Mistaken Identity (62 page)

Judy bowed. “Thank you, thank you.”

“She saved my life,” Lou said, his sentence trailing off. He wanted to thank her, but didn’t have the strength to hug her. It was probably for the best. You weren’t allowed to hug women anymore. It was against federal law.

“Told you I could box,” Judy said. “I’m going twice a week, after this verdict is in.”

The verdict, Bennie remembered. She’d been so worried about Lou that she rushed from the office and hadn’t thought about it since. Remarkable, considering that the Connolly case had occupied her every thought for days. Lou’s surviving the attack had dealt a deathblow to the conspiracy and it would all come tumbling down, starting with Citrone on up, with luck extending even to Guthrie and Hilliard. But the jury would be deliberating under sequestration, isolated. They wouldn’t know the police conspiracy had been proved true. They’d return with the verdict, innocent or guilty.

When?

B
ennie got the call from the Clerk of Court at 10:15 the next morning, and the defense team was at the Criminal Justice Center barely ten minutes later. The lawyers and bodyguards emerged from two cabs, their faces taut as the cab doors opened and the press swarmed, swinging boom mikes overhead. Bennie screened it out. All she could think about was the verdict.

“Get out of my way!” she shouted at the mobbing reporters. She plowed through the crowd and trusted that Mike and Ike had the associates covered. They fought their way into the courthouse, into the elevator, and finally down the hallway to Courtroom 306. The lawyers pushed through the gallery to the bulletproof shield. For the first time Bennie felt relieved to have the goddamn wall of plastic between her and the rest of the world.

On the silent side of the barrier, Judge Guthrie sat atop the dais, apparently reading documents. Courtroom personnel bustled about, getting ready for the verdict. A woman hurried by with what Bennie recognized as an Order Sheet, remanding Connolly to the custody of the prison system until the date of her execution. Bennie looked away and reminded herself the order was just a contingency. Like her, the court had to prepare for either verdict. She put her briefcase down on the counsel table, her mouth dry.

Dorsey Hilliard walked through the glass door, then approached Bennie. He balanced on his crutches as he offered her a hand. “Whatever happens, Bennie, you’ve been a worthy adversary,” he said.

Bennie’s throat caught. Her twin’s life was on the line, she had almost been killed, and Lou lay wounded in a hospital. “Go straight to hell, asshole,” she said, and Hilliard withdrew his hand as if bitten. The exchange was gaped at by spectators, captured by sketch artists, and noted by the reporters, to be the subject of a hundred questions later. Bennie put it all from her mind and sat down to wait for Connolly. It wasn’t long.

Connolly came through the paneled door of the courtroom, led by the guard, and Bennie felt a painful tug inside. What the tug was, she wasn’t sure. Sympathy? Affection? Loathing? She didn’t know, but the connection was there, undeniable. They had both chosen the gray suit, for God’s sake. But if Connolly felt any connection, it didn’t show. Her eyes were slightly sunken, her face drawn, and she walked in a stilted fashion toward her seat at defense table. She sat beside Bennie without looking over, so Bennie stared straight ahead.

“Mr. Deputy,” Judge Guthrie said, his lined features tense. “Please call the jury.”

The deputy retrieved the jury, and everyone in the courtroom craned their necks to see them as they filed in, searching their faces for clues as to the verdict. But the jury entered the courtroom on the final day as they had on the first, with their heads lowered and their eyes avoiding contact with anyone. The videographer looked grave and the librarian remained businesslike, her lips pressed together.

Bennie took it as a bad sign. Jurors looked solemn when they were about to deliver bad news. A hush fell over the room, even the jaded courtroom personnel grew still, and Hilliard shifted forward in his seat. Bennie didn’t miss the gesture. He was eager. He thought he had won a conviction. Bennie felt sick to her stomach.

“Madam Foreperson,” Judge Guthrie said, reading from a slip of paper on his desk. “I have received a note indicating the jury has reached a verdict. Is that correct?”

The librarian stood up, resting a hand on the jury rail. “It is true, Your Honor.”

“Is this a unanimous verdict, Madam Foreperson?”

“Yes, it is, Your Honor.”

“May I have the verdict slip, Mr. Deputy?”

Bennie watched almost breathlessly as the deputy walked to the librarian, took the slip of paper, and handed it up to the judge on the dais. Judge Guthrie opened the paper without betraying its verdict, his actions prescribed by law and tradition. Then, wordlessly, the judge handed the paper back to the deputy, who returned it to the librarian. “Will the defendant please stand?” Judge Guthrie said, his voice echoing in the stillness of the courtroom.

Connolly rose in tandem with Bennie. Bennie couldn’t breathe and couldn’t see. The courtroom, the judge, and the world seemed to fall away. She imagined she could hear the pounding of her own heart, then of Connolly’s, beating in time with hers.

“Madam Foreperson, will you please read the verdict?”

“Yes, Your Honor.” The librarian cleared her throat and read from the sheet. “We, the jury in the matter of
The Commonwealth of Pennsylvania vs. Connolly,
find the defendant, Ms. Alice Connolly, not guilty of murder.”

Bennie’s knees buckled at the words and at first she couldn’t believe her ears. What had they said? Had they said not guilty? A shout went up behind her, then a whoop she recognized as Mary’s but which sounded far away. Bennie saw Hilliard’s face drop into his hands. Only then did it hit her.

They won.

They
won.
Connolly was acquitted. It hit Bennie like a wave, flooding her heart with relief. But not happiness. Happiness was reserved for the truly innocent, and Bennie knew it when she felt it. She couldn’t bring herself to face Connolly. She wasn’t completely sure why.

Hilliard was rising to his feet. “I request that the jurors be polled, Your Honor.”

“Certainly, Mr. Prosecutor.” Judge Guthrie faced the jury, as did Hilliard and everyone else in the courtroom, including Bennie, who sat down at counsel table. Polling was more than a formality, she’d seen it disturb jury verdicts before. “Juror Number One, is the verdict the Court just read your verdict?”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

“Juror Number Two, is the verdict the Court just read your verdict?”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

Judge Guthrie asked each juror in turn, and as each answered in the affirmative, Bennie began to relax into her chair. Her breathing returned to normal and the courtroom came back into focus. She looked at Connolly, who looked pale and shaken as they locked eyes. Bennie imagined the expression mirrored her own, this time not by contrivance. Finally Judge Guthrie polled the last juror. “Juror Number Twelve, is the verdict the Court just read your verdict?”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

Judge Guthrie nodded quickly. “The Court accepts the verdict of this jury, it having been duly impaneled, having heard the testimony and the evidence, and having duly deliberated. It is hereby the Order, Judgment, and Decree of this Court that the defendant is found not guilty of the crime of capital murder, as charged. Ms. Connolly, you are released from custody, effective immediately.”

Connolly nodded, but said nothing, even after a year in custody for a crime she didn’t commit. Bennie could understand it, somehow. She felt her eyes brimming and blinked the wetness away.

Judge Guthrie finished the formalities. “Members of the jury, the Court thanks you very much for your service to the Commonwealth. Please leave your plastic ID holders on the jury rail. You are hereby discharged from your secrecy and you may discuss this matter with anyone, including its particulars. Likewise, you are free not to discuss this matter and may decline any requests for interviews that will undoubtedly come your way.” Judge Guthrie picked up his gavel and struck it down lightly.
Crack!
“Court is now adjourned.”

Bennie stood up, watching in a daze as Judge Guthrie left the courtroom, then Hilliard. Both of the associates rushed up, hugging her and shaking Connolly’s hand stiffly.

“Get me out of here,” Connolly said, speaking finally to Bennie, who was already opening the door in the bulletproof shield, preparing for the media as it surged forward to meet them.

B
ennie had no comment for the excited press and managed to get through them and into the backseat of a cab with Connolly. She put Mike up front with the driver to intimidate the reporters banging on the cab doors and filming through the windows. The cab could barely inch forward in the crush. “You have my permission to run them over,” Bennie said, and the cabbie grinned.

“I read all about you in the papers, Miss Rosato. You, too, Miss Connolly. Congratulations, you all must be real happy.” The cabbie hit the gas and the cab took off. “So where you ladies goin’ to celebrate?”

“The train station,” Connolly answered quickly, and Bennie looked at her in surprise.

“Are you serious?”

“Absolutely.”

“You’re leaving right now?”

“I told you I wouldn’t be hanging around.”

“I didn’t think you’d leave right away.” Bennie felt confused, her emotions bollixed up. She didn’t know what to say, she felt too full to say anything, somehow. The cab left the throng at the Criminal Justice Center and stopped at the traffic light. Ahead stretched the wide avenue that was John F. Kennedy Boulevard, which ended in Thirtieth Street Station, a massive edifice in Grecian style. It loomed so close. Only five minutes from the courthouse, with no traffic. Bennie found her voice. “I thought you’d want to … come by the office.”

“I think I should get outta town. I heard about what happened to your investigator last night.”

“But you’re safe with me. I’ve got Mike here, under contract.” Bennie gestured at the front seat. “We even have insurance companies on our side.”

“No, I have to go.” Connolly looked out the open window as the cab traveled smoothly up the boulevard, her blond hair blowing willy-nilly in the humid air.

“But we didn’t get time to talk.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Connolly said as the cab approached the train station.

“How can you say that? I mean”—Bennie glanced, embarrassed, at the cabbie and Mike, who were pretending not to listen—“we haven’t even gotten the blood test back yet. Don’t you want to wait until that comes back?”

“Will you give it up?” Connolly turned on Bennie, her brow knotted with contempt. “I told you, I don’t want a twin, I don’t want a sister. Thanks for getting me off, but don’t act like I owe you. I don’t. I have to go.”

“Where?” Bennie asked, stung.

“None of your business.” The cab entered the drop-off area and braked, and Connolly opened the cab door and climbed out. “Bye,” she said abruptly, slamming the door closed.

“Should I walk you—”

“No, go!” Connolly waved without missing a beat, she then turned away, jogged across the drop-off island, and disappeared through the entrance to the station.

Bennie sat in the cab, frozen despite the heat, watching the doors of the train station swing closed. It was so strange and sudden; Connolly’s departure was as unexpected as her arrival. She didn’t have money; she didn’t have her effects. How would she get a train? And Bennie didn’t know exactly why, but she wasn’t ready for Connolly to go just yet. She flung open the cab door. “I’ll be back,” she called out.

“What?” Mike said, surprised. Then he got out of the car and went after her, but Bennie was already flying into the station.

Bennie spun around in the cavernous concourse, her pumps pivoting on the marble. The walls extended almost a hundred feet high, ending in a ceiling patterned with squares of carefully restored molding. Elongated frosted windows cast muted lighting on the lobby floor. The concourse was almost completely empty. The line at the information desk held only two students with backpacks; there was no business travel on Saturday afternoons and few tourists arrived by rail. Connolly wasn’t anywhere in sight.

Where could she be? The ticket counter, of course. Connolly would need to buy a ticket, first thing. Maybe she’d had it planned? Reserved, somehow?

Bennie ran across a floor polished to a high sheen and hurried to the ticket windows.
NEXT AGENT AVAILABLE
, read the lighted sign over the bank of windows. The white-shirted agents were helping customers. Connolly wasn’t among them. Maybe she was using a ticket machine. Bennie scanned the machines in the area, then the telephones. Connolly wasn’t in sight. How could she have gone so fast? Then Bennie thought of it. The ladies’ room! She took off for the bathroom, behind the ticket counters.