“You think so?” Bennie asked, skeptical. “You think she’s a proxy, too? And the plaintiffs?”
Roger smiled slightly. “Mary, that does seem somewhat paranoid.”
“No it isn’t.” Mary had been thinking it over in the cab. “It’s too coincidental that she’s everywhere we go. Her questions aren’t typical reporter questions, they’re shouted accusations.”
“Really?” Bennie cocked her head.
“Yes, think about it. We know he uses the press. He gets himself on camera. She’s just a proxy for him, and there’s probably others.” Mary showed Lou the picture. “Lou, can you find out who this woman is? Do you have any way to do that?”
“Let me see, Mare.” Lou took the phone from Mary’s hands, squinting at the photo through his bifocals. “I could give it a shot. If she came to our press conference, she would have to sign in and show ID at the security desk.”
“Unless she used a fake name, but please check.” Mary took her phone back. “And you know what else I want to know, Lou? How did she know that the police called us to the Roundhouse?Does Machiavelli have somebody leaking police information to him?”
Anne interjected, “If she freelances, she could have been there already. Maybe it’s not about us.”
Lou folded his arms. “I’ll look into it, Mare. How did it go at the Roundhouse, about Shanahan?”
“Good, and thanks for the information. I suggested to Detective Krakoff that he look into Shanahan, and he agreed.” Mary turned to Bennie and the others, filling them in on John’s draft complaint with DHS and Shanahan’s abusive history.
Bennie’s blue eyes narrowed. “So you think this Shanahan is the killer? Not a burglar?”
“I think it’s certainly possible, and we’re concerned that William could be in jeopardy, if John told him that he was going to file a complaint against Shanahan.”
“That would be risky for Shanahan,” Bennie said, dubious.
“I agree, but we don’t want to take any chances. William is more vulnerable now than ever, alone and without a legal guardian. If Shanahan wanted to hurt William, now would be the time. Shanahan might want to make the whole problem go away, with William. And if Shanahan wanted to press the feeding tube issue, he might try that now too.”
“Agree.” Judy nodded, worriedly. “I’m going to the group home to get William now. I want him with me before the police start investigating Shanahan, and the funeral’s tomorrow anyway. I have to get him a suit and shoes, and I’m also going to call John’s aunt and uncle, the Hodges, and talk about temporary guardianship, so Shanahan doesn’t try to preempt me on the feeding tube. I wanted to apply for it myself, but I’d have to disclose that I’m under suspicion of John’s murder, and no court will award me guardianship of William in those circumstances.”
“Right.” Bennie checked her watch. “Okay, I gotta get to work.”
“So do I.” Roger nodded. “Unless Mary would rather I stay?”
“No, thanks, Roger.” Mary felt a guilty twinge. “Sorry I snapped, but I want to go on record as having new doubts that your way is going to work with Machiavelli.”
“I hear you.” Roger smiled, starting to go. “I’ll keep an open mind if you will.”
“It’s a deal,” Mary said, but she didn’t mean it.
“Good-bye.” Roger headed out, and after he was gone, Mary finally exhaled.
“Bennie, are you really going to stay with The Way of the Guru? It’s not working. We’re gettinghandledby Machiavelli.”
“Let’s stay the course. We gave Roger our word, and we have to stand by that.” Bennie turned to Judy, placing a hand on her shoulder. “How are you holding up, Carrier?”
“For a person of interest, pretty good.”
“So go get William, then. You’ve got me worried about him now.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
Mary settled in at the deposition next to her client, Alex Chen, Director of Marketing at London Technologies. He was about her age and easily the most attractive deponent she’d ever defended, not that that mattered, since she didn’t want to reverse-sexually harass. Alex was tall, well-built, and officially edgy in a leather motorcycle jacket, which he had on with skinny jeans and a crisp white tailored shirt, no tie. His hair was longish, with hip sideburns, and he had a dazzling smile, which was probably a job requirement in a marketing director.
The court reporter sat at his stenography machine, and opposing counsel, Marcus Benedict, sat across the table, an older preppy from Barret & Tottenham, one of the white-shoe firms that used to be completely populated by old preppies that had outlived their usefulness, like a legal appendix. Benedict still dressed in a three-piece suit and had horn-rimmed glasses, though not the ironic kind. His laptop sat open in front of him, but he had written his questions on a legal pad and was taking Chen through them in a methodical, chronological fashion, which worked for Mary. Her laptop was open and she was typing away, multitasking. Lou had told her that the femalereporter was named Amanda Sussman, and Mary couldn’t wait to start digging and see if Sussman was connected to Machiavelli.
“Mr. Chen, please state your name and place of birth for the record.”
“Alexander Thomas Chen. New York, New York.”
