“Last August.”
“Okay, last August.” Whatever. Nit-picker. “I paid the hundred dollars for the extension. So what’s the problem?”
“The problem, Ms. Rosato, is that the extension brought you only to October of last year. We have received no notice since that time that you have fulfilled your remaining two ethics requirements. Therefore you were placed on inactive status.”
“I didn’t receive notice of this action. You can’t take my license without notice.”
An official click-click-clicking of computer keys came over the line, and Mr. Hutchins said, “Our records show you were sent notices of your delinquency in November, March, and June.”
Bennie took a slug of coffee, but it didn’t work. Life was tough when you were totally in the wrong. “So what do I have to do to get my license back?”
“You have to take the required courses immediately, then apply for reinstatement.”
“I can’t do that. I’m kind of busy right now.” Bennie rubbed her forehead. “Why me, that’s what I want to know. I can’t be the only lawyer behind in her ethics credits. Can you check that?”
“Yes, I suppose I could. If I wished to.”
“Don’t you wish to? Procedures are important, Mr. Hutchins. Rules are important.” Bennie almost gagged. “Don’t you want to make sure your agency is following its own rules? It’s a question of administrative integrity.” There was silence on the other end of the line except for clicking. “I bet I’m not even the only one as far behind as a year, am I?”
“Well, no, you’re not.”
“That’s a shocker.”
“My, this is terrible. There are quite a number of attorneys in Philadelphia County who are at least a year behind in their ethics credits.”
Bennie’s sense of humor vanished. Connolly’s conspiracy theory gained a notch of credibility. “Why was I singled out, Mr. Hutchins? Does the computer show how that came about?”
“No, it’s irregular. The computer usually runs down the alphabet and kicks out the delinquencies in alphabetical order.”
“Did I go before the A’s or not?”
“Yes, you did. That isn’t the way the program is supposed to work, I’m afraid.”
“I’m afraid, too. Why was this information about my license released to the media? Is that standard procedure as well?”
“I wasn’t responsible for that.”
“Who was?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Get sure. It had to be someone from your organization who released that information to the public. No one else knew it.”
Click, click, click, went the keys.
“I used to teach libel law, Mr. Hutchins, on one of your dumb panels. You want some free legal advice? The statements your organization made are damaging to my reputation as an attorney and you’ve exceeded any privilege if you made them to the press.”
“What did you say?”
“I said I could sue you blind.”
“No. About teaching.”
“I said, I’ve taught libel law, on one of your… panels.” Bennie omitted the “dumb” as a goodwill gesture.
“Did you apply for your credits from the panel, for teaching?”
“I get credits for teaching? I didn’t know that.”
“It’s often overlooked.”
Bennie’s heart leapt up. “I overlooked it!”
“If you can let me have the course name and number, I can determine how many credits are due you and apply them to your delinquency.”
“Hang on.” She was already tearing backward through her Week-At-A-Glance and stopped in February. “On February eleventh, at two o’clock. The course title was Prior Restraints: Harness or Handcuffs? Who names these courses anyway?”
Click, click, click. “I’m showing that that seminar was substantive and also encompassed an ethics session. You were entitled to two credits as a result of teaching that course. If you can prove you taught it, you will be entitled to the credits, bringing your licensing requirements current.”
“I taught it, I swear, Mr. Hutchins. I’ll fax you an affidavit right away. In the meantime, you’ll reinstate my license, right? I need that license.”
“Reinstatement should take some time.”
“Not in this case it shouldn’t. Somebody screwed up, big-time, and it stinks. Unless you want me to make a very high-profile inquiry, you’ll reinstate me effective immediately.”
“Did you retain your course materials?”
“My course materials?” Bennie scanned her office bookshelves for the characteristic yellow binders. She didn’t see them anywhere, but they had to be there. “Yes, I have them right in front of me.”
“Does it show your name as a speaker?”
She rustled some papers on her desk. “Yes, absolutely.”
“Then Xerox the title page and fax it to this office, to my attention.” Click, click, click. “I’ll temporarily reinstate you pending receipt of those materials.”
“Bless you,” Bennie said, and hung up the phone with relief. Now all she had to do was find the course book. She hit the white intercom button on her phone for salvation, and Marshall picked up.
“Back in business?”
“Only if I find some course materials. They’re in my office somewhere. Rescue me, would you?”
Ten minutes later, Marshall was still rooting through the bookshelves for the course materials, tossing onto the dhurrie rug everything she thought should be thrown away. The shelves were empty and the rug was full. “We should have all of these materials centralized,” she grumbled.
“Yes, we should.”
“In the library, not the lawyers’ offices.”
“I quite agree.” At her desk, Bennie was ransacking the lawyers’ listings in the Yellow Pages to identify the lawyer in the art student’s sketch. She flipped through grainy photographs of lawyers perched on desks and holding fancy pens. Thank God lawyers had started advertising. How else could you find the murderers?
“You can’t find anything in here. This is disgusting.”
“I know.” Bennie closed the Yellow Pages, shoved the thick book aside, and reached for her marbleized legal directory.
“Why don’t you clean up or at least let me do it?”
“I’m a maverick, a renegade. The kind of gal who colors outside the lines.” Bennie cracked the legal directory. “My clients expect a messy office.”
“Nobody likes a pig.”
“Don’t sugarcoat it, Marshall.” She skimmed the legal directory. None of the faces in the photos matched the pencil sketch. The phone rang on Bennie’s desk and she picked it up. “Rosato.”
“What’s up, doc?” said a man’s voice on the other end, and Bennie grinned.
“Sammy!” It was Sam Freminet, the tax lawyer who was her oldest friend. He had started with her at Grun amp; Chase and had remained, becoming a partner. “You get my fax?”
“Yes. He’s hot. Is he single?”
“Stop fooling around. Do you know him? He’s a lawyer somewhere in town. I need to ID him for a murder case.”
“You’re back doing murder cases? Why didn’t I know that? Sufferin’ succotash. You don’t write, you don’t call.”
“I’ll fill you in when the dust settles. Listen, I sent the fax to everyone I know and I’m striking out all over. Do you recognize him?”
“He looks like Elmer Fudd, with that chin.”
“You’re no help. I gotta go. Call you later,” Bennie said, and hung up. She glanced at her watch. 11:45. Damn. She couldn’t spend much more time on this, not with the other things she had to do.
“Here it is!” Marshall said. “I found it!” She held out a yellow paper-covered book, and Bennie scrambled out from behind her desk to look.
“You sure? Does it show my name?”
“Yes.” Their heads bent over the book and they found Bennie’s name at the same time. Marshall gestured to the papers covering the rug. “I’ll fax this to Hutchins if you let me throw that mess out.”