the brown tile felt gritty underfoot, with some of the tiles cracked and broken. The Roundhouse had been built in the sixties, when its space-age design looked modern, and it was way overdue for a renovation. Politicians had promised to build a new police headquarters uptown, but that had yet to materialize. Welcome to Philadelphia. And every other major American city.

  Mary and Bennie went down the hall, passing a lineup of battered gray file cabinets on the left, and on the right, a dimly lit bathroom with its urinals on full view, since its door was propped open by a plastic trash tub. Mary’s nose twitched at the odor but she tried not to breathe, and they reached the end of the hallway and a door with a window of bulletproof glass, under the sign, Homicide Division. Bennie pushed the buzzer, the door buzzed open, and they let themselves in.

  Bennie took the lead, ignoring the low railing that enclosed the waiting area and beelining to the front desk, while Mary followed, glancing around the waiting area, which was small, dirty, and unoccupied. Black-plastic chairs lined the walls on either side under a slew of Wanted For Murder posters, arranged like a nightmare portrait gallery. They were the most lethal fugitives in the jurisdiction, men and women of all shapes, sizes, and ethnicities, their facial expressions defiant, angry, or affectless. Mary wondered if one of them had killed John, which made her shudder.

  Bennie identified them to the desk officer, who was young, tall, and African-American, while Mary checked out the squad room, which was empty except for one detective on the phone. She used to expect that a homicide squad room would be bustling on a Saturday night, just like on TV and the movies, but the opposite was true in reality. More murders were committed on the weekend and at night, so the detectives were out on “jobs” at those times. In fact, the Homicide Division had unofficial sweatshirts that read Our Day Begins When Yours Ends.

  Meanwhile, the squad room was even crappier than the last time Mary was here. It was long and skinny, one continuous line of connected rooms, with the far wall curved like the building itself and its long panel of windows barely covered by broken blinds. The desks that filled the room were mismatched and shoved in together, and old gray, brown, and black file cabinets lined the wall. The computers were ancient with big boxy monitors, the floor looked grimy, and the dropped ceiling showed water damage, with brownish stains marking its white tile in shapes like the continents of the world.

  “DiNunzio,” Bennie said, over her shoulder. “Officer Lloyd needs to see your ID.”

  “Of course.” Mary got her ID from her wallet and showed it to him, and Officer Lloyd reacted immediately when his gaze dropped to her pregnant belly.

  “Oh, sorry, I didn’t realize.” Officer Lloyd rose and came around the desk. “I’m not gonna let you wait in the waiting room. Let me show you to the interview room. You can wait for Detectives Krakoff and Marks in there.”

  “Thanks,” Mary said, pleased, since her pregnancy hadn’t been good for anything except a baby, until now.

  They walked with Officer Lloyd through the narrow pathway that led to the three interview rooms on the right, and he unlocked the middle room, a windowless box the size of a prison cell, containing four mismatched chairs and a typing table with a tan Smith-Corona typewriter and a stack of Miranda waivers. Officer Lloyd gestured them inside. “Ladies, please. I’ll let them know you’re here as soon as they get back.”

  They thanked him, sitting down in the hard chairs, and after he had gone, Bennie leaned over. “DiNunzio, you think I was too hard on Carrier? About dating Foxman?”

  Suddenly a young detective walked by the open doorway, followed by an older, beefy detective in a tan suit and loosened tie. The older one paused when he spotted Mary, and Mary did a double-take. It was Detective Thomas Azzic, who had worked with her on one of her first murder cases. His blond hair had grayed and thinned, and his aviator glasses had acquired a bifocal window, but his big grin was the same.

  “Is that Mary DiNunzio? As I live and breathe?” Detective Azzic entered the room. “All grow
n up and with child?”

  “Hi, how are you, Detective Azzic?” Mary rose, smiling back, and Detective Azzic helped her to her feet and gave her a great big hug.

  “Please, call me Tom. It’s so good to see you! It’s been forever! You were just a young lawyer back then!”

  “I know, I could barely drive!” Mary laughed, and Detective Azzic joined her, glancing at Bennie.

  “Hey, the famous Bennie Rosato. Good to meet you.”

  “Good to meet you too.” Bennie smiled in a professional way.

  Mary said, “I’m Bennie’s partner now. Got my name on the door and everything.”

  “Whoa, legit. Congrats.” Detective Azzic beamed, then turned to Bennie. “You’ve got quite a partner here.”

  “I absolutely agree.”

  Detective Azzic returned his warm gaze to Mary. “So when did you get married?” He hesitated for a panicky moment. “Wait, er, you’re married right?”

  “Of course, you know me.”

  “I know, nice Catholic girl like you. Your mother would kill you.” Detective Azzic gestured to his partner, who came up behind. “Hey, Mary, Bennie this is my partner, Francisco Becerra. Francisco, her family is awesome. You should meet her mother. She made me peppers and eggs once. Oh my God, it was amazing.”

  Detective Becerra looked confused. “A frittata.”

  “What?” Detective Azzic scoffed. “Don’t embarrass yourself. A frittata isn’t peppers and eggs. It was delicious. And the coffee, it was perked, in a percolator. So what are you doing here, Mary? You got a client?”

  “No actually, it’s very sad. One of our coworkers was murdered tonight, an associate named John Foxman.”

  “Oh, no. I’m so sorry.” Detective Azzic’s face fell, pained. “The name’s Foxman? I heard about that case. Krakoff and Marks caught it.”

  “We know. Bennie met them at the scene.” Mary saw an opening, since Detective Azzic was one of the friendliest detectives in the division, warm and talkative, even blabby. “You see, John, the victim, didn’t have any family in town, and we knew him pretty well, so we thought we would come in, let you all know what we know, and find out anything we could.”

  “Good idea. I don’t think they’re back yet.”

  “They’re not. We’re waiting for them, but we don’t even know how it happened. Can you tell us?”

  Detective Azzic frowned. “Yes, but it has to stay confidential. You saw the press outside.”

  “Of course, we’d never say anything.”

  “Nothing’s official yet, but they figure your friend was killed in the course of a burglary. Best they can tell, he interrupted the burglar.”

  “Oh no.” Mary heard herself moan.

  “It happens all the time. More often than you think.”

  “How do they know that’s what happened?”

  “His electronics were gone and there were signs of a struggle.”

  Mary fell silent for a moment, imagining the horrifying scenario.

  Bennie didn’t miss a beat. “How was he killed, do you know?”

  “Blow to the head.”

  “With what, do you know? Did they find what was used?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “So I assume there was forced entry?”

  “Yes.”

  “Poor John.” Mary shuddered to think of him fighting for his life, struggling to survive, and in the end, being killed so brutally and cruelly. John was so brilliant, possessing a magnificent legal intellect. She felt tears come to her eyes, but willed them away.

  “Mary, you okay?” Detective Azzic touched her arm, his gaze sympathetic. “Why don’t you sit back down?”

  “Thanks.” Mary sank into a chair.

  Bennie remained standing. “Do you know if they have any suspects?”

  “Not yet. It’s way early.”

  “So nobody saw anybody running away or anything like that?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Do you know what time he was killed?”

  “We got the call around eleven thirty. I think time of death was shortly before.”

  “Do you know who found him?”

  “Don’t know.”

  “So any witnesses?”

  “Not that I heard of, but like I say, it’s early. Something will turn up, in that neighborhood. It’s busy on a night like tonight. It’s way too soon in the investigation to speculate.”

  “Are there a lot of burglaries in that part of Old City? I wouldn’t have thought so.”

  “It doesn’t happen often, but it happens.” Detective Azzic shot Mary a comforting glance. “Don’t worry, we’ll lock up whoever did this to your friend. I’ll keep an eye on the case, personally.”

  “Thank you so much,” Mary said, meaning it.

  “Yes, thanks,” Bennie added.

  “See you later.” Detective Azzic turned around as two more detectives came up behind him. “Oh, here we go. Here are Detectives Jason Krakoff and Jonathan Marks.”

  Bennie straightened. “Good to see you again, Detectives.”

  Mary introduced herself, shaking their hands, though she took an instant dislike to Detective Krakoff. He had a stiff formality despite his youth, and his eyes were ice blue and set close together, with a long nose. His chin was fashionably grizzly, his dark hair scissored into neat layers, and his eyebrows more well-groomed than hers. Mary hadn’t plucked her eyebrows or shaved her legs in forever. Basically, she was a hair factory.

  Detective Azzic edged back. “Jason, you know Bennie Rosato, and her partner Mary is an old friend of mine. Your vic was a lawyer in their firm.”

  “Right, I know.”

  Detective Azzic placed a hand on Detective Krakoff’s shoulder. “Jason, I just briefed them on what you know so far. You can fill in the details.”

  “You briefed them?” Detective Krakoff lifted an eyebrow, his expression impassive.

  “Yes, but they know it’s confidential. I’ll leave you to it, but take good care of them. Mary’s one of my favorite people on the earth. If you don’t treat her right, her mom’s coming after me with a wooden spoon.”

  Mary laughed.

  Detective Krakoff nodded. “We’ll take it from here, Tom.”

  “Sure.” Detective Azzic went to the threshold. “Good-bye Bennie. Mare, give my best to your family.”

  “Will do,” Mary called after him, and Detectives Krakoff and Marks sat down opposite from Mary and Bennie.

  Bennie shifted forward. “Detectives, John Foxman was a brilliant young lawyer and we all liked him very much. We want to see whoever killed him brought to justice. Do you have any suspects?”

  “We’re not at liberty to discuss that.”

  “Understood, and you have our word that we would keep it confidential. We’ve handled a great number of murder cases. We never talk to the press or anybody else, for that matter.”

  “Nevertheless, it’s police business.” Detective Krakoff crossed his long legs.

  “You may not know that Foxman had no family in town, only an aunt and uncle who live in Minneapolis. We’re essentially the only family he has in Philadelphia and—”

  “You’re not family, though.”

  “But we have an interest in knowing some basic information, like for example, if you have any suspects or witnesses.”

  Detective Krakoff frowned. “It’s standard procedure not to disclose official police business during a murder investigation. We have already notified the victim’s aunt and uncle as next of kin.”

  “Oh, how did you get their contact information?”

  “Also police business.”

  Bennie pursed her lips. “We understand that he was killed during a burglary, from a blow to the head. Do you know what he was struck with? Was it a gun? Did you recover it?”

  “I regret that you were given that information. I’ll take you at your word when you say you won’t disclose it to the press.”

  “Of course we won’t,” Bennie shot back, becoming irritable
. “It’s obvious you don’t trust us, and I’m telling you that you can. Details of a police investigation are not discussed with the general public, but we certainly stand in different shoes than a stranger on the street. We’d like to know your findings so far.”

  “That’s not how we work our cases.”

  “I’m not asking you anything that won’t be in the newspaper tomorrow, if not the next day.”

  “Then you can read it there. But you won’t hear anything more from me tonight than you have already heard.”

  “Is it true that he was killed during the course of the burglary, from a blow to a head? Detective Azzic told us that much, so can you confirm?”

  “Yes,” Detective Krakoff answered, without elaboration.

  “Who called 911? Who found the body?”

  “That I won’t divulge.”

  “But at that hour of the night, it had to be a witness, since his landlord was away. Did somebody see something through a window? Or hear something?”

  “Ms. Rosato, I don’t know how many ways I can say this. I’m not going to discuss details of the case with you.”

  Mary interjected, “Detective Krakoff, what my partner is trying to say is that we loved John. He mattered to us, and we’re upset by this. We’re heartbroken. We just want to know what you know. We may not technically be family, but we think of ourselves as family.”

  Detective Krakoff blinked, obviously unmoved. “I understand, and I will brief you as the investigation proceeds, to the extent that it’s consistent with police procedures.”

  “But can’t you tell us anything more, just to give us some hope?” Mary kept talking, hoping to convince him. “We know that the uniformed officers were canvassing when we left, and there’s a lot of people in that neighborhood. Anybody could’ve seen or heard anybody going into John’s apartment, and if there were signs of a struggle, I would hope that the uniformed officers or you would have someone identify the witness—”

  “Excuse me. As I said, we will divulge any such information as is appropriate.” Detective Krakoff slipped a pen and skinny notebook from inside his jacket. “Ms. Rosato, when we spoke earlier outside of the victim’s house, you had some information that may help us. If you do, we’d like to know that now, in the early stages.”