“I can’t believe you just said that. All along you’ve been acting like the only possible answer is the retaliation theory.”

“Don’t get me wrong-I still think that’s the most likely. Romulado’s always believed that this was a retaliatory hit, and it makes sense. Jed prosecuted the founder of the Blades, Blades were involved in Jed’s murder. Ipso facto. If it quacks like a duck, it is a duck. On the other hand, Nell Benson is an evil fucking bitch, and I wouldn’t put anything past her.”

The sudden venom in Bernadette’s voice startled Melanie, and reminded her of the suspicion she’d had about Rommie and Nell. Did Bernadette suspect something as well? Tit for tat, though. After all, Bernadette had slept with Nell’s husband first. Life was too damn complicated sometimes.

“So,” Bernadette prompted, “give it up. What did you find on Jed? Some sex scandal? Blackmail photos?”

“A couple of things. Jed was sleeping with Jasmine Cruz, which creates an interesting link to Slice. Dan O’Reilly thinks maybe it’s as simple as Benson did Slice’s girlfriend, and Slice found out and did Benson.”

Bernadette laughed. “Huh, I like that. Has a nice symmetry to it.”

“I’m actually more intrigued by another affair Jed was having.” She explained about Sarah van der Vere and the wrongdoing at the Reed firm. “So I’m investigating that angle thoroughly. A shady business deal could explain some irregularities I discovered in the Bensons’ bank accounts, too.”

“What sort of irregularities?” Bernadette asked.

“Let me ask you something. Did you ever wonder where the Bensons’ millions came from? I went through their real-estate records just before we left. Do you have any idea what their holdings were?”

“Well, let’s see, the town house in the East Eighties that burned-”

“Purchased for almost six million, with two million more in renovation costs,” Melanie interrupted. “A large house in East Hampton and a horse farm in Millbrook, worth about three mill each, and a condo in Gstaad that I don’t know the value of. Oh, and a place on Mustique. Now, where did all that money come from?”

“Private practice?” Bernadette ventured skeptically.

“No way. What kind of lawyer makes that much money?”

Bernadette sat up straighter, making a visible effort to focus her bleary eyes. Melanie had her full attention now.

“I don’t know, girlfriend. You tell me.”

“I went through Jed Benson’s bank records. There was significant evidence of structuring in his account.”

“Structuring?” Bernadette echoed, her brow furrowed.

“Yes, you know, it’s a type of money laundering? Numerous cash deposits, all just under the ten-thousand-dollar reporting requirement so the authorities aren’t notified.”

“Thank you, Melanie, I know what structuring is,” Bernadette replied acidly. “How much are we talking about?”

“We’re talking about millions of dollars a year. Nearly eight million last year, for example.”

“Oh. My.” Bernadette looked suddenly green.

“What’s the matter? Are you feeling okay?”

“I’d like to believe it’s a dirty business deal, Melanie. But in my experience, money that big only comes from one place.”

Melanie thought for a moment, then realized Bernadette was right.

“Drugs,” she said. “You mean drugs.”

“Oh!” Bernadette exclaimed, but she was looking past Melanie, just over her shoulder. “Romulado! I was wondering when you would show up.”

33

FOR THE SECOND TIME IN TWO DAYS, MELANIE turned around to find Rommie Ramirez standing behind her. If he’d been listening in on their conversation, he gave no sign of it. He just smiled vaguely, as if his thoughts were elsewhere.

“Had a few without me, Bern? I better catch up.” He pulled out an empty chair and sat down beside Bernadette, signaling the waiter for a drink.

“Why didn’t you answer your phone or your pager?” Bernadette demanded. “Where have you been?”

“Working. Following up on that cocaine seizure we made last night.”

“Oh,” she said, nodding, but then looked at him again. “Hey! What’s that mark on your neck?”

There was a large red abrasion on Rommie’s neck; it looked like a classic high-school hickey. He continued to smile placidly, but a glimmer of nervousness crept into his eyes. Melanie looked down at her plate, feeling embarrassed for her boss. Bernadette would never stoop to showing jealousy publicly if she were sober.

“Oh, shaving burn,” Rommie replied after a moment, fingering the red mark.

“You were shaving the side of your neck? Do I look like an idiot to you?” There was an edge of hysteria in Bernadette’s voice. Mutt and Jeff from across the table turned to look.

Rommie laughed uneasily. “Come on, Bern. Chill out. Why so suspicious?”

“Why? I can never reach you. You never call when you say you will. And whenever I bother to check, you’re never where you’re supposed to be.”

“Maybe I should go,” Melanie interjected, half rising from the table. But Rommie leaned across the back of Bernadette’s chair and clutched at her arm.

“No, no, stay, Melanie. What’s this you were just telling Bernadette about evidence of structuring in Jed Benson’s bank records? I want to hear about that.”

So he had overheard their conversation. She sat back down, frowning.

“I’m afraid I can’t go into it, Rommie. The bank records are privileged grand-jury materials. I can’t share them with you if you’re not officially assigned to the case.”

The waiter set down a double Jack Daniel’s before Rommie. He picked it up with a harassed air and took a gulp.

“You always such a stickler for the rules?” he asked irritably.

“Grand jury secrecy, yes, I am,” Melanie said with an astonished laugh. “I don’t want to get cited for contempt.”

“Look, we’re all on the same side here, kid, but maybe I feel a little extra responsibility to look out for Jed’s reputation. He was my friend. His wife is my friend. And I see how it is. You’re out to make a name for yourself. Nothing wrong with that. But let’s say you get a little overeager and, in all the excitement, you misinterpret the evidence. I’m not blaming you, but Jed’s not around to defend himself. You could do real damage. That’s why I want to take a look at the records on his behalf. Where are they, in your office?”

“I’m not misinterpreting anything,” Melanie replied, flushing with resentment. She didn’t need Rommie questioning her judgment in front of her boss. She had enough problems already, with Bernadette thinking she concocted conspiracy theories out of whole cloth. Besides, she was right about Benson’s bank records. Those hundreds of cash deposits didn’t lie. They all fell between $9,000 and $9,999, just slightly under federal reporting requirements, and they added up to millions being funneled through the accounts. She couldn’t imagine clearer evidence of money laundering. Rommie was way off base. But after reading that fingerprint report, she probably shouldn’t be surprised. The sharpest knife in the drawer this guy was not. Just look how he’d bungled the Benson crime scene.

Melanie needn’t have worried. Bernadette was so absorbed in her own problems that she barely registered Rommie’s comment. She kept looking at his neck, her face crumpled and sad.

“You were with someone, weren’t you?” she said.

“Quit it already. You’re drunk, and you’re making a scene. People are starting to look.”

“You’re not even denying it. Who was it, Romulado? Tell me. I deserve that much.”

Across the table the thin detective elbowed his jowly companion and made a comment under his breath, eliciting a loud guffaw. That did it! Melanie couldn’t stand to watch her boss humiliated for another second. She knew it all: That sick feeling the moment you found out. Constantly picturing what he’d done with the other woman. Asking yourself why he strayed, why you weren’t enough. Seeing Bernadette go through what she’d just lived through herself was too painful.