For Bennie the next few hours were a haze of acute pain mixed with the oddly mundane business of burying the dead. Tasks had to be performed, and she performed each one. She selected her mother’s casket, burial plot, and even last dress, of beige chiffon with tan pumps, with a minimum of tears. She found a valuable ally in the funeral director, with his moussed pompadour and professional smoothness, who scheduled her mother’s wake, funeral, and burial in a way that had a pat beginning, middle, and end. In death as in life.

Bennie kept her emotions at bay only because she was so skilled at it. She held tight to Hattie throughout, as much for her own support as for the nurse’s, and stopped only to leave a message.

“Hey,” Bennie said as the associate answered the call. “I guess you heard.”

“Yes, I’m so sorry,” Judy said. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Thanks, yes. Draft a letter to Guthrie and tell him what happened. The wake is Friday night, funeral is Saturday, and we’ll need a week postponement of the Connolly trial. If we ask for a week, he’ll probably give us three days. I’ll stop in and sign the letter tonight, then you get it hand-delivered tomorrow.”

“No, I meant, is there anything I can do for you? Not about the case.”

“Do for the case, you’ll be doing for me. Any updates?”

“Yes. Mary talked to her classmate about Guthrie and Burden. She thinks Burden got Guthrie his judgeship, in return for his billings.”

“A costly judgeship. Tell her to follow up and find out where Burden is. They said he was out of the country at the emergency hearing. I want to know if he still is, and where. Like that. That all you got?”

Judy hesitated. “I did find out something you should know.”

“Give me the headline.”

“I think Connolly was selling drugs and using a group of boxers’ wives to do it.”

Bennie leaned against the cheap paneled wall of the lounge. “Is this true? How do you know?”

“I talked to one of the wives today, at the gym.”

“Selling drugs? Connolly?” Bennie let herself slide into one of the brown folding chairs that ringed the room. It was hard to think. “What were you doing at the gym? That wasn’t what I asked you do.”

“I know, I was following a hunch.”

Bennie rubbed her forehead. Was Connolly involved in drug dealing? Was Della Porta? Had Connolly lied to her again? “Do you have proof of this, Carrier, or is it just talk? Did this wife name names?”

“It’s not gossip. There’s a Maria, a Ceilia, I didn’t get last names but I will. Oh, and there’s a Valencia something, who may have sold for Connolly. She’s in prison now for possession. For what it’s worth, the consensus is our client is as guilty as they come.”

“Bennie?” Hattie called out suddenly from the adjoining room. Her voice sounded shaky.

“I have to go, Carrier. Find out where this Valencia is.” Bennie took a breath. “Start at county prison, with Connolly.”

Judy hung up the telephone, her young face falling into grave lines. “Bennie doesn’t sound so good,” she said, and looked across the conference room at Mary, who had just come in from canvassing Connolly’s neighbors with the investigator, Lou.

“Marshall told me,” Mary said, with sympathy. She set her boxy briefcase on the table and wiped sticky bangs from her forehead. “It must be tough, losing your parents.”

“Yeah.” Judy dropped into a swivel chair. “My parents are so healthy. They climb, ride bikes, travel. I always think they’ll live forever.”

“I think my parents will live forever, too, and all they do for exercise is pray.” Mary wanted to change the subject. “We going for an extension?”

“Yes, a week.”

“We need a year to get Connolly off.” Mary rolled out a swivel chair and sat down. “Lou is still out there looking, but we didn’t find any witnesses that would help the defense. Plenty of neighbors saw Connolly run down the street, however. I think she did it, Jude. I think she killed him.”

“Of course she did. She deals drugs, too. A well-rounded felon.” Judy told Mary about her secret boxing lessons and what she’d learned from Ronnie Morales, to Mary’s growing astonishment.

“I can’t believe this,” Mary said when she was finished.

“What? The drugs? The murder?”

“No, the boxing lessons.” Mary felt hurt. “You told me you went to the gynecologist.”

“I lied. I’m sorry, I had to.”

“Why?”

“Because if I told you, you’d come with me, and your mother would kill us both.”

“Silly.” Mary smiled. “My mother would only kill you.”

Because it was after the prison’s business hours, Bennie had to wait in the interview room for Connolly. She couldn’t remember feeling so drained. She had rowed in regattas, powered single sculls with sheer muscle and grit, and still never felt this enervated. Fatigue after a race always produced a vague, if drowsy, euphoria and a feeling of accomplishment, but this tiredness was of a darker sort. A bone-deep weariness that came partly from grief and partly from having to contain grief. She straightened up in the plastic chair, folded and unfolded her hands on the smooth Formica counter, then finally clasped them together in her lap.

Bennie startled at a loud ca-chunka and she looked up to see Connolly being led into the secured hallway to the interview room. The inmate’s stride was strong as she walked down the corridor, and Bennie realized that the usual noise level had prevented her from ever hearing those footfalls. Connolly walked like Bennie, fast and slightly duck-toed. It had always bothered her mother, who used to say, “Walk with your legs together, like a lady.”

“What did you say?” Connolly asked, her expression puzzled as she walked through the door into the inmate’s half of the room.

“What?”

“You said something about the way I walk.”

“No, I didn’t. I said…” Bennie’s voice failed her, then she took a deep breath. “You’d better sit down. I have bad news.”

“About my case? Is something wrong?” Connolly took a seat and leaned forward over the counter. “I knew it. I knew something was going on. I could feel it.”

“No, your case is fine. It’s worse than that. My mother has, well, passed on. In the hospital. She wasn’t in any pain, and she wasn’t alone.”

“Fuck, that’s a relief,” Connolly blurted out, then froze when she saw Bennie’s stunned expression. “I mean, it’s a relief she didn’t suffer,” Connolly added quickly, but Bennie fell against the back of her chair as if pushed.

“That’s not what it sounded like. It sounded like you were relieved that she-”

“Died? Of course I’m not relieved that she died. Why would I be? Shit, that’s not what I meant.”

“No? Do you even care?”

“Oh, Christ.” Connolly raked a hand through her coppery hair. “Oh, all right, I was relieved it wasn’t about my case, okay? They wake me up and tell me my lawyer’s here after hours. What else would it be about? You said we don’t talk about personal things, like our mother, so the last thing I expect is that you’d come up to talk about her. I didn’t even know she was that sick. I thought she was mental or something. You can’t die from that, can you?”

“Evidently.”

“Well, that’s too bad. I’m sorry. For both of us.” Connolly nodded, though Bennie couldn’t help but notice that her tone was matter-of-fact. Maybe everybody was right about Connolly. Maybe she was heartless, a killer. A drug dealer, like Carrier suspected.

“You know,” Bennie said, “I did have something come up in your case today. One of my associates thinks you were involved in selling drugs, with the wives of the boxers.”

“Give me a break.” Connolly laughed ruefully, and Bennie’s gut twisted.

“That’s not a denial. Your line is, ‘That’s not true.’ ‘That’s absurd.’ ‘I’m surprised you would even suggest such a thing.’ ”