Mistaken Identity

She gave the driver her office address as her thoughts clicked away. She’d have to prepare the main defense and the death penalty defense at the same time, because if she lost the case she’d be on an hour later to save Co

Be

It was Bill Winslow, and he was watching her with a tight smile.

14

Back at her office, Be

“Bear with me, kids,” Be

“No problem,” the associate said, making a note on the pad on her lap. Her hair, shorn around her chin in a blunt, lemony bowl, fell forward like a bloodhound’s ears. “They keep that on tape, don’t they? The 911 records?”

“Yes, but by now the tapes have been erased. You’ll have to apply for the transcripts, the computer-assisted records. Now go get the office camera, will you? Marshall knows where it is, ask her. DiNunzio?” Be

“Sure, it’s huge. Two of my classmates went there, I think.”

“If they survived, give them a call. I want to find out how Henry Burden got this case and if he has any co

“How do I do that?”

“Take ’em to lunch or something. Get the dirt. You heard what Miller said in court, that Burden was called out of the country. What’s up with that? Run it down. Now grab your bag and the file. You’re ready to rock and roll, aren’t you?”

“I mean, sure. Right. Absolutely.” Mary was too intimidated to say anything else. Secretly she wanted to go to home, climb into bed, and read the classifieds. Were there jobs in America where you could tell your boss the truth?

Nah.

Drizzle tinged the sky gray and dotted the windshield of Be

“Let’s go, kids,” Be

“Got it.” Judy climbed out of the Ford and flipped up the hood of a yellow Patagonia slicker. She looped the camera around her neck and began snapping pictures, shielding the lens from the weather.

Next to her, Be

Her eyes swept the block when she finished, thinking about possible witnesses to the comings and goings at the rowhouse. The south side of Trose Street, where Della Porta’s house was, contained several rowhouses between it and the alley. They would be the houses from which most of the witnesses would come and, as such, they’d be the primary focus of the defense in the next few days.

Be

With the Nikkormat in front of her face, Judy snapped photos of both ends of Trose Street, until she realized Mary hadn’t gotten out of the truck. She sidestepped to the half-open window. “Mare,” she whispered. “Mare, come on out.”

“No.” Mary sat in the backseat. “I’m not coming.”

“What? What do you mean you’re not coming?”

“I’m not coming. Which word don’t you understand?”

“Are you kidding?”

It was a good question, and Mary wasn’t exactly sure. “I’ve never been to a crime scene before. I don’t want to go to a crime scene now. Why do you think they put up all that yellow tape? Because crime scenes are not good places to go.”

“Mary, it’s your job.”

“No shit.” The associate’s head popped from the window and she blinked against the rain. “I know it’s my job, why do you think I hate it? If my job was making chocolate eclairs, I wouldn’t hate it.”

“Are you crazy? Get out of the car.”

“If my job was buying clothes, I wouldn’t hate it. Or reading books. Also I like to eat. Maybe I could get a job eating. Are there jobs like that, Jude?”

“What’s the matter with you? You want to get fired?”

Mary brightened immediately. “Why didn’t I think of that? Then I could collect unemployment, like the rest of America.”

“Carrier! DiNunzio! Let’s go!” Be

“Come on, she’ll fire me, too.” Judy opened the Ford’s door and grabbed the sleeve of Mary’s suit. “You’ll be fine, you’ll see,” she said, yanking out her friend and slamming the door behind her. They walked together to the front door, outdistanced by Be

“We caught a break,” Be

“How do you know?” Judy asked.

“It says so.” Be

“Ace detective work,” Judy said, but Mary wasn’t laughing.