“It certainly is,” Hilliard agreed. “You never think anything like this happens, then it does.”

“Such a young man, too,” the judge mused. “So sad, so sad.”

Hilliard nodded. “Lenihan had so much going for him. Was on his way up. Except for his personality problems, he was a good cop. His personnel record was clean as a whistle.”

Bennie thought their conversation stilted, as programmed as a dialogue in a high school language lab. She could read between the clichés. Lenihan’s personnel record had been altered. Any infraction had been magnified to a personality problem, to support their “loose cannon” spin. She looked at the prosecutor and wondered again if he was in on the conspiracy.

Hilliard turned to Bennie, shifting his weight with difficulty in the chair. Beside him on the floor lay his crutches. “The police department is also going to issue you a formal apology for what happened. I know it doesn’t sound like much, but it’s the best we can do under the circumstances.”

“Thank you very much,” Bennie said, choosing her words carefully. “I’m very sorry about Officer Lenihan’s death myself. No apology by the department is necessary.”

“On a personal note, I don’t hold you responsible for the questions you asked in court. I understand that you had to cross-examine on something. I’ve been in your position, Bennie, when you don’t have a case.”

Bennie bristled. “My cross-examination was entirely appropriate.”

“You can’t really be serious about this drug corruption theory, can you?” Hilliard scoffed, and Bennie permitted herself a tight smile.

“The defense will do its theorizing in court.”

“But you don’t have a shred of evidence.”

Judge Guthrie picked up his reading glasses and unfolded them. “Let’s not argue, counsel. The question for us is, what effect should this terrible occurrence have on the trial? I surmise, Ms. Rosato, that you will be requesting a few days’ time to recover from your injuries and distress. In view of the recent loss in your immediate family, the Court will grant you a reasonable continuance. I gather, Mr. Prosecutor, that you would agree.”

“Within reason, of course,” Hilliard said quickly, but Bennie had anticipated the move.

“Thank you, both of you, but I won’t be needing any continuance, Your Honor. I’d like to keep the case on track. I expect that Mr. Hilliard will call his next witness”-she checked her watch-“in one hour.”

The court reporter looked up in surprise, her mouth a perfectly lipsticked circle. There was no way Bennie wanted an extension now. She had the conspirators in disarray and she had to keep the heat on. She was closer than ever to bringing to justice whoever was behind the conspiracy. Besides, nothing pissed her off like attempted murder, especially her own.

“My, this is unexpected,” Judge Guthrie remarked, easing his glasses onto his nose. “Surely you will be needing some time to collect yourself and prepare your case. A day or two, perhaps?”

Hilliard’s dark brow furrowed in confusion. “Bennie, don’t push yourself like this. Nobody could live through what you’re living through and still try a case.”

Bennie smiled politely. “Thanks for your concern, but I’m perfectly able to go forward. We have a sequestered jury, and I’d hate to keep them from their families any longer than necessary.”

Judge Guthrie made a familiar tent of his fingers. “The Court doesn’t quite understand, Ms. Rosato. Before this tragic event, an extension of time was your most fervent desire.”

“That’s true, Your Honor. But since what happened last night, I think it’s more important than ever to conclude this case. Delay makes it more likely that the jury may be tainted by the publicity, precluding the defendant’s ability to receive a fair trial. In fact, the defense finds itself in the position of opposing any extension at this critical point.”

Judge Guthrie’s finger tent collapsed. “Well, then. The Court will see both of you next door at the previously scheduled hour, counsel.”

“Thank you, Your Honor,” Bennie said. She picked up her briefcase, hiding the discomfort that shot through her ribs, then left chambers ahead of Hilliard.

Sitting in Judge Guthrie’s waiting room was Judy Carrier, flanked by two extraordinarily muscular young men. Lou had made sure the guards were at Bennie’s house when she left for court that morning. He’d called them “Mike” and “Ike” because they looked so much alike: brown hair buzz-cut into oblivion, navy polyester suits, and regulation Ray-Ban aviators. Yet it wasn’t their presence that surprised Bennie, it was Mary DiNunzio’s, at the near end of the sofa. She rose to her feet with Carrier and the bodyguards.

“How’d it go?” Mary asked as they left chambers and entered the corridor. The floor was of black-and-white marble and the white vaulted ceiling towered over their heads. The press was momentarily at bay, obeying orders not to come within fifty feet of the judge’s chambers.

“What are you doing here?” Bennie looked at Mary, whose brown suit hung on her form, as if she’d lost weight. “Why aren’t you back at the office, withdrawing from this case?”

“I want to stay on,” Mary answered. She had thought about it all night. “I have to. You need me.”

Bennie smiled. “I have tried cases without you.”

“I’m not a quitter.” Mary hustled to keep pace down the corridor. “I thought about this and I’ve made a decision. It’s firm. If I’m a lawyer, I’m going to lawyer.”

Bennie frowned. “If you’re a lawyer? You are a lawyer, and a far better one than you know.”

“Thank you.” Mary felt blood rush to her face. She’d never heard Bennie praise anyone.

“But I still want you off this case.”

“No. I’m going to court with you.”

“Take a compromise, then. It’s a research mission on this case, purely factual. Do it from your desk, and out of trouble.”

“Sure, what?”

“Find out if our friend Dorsey Hilliard has any connection to Judge Guthrie or Henry Burden, or both.”

“Both Burden and Hilliard were in the D.A.’s office, obviously.”

Bennie shook her head grimly as she bustled forward. “More specific than that. See if they worked the same case, like that. I don’t know what I’m looking for, but I want you to find it.”

Mary smiled crookedly. “Gotcha,” she said, and Judy glanced at her friend.

“What are you going to do about your parents, Mare?”

“It’s time I grew up,” Mary said, and for a second, she almost believed it.

The next witness for the prosecution, Jane Lambertsen, perched on the stand, well dressed in a flowered spring dress, chic gold jewelry, and a sweater the color of Granny Smith apples. Her raven hair had been gathered back into a thick ponytail, emphasizing her youth and freshness. Lambertsen contrasted in every way with the cops who had testified the day before, and Bennie figured that Hilliard had reshuffled his batting order after Lenihan’s death.

The courtroom was quiet, the court personnel occupying themselves with official duties, and the jury presumptively ignorant of the events swirling outside the courthouse walls. If they thought Bennie looked a little puffy around the face, they’d ascribe it to a late night at the office. Only Bennie knew open war had been declared, as she and the entire courtroom sat fully focused on the next witness for the Commonwealth.

“Yes, I did hear them arguing that night,” Mrs. Lambertsen testified.

Hilliard straightened at the podium. “That is, you’re testifying that you heard Alice Connolly and Anthony Della Porta arguing before his murder on the night in question?”

“Objection,” Bennie snapped. “The prosecutor is testifying again.”

Judge Guthrie fiddled with a bow tie that was already straight. He seemed completely preoccupied to Bennie since their meeting in chambers. Perhaps the knowledge that his cohorts weren’t fellow Quakers had sobered him. “I’ll allow it,” the judge ruled. “You may answer, Mrs. Lambertsen.”