“Then I’m confused,” Judy said. “If we’re not solving a murder, why are we here?”

Bennie looked at Judy directly. “We need to understand the D.A.’s case and develop a credible theory of what happened that night. When we get into that courtroom, the jurors have to look to us as the font of all knowledge, so they take that confidence in us into the jury room. Shall I go on?”

“No, but-” Judy started to say, and Bennie waved her off.

“We don’t have time to discuss this any longer. Connolly has a right to effective counsel, so get effective. Take pictures.” Bennie glanced around the living room, bothered. Carrier’s question had been nagging at her from the beginning. Did Connolly do it? Bennie didn’t think so, but why? She suppressed the thought. “This place is too fucking clean. Let’s start with the kitchen, DiNunzio, and check through in an orderly way.”

“Okay,” Mary said, though Bennie was already at the threshold to the kitchen, hands on her hips.

It was a small galley kitchen with cherrywood cabinets, new appliances, and a fancy Sub-Zero refrigerator. Bennie opened the cabinets, which were empty except for one stocked with heavy white dishes. She double-checked the others, which were bare, then went to the window. “Who called 911 about the gunshot, DiNunzio?”

“Mrs. Lambertsen, from next door. She testified at the prelim. She also saw Connolly run by, and so did other neighbors. Three or four, I remember reading.”

Bennie nodded. “Assume 911 dispatch gets the call and radios it out right away. Who was the first patrol car to respond?”

“I have to check that.”

Mary slid out the accordion, pulled out a folder, and thumbed through it with Bennie at her shoulder. Yellow highlighting striped every page, evidence of DiNunzio’s careful work, and Bennie thought the associate would make a fine lawyer if she’d just get out of her own way. “Here it is,” Mary said. “Patrol Officers Pichetti and Luz.”

“Not McShea and Reston?” Bennie thought a minute. “Where were Pichetti and Luz when they got the call?”

Mary ran her finger down the page. “A couple blocks away, at Seventh and Pine.”

“What we need to know is where Reston and McShea were and why they were so close to Della Porta’s apartment.”

“The file doesn’t have a report from them.”

“I’m not surprised, but there must be one. That’s the report we want. We have to find it. It should have been in the police file or the file from Jemison, Crabbe. Check that when we get back to the office.”

“Okay.” Mary was starting to feel useful and she couldn’t see the stain anymore.

“Good. Let’s look at the other rooms.” Bennie left the kitchen, walked through the living room, and entered the bedroom, which was as nondescript as the kitchen. A queen-size bed frame and box spring sat against the wall between two windows, and a walnut veneer dresser against the far wall, with three drawers. Bennie crossed the room and opened the drawers. Nothing.

“Here’s the bathroom.” Mary waved a finger behind her, and Bennie nodded.

“Have a look. I’ll take the other bedroom. I wonder what they used it for.”

Bennie walked to the spare room and stood dumbstruck at the threshold. It was a home office and it looked like a replica of Bennie’s-even the furniture in it was arranged like Bennie’s. Around the walls was a lineup of file cabinet, bookshelves, in the far corner a computer table, then another bookshelf. The table matched Bennie’s; a tall, white workstation from IKEA, with two shelves above the table and pullout trays on each side. Bennie used her trays all the time. Did Connolly?

Bennie walked over to the computer table and pulled the right-hand tray, which slid out with a familiar, gritty sound. Centered on the tray was a brown circle. Bennie knew what it was because hers had one, too: a ring left by a coffee mug. Her gut tensed. Did it mean anything? Logically, no. Most people drink coffee while they work and arrange their home offices the same way. And the lines at IKEA are endless.

“Nothing in the bathroom,” DiNunzio said from the door.

Bennie shook her head. Without knowing why, she crossed the short distance to the door. “There’s a peg here,” she said, and closed the door, revealing a peg stuck from the top panel.

“How did you know that?” Mary asked.

Bennie had a peg in the same place, but she didn’t want to explain that to DiNunzio yet. She needed to know more about Connolly before she gave any credence to this twin business. “Everybody has a peg on the door, don’t they?” she said casually.

“I’m just surprised Connolly did. She never used it. This office was a sty.”

Bennie pivoted in surprise. “How do you know that?”

“The photos, in the file. They were in an envelope from the mobile crime unit.”

Of course. She had forgotten. “Let’s see them.”

“I don’t have them with me.” Mary’s attack of usefulness vanished. “We’re not allowed to take originals out of the office, remember?”

Bennie gritted her teeth. It wasn’t the kid’s fault, so she couldn’t strangle her. “What do the photos show?”

“The apartment with all their stuff in it. You can see how they decorated it. It’s pretty much the same, except for this room. The apartment was neat, but Connolly’s office was a mess.”

“I want to see the photos tonight. Remind me when we get back.”

“Okay, sorry. I didn’t understand.”

“Forget it.” Bennie raked a hand through her hair. Connolly’s home office was a revelation, raising more questions than it answered. It was time to find the answers. “Get Carrier,” she said suddenly. “Let’s go.”

“Where?”

“Downstairs to see the super. I’m renting this apartment.”

“You want to rent this place?” Mary was appalled. “But this is a crime scene.”

“Understood.”

“A man was killed here.”

“There are worse ideas than renting a crime scene,” Bennie said, but Mary couldn’t think of a single one.

Judy sat across from Mary in the conference room, typing a pretrial motion on her laptop while Mary organized the Connolly file. They had worked this way forever, holed up in a war room until late at night, readying for trial on a conference table dotted with open law books and take-out lo mein. “You’re nuts,” Judy said as she hit the ENTER key.

“You weren’t in court today, I was.” Mary pressed an orange label onto the coroner’s report and marked it Exhibit D-11. “I saw it. Her. Them. I’m telling you, Connolly is Bennie’s twin.”

“I don’t believe it.” Judy stopped typing. “Bennie never mentioned she had a twin. She’s private, but not that private.”

“All I can tell you is, Bennie and Connolly are twins. Same basic face, same height, same eyes. Not just sisters, either. They’re twins, I can feel it.”

“How?”

“Because I’m a twin. Twins know these things.”

“You’re starting to sound like me.” Judy cocked her head and her Dutch-boy haircut fell to the side. “You’re getting a twin vibe, is what you’re saying.”

“Catholics don’t believe in vibes. Just take it from me, they’re twins.”

“If they look that much alike, how come nobody else in the courtroom saw it?”

“Nobody was really looking at them, they were following the proceeding. And Connolly and Bennie look different. Connolly is thin and her hair’s red. She wears makeup, she’s pretty. Foxy. Bennie’s hair is such a light blond, messy, and she always looks like she put on whatever she grabbed first, like a jock.” Mary finished choosing and labeling the defense exhibits. “And the cues weren’t there. My God, Bennie’s a big-time lawyer and Connolly’s a state prisoner. One’s a winner and one’s a loser. Nobody made the connection.”

“What do you mean? Either Bennie and Connolly look like twins or they don’t.”

“Not necessarily. It’s like with me and Angie. There was a time, I don’t know if you remember, really early at Stalling? I was a second-year associate. I lost twenty pounds. My face was sunken in, I broke out constantly, and I looked like shit. The worst I’ve looked in my life.”