Primary Justice

38

BEN BOLTED OUT OF the thirty-eighth floor elevator, jogged around the corner, and ran down the corridor to Maggie’s station. Maggie was reclining in her secretarial chair and thumbing through a fashion magazine.

“Have you seen Christina yet this morning?” Ben asked breathlessly.

Maggie raised her head slowly and peered at him, squinting her eyes. “I haven’t seen her.”

“Call her at home.”

Maggie shook her head. “Mr. Derek told me to keep the line open—”

Reaching over her typewriter, Ben picked up the phone receiver and shoved it under Maggie’s chin. “Call her!” he shouted.

Maggie’s eyes narrowed. Then, after glancing at the list taped to her desk, she dialed the number. “No answer,” she said after a moment.

Ben pounded his fist against her desk. “Damn, damn, damn!”

Maggie exhaled slowly. “She’s in the library,” she said at last.

“What?”

“She left a note on my desk this morning. She’s in the library.”

“Why didn’t you say so?”

Maggie looked down at her magazine. “You didn’t ask if I knew where she was. You asked if I had seen her.”

After two weeks of wondering, Ben suddenly understood how a man could be driven to kill. Suppressing his temper, he ran down the corridor and into the library.

Christina was standing in the stacks beside the Supreme Court reporters, wearing her green Robin Hood outfit.

“Christina!” Ben shouted. Several associates sitting at the reference table looked up. “Thank God you’re here.”

“Ben! How did it go?”

“Fine.” He walked over to her. “Just fine.”

“I called your place late last night but you weren’t there.”

“Yeah, I was—”

“Is something wrong? You look really strung out.”

“I was just worried. “

Christina’s brow knitted. “What’s happened, Ben?”

“Brancusci is dead.”

Christina’s hands slowly dropped to her side. “My God,” she whispered. “Did you get the—”

“No. I think that’s why he was killed.”

Christina looked at him but didn’t say anything.

“Look, Christina, I need your help.”

She nodded. “Serving you always gives me that special joie de vivre.”

“Then find out where Brancusci lived. Go there and wait for the police to arrive. Don’t go in until they get there. It’s not safe. I want you to help them search. Mike will okay it. You know more about this case than they do; you’ll know what to look for. See if you can find those records or anything that might tell us who Brancusci met last night.”

“Got it. Then what?”

“Then go over to apartment 724 at the Malador and wait for me. You know the way. And”—he paused, unable to think of a diplomatic way to put it—“bring some women’s clothing. I don’t know the exact size. She’s a little shorter than you, and about the same weight. Just take some stuff that doesn’t have to fit too well. Everything—from the undies out.”

“Got it.”

And thanks for not asking, Ben thought. “I want you to call Maggie every half hour, on the half hour. Instruct her that if you don’t call on the half hour, she’s to call the police immediately. Understand? Immediately.”

Christina’s lips turned up slightly. “You were worried about me, weren’t you?”

“I just … If the killer knew about me, he could know about you. Be careful, okay?”

“You got it,” she said, smiling.

Ben turned and dashed back into the corridor.

As he passed Maggie, she announced, “Mr. Derek wants to speak to you.”

“It’ll have to wait.”

Maggie was insistent. “He wanted to see you as soon as you came in.”

“Tell him to stick it in his bad ear,” Ben said. “I have something else I have to do.”