“Of course. We have no choice. She can work at home if we feed her the information we have.” Mary gestured at the papers on the conference table. “I found out Burden’s still out of the country, I can write her a memo. I can dictate my notes on the neighborhood survey and send her a copy by messenger. Then I could draft a cross-examination of the Commonwealth witnesses.”

“That should help.”

“I’m a fountain of helpfulness. What are you going to do?”

“Correct your work, as always,” Judy said, and reached for the phone to call Bennie.

At home, Bennie sat on the edge of the bed in her white terrycloth bathrobe, holding the phone after the associate briefed her fully and hung up. Bennie couldn’t think of a single judge who would have denied that request, at least for the postponement, and it was out of character for the well-bred Harrison Guthrie. Stunned, she held the telephone receiver in midair, and Grady plucked it from her hand and placed it on the cradle.

“Why did he deny it?” Grady asked. He was dressed in jeans and a gray T-shirt, and he’d gotten up early, brewed fresh coffee, and made French toast that Bennie hadn’t touched.

“We don’t know. There was no opinion, just the order.”

“He denied the postponement, too? What could he be thinking?”

“God knows.” Bennie shook her head. Her temples throbbed and her eyes felt dry and sticky. She sagged with exhaustion after a sleepless night. Bear trotted over, setting his large head on her thigh, and she scratched it idly. “Maybe my motion wasn’t good enough. Maybe I should have found a case, some precedent.”

“No.” Grady folded his arms. “That wouldn’t make the difference. He’s on solid grounds legally, but as a matter of custom, you think at least he’d give you a postponement. It’s common decency.”

“Maybe it was the press coverage. Maybe he wants it over with.”

“That can’t be it. This decision will cause more criticism, won’t it? When it gets out that your mother has passed and he wouldn’t even grant a week’s extension? Hell, everybody’s got a mother. Guthrie’s got to run for reelection some day.”

“He’s getting on, maybe he’s not worried about reelection,” Bennie said, but even as she spoke she knew it didn’t make sense. All judges worried about reelection, if not their reputation. “It’s like he’s hell-bent on screwing me.”

“That’s possible. You’re not the most popular lawyer in town, except with me.”

“Wait a minute,” Bennie said, her brain waking up suddenly. Maybe it was personal, but maybe it wasn’t directed at her. What had Connolly said, that first day they met? I think the judge is in on it, too. “Maybe Judge Guthrie is in on it.”

“In on what?”

“A conspiracy against Connolly.”

“A what?”

“Think about it, Grady. Who gets hurt most by this decision? Connolly.” Bennie’s thoughts cleared like fog. It all fell into place. “I’m sitting here, all wrapped up in myself, but it’s Connolly’s life on the line. With this ruling, she gets stuck with a lawyer who doesn’t have the time or the energy to prepare for trial. What does that do to her chance of winning?”

“But a conspiracy, involving Guthrie?”

“It’s not impossible. Somebody’s taking aim, and I’m not the target, she is. Think back. First, somebody leaks to the press that Connolly’s my twin. Second, somebody at the bar association starts screwing with my license. Third, I don’t get the extension the first time I apply, even though it was reasonable. Now I don’t get an extension even after my mother passes. It stinks, Grady, and it goes all the way up to Judge Guthrie.”

“Bennie.” Grady grabbed a chair, yanked it across the plywood subfloor toward the bed, and sat down. “Listen to yourself. You’re saying that a Common Pleas Court judge is plotting against a criminal defendant. How likely is that?”

“It’s possible,” Bennie said, alert for the first time in what seemed like years. “Guthrie got his judgeship because of Henry Burden. Burden was the D.A. and knows everybody in law enforcement. Connolly says the cops framed her for this, and the police response to the scene-the timing-is suspicious. Even if Connolly was selling drugs-”

“Connolly was selling drugs?” Grady interrupted, and Bennie realized she hadn’t told him that.

“Grady, assume the cops killed Della Porta and framed Connolly for it, why can’t a judge be involved, too? You never heard of judicial corruption? On the Common Pleas Court bench? Please. Years ago the roofers were paying cash for cases, Grady. Cash.”

“Connolly is a liar. She’s lying about being framed and she’s lying about being your twin. Now you’re telling me she’s a drug dealer? She’s manipulating-”

“We don’t know she lied about any of that, Grady. She agreed to the DNA test, did I tell you that? We both gave blood yesterday. Or the day before that.” Bennie rubbed her eyes. Her mother’s death had chased every other thought from her head.

“No, you didn’t tell me, but don’t infer so much from the fact she agreed.”

“Why not? You’d infer an awful lot if she refused. So would I.”

Grady cocked his head. “She could have agreed to string you along. Or maybe she believes she’s your twin. Who knows?”

Bennie sighed, exasperated and confused. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but something was definitely fishy about Judge Guthrie’s order. She sprang up from the bed, jolting the golden retriever from her lap. “I have to get dressed.”

“What? Why?” Grady asked, startled. “You going to work?”

“Not exactly,” she answered, and hurried to shower.

“Mygoodness! Ms. Rosato, you, eh, don’t have an appointment, do you?” The judge’s aged receptionist looked startled behind her bifocals and double-checked the appointment book lying open on her desk. Her slim hand bore an Irish wedding band, and Bennie could smell her lemony hand lotion from across the desk.

“This is an impromptu visit. Judge Guthrie wasn’t in his courtroom, so I assume he’s in chambers.”

“Why, yes, but one can’t simply visit Judge Guthrie.”

“Oh, he’ll be thrilled to see me.” Bennie winked, and the secretary rose to her feet, waving a hand.

“Please, no. You can’t go in there. The judge is working.”

“So am I,” Bennie said. She strode to the office door, knocked briefly, and opened it. The judge’s chambers were decorated in Shaker style, and antique cherry furniture circled an elegant silk Oriental in front of a large mahogany desk. Certificates blanketed the paneled walls, and ginger lamps lent an understated glow to casebooks and legal treatises that filled cherry bookcases. Judge Guthrie stood across the carpet reading a chubby United States reporter; its stiff, ivory pages open in a fan. He peered over his tortoiseshell reading glasses at the intrusion.

“Ms. Rosato,” he said, turning from the bank of cream-colored volumes. The judge made a frail, stooped figure without his judicial robes. “Please accept my condolences in the death of your mother.”

“I got them this morning. ‘It is hereby ordered,’ I think it said.”

“Ah, quite. I thought you might be disappointed.”

“That, too. Puzzled is more apt, Your Honor.”

“Ms. Rosato, please call me Judge. Lawyers who barge into my office always call me Judge.”

Bennie couldn’t find her smile. “I need to know why you didn’t grant my motion, Judge. I should have been able to withdraw, especially in these circumstances. I can’t represent the defendant anymore. I’m too close to her, too emotionally involved, and with my mother-”

“I can understand your predicament,” Judge Guthrie said, his voice calm even as the door behind Bennie opened and his secretary peeked in worriedly, with a male law clerk cowering behind her.

“Judge,” the secretary interrupted, in a tremulous voice, “I telephoned the sheriffs, and they’re on their way.” She glanced at Bennie, who thought she read a twinge of regret behind her bifocals, but the judge only laughed.