The detective’s eyes were glazing over. She had to get to the point.
“Mayer wanted to be lead plaintiff, and Robert and I were challenging him. In fact, in court today, we had a huge fight and-”
“Watch out,” the detective interrupted, gentling her out of the way. A mobile tech shuffled past them and turned off one klieglight, then unplugged it from a portable generator and carried it out of the alley on his shoulder, like a fishing pole. The detective watched him go. “These people got a job to do. He won’t be the only case tonight.”
“Let me put it this way, Detective. This case was worth seventy million dollars to Mayer, and the lead plaintiff would get the lion’s share. That’s what Mayer was fighting with us over.”
“That’s real money,” Needleman said, guiding her out of the alley, and Bennie fell into step beside him, matching her beat-up Sauconys to his worn loafers.
“Real, real money. You see what I’m saying? I’m saying that there was a lot of money at stake in this case, between these parties.” Bennie knew she was losing him. Crime techs were packing up around them, stowing the remaining equipment into municipal cars and vans. One turned off the leftover klieglight, plunging them all into darkness. The party was officially over. It took a minute for Bennie’s eyes to adjust, and she could barely see the detective’s face in the residual lighting from the storefronts. “You with me, Detective?”
“No,” he said, turning to her. His glasses reflected the windows across the street, obscuring his eyes. “I’m not with you. I see a robbery here, a street crime with an MO very similar to another recent one, and it makes sense to me that it’s the same doer. What are you seeing?”
Bennie swallowed hard. What was she seeing? What was she saying? That she thought Mayer had murdered Robert? Was it possible? But Mayer was a civilized man. A businessman, not a thug. It seemed crazy. Unthinkable. Then she flashed on the scene in the courtroom. Mayer’s anger at Robert. Linette’s anger at them both. And Robert coming up to her after court had adjourned and asking if they had won. She had answered: They want to kill us, don’t they?
Bennie felt suddenly stricken.
“Let’s get outta the way, I’m done here,” the detective said, taking Bennie’s arm. They walked from the alley with Bennie on autopilot and headed toward an old black Crown Vic parked at the curb. Around them uniformed cops dismantled the wooden sawhorses and stacked them on a Parks Department flatbed that had pulled up, rattling and spewing gray exhaust. The crowd was dispersing except for the TV news vans and reporters, whom Detective Needleman kept at bay by waving them off. He opened his car door, turned to Bennie, and put a hand on her shoulder. “Look, you’re upset. Your client just got killed. You’re not thinking clearly, and it’s late.”
Bennie nodded, shaken, but she couldn’t listen. She just couldn’t believe what she’d said to Robert in court. Why had she said it? Had she meant it? Was it possible?
“I know you’re a smart lawyer, and Brinkley thinks the world of you, and that’s enough for me. But this isn’t the time to play cop, Ms. Rosato.” Detective Needleman gave her arm a final pat. “You need a ride? Let me take you home.”
Bennie found her voice, and it carried a ring of certainty that surprised even her. “I’m not saying that Mayer did it, but I’m not ruling it out, either. I don’t know. But I can’t pretend that Mayer didn’t fight with Robert in court today, or that we didn’t beat him. And seventy million dollars is a lot of motive.”
“Now you’re talkin’ about motive? Seventy million dollars is a lot of money, and that’s all I know right now.” Detective Needleman sat heavily in the driver’s seat, keeping one loafer out of the car flat on the asphalt. “Brinkley likes you, but he did say you get yourself worked up.”
“Murder gets me worked up, particularly this murder. And sometimes I’m right, so will you please consider that this murder may not be what it seems right off the bat?”
“Oh, Jesus, here we go.” The detective looked through his windshield with pursed lips.
“Keep an open mind, consider that maybe it’s not a robbery, a street crime, whatever. And you’re going to talk with Mayer, so why wait until tomorrow? Wouldn’t you like to know where he is right now? He was the last person to see Robert alive.”
“I would, and I will. Now you need a ride or not?”
“No, thanks.” Bennie was thinking clearly now, or what passed for clearly to the delusional. Robert had been stabbed to death. The detective had said they hadn’t found the murder weapon. “What kind of knife was it, do we know?”
“A sharp knife, I gather, and there is no we. Later I will find out. You won’t.”
Bennie let it go. At least he was keeping his sense of humor. He’d need it. “What kind of sharp knife? How long was the blade? Was it a steak knife? The Palm is a steakhouse.” She had been there exactly twice. She was guessing when she said, “They give you a steak knife when you order, you know.”
“No good deed goes unpunished, does it?” Detective Needleman closed the door of the car with a rueful smile. “I tried to be nice to you, I talked to you, and now look where it got me. Wait’ll I get Brinkley.”
“Sorry.” Bennie watched him turned the key in the ignition, and the car’s old engine wheezed to life. She half considered taking a ride just to keep badgering him. “Any chance I can go with you when you talk to Mayer?”
“You know, I bet you read a lot of Nancy Drew when you were little. Am I right?” He raised his voice to be heard over the car engine. “Why is it that every little girl who reads Nancy Drew thinks she can be a homicide detective? My wife, she’s the exact same way.”
“Hold on.” Bennie leaned on the car so he wouldn’t take off. “Here’s what to ask Mayer about. He was Robert’s chief competitor in the medical-lens business, and I know there was bad blood between them over a contract with a company named Hospcare. Mayer lives in Chestnut Hill, his home address was on the complaint they filed. I can fax you over a copy, or you can call information. As for his lawyer, I don’t know where-”
“I think I can do this without you.” The detective released the emergency brake. “Call me crazy.”
“I’m just trying to help. I know these players, and I have information you may need.”
“I’ll call you if I need you.”
“I want to get whoever did this.” Bennie leaned into the open car window. The Crown Vic reeked of cigar smoke. “And if the bad guy wears a tie, I don’t want him getting away with murder.”
“I don’t either, and I will keep an open mind, I always do. But don’t get in my face and don’t go over my head. I’ll keep you posted as I see fit.” The detective’s eyes went flinty, and his tone turned stern in a way that suggested he was a good father. “You have any questions or want to tell me something, you can call me at the Roundhouse.”
“Oh, come on. Don’t try and sell me that.” Detectives never spent time sitting around the Roundhouse. They were always out on jobs, as they called them. “Lemme have your beeper number.”
“No.” The detective frowned and gunned the engine, probably so it wouldn’t stall. Detectives got the worst cars in the pool and bitched about it constantly. He shouted over the breathy noise, “The best hope of getting the knucklehead who killed your client is to leave it to the professionals! Let me do my job! You get in there, you’ll screw it up!”