Page 40 of Feared

Bennie squeezed her hand. “Carrier, we need to sort this out. So then what happened?”

“So you called”—Judy squeezed the Kleenex to her nose, stifling her sobs—“and you told me that the reporter called you and told you that John was dead and I totally freaked out and got a cab to go to his apartment. That’s when I saw you on the street, so I got out of the cab and we walked the last block together, then we saw Mary and Anthony, and I just can’t believe this is happening, I just can’t, it’s so horrible and I feel so terrible—”

“Okay.” Bennie patted Judy’s hand in a final way. “I don’t think you should be going into any police interview.”

“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’scrazy!”

“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! Ilovedhim!” 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 ofbattered 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.

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