“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.”