Kate nodded, said, ‘I’m good. What’s the case?’
Levy’s mouth fell half open, and he stayed that way for a few seconds. It looked like he was waiting for a passing bug, at which point he would shoot out a reptilian tongue and grab the thing in mid-air before retracting it into his pink mouth.
‘The former mayor, Frank Avellino, is dead. He’s been murdered in his bedroom, stabbed … what was it, Scott?’
‘Fifty-three times,’ said Scott.
‘Stabbed fifty-three times, my dear. And we are going to represent his eldest daughter. Both of his daughters were arrested at the scene, and each of them is blaming the other for the murder. One of them is lying, and our job is to prove that it’s not our client. Understand?’
There was a patronizing sting to Levy’s words, and Kate ignored it.
The my dear phrase was not meant to be gentlemanly. She’d gotten used to most of the shit she had to put up with, but my dear, or little lady, still made her grind her jaw. She fought down the anger as this was the moment she had been waiting for since she joined the firm. Creepy guys in bars, and general everyday sexism on the street she could handle without a problem. When it came to the men who held her career in their hands, it was different. She knew it shouldn’t be, that this wasn’t right, but she thought it best to keep her lips sealed and her head down. For now. They had all the power. If she complained about this shit, her best guess was she’d be out of the job in a heartbeat – her career over before it even really began.
For months she had been writing briefs, glad-handing clients and passing out canapés at the firm’s parties. Now she was on a case. A real-life, high-profile murder case. A flutter of excitement began in her stomach, and she smoothed down the front of her jacket, licked her dry lips and cleared her throat. She wanted to be ready for this. She felt ready.
‘I got it,’ said Kate.
Levy looked her up and down, and said, ‘What are you wearing? Are those running shoes?’
Kate’s mouth opened to respond, but she didn’t get the chance.
‘Levy! You’re up!’ said a voice. It was a cop, shouting from an open steel door.
‘We’re on,’ said Levy. He stood and pulled up his pants. They were often falling down below his small gut. It didn’t matter if he wore a belt or suspenders – Levy seemed to be constantly pulling his pants up.
Kate saw a small bunch of lawyers leave via the steel door. They had obviously been inside talking to the potential client. Their heads were down, and they looked tired. Levy would get the case. Whoever the client was. It didn’t matter. This was Levy’s forte. He was good with clients. Got them on side fast. He was a PR machine with a law license. They were going to land this case, and Kate was going to be front and center in the defense from the very beginning. She had to stifle a smile that threatened to break out on her lips – it was excitement and nerves.
‘Okay, let’s go,’ said Levy.
Scott nodded to Kate. Kate returned the gesture. Together, the three of them took a step toward the door. Then a file came right at Kate’s face. She held out her hands as the file was lowered and thumped into her chest, stopping her dead. Kate took it in both hands.
‘There are some things in this file of Scott’s that the client and the NYPD shouldn’t see,’ said Levy. ‘Put it in the file storage safe in the trunk of my car. It’s parked outside. The gold BMW.’
A set of keys dangled in front of her face. Kate took them, swallowed and felt a raw sensation in her throat. Like she was swallowing sharp stones.
‘We won’t be too long. You can use the time to think about why were you were so late getting here. When we’re done I can give you a ride home,’ said Levy.
And with that, Scott and Levy strode toward the open steel door.
Kate froze.
‘Never mind, honey. You got the most important job. You get to watch Levy’s car,’ said a voice from behind her. One of the rival lawyers.
That was enough to send the entire group into thick, uproarious laughter that rolled around the room.
Kate’s face flushed red. She pushed around the outside of the group, not daring to go through the middle again, and made her way to the exit. The burning sensation spread across her neck, and she recalled Levy’s final words.
When he was done he would offer her a ride home. That meant he might make another awkward pass at her.
Kate thumped through the front door and onto the street.
THREE
SHE
When they brought her into the First Precinct, the booking sergeant looked her up and down, explained her rights, then told her what was going to happen.
‘You’ll have your personal property taken as evidence. Including your clothes and underwear. Two female officers will accompany you to a private room where this will take place. An outfit will be provided. The detectives investigating this case want to take a DNA swab, a dental impression, and clip your fingernails too. Just comply. Don’t fight us. It’ll only turn out bad for you. The female officers will also take your picture and your fingerprints. You’ll then be moved to an interview room and the detectives will come by and ask some questions. Is there anything you don’t understand?’
She shook her head.
‘Do you have an attorney?’
She shook her head. Said nothing.
‘Well, you will have by the time you leave,’ he said.
The cop had been right. It happened exactly as he’d said it would. She had stripped, silently, in front of two female officers, and given them her bloodstained clothes, which they put into large, clear plastic bags. They gave her some underwear, and an orange jumpsuit. When she was dressed they clipped the tips of her fingernails into a bag, and ran a cotton bud around the inside of her mouth. It left a bad taste.
Then she was taken to an interview room, and left alone. There was a mirror on one side of the room, and she guessed they were watching her from behind it.
She put her elbows on her knees and leaned forward, hanging her head. Her eyes were focused on the white rubber shoes they had given to her. She was quiet for a time. Motionless and silent.
She had not spoken since the police had arrested her in Franklin Street. She’d heard one of the cops mention shock, and she let that play out.
She was not in shock.
She was thinking.
And listening.
The steel table in front of her was pitted with dents, and scratches. She wanted to reach out and run her fingers along those lines, to smell the table, touch it and feel it.
It was a compulsion that had started young. Another little annoyance for mother, who slapped her when she caught her touching and smelling her surroundings. She could pass an hour with a leaf, a stone, a peach. The smells and sensations were almost overwhelming and then Mother – smack – don’t touch that. Stop touching everything, you dirty little girl.
Enjoying the sensation of touch became something else she had to keep secret. Music helped shield the compulsion. When she fell in love with a particular song, she saw colors and shapes and the music became something all the more real and physical to her, which helped keep her hands still.
The song was still playing in her head. The one that she had heard when she entered her father’s home at 152 Franklin Street that evening. It had been her mother’s favorite – ‘She’, the Charles Aznavour version. Whereas she had always preferred the Elvis Costello cover. The song floated around in her mind, playing loud and red, blanking out all other thoughts. Sitting in the small, foul-smelling interview room, she mouthed some of the lyrics as the song played only for her.