Primary Justice

13

BEN WAS SURPRISED WHEN Emily opened the door. He had assumed Bertha handled matters of hospitality, since Emily could hardly be expected to greet a visitor.

He and Christina stood on the porch staring at Emily. She didn’t seem scared of Ben, but she clearly did not recognize him.

“Hello, Emily,” he said. “I’m Ben Kincaid. Remember? We met at my office the other day. Nice to see you again. Is Mrs. Adams at home?”

Emily smiled, as if relieved that she needn’t confess she couldn’t identify him. She didn’t answer his question. She couldn’t.

Bertha Adams appeared in the doorway. She looked exhausted. “Hello,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry. I usually answer the door myself, but I was in the back bedroom napping. I’ve been so tired lately.”

“I understand,” Ben hurried to say. “Mrs. Adams, this is Christina McCall. She works with me.”

Bertha eyed the new woman uncertainly, a response Christina had told Ben to anticipate during the drive over. Bertha was of a generation of women that still had not come to expect, or trust, other women in professional positions.

They walked into the living room, furnished with a tasteful but inexpensive collection of unmatched items. The room was tidy but simple. Ben and Christina sat on a thin-cloth sofa upholstered with a familiar green floral pattern; Bertha sat in a fake leather recliner facing opposite. Emily sat at her feet.

“This is a surprise, Mr. Kincaid,” she said in an even tone. “I didn’t expect to see you before the hearing. If I’d known you wanted to speak to me, I’d have come to your office. There was no need for you to come here. I know you must be very busy.”

Poor woman, Ben thought. She’s embarrassed about the shabby state of her home. Maybe I should have telephoned first.

“Call me Ben, please,” he said. It seemed stupid, but he felt they should be on a first-name basis.

“Ben, then,” she murmured.

“I’ll be very brief, ma’am,” Ben continued. “I have a couple of additional questions, and then, well, kind of a strange request.”

He paused, trying to choose the right words. “First, in light of, well, what’s happened …” He immediately regretted starting the sentence he hadn’t the courage to complete. Imbecile. He could see the tears welling in her eyes. “I’m sure the police asked you already, but do you know of anything that would make someone want—” He stopped.

The woman said nothing. Ben wiped his brow. “Was anything … out of the ordinary happening between your husband and Joseph Sanguine?”

Bertha raised her head a bit but remained silent.

“Mrs. Adams,” Christina said, “we should remind you that Ben is your attorney. Everything you tell us is confidential. Every court in the country will honor that privilege. We only ask for information because we think we can help you.”

Bertha seemed to be searching for an assurance she could not find. Finally, she said, almost in a whisper, “There was something going on, I believe, but I honestly don’t know what. Jonathan never talked about his work. But during his last month or so, he was very excited about something. He started getting phone calls at odd hours and spending lots of late nights at the office. I think it had something to do with Sanguine. We …” She searched for the right words. “We weren’t always pleased with Joseph Sanguine. He made several promises to Jonathan that he didn’t keep.” Her eyes darted down to her lap.

Ben could see there was no point in pushing her for details. She was good for one, maybe two more questions, so he had to choose judiciously. Maybe later, after she’d had more time to heal, he could try again.

“Do you know any reason why Sanguine might not want me to look through your husband’s office?”

Bertha looked up, then quickly away. “No,” she said. “I don’t know what the reason would be.”

But you don’t deny that it’s possible, either, Ben noted. He decided to cut to the quick. “Bertha, Lieutenant Morelli of the homicide department tells me they returned the few personal belongings found on your husband’s body.”

“Yes.”

His eyes connected with hers. “Could I borrow your husband’s keychain?”

Don’t ask, Ben thought. Just don’t ask.

She didn’t. “I’ll get it.”

She walked into one of the inner rooms, then returned holding a chain filled to capacity with keys of various shapes and sizes.

“Thank you, ma’am. I’ll return these as soon as I can.”

The woman nodded. Christina and Ben rose.

“Leaving so soon?” Emily asked. “We could play pat-a-cake.”

“Not today,” Ben said, smiling at her. “But later. I promise.”

He rubbed the top of her head affectionately. He felt compelled to be nice to her. Foolish, he thought. I’m trying to make a favorable impression, but the minute the door closes behind me, she won’t even remember that she’s met me before.

Ben stopped at the door. “I’m going to do everything I can for you, Mrs. Adams. You and Emily. Really.”

Bertha nodded slightly, then turned away.

Ben and Christina let themselves out.