The associates hurried out the conference room door and walked to Bennie’s office, where she dumped her mail onto an already cluttered desk, pulled the sketch from her pocket, and showed it to the associates. “Do either of you recognize this man?” Bennie asked. “I think he’s a lawyer in town.”

“Nope,” Judy answered, studying the drawing. It was of an attractive middle-aged man with longish hair, round, close-set eyes, and a chin like granite. “Looks like Superman.”

“He drives a brown Mercedes, if that helps.”

“A lawyer with a Mercedes? How unusual.”

“DiNunzio? You know him?”

Mary shook her head. “No.”

“Why? Who is he?” Judy asked, and Bennie waved them into the chairs across from her desk and told them everything she’d learned at the library. She began to get a handle on the situation as she spoke and its implications crystallized. If Connolly had a lover, then she’d not only lied about the happiness of her relationship with Della Porta, she may have lied about where she was the day of the murder. Worse, she’d given herself a motive to kill Della Porta. If the D.A. knew about it, he’d have a field day. Bennie felt unsettled, her confidence in Connolly shaken.

“I don’t like surprises, not this close to trial,” Judy said. Her worried features were as readable as a Girl Scout’s. “If Connolly didn’t tell you about this, she’s lying to us.”

“I’ve never had an inmate not lie about something,” Bennie said defensively. “The only question is whether they lie about something important.”

“This is important.”

“Maybe not. Maybe the lawyer is married and she wanted to keep the affair a secret. Or maybe it was irrelevant, so she didn’t mention it.” Bennie heard herself making excuses for Connolly, but she didn’t want to start in with Judy again, not today. “In any event, don’t tell me how bad the news is. We’re advocates, remember? Tell me how we can deal with it if it comes up at trial. Turn it to our client’s advantage.”

Mary fought the impulse to raise her hand. “Maybe we can offer this lawyer as a suspect. You know, suggest to the jury that he’s the killer.”

Bennie brightened. She should have thought of that herself, but she’d been too preoccupied with Connolly’s betrayal, her license to practice, and the evening news. “Sure. If Connolly has a boyfriend, she has a motive to kill Della Porta-but so does he. He’s a jealous lover.”

“That’s lame,” Judy scoffed. “Connolly and Della Porta weren’t even married.”

Bennie checked her impatience. “We have to develop it, find out a little more. We don’t have to convince the jury that this lawyer did it. We just have to make it colorable, give it some weight. Make it plausible enough for reasonable doubt.”

“That’s what I meant.” Mary nodded. She could always take credit, couldn’t she? This was America, and it was her right as an employee. “So, do you want us to try and identify this lawyer?”

Bennie shook her head. “No, I have something important I want you two to do. What do you know about boxing?”

“Boxing is cool,” Judy said. “I watch it on TV sometimes. Tuesday Night Fights.”

“Good.” Bennie relaxed. Carrier could be a tiger if she was working on something that interested her. “How about you, DiNunzio? You a fight fan?”

“Boxing?” Mary wrinkled her nose. “I think it’s disgusting. People trying to give each other concussions. I’ve never watched a fight past the first round.”

“You’re about to become an expert. I want you to go to the gym where Anthony’s fighter trains. I want you to see if he’s talking to the D.A. Find out if he’s testifying.” Bennie scribbled an address on a yellow Post-it and handed it across her desk to Mary, who took it reluctantly.

“But I’m supposed to be interviewing Della Porta’s neighbors. There’s so much work-”

“Carrier can’t go alone, not to this neighborhood. You’re going with her, for protection.”

“Protection? Me?”

Judy grinned. “Kapow!” she shouted, throwing an imaginary punch.

The gym was in North Philadelphia, far from the glistening business district. Going north on Broad Street, the white marble of City Hall was replaced by the red plastic of Kentucky Fried Chicken, the dark glass of vacant storefronts, and the fake wood paneling of check-cashing agencies with lines around the corner, like opening day of a first-run movie. Unemployment was higher in this area and the evidence was on every street corner, where the homeless shook McDonald’s cups of change. And if the City Hall area was spotless, the result of hard work by a privately funded team of uniformed cleaners, the north end of town was littered with newspapers, coffee cups, and cigarettes. This was why they used to call the city “Filthydelphia,” but nobody was hiring green-uniformed elves to clean this part of the city, and never would.

Judy surveyed the scene from the window of the cab. They sped by a used-car dealership, whose banner of yellow glitter caught the sunlight like fool’s gold. REVIVAL TIME read a sign on one of the many churches that dotted the street. Judy wondered what the church was like inside. “You know, Mare, we should get up here more often.”

“Why?” Mary asked. Her head was buried in the Connolly exhibits, which she read as the cab lurched from one stoplight to the next. “We don’t have enough to do?”

“Work isn’t everything. We should get out a little. See things that are different. A different way of life.”

“Catholics aren’t interested in different, okay?”

“Come on-”

“In fact, we hate different. Different threatens us.”

Judy smiled as the cab pulled up in front of a concrete building about ten stories tall. The upper floors looked dark and vacant, but the first floor was a block-long expanse of glass. A wire cage covered the glass and had trapped every passing handbill and hamburger wrapper. The cabbie, a young man with a shaggy red beard, snapped down the meter’s red flag. “That’s ten bucks, even,” he said over his shoulder.

Mary cracked the window. “This is it?”

“Sure. It’s one of the best gyms in Philly.”

“There’s no sign.”

“Don’t need no sign. It’s almost as famous as Smoke’s.”

“Smoke’s?”

“Smokin’ Joe Frazier’s.” The cabbie glanced at Mary in the rearview. “Philly’s a great boxing town, you’ll see. How long you girls here for?”

Mary bristled. “Take that back. I’m a native Philadelphian.”

Judy handed the driver the fare. “We’re tourists, up here.”

“Thanks,” he said. “You want I should come back, pick you up? It’s a bitch to get a cab this far up.”

“I knew that,” Mary said.

“I’ll get her out now,” Judy told the cabbie, who laughed.

Two muscular black men were sparring in a ring that was the heart of the gym. Red leather headgear obscured their features and sweat glistened on their shoulders as they hustled around the blue canvas, behind ropes covered with red and blue velveteen. Centered over the ring hung four strips of fluorescent lights, illuminating the dark faces of the men who stood around. They cheered or winced at each punch, alive with the thrill of the match. The harder the punch, the more animated they got, but Mary flinched as she watched. To her, boxing was assault and battery with tickets.

She looked away, around the gym. Glossy mirrors covered the walls and wrinkled boxing posters blanketed any leftover space. Speedbags hung like teardrops of leather from plywood stands and a brown heavy bag spun slowly on a chain in the far corner. Boxing gloves of gold and silver hung on the far wall; the air smelled of perspiration, stale cigarettes, and filth. Mary hovered behind Judy’s broad shoulder. “We don’t belong here,” she muttered. “We’re lawyers. We should be making commercials.”

“Stop complaining. We’re on a secret mission.”

“We’re the only whites and the only women. How secret can it be?”