Ben Dafoe.”
There was a pause. “Ben, this isn’t a good idea.”
“Please, Helen. It’s important.”
She didn’t reply, but the door buzzed and my hand shot out for it, concerned she might change her mind at any moment.
In a bulky sweatshirt and matching pants, Helen waited for me by the door to her fourth-floor apartment. She wore a simple bead necklace that looked out of place with her bulky sweats. With hair down, no makeup, and an expression that lacked its trademark smile, she looked much older. No doubt, her assessment of my condition wasn’t any more complimentary, but like me she kept it to herself.
Silently, I followed her into her apartment. I was struck again by the uncluttered layout of her living room: two cloth sofas, a stereo in the corner, a few standing plants, and two white orchids on either side of her mantle. The only crowded feature was the bookshelf in the corner filled with a diverse range of titles and genres.
We sat down across from each other. I was disappointed Helen didn’t offer me a drink. I craved something to ease the tense awkwardness that ran between us like electricity. “Thanks for seeing me.”
She sighed. “Nothing personal, Ben, but this kind of contact isn’t exactly kosher.”
I nodded. “I had to see you, though. So I could be up-front about everything.”
“Oh?”
I cleared my throat. “I got another call this morning.”
“From your whisperer?”
I nodded.
“What did old Deep Throat tell you this time?”
I broke off our eye contact. “That the blood at Emily’s place is mine.”
She didn’t say anything, but her blank face showed no surprise. Feeling my heart thump against my ribcage, I wondered if it meant the detectives had already gotten a positive match from the sample I’d given them two years earlier.
Helen was too good a poker player to reveal her hand. “Is that why you refused to give us a DNA specimen?”
“God, no!” I snapped. I stopped to breathe while I reined in my emotions. “Look. Things are so upside-down right now that I wouldn’t be surprised if my DNA was a match for the blood at the scene.”
Helen viewed me coolly without comment.
“Helen, I think someone is setting me up.”
She folded her arms over her chest. When she spoke, her tone was even more detached. “Ben, we hear that a lot in our line of work. And yet in my sixteen years with Homicide I can count with one finger the number of times it’s turned out be the case.”
“It did happen, though!”
“Yeah, but it involved one stupid drug dealer planting a murder weapon on another stupid drug dealer.” She sighed. “No one borrowed anyone else’s DNA.” She grunted a humorless chuckle. “That only happens to O.J.”
“It’s different with me. I am one of a pair of identical twins.”
“But your brother died two years ago,” she said, still measuring me with her eyes. “And unless you have a long-lost evil triplet lurking around, I don’t see how it makes a difference.”
She was right. And now I’d just exposed my attorney’s defense strategy, but I didn’t care. At that moment, all I wanted was to see a flicker of belief from Helen. “Why, Helen?”
She reached out and picked off a brownish leaf the plant beside her. “Why what?”
“Why would I kill Emily and some drug dealer I don’t even know?”
“I do know this: The vast majority of my business boils down to two motives.” She held up two fingers as if flashing the peace sign. “Money and sex.” She wiggled each finger in turn. “I’m pretty sure that at one point you were sexually involved with the victim. And you’ve told us you were giving her money up until she died.”
I gripped the armrest, digging my fingers into the fabric so hard that they pressed against the wood frame. “Helen, I was giving her money to help prolong her life, not end it.”
“Problem is, Ben, there’s no easy way to prove that you provided the money voluntarily.”
I gritted my
There was a pause. “Ben, this isn’t a good idea.”
“Please, Helen. It’s important.”
She didn’t reply, but the door buzzed and my hand shot out for it, concerned she might change her mind at any moment.
In a bulky sweatshirt and matching pants, Helen waited for me by the door to her fourth-floor apartment. She wore a simple bead necklace that looked out of place with her bulky sweats. With hair down, no makeup, and an expression that lacked its trademark smile, she looked much older. No doubt, her assessment of my condition wasn’t any more complimentary, but like me she kept it to herself.
Silently, I followed her into her apartment. I was struck again by the uncluttered layout of her living room: two cloth sofas, a stereo in the corner, a few standing plants, and two white orchids on either side of her mantle. The only crowded feature was the bookshelf in the corner filled with a diverse range of titles and genres.
We sat down across from each other. I was disappointed Helen didn’t offer me a drink. I craved something to ease the tense awkwardness that ran between us like electricity. “Thanks for seeing me.”
She sighed. “Nothing personal, Ben, but this kind of contact isn’t exactly kosher.”
I nodded. “I had to see you, though. So I could be up-front about everything.”
“Oh?”
I cleared my throat. “I got another call this morning.”
“From your whisperer?”
I nodded.
“What did old Deep Throat tell you this time?”
I broke off our eye contact. “That the blood at Emily’s place is mine.”
She didn’t say anything, but her blank face showed no surprise. Feeling my heart thump against my ribcage, I wondered if it meant the detectives had already gotten a positive match from the sample I’d given them two years earlier.
Helen was too good a poker player to reveal her hand. “Is that why you refused to give us a DNA specimen?”
“God, no!” I snapped. I stopped to breathe while I reined in my emotions. “Look. Things are so upside-down right now that I wouldn’t be surprised if my DNA was a match for the blood at the scene.”
Helen viewed me coolly without comment.
“Helen, I think someone is setting me up.”
She folded her arms over her chest. When she spoke, her tone was even more detached. “Ben, we hear that a lot in our line of work. And yet in my sixteen years with Homicide I can count with one finger the number of times it’s turned out be the case.”
“It did happen, though!”
“Yeah, but it involved one stupid drug dealer planting a murder weapon on another stupid drug dealer.” She sighed. “No one borrowed anyone else’s DNA.” She grunted a humorless chuckle. “That only happens to O.J.”
“It’s different with me. I am one of a pair of identical twins.”
“But your brother died two years ago,” she said, still measuring me with her eyes. “And unless you have a long-lost evil triplet lurking around, I don’t see how it makes a difference.”
She was right. And now I’d just exposed my attorney’s defense strategy, but I didn’t care. At that moment, all I wanted was to see a flicker of belief from Helen. “Why, Helen?”
She reached out and picked off a brownish leaf the plant beside her. “Why what?”
“Why would I kill Emily and some drug dealer I don’t even know?”
“I do know this: The vast majority of my business boils down to two motives.” She held up two fingers as if flashing the peace sign. “Money and sex.” She wiggled each finger in turn. “I’m pretty sure that at one point you were sexually involved with the victim. And you’ve told us you were giving her money up until she died.”
I gripped the armrest, digging my fingers into the fabric so hard that they pressed against the wood frame. “Helen, I was giving her money to help prolong her life, not end it.”
“Problem is, Ben, there’s no easy way to prove that you provided the money voluntarily.”
I gritted my
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