Mistaken Identity

“Protection? You mean a bodyguard?”

“I mean three bodyguards.”

“We can’t afford three.”

“I’ll settle for two, but that’s my final offer.” Grady turned to the associates and managed a smile. “Is that agreeable to you, counsel? Two bodyguards?”

“Yep,” Judy said. “That means I’m still in. Okay, boss?”

“No, not okay.”

Grady touched Be

Be

Judy laughed. “It’s a settlement, then. I’m still on the case.”

Be

Three heads suddenly turned, and all of a sudden Mary felt as if she were the one in the chair for prime suspects. “I don’t know,” she said.

“It’s not up to you,” Be

“But the neighbors haven’t been called yet, as witnesses. How will you cross them? I haven’t prepared you.”

“I’ll be fine. I have your notes. I know what to do.”

There was a sharp rap on the door and Be

“Rosato?” said a man’s voice, and the door to the interview room opened.

But it wasn’t one of the detectives. Standing at the threshold, his grizzled face lined with regret, his familiar khaki pants and navy blazer a wrinkled mess, stood Lou Jacobs.

It had gone as Be

He hovered at her shoulder opposite Grady during the entire questioning, taking her side against the police without having to say a word. When she was finished, he rested a warm hand on her shoulder, which she found more comforting than she could rightly account for. Be

Be

Be

Be

The bedroom remained still. The night was deep and silent. The only sound was the low electrical hum of the alarm clock, its squared-off face glowing a fraudulent orange. Grady’s breathing came soft and even. The dog snored from a curl on the plywood subfloor at the foot of the bed. This room, this man, and even this animal used to make Be

But right now, Be

66

The early rays of the morning sun fought their way through the skyscrapers into chambers, and Judge Guthrie sat almost slumped behind his elegant mahogany desk. His reading glasses lay folded beside a hunter green blotter, and he gazed at Be

“Thank you, Your Honor,” Be

“How are your injuries, my dear?” Judge Guthrie asked. He sounded sincere and almost looked it, in a red paisley bow tie with a white oxford shirt that hadn’t been on long enough to wrinkle.

“I’m alive, thank you.” Be

“It’s terrible,” Hilliard chimed in, his voice grave. His beefy frame looked as if it had been clothed hastily, in a tan pinstriped suit and a cream-colored shirt that contrasted with the darkness of his skin. His gray tie had been knotted sloppily, unusual for Hilliard. “I spent most of the night trying to get to the bottom of it.”

Judge Guthrie turned. “What did you learn, Mr. Hilliard?”

“We understand that Officer Lenihan was very upset by Be

Be

Hilliard shook his head. “Frankly, Officer Lenihan was a renegade, a loose ca

Be

“My, my,” Judge Guthrie said quietly. “That’s quite a shame, quite a shame.”