Dead Ringer (31 page)

“Bill Linette is a very qualified lawyer, Mort. I’m sure he’d serve FitCo with skill and vigor.”

“That’s not what he says about you.”

“Excuse me?”

“He said that you had no business representing a plaintiff in
any
class action. That it was malpractice for you to represent Robert, or to try to assume a leadership role in the lawsuit.”

Bennie blinked, at a momentary loss for words. Most lawyers wouldn’t trash others to get a client, but if the steak knife was any indication, unfair competition was the least of Bill Linette’s sins.

“Gimme a break!” somebody blurted out, and Bennie’s head snapped around. Judy Carrier, her cheeks as pink as her hair, had turned to address Abrams. “That’s funny that he said that, considering that he was here trying to
hire
Bennie this morning, and that he wants to buy the whole damn law—”

“Carrier!”
Bennie jumped in, alarmed. “That really won’t be necessary.”

“Well, Jeez, boss!” Carrier protested. “It’s just absurd to let him get away with that!”

Murphy piped up, “Really, it’s not true! We can do as good a job as—”

“Ladies, that’s enough,” Bennie said firmly, rising at the head of the table, which seemed to shut the associates up. “I know you both mean well, but we don’t play that here. Bill Linette can say whatever he wants, it makes no difference to us. We are professionals here, even if we did forget about the coffee.”

“Okay,” Carrier answered with a teenager’s huff, and Murphy folded her skinny arms, simmering in redheaded silence.

“Good. Fine.” Bennie eased back into her seat and looked at Abrams. “Sorry, we are definitely feeling a little raw today.”

“I see that,” Abrams said, and faced the associates. “Judy, Anne, I gotta tell you, in my opinion, there’s nothing wrong with a little team spirit. I’d be pissed if anybody talked that way about FitCo. I know how good our company is, and I’m proud of it.”

“Thanks,” Carrier said gratefully, and Murphy nodded.

Abrams turned back to Bennie. “Please, don’t feel like you have to apologize for feeling bad today. If I ever got murdered, I’d like my lawyer to feel sad the next day. I’m sorry if I offended you or your associates. I probably shouldn’t have mentioned what Bill said anyway. I couldn’t help wondering what your response would be.”

“Well, you just got it,” Bennie answered with a smile. She liked his honesty, and he seemed to be loosening up. She was guessing he had baby birds, too. “And for the record, I disagree with his assessment. We may be inexperienced in class-action law, but we’re smarter than we look, and we work hard here.”

Abrams smiled gently. “For what it’s worth, I wouldn’t take what Linette said to heart. He was well into a few drinks when he said it, and it was probably the scotch talking.”

Scotch
. Bennie flashed to Dante saying,
Mr. Linette likes to have his after-dinner drinks. Always picks a nice malt.
She played the strangest hunch. “Mort, when did Linette say this about me?”

“I shouldn’t have said anything—”

“No, it’s okay, but when did he say it?” She had assumed they’d met in Linette’s office, but maybe not. “Was it last night by any chance?”

“Yes.”

“At the Palm?”

Abrams looked mildly surprised. “Why, yes.”

Bingo!
“You had dinner last night at the Palm, with Linette?”

“Yes. We’ve been looking for representation since we heard about the lawsuit. We wanted to interview him about representing us, and he took me and my controller out to dinner.”

So it wasn’t Quinones and Kerpov at dinner with Linette last night. It was Abrams and his controller.

Bennie’s thoughts raced ahead. It made sense. Everything was churning in the class action. “What time did you leave the restaurant?” The associates shifted in their seats, but mercifully kept their mouths shut.

“About eight-thirty,” Abrams answered, beginning to be puzzled, but Bennie was on a tear. She didn’t care if she lost the client if she could get Robert’s murderer.

“Did you all leave together? You, Bill, and your controller?”

“No, I left with my controller. Our car was in valet, and Bill had to go back to the office, so he walked.” Abrams was looking at Bennie as if she were nuts. “Does this matter?”

Linette had left alone.
“Not really,” she answered quickly. She didn’t want Abrams to go blabbing to Linette that she knew about him being at the Palm. “I’m asking because I read in the newspaper that Robert might have had dinner last night at the Palm.”

“Everybody eats there. Most businessmen I know, anyway. It’s the best steakhouse in Center City.”

“I know, it’s just a coincidence, but I was just wondering if you or Bill ran into him there.”

“No, I didn’t even see him, and I have no idea if Bill did.”

But Robert and Mayer were sitting in the window.
“It’s odd that you didn’t see Robert when you first went in. He was sitting in one of the windows in front, right near the main entrance.”

“How do you know that?”

Indeed
. “I think I read it, or somebody told me.”

“Oh well, we didn’t go in through the main entrance. We drove into the valet, and that’s on the side. We went in the side door, and through the Hyatt.”

My God.
So it
was
possible. Linette could have done it, even himself. He had the motive, the opportunity, and the knife. And who knew what his dark side was like? “Oh well, let’s not dwell on it. How can I help you make your representation decision? Feel free to ask me anything about our firm.”

“I’m wondering if you currently have any clients in the class, since Robert’s death.”

“No, I don’t.” Bennie let it sit there. She wasn’t about to make it up, nor was she about to add,
I don’t have many clients at all
. “Why do you ask?”

“I was concerned that since FitCo isn’t as big a company as some of the others, it might not get much attention if we went with one of the other firms, like Bill’s, for example. I think he’d be too wrapped up with Herman Mayer’s company to take us seriously. Herman can be a squeaky wheel, and Linette has lots of other matters, too.”

“I see. That wouldn’t be a problem here.”
We have no other clients.
Then Bennie thought for a moment. Maybe she could get more info if she was a little smoother. “You definitely have Herman’s number.”

“I do, and that’s part of my concern.” Abrams’s face darkened. “Can’t say I’m a fan.”

Who is?
“Do I need to know why?”

“It’s probably silly,” Abrams said with a sigh. “It might even be prejudice. But my background is Jewish. We lost my aunt and uncle during the Holocaust, in Theresienstadt. Herman’s company was founded during the war, and I have a problem with that. My parents still won’t buy a BMW or a Volkswagen.”

“So you don’t necessarily want to be at the same firm that Mayer is,” Bennie said, without judgment. She was learning that history died hard. “Well, if you decide to go with us, I think we’d make a good fit.”

“I think we would too,” Abrams said, rising. He took a second to brush down his neat pleated pants. “I’d like to think it over, if I may. Take a look at the other firms, too.”

“That makes sense.” Bennie rose with him, her feelings mixed. His tone didn’t sound warm enough to go their way, but she couldn’t stop thinking about Linette. Still, she’d be crazy to let Abrams go. “Mort, feel free to come back to us another day, when we’re more ourselves.”

“I will,” Abrams said. He bid the associates good-bye, then let Bennie walk him out. She put him into the elevator, hoping it wasn’t the last time she’d see him.

And hoping that he didn’t tell Linette.

“I told you! I
told you
it was Linette!” Judy was standing at the head of the table, her eyes dark with anger. “That guy is a sleaze. Sleaze!”

“Calm yourself, Carrier,” Bennie said. Now that they were alone in the conference room, she reached into her purse, pulled out the knife, and set it on the table. “This is your homework.”

“What?” Carrier asked, and Bennie explained where and how she’d gotten the knife, while the associate picked it up and examined the blade, teasing it with a fingerpad. “This is sharp.”

“Yep. Sharp enough.”

“What do you want me to do, boss?”

“Go down to the medical examiner’s office. Tell him who you are and show him that knife. See if it could have been the type used to kill Robert.”

Murphy edged her tiny knit butt onto the conference table. “Shouldn’t we also get a copy of the autopsy report? I bet we can finagle it. I have friends in the DA’s office.”

“It may not be ready yet,” Bennie answered, “but that’s a good idea. If it’s ready, get a copy. Make noises that it’s public record, even though I’m not sure that it is, and maybe they’ll cough it up.”

“You think Linette did it? Himself, even?” Murphy asked.

“I just want to follow up,” Bennie answered, and Carrier was listening thoughtfully.

“Even if it isn’t the same knife, it doesn’t eliminate Linette as a suspect, or Mayer for that matter. He could have used another knife. Lots of people carry penknives, and they’re way easier to get than guns.”

Murphy snorted. “Guns aren’t that hard to get, either.”

Bennie looked at her. “You have homework too, kid. You up?”

“Sure, why wouldn’t I be? What do you have?”

“First thing, you have some experience with restraining orders, I know.” Bennie felt a guilty twinge, but she needed help. “I hate to remind you of it, but I need to call upon it. Draft a brief for me against Alice, and tell me what I have to do to get an order. Put in all the facts, from the wallet to the break-in to the diamonds. It may not be foolproof, but it doesn’t hurt to have one in place.”

“Done.”

“Thanks. Second, you heard Abrams say that Linette told him he was going back to work after dinner. I want that checked out. You know where Linette’s offices are, in that tall gray building. There’s got to be a security desk in the lobby, where tenants sign in and out. I’m wondering when Linette signed in and out last night.”

“You mean like a sign-in log? It’s not superreliable.”

“No, but it’s a start. Think you can get the guard to show it to you?”

“In this dress? You have to ask?” Murphy smiled broadly, for the first time today. “Where are you going, Bennie?”

She checked her watch. She hoped David was waiting out there, ready to go. She’d tell him about Linette on the cell, and she wasn’t completely surprised to find herself looking forward to the call.

“Someplace sad,” Bennie answered after a moment. “But necessary.”

26

Situated at the southwestern corner of Rittenhouse Square, the lovely block-square Victorian garden designed by Frederick Law Olmsted, the Manchester was the most exclusive address in Philadelphia. Still, Bennie got no charge stepping into an elevator plusher than her living room, if only slightly smaller, and letting it carry her noiselessly upward. The elevator doors slid open on the penthouse floor, and Bennie found herself not in the hallway she had expected, but smack at the entrance to a large, well-appointed living room filled with people holding wineglasses and hors d’oeuvres on toothpicks, talking in small groups, their cadences more South of France than South Philly.

“Excuse me, I’m Micheline St. Amien,” said a young, beautiful blonde, gliding from the crowd in a black tweed suit that had little flares at the cuffs, a flared skirt to match, and a cinched-in waist so narrow it made Bennie’s suit look like the Hindenburg. The C on its shiny black buttons announced that the suit was Chanel, but it could just have easily stood for Cash. Oddly, she didn’t have a French manicure. Bennie would have to tell Murphy that the French manicure thing was a sham. The French had American manicures.

“Hello,” Bennie responded, extending a hand and introducing herself. “I’m, I
was
, Robert’s lawyer. Georges asked me to stop in. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you for your kind words, and for coming.” Micheline’s French accent was just light enough to register as cultured. Bennie had never known there were so many French people living in Philly. Micheline smiled pleasantly at her, though there wasn’t a laugh line marring her lovely cheekbones. She couldn’t have been thirty years old. “I understand Robert liked you very much.”

“I hope so,” Bennie said, for lack of something better. She didn’t feel completely comfortable around the woman. Her manner was cool, and she didn’t seem all that broken up by Robert’s death. Bennie glanced around, and nobody here did. It didn’t make sense. Robert was a nice man. “Are these employees of St. Amien & Fils?”

“No, these are our friends. Let me take you to Georges. He’s in his study. He’s not feeling well, and he’s not exactly mobile of late.” Micheline turned on her stilettos and sashayed down the hallway to the right, rolling her slim hips like a runway model.

“Thank you.” Bennie lumbered, feeling roughly like Gentle Ben, in Ann Taylor. The walls were covered with tasteful tan fabric, and the corridor was lined with antique prints of the Seine, which the St. Amiens evidently found more beautiful than the Schuylkill, difficult as that was to comprehend.

“Here is his study,” Micheline said when they reached the paneled door at the end of the hall, and she opened it. “I’ll leave you two alone and attend our guests. I know you have a lot to discuss.”

“Thanks,” Bennie said, as Micheline closed the door behind her. Inside was a cozy, book-lined study containing a built-in walnut desk with drawers, a cushy brown leather chair with an ottoman, and a maroon glass ashtray on a brass stand next to it. The air smelled like the stale smoke of French cigarettes. In the center of the study sat a man in a wheelchair. His back was to the door and he appeared to be looking out the window, but when he spun around in the chair, Bennie almost gasped. Georges looked like an older version of Robert, with the same sleek silver hair, same bright blue eyes behind stainless-steel glasses, but with a full brushy beard, dark brown but laced with silver. Behind the beard, his lips tilted down into a frown, and his bushy eyebrows showed the same sad slope.