“Yes.” I remembered Grady was a computer whiz. Did he know how to find hidden files, even in backup? “Could the police retrieve deleted files, if they got to the computers in time?”
“If they had a hacker on staff.”
“How good a hacker? Good as you?”
“Good as Marshall.” He frowned. “She’s gone, you know.”
“Gone?”
“That’s what I was coming to tell you. I went to ask her about her alibi, but she wasn’t in. I called her house and one of her housemates said she didn’t come home last night. She’s disappeared.”
16
By midmorning I ventured out of my office to see if Marshall had materialized. I’d been calling her and leaving messages, but no one picked up. I was conflicted about her disappearance so soon after Mark’s murder. Either she was in trouble or it was a vanishing act. A lose-lose proposition. Could she be connected to Mark’s murder? Did the cops know she was gone? It seemed inconceivable she was the killer, and I wasn’t about to put her on the hook to get myself off.
I was hoping one of the associates knew where she was. I walked down the second floor hallway, avoiding the stare of another criminalist, and knocked on Renee Butler’s door. “Renee? You in? It’s Bennie.”
The door opened after a moment, and Renee, in baggy jeans and a gray sweatshirt, stood there, appraising me with a cold eye. “What?”
“Do you know where Marshall is? I’ve been calling her, but there’s no answer.”
“No,” she said. She turned without another word, went back to her desk, and sat down. I saw with dismay that the office had been almost completely emptied. Cardboard boxes were stacked on the floor and files and books were packed in shopping bags.
“I think we need to talk, don’t you?” I gestured at the chair across from her desk, but she shook her head.
“No, I don’t have anything to talk to you about.
“Today?” I sat down anyway, in what was left of her office furniture. Only her altar to Denzel Washington was still standing, in the corner; a poster of the star in a muscle shirt, sloe-eyed, with fan magazine cutouts beside it. I’d initially been opposed to the display, but Renee’s domestic abuse clients were tickled by it and they needed the levity. So did I, right now. “You sure you want to go, Renee?”
“Yes.”
“What will you do?”
“Go solo. I’ll work out of my house, starting in a week or two. There’s room enough, it’s right in town, and Eve doesn’t mind.” She smoothed back her hair, which was pressed into a stiff French twist and emphasized the heart shape of her face. Renee had pretty features, her skin as rich a brown as her eyes, and I never minded her extra weight.
“Why not stay? I’m working on keeping the firm. We could use you.I could use you.” It was true. She was one of the smartest lawyers at R amp; B, her raw intelligence emerging despite a childhood in the projects and an education in the city schools.
“I don’t care if there’s a firm or not, I won’t work with you. I know you killed Mark.”
It fell like a blow. “No I didn’t. Why do you think I’m the killer?”
She leaned forward. “You saw Mark leaving you and taking R amp; B with him. You loved him and the firm, and you saw them both slipping away. You had to stop it. And you’re big enough and strong enough to do it, and you have no decent explanation for where you were at the time.”
“That’s all circumstantial. None of it proves anything. The cops haven’t even charged me.”
“Whether they ever do or not doesn’t matter to me. I know you did it. I know how angry you are inside.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
She eased back into her chair. “What’s the point? I told myself I wasn’t going to talk about this with you, and I’m not. Our association is over. I dropped off those books you lent me. I told the cops what I knew.”
“Told the cops what? What do you know? There’s nothing to know!”
“I told them about that day we ran the steps at Franklin Field,” she said, the conviction in her tone infuriating.
“What day? What did I do?”
“It’s what you said.”
“What Isaid? You trying to hang me for something Isaid? I hired you, brought you along, and now you’re trying to hang me? Don’t you know you’re playing with my life?” I stood up and Renee stood up, too.
“I don’t have to lie for you, just because you gave me a job!”
“What lie? What are you talking about?”
“Get out of my office! I don’t need you in here, shouting at me.”
I almost laughed, but it hurt too much. “No, Renee. I still own this place.You get out. Put your papers on my desk. Be gone in an hour.”
I walked out of her office, stalked down the hall, and went into my office and slammed the door. I stood there for a moment, shaken. What did Renee tell the cops? What was she talking about? All I remembered was I took her running once. She had started another diet and asked me for help. What happened at Franklin Field? I had to know.
I took a deep breath. There was one way to find out. Retrace my steps. Go for a run. I needed to manage my stress anyway. My head felt like it was going to burst, and I hadn’t exercised since the shit hit the fan. I changed quickly into the running shorts and top I kept in the office, shoved a ten-dollar bill and my keys into the little pocket in my pants, and left the townhouse by the back entrance, ignoring the reporters who’d discovered the back door.
“Any comment, Ms. Rosato?” “Did you do it?” “What about the will?” “Going for a run?” “Ms. Rosato, Ms. Rosato, please!” I sprinted off, leaving the reporters behind, and it wasn’t until I’d turned the corner of the backstreet that I saw him.
Detective Azzic. He sat, smoking, in a dark blue car parked on Twenty-Second Street. He was barely hidden, so he must have wanted me to know he was watching. He expected me to run scared. On the contrary. I sprinted down the row of parked cars until I reached the unmarked Crown Vic.
“Hey, good lookin’,” I said, popping into his open window. “What’s your sign?”
“Leo the Lion.” He stubbed his Merit out in an overflowing ashtray, his mouth a twisted line. “Once I dig in I don’t let go.”
“Sounds sexy. So, what time you get off?”
His eyes remained flinty through leftover smoke. “You think it’s funny, Rosato?”
“No, I think it’s harassment, Azzic. Don’t you have anything better to do? Suspects to beat up? Bribes to take?”
“I’m just doin’ some routine surveillance. Anytime you wanna come down to the division and talk, you can.”
“Is this an invite? Will there be a cheese-ball? And are you gonna wear that weird tie?” I waved at his paisley Countess Mara.
“If you talk, I’ll listen. Leave the Boy Wonder at home. I think you can handle it on your own. I was surprised to see you takin’ orders, big-time lawyer like yourself.”
I smiled. “You’re trying to get my Irish up, Detective, but I’m not Irish. I think.”
His broad shoulder dipped as he started the car’s huge V-8. “You know, I used to wonder why lawyers like you do what you do. Now I just don’t care.”
“It’s cops like you that keep me in business.”
“Oh, we do it, that’s it?” He snorted. “Not the murderers, the rapists, the critters whose money you take.”
“You mean my clients? They have rights, the same as you. The right to an honest police force. The right to a fair trial. I never understood it better than I do now.”
He gunned the breathy engine. “You know what your problem is, Rosato? There’s no right or wrong for you. We can’t get a confession because of you, we can’t get a conviction because of you. You’re on the TV, in the papers, explaining everything away. Me, I was a priest before I was a cop.”