there must be one. That’s the report we want. We have to find it. It should have been in the police file or the file from Jemison, Crabbe. Check that when we get back to the office.”
“Okay.” Mary was starting to feel useful and she couldn’t see the stain anymore.
“Good. Let’s look at the other rooms.” Bennie left the kitchen, walked through the living room, and entered the bedroom, which was as nondescript as the kitchen. A queen-size bed frame and box spring sat against the wall between two windows, and a walnut veneer dresser against the far wall, with three drawers. Bennie crossed the room and opened the drawers. Nothing.
“Here’s the bathroom.” Mary waved a finger behind her, and Bennie nodded.
“Have a look. I’ll take the other bedroom. I wonder what they used it for.”
Bennie walked to the spare room and stood dumbstruck at the threshold. It was a home office and it looked like a replica of Bennie’s—even the furniture in it was arranged like Bennie’s. Around the walls was a lineup of file cabinet, bookshelves, in the far corner a computer table, then another bookshelf. The table matched Bennie’s; a tall, white workstation from IKEA, with two shelves above the table and pullout trays on each side. Bennie used her trays all the time. Did Connolly?
Bennie walked over to the computer table and pulled the right-hand tray, which slid out with a familiar, gritty sound. Centered on the tray was a brown circle. Bennie knew what it was because hers had one, too: a ring left by a coffee mug. Her gut tensed. Did it mean anything? Logically, no. Most people drink coffee while they work and arrange their home offices the same way. And the lines at IKEA are endless.
“Nothing in the bathroom,” DiNunzio said from the door.
Bennie shook her head. Without knowing why, she crossed the short distance to the door. “There’s a peg here,” she said, and closed the door, revealing a peg stuck from the top panel.
“How did you know that?” Mary asked.
Bennie had a peg in the same place, but she didn’t want to explain that to DiNunzio yet. She needed to know more about Connolly before she gave any credence to this twin business. “Everybody has a peg on the door, don’t they?” she said casually.
“I’m just surprised Connolly did. She never used it. This office was a sty.”
Bennie pivoted in surprise. “How do you know that?”
“The photos, in the file. They were in an envelope from the mobile crime unit.”
Of course. She had forgotten. “Let’s see them.”
“I don’t have them with me.” Mary’s attack of usefulness vanished. “We’re not allowed to take originals out of the office, remember?”
Bennie gritted her teeth. It wasn’t the kid’s fault, so she couldn’t strangle her. “What do the photos show?”
“The apartment with all their stuff in it. You can see how they decorated it. It’s pretty much the same, except for this room. The apartment was neat, but Connolly’s office was a mess.”
“I want to see the photos tonight. Remind me when we get back.”
“Okay, sorry. I didn’t understand.”
“Forget it.” Bennie raked a hand through her hair. Connolly’s home office was a revelation, raising more questions than it answered. It was time to find the answers. “Get Carrier,” she said suddenly. “Let’s go.”
“Where?”
“Downstairs to see the super. I’m renting this apartment.”
“You want to
rent
this place?” Mary was appalled. “But this is a crime scene.”
“Understood.”
“A man was killed here.”
“There are worse ideas than renting a crime scene,” Bennie said, but Mary couldn’t think of a single one.
15
J udy sat across from Mary in the conference room, typing a pretrial motion on her laptop while Mary organized the Connolly file. They had worked this way forever, holed up in a war room until late at night, readying for trial on a conference table dotted with open law books and take-out lo mein.
“Okay.” Mary was starting to feel useful and she couldn’t see the stain anymore.
“Good. Let’s look at the other rooms.” Bennie left the kitchen, walked through the living room, and entered the bedroom, which was as nondescript as the kitchen. A queen-size bed frame and box spring sat against the wall between two windows, and a walnut veneer dresser against the far wall, with three drawers. Bennie crossed the room and opened the drawers. Nothing.
“Here’s the bathroom.” Mary waved a finger behind her, and Bennie nodded.
“Have a look. I’ll take the other bedroom. I wonder what they used it for.”
Bennie walked to the spare room and stood dumbstruck at the threshold. It was a home office and it looked like a replica of Bennie’s—even the furniture in it was arranged like Bennie’s. Around the walls was a lineup of file cabinet, bookshelves, in the far corner a computer table, then another bookshelf. The table matched Bennie’s; a tall, white workstation from IKEA, with two shelves above the table and pullout trays on each side. Bennie used her trays all the time. Did Connolly?
Bennie walked over to the computer table and pulled the right-hand tray, which slid out with a familiar, gritty sound. Centered on the tray was a brown circle. Bennie knew what it was because hers had one, too: a ring left by a coffee mug. Her gut tensed. Did it mean anything? Logically, no. Most people drink coffee while they work and arrange their home offices the same way. And the lines at IKEA are endless.
“Nothing in the bathroom,” DiNunzio said from the door.
Bennie shook her head. Without knowing why, she crossed the short distance to the door. “There’s a peg here,” she said, and closed the door, revealing a peg stuck from the top panel.
“How did you know that?” Mary asked.
Bennie had a peg in the same place, but she didn’t want to explain that to DiNunzio yet. She needed to know more about Connolly before she gave any credence to this twin business. “Everybody has a peg on the door, don’t they?” she said casually.
“I’m just surprised Connolly did. She never used it. This office was a sty.”
Bennie pivoted in surprise. “How do you know that?”
“The photos, in the file. They were in an envelope from the mobile crime unit.”
Of course. She had forgotten. “Let’s see them.”
“I don’t have them with me.” Mary’s attack of usefulness vanished. “We’re not allowed to take originals out of the office, remember?”
Bennie gritted her teeth. It wasn’t the kid’s fault, so she couldn’t strangle her. “What do the photos show?”
“The apartment with all their stuff in it. You can see how they decorated it. It’s pretty much the same, except for this room. The apartment was neat, but Connolly’s office was a mess.”
“I want to see the photos tonight. Remind me when we get back.”
“Okay, sorry. I didn’t understand.”
“Forget it.” Bennie raked a hand through her hair. Connolly’s home office was a revelation, raising more questions than it answered. It was time to find the answers. “Get Carrier,” she said suddenly. “Let’s go.”
“Where?”
“Downstairs to see the super. I’m renting this apartment.”
“You want to
rent
this place?” Mary was appalled. “But this is a crime scene.”
“Understood.”
“A man was killed here.”
“There are worse ideas than renting a crime scene,” Bennie said, but Mary couldn’t think of a single one.
15
J udy sat across from Mary in the conference room, typing a pretrial motion on her laptop while Mary organized the Connolly file. They had worked this way forever, holed up in a war room until late at night, readying for trial on a conference table dotted with open law books and take-out lo mein.
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