Courting Trouble Read online

  “I’m sorry that you were upset, and Jamie.” Jamie was an at-home mother, and the very definition of a softhearted woman.

  “You say the cops know who did it?”

  “Yes. But here’s a question, and I know it sounds strange. In your own words, what is Bennie’s relationship to me?”

  Gil frowned. “Who?”

  “Bennie Rosato.”

  “No, I mean, who did it? Who killed you—I mean, this other woman? She was in your house?” Gil seemed concerned, but Anne didn’t want to get into this. She wanted him to stay on track.

  “It’s a long story and it’s not germane to the case.”

  “But is the killer still out there? I mean, walking the streets?”

  “Gil, forget it. The cops are working on it. They’re professionals. Leave it to them.”

  “Ha! Right. Then how come they haven’t figured out that you’re not only alive, you’re right across the hall?” Gil laughed, but it stopped when the door opened and Judy entered, closing the door behind her and bearing a clear plastic pitcher of water. She set it down and reached for a glass, which she filled with a glug glug glug and handed to Gil. Anne thanked her because Gil didn’t, and made a mental note of the change in Judy. The flyer they’d made together had been a peace treaty. Okay, they weren’t exchanging recipes, but at least they weren’t mud wrestling.

  Gil drank thirstily while Anne continued. “I don’t want you to think for a second that we’re not on top of this case, because we are. Mary DiNunzio, whom you met, covered today’s dep beautifully, and Judy here has been helping out a great deal. Bennie knows more about trying a case, any case, than I ever will. You and Chipster are already in excellent hands. There’s no reason to go anywhere else. So call off Ballard and Crawford. Tell ’em to sit back and watch how it’s done.” Anne smiled, which seemed to coax a genuine grin from Gil.

  “I didn’t really want to fire your law firm. You know that.” He set down his glass. “I mean, I came to you for good reasons. We’ve known each other a long time, and you were always so”—he seemed to fumble for the word—”smart. Really smart.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I knew you’d work your ass off for me, and frankly, I wanted a woman to represent me. I thought it would help with the jury, on a sexual harassment case.” Gil seemed to be talking aloud to himself, trying to get his bearings. “Also, you’re so attractive, I knew you would get the jury’s attention. And the media’s.”

  “All of these reasons still pertain.” Anne nodded, vaguely aware that Judy was bristling beside her. He never would have hired her if she hadn’t looked the way she did. Well, here was proof positive. Anne hoped she was happy.

  “I mean, I was trying to be aggressive in the company’s defense. If you’re going to hire a woman, hire an all-woman firm, right?” Gil spread his palms. “Do it in a big way.”

  “Of course. And you did.” Though Gil had never articulated his rationale this fully, Anne wasn’t stupid. He’d used the publicity to his advantage; he’d been accused of sexual harassment and had managed to come out looking like a feminist champion. But none of it worked, unless Anne won a jury verdict. “So let’s talk about the case a minute. Answer my question. What is Bennie’s relationship to me?”

  Beside her, Judy looked nonplussed, and Gil shrugged. “Bennie Rosato? She owns the law firm, doesn’t she?”

  “Yes, but what do you call the person who owns the business?”

  “Like me? The owner, I guess.”

  “Not ‘the boss’?”

  “I never say that. It’s weird. Why?”

  Of course. “Just a question. Now that you’ve gotten over the shock of me still drawing breath, how else can I help you? Is there anything you want to talk about? Has the media been driving you nuts?”

  “This is kind of strange, don’t you think?” Gil looked with renewed doubt from Anne to Judy and back again. “You’re just going to pretend that this isn’t happening? That some woman didn’t get murdered? That this murderer, whoever he is, isn’t out there?”

  Anne felt stung. “Gil, I’m not pretending anything. I am simply handling both. Doing both. Multi-tasking.”

  “It’s my company, Anne. My reputation.” Gil’s expression darkened. “The mutual funds are watching, the VC guys. I’m risking everything here. I have to win, I’ve guaranteed it to my Board. I can’t go forward with less than a hundred percent from you.”

  “I understand that, and you have it.”

  “You’re ready to try this case, even with this murder thing hanging over your head? It’s a huge distraction, and now you’re telling me you have to hide from the police—”

  “It’ll be resolved by the time of trial, Gil.”

  “If not?”

  “That’s not possible.” Anne knew she was losing him, watching him edge backward on the seat of his chair.

  “I don’t know,” he said after a pause. “I just don’t know. It’s good that you’re alive—great, obviously—but it’s strange. I can’t let this get personal. It’s business.”

  “Then think about your business, Gil,” Judy interrupted, and Gil’s head swiveled to her at the sharpness of her tone.

  “What do you mean?” he asked

  “The whole world knows that Anne Murphy of the all-woman firm of Rosato & Associates represents you. They also know that Anne was brutally murdered last night. How will it look if you fire the girls when they’re down? How’s that gonna look to everyone, to the press, and to your potential stockholders? Or to the women who end up on your jury?”

  Gil paused. “I can handle the press and the shareholders, and my lawyer can ask the jurors about that when we’re picking them. He’ll just make sure the ones who think like that stay off the jury.”

  “No, you can’t,” Judy said. “It’s not a criminal case, where the jury gets vigorously screened for impartiality. Voir dire in a civil case is routine, especially in Judge Hoffmeier’s courtroom. You came to us because we’re women and it may be the reason you’re stuck with us.”

  Gil’s eyes glittered. “That’s blackmail.”

  “That’s litigation.”

  “Wait a minute,” Anne broke in before it came to fisticuffs. “Listen, Gil. This is all news to you, my being alive, my trying the case, and it’s a surprise. So why don’t you sleep on it and we’ll talk again tomorrow?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Give me a day. You’ve known me a long time. I’ve done good work for Chipster, won almost every motion. We have them where we want them. If you want to fire me Sunday, you can. I’ll turn over the files on the spot.”

  “Prudence is the better course,” Judy added, as if she’d been a Republican all her life. In red clogs.

  Gil looked from one lawyer to the other, his expression impassive. “I don’t know.”

  “Don’t decide now.”

  “There’s one thing, Anne.” Gil rose to go, smoothing out his khakis. “I tell Jamie everything. She’s been with me every step of the way, from the beginning, even through the humiliation of this case. I’d like to discuss this with her, if I’m waiting a day. I trust her to keep anything confidential.”

  “No,” Anne answered firmly. “Fire me now if you will, but don’t tell another living soul.”

  Gil gave the table a resigned knock. “Okay then, I’ll call you tomorrow at nine.”

  “Try after my memorial service.”

  “Memorial service?” Gil asked, and even Judy looked over in surprise.

  It was Plan B. Anne was throwing herself a memorial service, and she knew Kevin would find a way to be there. Then they could catch him, once and for all. “Yes, tomorrow at noon the office is holding a memorial service for me, at the Chestnut Club. It would be great if you could come.”

  Gil snorted. “You want me to come to a memorial service and pretend you’re dead?”

  “I’m sorry, it can’t be helped. You can’t stay away. The media will be there.”

  “Jesus, A
nne.” He walked around the conference table to the door, where he stopped. “Look, I’m not unsympathetic. I know you care about the case. But my priority is my company.”

  “Leave that to me,” Anne said and pretended not to mind when Gil opened the door and closed it abruptly behind him.

  As soon as the women were alone, Judy’s eyes flared with outrage. “I hate that asshole!”

  “Why?”

  “Aren’t you offended by what he said? That he hired you because you’re a woman?”

  Here we go. “Judy, I’m not naive. Companies hire black lawyers to represent them in race discrimination cases. Rapists hire women to represent them in rape cases. Everybody hires older men when they want authority.”

  “I know that.” Judy raised her voice. “The question is, doesn’t it offend you? It does me, even though I know it happens.”

  Go for it. Anne braced herself. “But that’s not what’s really bothering you, is it? Because that’s not exactly what Gil said. He said he hired me because I’m a pretty woman. Frankly, he wouldn’t have hired me if I were an ugly woman, right?”

  “Right.” Judy reddened slightly.

  “And we both knew that, you and me.” Anne leaned over, leveling with her. “But you know what? It doesn’t bother me, because I find it ironic. In my mind, I know how bogus my beauty—my alleged beauty—is.”

  “Bogus? What are you talking about? You’re perfect! Your face, your body, even in your new haircut. Men fall at your feet. You look like a supermodel.”

  “I was born with a cleft lip, a unilateral cleft lip.”

  Judy looked like she wasn’t sure exactly what that meant, and Anne sensed it would do her good to explain it, to say it out loud. She never had before, outside of a doctor’s office. It was her dirty little secret. That, and the fact that she’d been rejected twice for an American Express card.

  “My lip, right here”—Anne pointed to the left of center—”was split halfway up to my nose, at birth. It’s the most common birth defect, and my case was relatively mild because the palate wasn’t cleft, just the lip. The vermilion, the surrounding tissue, to be exact.”

  “Jeez.”

  “Exactly. My mother, well let’s just say, didn’t have the best of reactions. She was a pretty woman and she wanted a pretty baby. One she could make into a movie star.” Anne refused to sound like a victim, so she shortened the story. “I didn’t get the surgeries I needed—lip, palate, even gum—until I was past ten. It took seven operations to get me to look like this, and by the end I felt like a science project. So when something comes to me now because of the way I look, I just laugh inside.”

  “It must have been awful.” Judy swallowed hard, and Anne shrugged.

  “I can’t take it back, my prettiness or my ugliness, and I wouldn’t. I just know that the world changed when I got pretty, and you’re right, lots of unfair advantages came to me. Men, clients. The manager at Hertz saves me a Mustang. The boy at the video store sets aside the new releases. Security guards at the courthouse run interference for me. I know how well I’m treated now, because I saw the difference. I’m a walking ‘before’ and ‘after’ picture. And I used to feel the unfairness, the resentment, and the jealousy. Like you do.”

  Judy’s light eyebrows slanted unhappily.

  “So I don’t begrudge you your feelings, and you don’t have to hide them from me. I feel more like you than me.” The conference room fell so quiet, Anne could hear the rasp in her own voice. She had never spoken so intimately to anyone before, but she had to clear the air. “And I have a confession to make. I overheard you this morning, in my house, but it didn’t come as a surprise. I know you don’t like me. No women like me. I can’t make a girlfriend at gunpoint.”

  Judy emitted a dry laugh.

  “I just hope that you give me a chance, because now you know better. When you think of the clients, the men, the new DVDs, and the perks that my looks bring me, think of the rest, too. Like Kevin Satorno, who’s trying to kill me. Beauty isn’t a blessing, Judy, take it from me. It’s a curse.”

  Just then the door to the conference room opened. It was Bennie, bristling with excitement. “Ladies, we’re outta here. I just got a call from Mary.”

  “What about?” Anne asked.

  “Your murder. Let’s go.”

  13

  Anne, in her white baseball cap and black Oakleys, Bennie, and Mary stood in the bright but tiny third-floor kitchenette. It had been converted from a corner of a bedroom by installation of a dorm-sized Kenmore fridge, a two-burner electric stove, and a baby stainless-steel sink. It smelled pleasantly of Lysol and home fries but was oppressively hot, despite the lateness of the day. A cheap plastic Duracraft fan oscillated on a countertop, to no effect.

  Mary DiNunzio sat at the kitchen table across from Mrs. Letitia Brown, holding her hand. “Mrs. Brown, these are my associates, and they want to hear what you told me. About what you saw last night. Do you mind repeating it all?”

  “Thas’ no problem, I like some ladies visitin’.” Mrs. Brown was seventy-seven years old, her black skin oddly graying and her eyes cloudy behind trifocals. Her glasses pressed into cheeks slackened by time, draped like velvety stage curtains around a steady smile. Gray hair sprang in thinning coils from her scalp, and she wore a flowered housedress with black plastic slip-ons. Anne knew she’d end up in shoes like that and she was actually looking forward to it. Mental note: Perspective sneaks up on everyone, in time.

  Mary was asking, “So tell me again, what did you see last night, on the street?”

  “I seen people, evabody playin, partyin’. I seen people goin’ out, goin’ to the Parkway, to the fireworks, the whole day people be comin’ an’ goin’. Plenty to see.” Mrs. Brown waved a shaky hand toward the window over the kitchen table, of rickety pressboard. Thin Marcal napkins had been weighted down with heavy cut-glass salt-and-pepper shakers, so they wouldn’t blow away in the breeze from the screen, clearly an abundance of caution. “Lots to see out this winda, better than the TV. In the day, I look at my stories, then I come over and look out the winda.”

  “And what about the house I asked you about? Number 2257.”

  Mrs. Brown wet her lips. Fine lines around them led to a small, parched mouth. “I seen everythin’ las’ night, at the house you talkin’ ’bout.”

  “Which house? Show us.”

  “That one, 2257. My eyes ain’t that bad, I see the number.” Mrs. Brown raised an arm and pointed to the window, and Anne followed her crooked finger just to make sure. It was Anne’s own doorstep, just two doors down, on the same side of the street. Mrs. Brown’s third-floor vantage point gave her a good, if parallax, view of anyone who came to Anne’s door. Though Anne had never seen Mrs. Brown, Mrs. Brown had undoubtedly seen her.

  “And what were you doing, last night?” Mary’s voice was soft and even, uncannily matching the tone and cadence of Mrs. Brown.

  “What I always doin’, settin’ here. Settin’ here and lookin’ at muh papers and muh pitchers and muh books.” Mrs. Brown gestured happily to a lineup of children’s school photographs, all girls with their hair neatly braided, and one older boy in cornrows and an Allen Iverson jersey. “These muh grandbabies.”

  “They’re so cute.”

  “And this here’s muh books.” She reached for a stack of crossword-puzzle books and opened one only with difficulty. Printed on the soft paper was a large-size crossword puzzle, completed in shaky ballpoint. Anne eyeballed ten down “three letters for place to sleep.” The blocks were filled not by BED but by QOP. She scanned the entire puzzle. Each block had been neatly filled with a letter, written in a jittery hand, but none of the letters formed words.

  Mary looked back at Anne. “Her daughter and son-in-law live downstairs, with their two kids. They were out last night and weren’t here when the cops canvassed. Mrs. Brown stayed home. She was upstairs the whole time, but the cops didn’t know it.”

  Anne nodded. They had met the son-in-law downstairs
. A chilly young man who evidently didn’t like his mother-in-law enough to teach her to read, or even to come upstairs when a group of lawyers came to call. Plus they had central air downstairs, but only a single fan on the whole third floor. How could someone leave her mother up here like this?

  “Go ahead, Mrs. Brown,” Mary said, encouraging the woman with a nod.

  “I was settin’, lookin,’ an my daughter an my son-in-law, they all went out. An there was fireworks, above the roof. I seen the ones that made it high enough. Then there was a big noise, real big.”

  “Not firecrackers?”

  “No. Gunshots.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I know. Mm-mm.”

  “Did you see somebody shoot the gun?” Mary asked.

  “No, I was dozin’ I think, jes a little, and my eyes, they come open”—Mrs. Brown opened her hands in front of her eyes, and Anne pictured her drowsy, sitting at the table on a stifling summer night—“and out I look and I seen that man.”

  “What man? Tell us everything you saw then.”

  “Young, pretty, white. Blond hair. His face all lit up from the house, from inside the house. 2257. I seen him and he let go of the gun, he sure did.”

  Anne’s mind raced. It was Kevin.

  “And God strike me if he wasn’t cryin’, cryin’ like a newborn baby, like his heart was gonna break in two, and then he run, he run down the street, all the way, and I couldn’t see him no more.”

  Anne couldn’t breathe for a moment. She had always known it was Kevin, but this made it so real. At least Bennie would be fully convinced now.

  “I seen that poor girl’s feet, lyin inna door. She was wearin’ sneakers and they were shakin’, shakin’! Then all of a sudden, they stopped.” Mrs. Brown’s eyes welled up, and Mary gave her wrinkled hand a squeeze.

  “If I showed you a picture of this man with the gun, could you say if it was him or not?” Mary reached into her purse for the red flyer, but Bennie stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.