Dead Ringer

by Lisa Scottoline

  “They said if he had taken a cab, the driver would have turned in the receipt. But guess what? They had no record he took a trip from the Palm to his house, and they checked all the receipts. They even asked the drivers. And yes, Linette does have an account with Penn Call. He uses them exclusively. The dispatcher told me he even keeps them on speed dial, on his cell.” Carrier couldn’t hide her pride. “And by the way, they also told me they didn’t take him anywhere else that night either. Linette was not in a Penn Call cab the night Robert was killed.”

  Hmm. Bennie was worried about something. “What if the cab company—”

  “Calls and tells Linette?” Carrier held up her traffic hand. “Don’t worry, I thought of that. I called back as the secretary, saying I’d made a mistake and please not to tell my boss I screwed up.”

  “Smooth.”

  Carrier grinned. “So let’s review. What have we learned? That Bill Linette didn’t go back to the office or to his house on the night St. Amien was murdered. So, where was he?”

  “Interesting.” Bennie mulled it over. “Of course, there are other places to go.”

  “We’re talking about Philadelphia.”

  Murphy’s lovely green eyes shifted to Carrier. “Judy, how many married men do you know?”

  “My dad,” Carrier asked, nonplussed, and Bennie smiled while Murphy followed up.

  “Well, I know more than a few, because they hit on me all the time. I’m not bragging, I’m just giving you a field report. Nine times out of nine, if a man is hitting on me, he’s married.”

  “You’re kidding,” Carrier said, so surprised she couldn’t finish her second doughnut.

  “If Linette didn’t go home on a night he told a client he was going back to the office, I bet you he’s got a chick somewhere.” Murphy pushed aside her coffee. “And he’s probably set her up in an apartment in town, within walking distance of his office, for his convenience.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “It’s the standard offer. Platinum AmEx, BMW convertible. It’s minimum wage.”

  “Whoa,” Carrier said, but Bennie was remembering her visit to Linette’s plush offices.

  “Linette has a receptionist who looks like Miss Texas.”

  “Now you’re talking,” Murphy said. “I’d start there.” She turned to Carrier. “Sorry to shoot your theory, Jude.”

  “It’s not shot, Murph. We just go digging.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We find some reason for you to go over to Linette’s office and see if he hits on you.”

  Murphy sniffed. “Of course he’ll hit on me. I’m practically undefeated.”

  “Are you two nuts?” Bennie interrupted.

  “What?” they both asked, in unison. The phone started ringing but everybody ignored it.

  “Have Linette hit on you, Murphy?” Bennie couldn’t believe the words coming out of her own mouth. “It’s crazy, dangerous, and revolting! And it wouldn’t prove anything!”

  “It could,” Murphy answered.

  “Like what?”

  “We don’t know yet. We’d be investigating.” Murphy looked as if she were actually considering it, sipping her coffee and narrowing her eyes. “We have to find out what Linette’s up to, then confront him.”

  Carrier joined in. “Or turn him in. Or catch him in a lie. It’s not the whole picture yet, boss. It’s just a piece. That’s how we always do it. Piece by piece, like a puzzle.”

  “What? No we don’t. It’s not a puzzle!” Bennie wanted to tear out her moussed hair. The only problem with Mama was the kids. “I do not send my associates to seduce killers!”

  “I bet we could crack this case, Bennie,” Murphy added.

  “Absolutely not!” Bennie’s good mood vanished. She reached for her coffee but it was cold. The intercom starting buzzing on her phone, and she picked up. “Yes, Marshall?”

  “Got Sam on line one. He says it’s really important.”

  “Okay, thanks. Ask him to hold while I kill my associates.” Bennie pressed off the intercom and turned to the offenders. “Girls, leave my office and get back to work. Do legal work, since we’re back on the class action. Leave Linette alone. And leave me alone.”

  “Okay.” Carrier got up, obviously disappointed, and Murphy went after her, taking her coffee.

  “Making a big mistake, Bennie.”

  “Right. See ya. Bye.” Bennie hit the flashing light on her phone. “Sam, before you tell me anything, let me tell you something. I’m back in business. St. Amien’s son wants to continue the case.”

  “Wonderful, but I’m not calling about money. I’m calling about your friend David. Did you get my envelope? I had it hand delivered.”

  “Uh, wait.” Bennie fished through the mail that Marshall had given her, then gave up. “What’s it say?”

  “Read it. I would have faxed it to you, but the photo came out too black.”

  “Hang on a minute.” Bennie reached for the manila envelope with the red hand-delivery stamp from Grun, and slipped her hand inside. “Gimme the sneak preview.”

  “Your bodyguard David has a past you should know about.”

  “What?” Bennie pulled out the piece of paper from the envelope. It was a photocopied clipping from a local newspaper in California. The headline read, SEAL INSTRUCTOR CHARGED IN CADET’S DEATH, and next to it was a small head shot of David, mostly obscured by the darkness of the fax. She could recognize his eyes and mouth, pixilated, in inky black-and-white dots.

  Oh my God. Bennie’s heart stopped as she read the brief paragraph:

  David R. Holland was indicted today in the death of Cadet John Wellington, 23, of Encino, who died Monday morning, during training of the Navy SEALs. Cadet Wellington succumbed to a heart attack during one of the exercises supervised by Instructor Holland, comprising so-called “Hell Week.” Instructor Holland, who served as Assistant Director of the training facility, was suspended pending a military hearing on the charges. The hearing is set for March 3.

  “Bennie, you there? He didn’t tell you that, did he?” Sam asked, his tone softer.

  “No.” Bennie sighed.

  “I told you, people don’t just take a break from the SEALs.”

  “I guess not.” Bennie reread the article. The date on the newspaper was this year. “It says his hearing is March third. That was last month. Do you know what happened?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Maybe he was found innocent, or whatever they do in military trials.”

  “Maybe he was, but maybe he wasn’t. And maybe there’s been a continuance and we don’t know yet. It doesn’t matter. It’s a material fact, and he omitted it.”

  Bennie couldn’t deny it. “How did you find the article? Were there others?”

  “I had a kid here do a Lexis search and order the original from the paper’s online archives. I knew you had to see it to believe it. This is all she came up with, and the kid’s a whip.”

  Bennie’s gaze rested on the photo, a head shot of David in a stiff white cap. Under the photo the caption read, CAPT. DAVID HOLLAND.

  “Bennie, I gotta go. I’m sorry to leave you with this. If you want to call me, call anytime. But I think this is clear. I don’t trust this guy and I don’t think you should let him protect you. You don’t need him. I already called a personal-security firm and told them to send me the bill. The name’s Guardian something, and they’re gonna call you. Talk to you later, honey.”

  “Bye,” she said, and hung up the phone. Looking at the picture until the intercom started buzzing again.

  31

  Bennie, Mort Abrams here.”

  “Yo, Mort, how you doin’?” Bennie couldn’t stop looking at the photo of David. It was just too surprising. She never would have thought he could be involved in anything like this. The death of a twenty-three-year-old.

  “Bennie, you there?”

  Get over it. “Mort, yes. Sorry, it’s hectic here today.”

  “I gather
. The cops caught that animal who killed Robert, I hear. And that banker, too. I bet you’re happy.”

  “Yes, right.” Bennie folded the article and slipped it under her mail. She couldn’t concentrate with the headline staring at her. “How can I help you, Mort?”

  “Well, I’m calling with good news. I’ve decided to go with your firm, for representation in the class action.”

  Really? “Really! How wonderful. That’s great news. Thank you so much for your confidence in us.” Bennie struggled to keep the surprise from her voice, but she was more puzzled than anything else. She had never done less to get a client. Maybe she should have been doing less all along, like reverse psychology. Trash your clients, so they come running. You’ll get clients with intimacy issues, but business is business.

  “I look forward to our working together, Bennie. Now, when can you come out to our facility to meet the rest of my team and see the place? We’ll give you the grand tour of FitCo. Our lunchroom is great too.”

  “Uh, well.” Bennie couldn’t begin to deal with it. “Here’s what I’d suggest, if it’s okay with you. Send me any paper and documents that arguably pertain to the suit. All the stuff on your English sub, and the contract you lost.”

  “Key Medical, Inc.”

  “Of course. I’ll review the file as soon as I get it, then come out and meet with you and the gang. This way I won’t waste your time, or your staff’s, asking questions I can answer myself.”

  “Okay, good deal.” Abrams sounded cheered. “And payment, how do we work that?”

  “I’ll send you a fee agreement for your signature. I work on standard contingency, but a small retainer could get us rolling. Say five thousand dollars?”

  “That’s doable. Send me the agreement, I’ll sign it and send it back with a check.”

  “Great, Mort. Appreciate it.” Bennie couldn’t believe this. Two days ago she would have been deliriously happy at the cash. Now she could barely get her act together.

  “I’ll get you those papers right away.”

  “Looking forward to it.” They said corporate good-byes, and Bennie exhaled audibly the moment she hung up the phone. She should have been happy, but it was impossible.

  David. She had trusted him, but he hadn’t told her everything. Still. He had watched over her. Taken care of her. Seen to it that she had food and rest. And he’d given her good advice last night. He couldn’t have been in cahoots with Alice on anything. Thanks to him, she’d felt great when she’d gotten up today, and great when she’d come in. Her gaze fell on the edge of the article, sticking stubbornly from her mail, and she knew just what to do with it. Tuck it back inside. So she did.

  It left her facing a flock of pink message slips, with CoreMed’s on top. She hadn’t focused on it before, at the reception desk. She slid out the message, and there were others stuck to it that she hadn’t seen. Total Lenz of Korea. Reiss, Inc. Tumflex. She didn’t know any of these names, but they sure sounded like lens manufacturers. They had to be potential class members. They didn’t sound like debt consolidators.

  Bennie arranged the phone messages on her desk, with Julien St. Amien’s on top. He was her biggest and best client ever, and if the others were new business too, she had better stop whining and pay attention. Work had always focused her. Seen her through, even when all else failed. She’d rested last night, but that was then. And this was now. It was time to get on the horn. She picked up the receiver and punched in the number.

  “Julien?” she asked when a man’s voice picked up, then the accent registered. “Georges?”

  “Yes, this is Bennie? How are you, Bennie?”

  “Fine, thanks.” A tide of guilt washed over her. “I’m so sorry I didn’t call you last night after I went to the police. I spoke with Detective Needleman and saw the suspect in Robert’s murder.”

  “His name is Ronald Johnson, eh? Detective Needleman says he’s a Nazi type, a skinhead. He belongs to a group. So there are these people, after all, in America.”

  “Yes, there are,” Bennie said. It felt like a shameful admission, even though Johnson wasn’t the killer. For a civil libertarian, there were times even she hated the First Amendment.

  “So I see I am wrong, and I am glad they have him. I hope today or tomorrow they will charge him.”

  “Me, too.” Bennie wanted to shift the subject because she was such a lousy liar. “Julien called, and it may be important. May I speak with him?”

  “He isn’t in. He went out with Micheline.”

  Bennie’s ears pricked up. “He seems very friendly with Micheline.”

  “They get along very well, yes. It’s good that they spend time together, for Julien lost his mother when he was quite young.”

  And Micheline is so motherly. “What, did she take him out to lunch?”

  “Perhaps, I don’t know. I got my cast off this morning, and when I came back, they had left a note.” Georges paused. “Bennie, I am worried a little bit about Julien. He has been behaving so strangely.”

  “With Robert’s death, he would be.”

  “No, not sad. Secretive. What was it he talked to you about yesterday? Micheline told me she saw you two talking outside in the square.”

  Oh, that. Bennie bit her tongue. She had said she’d keep it confidential, so she told a white lie: “Just a few things about the company. It’s probably what he’s calling me about.”

  “Really? You sure that was it?” The doubt in his voice suggested he had a good merde detector. “Micheline said it looked as if Julien was upset, and she knows the boy quite well.”

  “Yes, that’s all it was. Business. Please tell him I called.” Bennie said a quick good-bye and hung up before Georges asked another hard question. She sifted through the messages for the next business call, then punched in the number for CoreMed, Inc. “Is Mr. Gupta in, please?” she asked, introduced herself, and was put through.

  “Gupta here,” said a voice with a thick Indian accent. “Ms. Rosato, thank you for calling back. It is a pleasure indeed to speak with you. I am a lens manufacturer for medical equipment, based in New Delhi, and I was a friend of Robert St. Amien’s.”

  “It’s wonderful to speak with you, then.”

  “I see on the news they have his murderer. It is a terrible crime. A terrible shame.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Well, to the point. I had the opportunity to see you in court the other day, I was watching your performance, and I admired very much the way you dealt with the situation, and also your liveliness.”

  Bennie smiled. “I am lively.”

  “I call Julien to send my respects to him and his family, and he is telling me that you will continue as their counsel. Is this true? He is quite happy about this, he tells me on the telephone.”

  “Yes, it is true, and I am happy to do so too.”

  “Then perhaps I wonder if you would consider serving CoreMed as counsel and representing my company in the class action?”

  “Yes, of course,” Bennie said, amazed. It was like picking low fruit off a tree, this plum thanks to Julien. And even while she was saying yes, another call was coming in, which Marshall picked up. “I’d be honored to do so.”

  “Excellent. This makes me very happy. When shall we meet to discuss our claim?”

  “Let me check next week.” Bennie got out her desk calendar and flipped the pages to the next week. Empty, empty, empty, empty. “Friday looks good to me,” she said, for effect.

  “Two o’clock on Friday?”

  “Done. Why don’t you send me all the documents that are arguably relevant to the case and I’ll read them before we meet.”

  “An excellent idea. I value such efficiency. Now, what about the payment terms?” Mr. Gupta asked, and she filled him in. She’d send the fee agreement, he’d send the retainer check. Bennie could almost hear the ca-ching ca-ching. She was on her way to solvency. Paying back the money she owed. Getting her house out of hock.

  She picked up the next message be
fore the phone rang again and punched in the number for Tumflex, Inc. When the call connected, she asked, “Is Mr. Riagrelli in? This is Bennie Rosato, returning his call.”

  She spoke with Mr. Riagrelli, who wanted to retain her, then Mr. Grsucjki of Reiss, Inc., Ms. Lutenka of SeeMore, and after that Ms. Hurye, Horst Balshamn, Dreyer Ertmann, and Seji Yamamoto. It was a veritable United Nations of well-paying clients, and they didn’t care that she had taken only high school Latin. They all wanted to speak with her, meet her, or retain her right away, based on either Robert’s reputation, Julien’s recommendation, or what they’d seen of her in court. Of this latter group, they liked her spunk, feistiness, courage, balls, toughness, softness, cleverness, honesty, and oh, yes, muscular legs. Go figure.

  Bennie took all comers and worked through lunch, and all the time she was talking, the other phones were ringing. When Marshall brought her a tuna sandwich, which she inhaled, she also had ten more phone messages. By the time Bennie was finished returning all of the calls, she had a list of twelve new clients, nineteen possible clients, and accounts receivable of over fifty thousand dollars, to be paid within the week. It was almost too good to believe. Not only was Bennie back in business, she was back with a vengeance. And if this kept up, there would be no contest at all about who would be lead counsel.

  She picked up the last message, from Linette. He had to know what was going on. If he couldn’t feel the almost seismic shift of power, they all had to be buzzing about it. He had called twice while she was on the phone, but she wasn’t returning his call yet. Let him sweat. He’d want to know her response to his offer, but she’d known the answer even when she was broke. Yesterday. And Bennie still couldn’t believe he was Robert’s killer, or had him killed. Not with Alice out there somewhere.

  She checked her watch. Three o’clock. Sooner or later she’d have to call David. What am I going to say?

  “Incoming,” Marshall said, walking in with another batch of messages. “What is going on, Bennie?”

  “It’s like dominoes. When one fell, they all did.” Bennie threw up her hands, astounded. “I think we got our law firm back, and you got enough maternity benefits for triplets.”