No. “The drawings weren’t proof anyway. Amadeo hadn’t signed or dated them, and I couldn’t authenticate them even if he had. I have no other sample of his writing, except the X on his alien registration card. But I can prove the fact that they were stolen, and that fits perfectly.”
“That’s not enough, Mare,” Judy said softly.
“It has to be. I have to make this work. I know I’m right, Jude. I know I can win.”
“You can’t.”
Mary flinched. “I can. At least I have to try.”
“No, you don’t. Not with the stakes this high. You’re too wrapped up in this case, you have been from the beginning. Be logical.” Judy spread her palms. “Why take such a big risk, if you’re only gonna lose?”
“Do you fight only the fights you’re gonna win, Jude?” Mary shot back, then she heard herself, and to her surprise, she sounded like she was actually making sense. It came as a revelation, suddenly lifting her spirits. “I mean, if you know you’re gonna win, it’s not really a fight.”
Judy sat back and broke into a slowly growing smile. “You know, you just said something that was either incredibly dumb or incredibly smart.”
Mary laughed and slipped on her cowboy hat. “We’ll see, lil’ pretty. We’ll see.”
Forty-One
At noon, Mary stuck her head out of the conference room door and looked right and left. No one in the hall. No one in the waiting room. Everyone was at lunch. Most important of all, the reception desk was empty and Marshall was nowhere in sight. She was the one who’d tell Bennie on them and she must have gone to lunch, too. The coast was clear.
“Andiamo,” Mary said, gesturing. According to plan, she had one stack of finished papers under her arm, and Judy had the other, and they hustled through the empty reception area to the elevator and hit the Down button.
“We did it!” Judy cheered, but it caught in her throat when the elevator doors opened and Marshall was standing inside.
Busted! Mary stayed calm. Judy stayed hyper.
“Hello, ladies,” Marshall said, her eyes narrowing to secretarial slits. She stepped out of the elevator cab and intentionally blocked the doors, which slid closed behind her. She looked unusually stern this morning, in a severe braid and a black shirtdress with a white collar that reminded Mary of every nun she’d ever had. Marshall folded her arms. “Where were you going?”
“Out,” Mary answered, and Judy added:
“Fine, thanks.”
Marshall cocked her head. “What are you up to?”
“Nothing,” Mary answered, and Judy added:
“Not today, thanks.”
Marshall looked from one to the other. “Why are you wearing stupid hats?”
The cowboy hat! Mary had forgotten she had it on. Judy wore her Stanford cap. “For attitude?” she answered, and Judy added:
“I always wear stupid hats.”
Marshall put her hands on her hips. “This can’t be good. Both of you locked in the conference room all morning, with chocolate and Joe Perry. This can’t be good. I’m responsible for you guys when Bennie’s not here, you know, and she’s going to be calling in again. You going to tell me what’s going on, or do I have to beat it out of you?”
“It’s better if you don’t know just yet,” Mary answered, and Judy added:
“Better for us, that is.”
Marshall frowned at Judy. “Hey, Miss, I held your calls all morning, and you have a ton of mail on my desk, some of it on those cases of Bennie’s that you’re supposed to be watching. Mr. Reitman called twice.” Marshall turned to Mary and began counting off on her fingers. “And as for you, you’ve got phone messages from MacIntire, that reporter, two from a Gail Lasko at the Daily News, one from Steve Levy on Channel Ten, one from the Legal Intelligencer, one from COURT-TV, one from your Uncle Joey, and a bunch of other personal ones. Some have been on my desk for days, with your mail.”
“Sorry, gotta go.” Mary hit the elevator button and the doors slid open immediately, proving that her cause was just, if a little wacky and dangerous. She bolted into the elevator and hit the button to close the door. “Don’t worry, Marshall. We’ll explain later!”
“Don’t wait up!” Judy added before she slipped inside, the doors closed, and the elevator spirited them away.
By the time they had gotten downstairs and left the building through the back alley to avoid the press, Mary had lost her sense of humor and remembered her original purpose. She had made a plan and was executing it, and they had to part company among the rusty blue Dumpsters that lined the cruddy brick alley, which smelled coincidentally of chicken curry.
Mary gave Judy a big hug. “Thanks for all your help. I really owe you.”
Judy hugged her back, then released her, her brow dark with doubt. “You really have to go alone, Mare? I could go with you. It’s safer if we go together.”
“Nah. It’s a two-pronged attack. We have to hit at the same time.” Mary peeked out of the alley for any stray reporters. There weren’t any; just the typical crowded sidewalk at noontime on a workday, with businessmen and women walking in groups, smoking, laughing, and talking on cell phones. She could blend right in and go. “I’ll be fine.”
“But I have the easy job. You have the dangerous job.”
“That’s as it should be. It’s my case, and my score to settle.” Mary managed a smile. “On your cases, you get to keep the dangerous jobs.”
Judy eyed her unhappily. “Just be careful, okay? Do what you have to do and get out of there.”
“I will.” Mary shooed her out of the alley. “Now, skedaddle! You go left, I’ll go right.”
“You’re sure you’ll be okay?” Judy said, but Mary only gave her a gentle push in response, and she hit the sidewalk running and flowed into the foot traffic, manila envelope in hand.
Good girl. Mary tucked her papers under her arm and hurried out of the alley.
It was late afternoon by the time Mary arrived at the house, and she felt grim, professional, and purposeful, her anger simmering in her chest. There was no one on the exclusive tree-lined street, and she pulled into the driveway in front of the scrollwork S. She set her jaw and took off her cowboy hat, since she already had enough attitude. She eyed Justin Saracone’s property through the wrought-iron bars.
Saracone, you bastard.
The fieldstone mansion looked still in the sun, and the property was quieter than the other day, though not deserted. The front door was closed, but a sprinkler system was running on the vast lawn, watering the already lush bushes on the perimeter. On the circular driveway sat a shiny red Hummer and a black Mercedes sedan, either of which qualified as pretentious enough to be Justin Saracone’s. Mary hoped he was home. She cruised up to a squawk box on a gooseneck stem and hit the black intercom button.
“Yes?” A man answered.
It was him. Mary would never forget that voice. Her mouth would have gone dry, if it hadn’t gone dry three exits ago. Not with fear this time, but with fury. “This is Mary DiNunzio and I’m here to see you, Justin.”
The box went silent, and she worried fleetingly that he wouldn’t let her in. She had figured that anybody who wanted to hit you himself was spoiling for a fight, and now, so was she. But in the next instant, there was a clunk as the iron gates parted slowly, dividing the S in perfect halves. Mary drove through, parked behind the Hummer, and cut the ignition. She grabbed her envelope and slipped a tiny green spray can of mace into her jacket pocket, just in case. No cowgirl went anywhere without her mace.
She strode up the brick pavers and knocked on a tall front door of dark wood, with a frosted glass window she couldn’t see through. In a minute the door was opened and she felt the chill of central air-conditioning. On the rose marble threshold stood Justin Saracone.